Covered In Lust

Ryan stood still as the automatic door hissed open behind him, not because he was hesitant, but because he didn't rush for anyone. He wore black from collar to toe, tailored dress pants that followed the line of his legs, a fitted shirt that hinted at strength beneath the fabric, sleeves buttoned at the wrist with precise care. His belt was smooth leather, the buckle sleek, and his shoes were polished to a mirror finish.

He looked like someone in control of his own story. Broad-shouldered, clean-cut, and with the cool detachment of a man used to being wanted. His jaw was sharp, his eyes steady. The lighting caught on the collarbone beneath his open top button, adding a deliberate edge of allure. Ryan didn't need to follow orders. He didn't need to be here.

The outfit had been waiting for him when he returned to his room. Perfectly arranged on a hanger: black dress pants pressed to a razor line, a matching shirt so dark it absorbed light, polished shoes, and a slim leather belt. On top, a folded note in Erica's unmistakable handwriting.

You must arrive outside the sliding doors at exactly 8 PM, no earlier, no later. Stand next to the palm tree. Speak to no one. Look at no one.

The words were not a suggestion. They were law.

At 8:00 PM sharp, Ryan stepped through the sliding glass doors. The hiss of their parting mirrored the first breath of warm air that touched his face. Outside, the scene was a flurry of motion. Valets darted between high-end cars, bellhops maneuvered carts stacked with designer luggage, and polished marble floors echoed with clipped footsteps. The hotel entrance buzzed with controlled chaos.

Ryan stood still amidst the movement, his presence calm and composed. He noticed one valet glance his way, curiosity flickering across his face.

"Sir, do you need?"

Ryan opened his mouth out of instinct, then stopped himself. Speak to no one. Instead, he gave a slow, deliberate nod and said nothing.

He turned and walked to the designated spot, beside a tall palm tree that cast a jagged shadow on the marble under the city lights. There, he stood. Immaculate. Unmoving.

The crisp air whispered around him, carrying the distant hum of traffic and soft laughter from guests inside. But Ryan didn't shift or fidget. He stood like a man who had everything under control. A few passersby glanced at him, perhaps noting the cut of his suit, the calm authority in his stance, but he didn't return their looks. His focus was internal, trained on the ticking seconds.

He didn't know what would happen next. But Erica had given him a time, a place, and a rule.

Moments later, a long, black Executive Limo Bus pulled up to the curb. It glided to a smooth stop, its tinted windows reflecting the hotel's golden lights. The vehicle exuded indulgence, its high-end lighting glowing in shifting colors along the ceiling and floor, bass-heavy music thumping softly from within.

The driver's door opened, and a woman stepped out. Tall, androgynous, dressed in a sharply tailored chauffeur's uniform. Her walk was purposeful, heels clicking on the marble with rhythmic precision. When she spoke, her voice slipped through the air like silk laced with steel, low, feminine, and edged with playful cruelty.

Without a word, she moved to the passenger door and swung it open.

The interior lights flared, and the sound of laughter and high-pitched shouting spilled into the night. A group of around twenty women began to file out, clearly at the tail end of a long, spirited bachelorette party. They were dressed for attention: short dresses, plunging necklines, sequins, lace, leather, and high heels of questionable stability. Some wore novelty sashes and tiaras, others clutched champagne bottles or half-empty cocktails. Their makeup was smudged, their hair tousled, and their laughter loud, chaotic, and infectious.

They poured out onto the curb in waves of energy, some helping each other down the steps, others already dancing to the music still pumping from inside the bus. One kicked off her heels with a groan. Another tried to re-pin a veil to her hair while swaying precariously.

Even the valets paused conversations halting, eyes drawn like magnets. The chaos disrupted the smooth rhythm of the hotel's entryway, and for a moment, the party commanded the entire scene.

Ryan remained still beside the palm tree.

The women were all around him now, brushing past in fits of laughter and teasing, their perfume thick in the air, their bodies moving close, carelessly. A pair of heels clicked near his feet, a burst of perfume lingered at his collar, and one voice slurred, "Damn, who's that snack?"

But he didn't look. Not once.

Look at no one.

His jaw tightened slightly. It would've been easy to turn his head. To smirk, flirt, charm. Any other time, any other woman. But not tonight.

Tonight, his eyes stayed forward, his posture perfect. The pull of temptation buzzed around him, but he held fast.

Because Erica had told him not to look.

Among the swirling party energy, a few of the older women in the group, confident, emboldened by drink and attention, took notice of Ryan standing statue-still beside the palm tree. Mid-thirties, dressed in designer heels and form-fitting dresses that shimmered in the low light, they exchanged glances before breaking off from the group and sauntering toward him.

"Damn," one murmured, her voice thick with wine and amusement. "He's got that whole tall, dark, and silent thing going on."

Another laughed. "You lost, handsome? Or just waiting for the right woman to come along?"

They circled closer. One reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, fingers dragging slowly across the fabric of his shirt to the curve of his back. Another ran her nails lightly down his opposite arm. Their perfume mixed with the heat of the night and the fizz of champagne still clinging to their breath.

