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I whimper, tears spilling freely down my cheeks now. “I don’t know.”
He shakes his head, not believing me.
And it continues. Over and over, he drags me through the same hell. His hands roam my body without mercy—pinching my nipples until they’re red and throbbing, slapping my inner thighs to make me jolt. His mouth follows, tongue devouring me, lapping up my wetness as he drives me to the edge of orgasm… only to deny me at the last second.
The vibrator keeps teasing too—pressing at my entrance, dipping in shallowly before retreating, his fingers replacing it to pump and scissor inside me, stretching my walls until I’m a babbling mess. Each time, the edge sharpens, my clit so sensitive it hurts, my pussy soaking the sheets, my body trembling uncontrollably.
I lose my mind somewhere in the middle of it. Need consumes every thought, every breath breaking into a sob for release he refuses to grant, until I start begging him to leave me be.
Finally, after what feels like hours, he unties the ropes.
Blood rushes back into my limbs in a painful, tingling wave, and I lie there, too weak to resist when he scoops me up bridal style and carries me to the bathroom.
Cold tile bites into my soles as he sets me down, but he doesn’t let me go. He lifts the showerhead as he turns it on, and warm water cascades over me. His hands are gentle now as he soaps up my skin, washing away the sweat and slick between my legs. He rinses my hair next, fingers massaging my scalp, the tenderness a cruel contrast to the agony he just inflicted. I lean into him, exhausted, my body still humming with unspent desire, and he takes my weight without comment, not seeming to mind that I’m drenching his clothes.
Afterwards, he towels me dry, then lifts me again, carrying me past the BDSM room, down the hallway to my room. He lays me on the soft bed, and I sink in bonelessly.
“Are you ready to be a good girl?” he asks.
I don’t answer.
His hand lingers over my face for a moment before he steps back, and a flicker of defiance sparks in my mind. I’ll make myself come when he leaves.
Except he doesn’t leave.
Instead, he opens the nightstand drawer and pulls out a dark leather contraption. It takes a second for recognition to settle, and when it does, my stomach drops.
A chastity belt.
I only know because a particularly eye-opening book sent me down a Google rabbit hole a couple of years ago, and that image stuck.
My eyes widen, fresh panic cutting through the aching need I still feel. There’ll be no way to make myself come if he puts that on me. “Dimitri… no.”
But he only smirks, a hard, determined gleam in his eyes.
“If you’re not ready to be a good girl, then I’ll just have to treat you like a bad one.”
25
GRACE
My lips are still parted as my eyes flick between Dimitri and the chastity belt. “How the hell am I supposed to pee if you put that on me?”
“There’s a small opening positioned at the urethra.” He points to it calmly, as if what he’s saying is entirely reasonable, and my mouth just opens wider.
The hole is barely big enough to thread a straw through, which means peeing would be messy if I’m not careful. And still, something hot and entirely contradictory tightens inside me—half of me wanting him to put it on to see what happens, the other half wanting to fling the damn thing out of the room.
“But—but—” I stutter, not even sure what argument I’m trying to make when I’m this conflicted.
“No buts.” He decides for me. “I don’t trust you not to make yourself come. You’ll wear it at night when you’re unsupervised. And during the day, I’m assigning someone to stay with you to make sure you don’t touch yourself.”
“That’s—that’s barbaric.”
“You know what to do if you don’t want this.” He smirks, waiting, but I clamp my mouth shut.
The silence stretches long enough for his smirk to deepen before he steps closer with the belt. He kneels between my legs, forcing them wider with his knees, his rough hands gripping my hips to position me exactly how he wants me.
The leather meets my skin, cool and unyielding as he fits it into place, the front sliding over my core, covering my folds completely. I whimper despite myself, the edges teasing me the slightest bit, reminding me of the torture I endured for hours.
