Chapter 8 #2
Naked and exposed, I climbed onto the table. Then I was lying on my back, the leather cool against my overheated skin, staring up at the ceiling and trying to control my breathing because I had no idea what he planned for me.
I remembered our second session. The ropes suspending me in midair, the quiet bliss of subspace, the way all my anxieties had melted away until there was nothing but pleasure and the absolute trust that someone else was making the decisions.
I hadn’t felt that level of surrender since. I’d had sex a few times, vanilla encounters that left me feeling emptier than before, but nothing that came close to what Kane had given me. Nothing that silenced the relentless chatter in my brain and made me feel truly, deeply seen and safe .
As much as I hated to admit it, I needed this. Craved it in a way that made denial feel pointless.
Kane quietly moved around the table, securing me with methodical efficiency.
Leather straps across my chest and midsection, tight enough to hold but not to hurt.
My wrists cuffed to the table so I couldn’t lift them.
My ankles locked into restraints at the table’s corners, forcing my legs wide apart, leaving me utterly exposed.
His demeanor was different tonight. A harder edge, a lack of the gentleness he’d shown during our previous scenes. Not cruel—I trusted him not to actually hurt me—but unyielding. I had a feeling he wasn’t going to go easy on me.
I shivered, heat coiling tight in my stomach.
Once I was completely immobile, Kane stepped out of my line of sight. A moment later, padded silk descended over my eyes—a blindfold, plunging me into darkness and forcing me to focus on sensation and his presence somewhere nearby.
“The last time we were together,” Kane said, his voice cutting through the buzz of anticipation curling through me. “I told you I wanted to try something. Do you remember what it was?”
I scrambled to recall. He’d had me screaming and sobbing with pleasure by the end of that session. It was difficult to remember everything he’d said through the haze of endorphins.
Then fingertips stroked down my stomach, feather-light, and my brain short-circuited.
“It was about how much of a greedy little slut you are,” he said, his voice close to my ear.
The words landed with enough impact to make my pulse stumble—but not in a bad way.
Never in a bad way, when Kane said them.
He had a gift for turning degradation into worship, for making slut sound like the highest compliment he could pay me during our scenes.
Like being desperate for him was something to be proud of.
Like my desire for him was beautiful rather than shameful.
My thighs clenched involuntarily, and I felt myself growing wet.
“That’s it.” His low, deep voice warmed with approval. “Your body remembers, even if your mind needed reminding.”
A finger slid through my slick folds and I jolted against the restraints. Blindfolded, I had no idea where he was, or what he would do next. The anticipation was almost unbearable.
“Already soaking wet,” he murmured, and I could hear the smirk in his voice. “Just like all good sluts should be.”
His thumb brushed my clit, and I gasped. I tried to arch my hips up, to chase the sensation, but the straps held me down.
“I bet it wouldn’t take much to get you off like this.” He rubbed slow circles, and pleasure immediately spiraled through me in dizzying waves. “You’re already close, aren’t you? Already desperate to come on my fingers like the needy little slut you are.”
“Yes,” I breathed, then remembered myself. “Yes, master.”
“Tell me you want to come.”
“I do, master, please,” I begged shamelessly. “I really do—” Just a few more strokes, I was so close, right there—
His hand disappeared, and I cried out in surprise and frustration.
“If you want to come,” Kane said, his voice terribly calm, “you don’t get to do it with that desperate little clit. I told you the last time what I wanted to try.” His hand closed around my breast and two fingers pinched my stiff nipple.
I gasped, pain and arousal crashing through me in equal measures as I remembered now.
“That’s right,” he murmured huskily. “Nipple play. The only way you get to come is from nipple stimulation.”
I groaned. My nipples were incredibly sensitive—always had been—but I’d never orgasmed from nipple stimulation alone. I wasn’t sure I could. Which meant this was punishment. I was going to be denied release unless I managed the impossible.
I could safeword out at any point. That option was always there, and I knew with absolute certainty that he would stop immediately if I said red . That fundamental trust hadn’t wavered, despite everything else.
But as a fantasy? As a challenge? This was insanely hot. Even if I might not get to come at all.
Something soft brushed across my rigid nipple, and I shivered as a feather trailed delicate patterns over my already-sensitive peaks.
