Chapter 24 Braze
brAZE
The messenger’s footsteps faded, leaving a silence that rang with unfulfilled need. The air was still thick with the scent of Kaitlyn’s arousal and his own desperate hunger.
Every nerve in Braze’s body was a live wire, screaming for completion. The feel of her—hot and wet and ready—sinking down on him was like a physical brand. His cock throbbed—an angry, neglected ache, leaking a steady line of pre-cum that trailed down the underside of his shaft.
He couldn’t go before the Empress like this, Braze thought.
Aching…distracted…half-craze with desire.
It was a vulnerability he couldn’t afford, not with Kaitlyn’s safety in the balance.
Because who knew what might happen at Morning Court?
After the debacle with the Kriver last night, he couldn’t take anything for granted.
“I need a moment,” he ground out, his voice rough and hoarse in his own ears. He turned and strode into the fresher, closing the door behind him and leaning against it for a second, his eyes squeezed shut.
The cool, marble bathing chamber did nothing to douse the fire in his blood. If anything, the solitude amplified it. He could still smell her on his skin—the sweet, feminine fragrance of her feminine desire, layered with the lighter scent of the soap from their shower last night.
Braze looked down at himself and grimaced.
He was fully, painfully erect—his shaft dark with blood, the head flushed and slick with precum.
He’d come several times last night, but his foolish body didn’t seem to know that.
It just wanted to come again—preferably while buried to the hilt in Kaitlyn’s tight little pussy.
Well, that wasn’t going to happen. Not now, at least, though he had definite hope for the future. The way she’d chained him up and teased him was every fucking fantasy he’d had for years come true. He fucking loved submitting to her—hopefully he’d have another chance in the near future.
But for now, he had to have some relief before he went out in public.
With a low groan, he reached for his rigid length…only to be greeted by a sharp, painful shock from the non-con manacles.
“Fuck!” he growled. Now what was he supposed to do?
He leaned back against the door, letting the memories flood him as his cock throbbed…letting them get him where he needed to go.
He remembered the exact weight of her in his lap last night at the banquet… the hidden, forbidden pressure of his cock between her thighs. He remembered the sight of her on her knees before him in the shower, all wet and sleek.
But most of all, he remembered the feeling of her chaining him to the bed just minutes ago.
The bite of the manacles on his wrists… the strain in his shoulders as he offered himself to her.
The look in her eyes—not cruelty, but a dawning, powerful ownership—as she explored his body.
The feel of her soft mouth on his nipple…
her fingers stroking him…her hot breath bathing the most sensitive parts of him…
“Kaitlyn…Mistress,” he groaned into the empty room.
He pictured her above him, riding him, taking her pleasure from his body as he’d begged her to.
He imagined her keeping him chained for hours—days—servicing her with his tongue until she was satisfied, his own release perpetually denied, a willing slave to her whim.
Even though he couldn’t touch himself, the fantasy—combined with the visceral memory of her scent and her touch—pushed him over the edge.
With a choked, guttural roar he muffled against his own arm, his orgasm ripped through him.
Thick ropes of cum shot across the pristine marble floor, stripe after stripe, as his body convulsed with the force of it.
It was a fierce, lonely release, draining the immediate, frantic need from his body but leaving a deeper, more profound hunger untouched. He was hers. And this solo emptying was a pitiful placeholder for the Bonding he truly craved.
He cleaned up swiftly, splashing cold water on his face. When he emerged, the physical urgency had receded, banked to steady, smoldering embers. But his devotion—his need to submit—burned brighter than ever.
Kaitlyn was dressed. The sight of her made his heart skip a beat—gods, she was gorgeous!
The gown was another masterpiece of sexual provocation. It was a cascade of liquid silver—a fabric that seemed to be woven from moonlight and mist. The cut was deceptively simple—a scooped neckline in the front that plunged in a dramatic V down her back to the very base of her spine.
The sleeves were long and fitted, but the sides of the gown were open from hip to armpit, held together by delicate, criss-crossing strands of platinum chain that revealed tantalizing glimpses of the creamy skin of her waist and the curves of her breasts.
The skirt, of course, had a high slit up the middle, parting with each step to show her long, elegant legs and a flash of the silver panties that matched the dress.
She looked like a queen of some forbidden, erotic court—regal, untouchable, and utterly desirable, Braze thought. He wondered if he would ever deserve her and decided he probably wouldn’t—but as long as he kept trying and she was willing to accept his service, that would be enough.
“Gods, Mistress,” he said, letting his eyes run up and down her curves. “You look fucking amazing in that!”
Kaitlyn’s cheeks went pink with pleasure, and it occurred to him that she had no idea just how beautiful she was. And no wonder—it sounded like her ex-mate had been a real bastard who probably never paid her compliments.
“Thank you, Braze. Er, the Mistress of the Wardrobe sent new clothes for us to wear at the Morning Court,” she said, her eyes running over his still-naked body with an appreciation that made the banked coals of desire inside him flare.
“I see,” he rumbled, his gaze drinking her in. Then he noticed the hesitation in her posture, the way her fingers twisted together and the way she was nibbling her lower lip. “What is it?” he asked, stepping closer. “What do you not want to tell me?”
“Well…” She cleared her throat, another blush coloring her cheeks.
She reached for a small object on the bed beside a pile of new clothing for him.
“The servant who brought the clothes… he said you must be caged. Apparently, it’s proper protocol for Morning Court. All the wives cage their husbands.”
“Caged?” He frowned, unsure of what she meant.
She held it up a device of sleek, polished silver.
“This thing. Remember? The Mistress of the Wardrobe made it after I measured you. I, uh, think it has to fit around your, um, shaft.”
Understanding dawned and Braze nodded.
“Oh, right.” A strange cocktail of emotions stirred in his chest. Apprehension…curiosity…and a sharp, unexpected spike of arousal.
His old Mistress, Lovelyone, had enjoyed displaying him. She’d often locked him into cruel, constricting rings that kept him hard and aching for her amusement. But a cage…that was different. She had never used such a device on him.
Still, Braze understood instinctively that the cage wasn’t about showing off his arousal but controlling it—containing it. Once Kaitlyn slipped it on him, he would be putting the key to his very manhood in someone else’s hand.
He looked from the cold silver device to his Mistress’s uncertain face. She clearly wasn’t sure how he felt about this. Honestly, Braze didn’t know either. But he did know he wasn’t afraid.
The idea of submitting this most intimate form of control to the woman he loved didn’t frighten him. In fact, it set his blood singing. The trust required to do such a thing was absolute—the surrender, complete.
He wanted to do this, he realized—wanted to give her this power over him. It felt deeply personal…and deeply erotic.
“Do it,” he said, the words leaving him in a deep, sure rumble.
Her eyebrows lifted.
“You really don’t mind?”
He closed the distance between them, cupping her cheek. Her skin was like silk under his calloused palm.
“I don’t mind anything you do to me, Mistress,” he said, holding her gaze, letting her see the truth in his golden eyes. “Didn’t I tell you that you own me? I’m yours. Completely yours.”
Admitting it aloud felt like shedding a weight. It felt good. And the way she up looked at him—not with disgust or mockery, but with a dawning, awed comprehension—made him dare to hope.
Maybe his deepest, most shameful secret—his wish to submit—wasn’t a flaw to her. Maybe it was a gift she was yearning to unwrap. Maybe this dynamic—this perfect symmetry where his need to submit met her desire to dominate— could last beyond this mission.
Maybe—if they took things slowly and didn’t go too far all at once—it could last forever.
With that hopeful thought glowing in his chest, he submitted.
He stood still as she knelt before him. Her fingers were gentle as she guided his cock through the base ring of the cage. The metal was cool—a shocking contrast to his heated flesh—and it was a good thing. Otherwise feeling her hands on him would have made him hard all over again.
“I’m trying to be careful. Let me know if I hurt you,” she murmured as she fitted the hinged cage itself around his shaft—it was a snug, custom fit, leaving no room for growth—and clicked it shut. A tiny, silver lock secured it and the sound of the mechanism engaging was soft, yet final.
A shiver that was not unpleasant ran through him.
He was enclosed.
Helpless.
Hers.
Looking down at her, he could plainly see her full breasts, framed in the silver gown and he could feel her soft fingers stroking his balls as she made sure everything was in the right place.
Either or both of those stimulations was enough to make him rock-solid, but the cage kept him from getting hard.
That didn’t make his desire for her any less, however—he still felt a deep need for her touch—a hungry ache to be of service to her.
His body just couldn’t act on it. If anything, the cage around his cock enhanced his desire—like a flame that was burning brightly inside him which wasn’t allowed to turn into a bonfire and yet could never be put out.
Kaitlyn held up a small, ornate key on a fine silver chain and, without a word, slipped the chain over her head. The key settled in the valley between her breasts, hidden beneath the silver gown.
The symbolism was so potent it made his heart fist in his chest. She literally held the key to his pleasure…his comfort…his very sexuality, right next to her heart. Letting her cage him was the most profoundly submissive act of his life, and it filled him with a sense of rightness and desire.
“Thank you, Mistress,” he said quietly as he helped her to her feet.
She lifted an eyebrow quizzically.
“You’re thanking me for caging you?”
“I’m thanking you for letting me submit,” he said, and cupped her cheek. “For making me yours.”
She blushed again but he could see the pleasure in her eyes. Yes, he decided, as long as they took things slowly, this could definitely grow into a deeper relationship—maybe she would even let him Bond her to him, in time.
He dressed in the clothes the servant had brought—more of the ridiculous, crotchless trousers in a finer black material—which now framed the silver cage like an obscene exhibit. Then came the thick, black leather collar.
It was wide—padded for comfort—but unyielding, with a heavy metal ring at the front. He started to fasten it around his own neck, but Kaitlyn stopped him.
“No,” she said, taking the collar from his hands. “Kneel.”
Braze did as she asked at once, kneeling before her so she could reach him more easily.
Kaitlyn slipped the collar around his throat and buckled it. Then she attached a long, elegant leash of braided black leather to the ring in front. She took a step back and surveyed him—cage, collar and all—and nodded.
“Perfect. You can rise now…husband.”
Hearing her call him that—even if it wasn’t really true—sent a surge of desire straight through Braze. He murmured,
“Thank you, Mistress,” and rose to his feet.
Kaitlyn stepped forward, standing on her tiptoes to brush a soft kiss against his lips.
“You look very handsome,” she murmured, smiling at him. She took the end of the leash. “Let’s go to Morning Court. And let’s hope it’s less crazy than the banquet was last night.”
“Agreed,” Braze rumbled. His mindset was already changing—shifting from lover to Protector, despite his bonds. But still, he carried his desire with him—in a very literal sense.
The cage around his shaft was a persistent pressure—a constant reminder of his devotion to his Mistress.
The collar was a familiar anchor—he’d been collared all the time during his time with Mistress Lovelyone, so he was used to it.
The leash in Kaitlyn’s hand was a promise—a hope for their future together.
They headed out the door—a stunning Elite and her intricately-bound Protector—stepping from the privacy of their sanctuary into the viper’s den of imperial politics.
Neither of them had any idea of the fresh chaos that awaited. The banquet had been a bloody surprise—Morning Court, however, was a carefully laid trap.
And they were walking directly into it.