“Oh God,” I whimpered, struggling against the restraints, even though the sensation was exquisite. Even though I wanted more. “No...”
“Doesn’t it feel good?” Kane asked, his tone darkly amused.
“It does, master, but—” I sucked in another quick breath, thrashing uselessly as that soft plume skimmed across the tightened peak.
“Then why are you saying no?”
“Because I—this is making me want to come so badly—”
The feather swirled around both nipples now, one after the other, and I moaned. My clit pulsed. My thighs tried to clench around nothing. I could feel pleasure building, building, but never quite cresting.
“Then come,” Kane said, and I could hear the challenge in his voice. “I’m not stopping you.”
“I want to, but I can’t,” I sobbed, beyond frustrated. “Master, please—”
“It’s up to you,” he interrupted me. The feather continued tracing maddening patterns, and his voice dropped to a seductive purr.
“Good sluts can come just from having their nipples played with. I guess you’re just not a good enough slut yet.
That’s why I’m training you. Get out of your head, Charlotte, and focus on the pleasure. ”
He alternated between nipples, teasing one while the other ached with neglect, until I was writhing as much as the restraints would allow. Then his mouth closed over my right nipple—hot and wet and perfect—while the feather continued its torment on the left.
His tongue traced circles around the sensitive peak. His teeth grazed the tip, then bit gently. I cried out, trying to arch into his mouth, lost in the overwhelming sensation that wasn’t quite enough to give me the orgasm I craved.
My pussy clenched, empty and needy. If he would just touch my clit, just for a second—
But he didn’t. He sucked and licked and nibbled at my nipples, cupped my breasts in his warm hands, and I felt myself hovering at the edge of orgasm without any way to fall over.
I swore. I begged. I called him master a dozen times, until the word lost all meaning and became just another sound of desperation.
And then all sensation stopped.
I made a frustrated noise as his fingers stroked my inner thighs—so close to where I needed them, but denying me that touch. Tears gathered in my eyes, even though I couldn’t see.
“This ends whenever you decide it ends,” Kane pointed out, his voice maddeningly calm. “You just need to focus on your body’s responses so you can orgasm. You have all the power here.”
“I can’t ,” I insisted.
“Yes, you can. Because I told you to.” I heard a buzzing sound a second before the device pressed against my nipple.
The vibrator sent shockwaves through me, so intense I jerked wildly against the restraints. The reverberations seemed to travel through my entire body, echoing in my clit, but not strongly enough to push me over the edge.
He moved the toy from one aching, sensitive tip to the other, then back again. My nipples felt swollen, almost sore, but in a way that only made the pleasure more intense. Every buzz sent zings of sensation straight to my clenching pussy, building pressure without release.
“ Please ,” I begged, though I’d lost track of how many times I’d said it.
The vibrator disappeared. A moment later, something encircled my right nipple—a small suction cup of some kind—and began to pulse rhythmically, pulling at me like a mouth but with relentless mechanical precision.
I moaned and thrashed, but there was nowhere to go. The suction was incredible, almost too much, pulling at my nipple in continuous little tugs that made my eyes roll back and left me trembling helplessly against my restraints.
Then something touched my other breast, and I yelped as a shock ran through me—not painful, but startling.
Electric. Kane’s finger, and I realized he must have hooked himself up to some kind of e-stim device.
His body was a conduit now, every touch delivering a small zap that made my nerve endings sing.
His fingers danced over my breasts while the machine sucked at my nipple. Shock after shock, unpredictable and breathtaking, while the relentless suction never stopped. At some point I started shaking and moaning uncontrollably, tears streaming down my face beneath the blindfold.
I felt like I was hovering at the precipice of orgasm for what felt like hours. The stimulation was overwhelming—rough and gentle, shocking and soothing, too much and not enough all at once. My brain felt like it was melting, dissolving into pure sensation. My body, too.
“You can do it,” Kane murmured, his voice a low croon that somehow cut through the chaos in my mind, even as his fingers traced electric patterns across my skin.
“I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care if I have to keep you here all night.
I’m going to keep teasing you like this until your greedy little pussy figures out that this is how it’s supposed to come. ”