"You don't talk?" one asked, leaning in. "That's okay. We don't mind a strong, silent type."

Ryan didn't flinch. He didn't look at them. He lowered his head slightly, eyes fixed on the marble at his feet, and his jaw set.

Speak to no one. Look at no one.

The silence stretched too long for their liking.

"What the hell is your problem?" one snapped, pulling her hand back. "Too good to say hi?"

"Ugh, whatever. What a weirdo."

Another scoffed. "Hot and boring. What a waste."

They turned in a flurry of irritation and stumbling stilettos, their laughter now tinged with derision as they rejoined the group and made their way into the hotel.

Ryan didn't move. He could still feel the ghost of their touch across his shoulders, but he let it pass through him like smoke.

He kept his head down.

A few moments after the last of the women disappeared into the hotel, the sound of footsteps; measured and deliberate, approached from the direction of the limo bus. Ryan didn't look up. He didn't need to.

"Ryan," the chauffeur said, her voice low and smooth. "I'm here to take you to Miss Erica. You are to come with me."

She stepped in close, close enough for her voice to drop just a notch more, teasing.

"I saw how you handled yourself. Those women were practically climbing you." A faint, amused hum. "Most men would've folded. I'll be sure to let Erica know how disciplined you were."

Her gloved hand brushed lightly across the back of his shoulder, not possessive, but approving. "She'll like that."

Then she turned and walked toward the bus without waiting for a response.

Ryan followed.

The open door of the limo bus loomed like an invitation and a challenge. The music had been cut. The lighting inside was warmer now, low amber tones with soft, directional glows along the velvet-trimmed aisle.

As Ryan stepped onto the limo bus, the soft thud of the door sealing behind him seemed to mute the world outside. The lighting inside had shifted, rich, amber tones cast a warm glow across deep velvet seating and polished chrome fixtures.

And then he saw her.

She sat at the far end of the bus, legs crossed, perfectly composed. At first, Ryan thought it was the driver again, but no. This woman was her mirror in face only.

She wore red.

A tailored pencil skirt hugged her hips and thighs, every seam deliberate, sculpting her like a weapon. Her cropped blazer matched the skirt exactly sleek, sharp-shouldered, and left unapologetically open at the front. Unlike the business world she seemed to echo, she wore no blouse beneath. Bare skin showed beneath the lapels, the hint of cleavage teasing the eye without giving it everything.

She was both elegance and provocation. Her heels: classic black pumps, glinted subtly under the ambient light with each small movement of her foot. Her makeup walked the razor's edge between sexy and slutty: smoky eyes that lingered a beat too long, red lips with just enough gloss to catch light, and cheeks carved with precision.

She looked like she could close a merger before breakfast and leave a man breathless by lunch.

She approached slowly, heels clicking softly on the floor, her eyes never leaving his. When she reached him, she tilted her head slightly and offered a hand, not for a shake, but as if inviting a kiss or simply testing how he'd respond.

"I'm Kate," she said, voice smooth and assured. "And the one behind the wheel out there is Taylor."

As if on cue, the masked chauffeur stepped into the bus behind Ryan and pulled off her gloves, setting them neatly in a small tray by the door.

"We're twins," Kate added, the corner of her mouth curving upward. "But you probably figured that out."

Taylor peeled off her mask, revealing a face nearly identical to Kate's sharp cheekbones, knowing eyes, the same dark hair pulled back with clinical precision. Yet while Kate exuded heat and poise, Taylor's energy was cooler, more contained, like the eye of a storm.

"We're friends of Erica's," Taylor said, stepping beside her sister. "And we've been looking forward to meeting you."

Kate smiled wider, clearly enjoying the moment. "You made quite the impression. Standing out there by that palm tree, silent, still. Very obedient."

"Very tempting," Taylor added with a smirk.

Kate stepped aside and gestured toward one of the plush seats near the front of the bus. "Come on, gorgeous. Sit. Relax. We're taking you to see Miss Erica. She's expecting you at her high rise."

The bus hummed to life beneath them, the low growl of the engine matching the quiet, electric anticipation in the air.

Ryan paused just inside the limo bus, the interior warm and quiet around him. The scent of perfume lingered in the air, something floral, with an undercurrent of spice. The woman in red smiled at him with subtle confidence, then uncrossed her legs and stood in a single, fluid motion.

She approached slowly, heels clicking softly on the floor, her eyes never leaving his. When she reached him, she tilted her head slightly and offered a hand, not for a shake, but as if inviting a kiss or simply testing how he'd respond.

"I'm Kate," she said, voice smooth and assured. "And the one behind the wheel out there is Taylor."

As if on cue, the masked chauffeur stepped into the bus behind Ryan and pulled off her gloves, setting them neatly in a small tray by the door.

"We're twins," Kate added, the corner of her mouth curving upward. "But you probably figured that out."

Like Kate she had sharp cheekbones, knowing eyes, the same dark hair pulled back with clinical precision. Yet while Kate exuded heat and poise, Taylor's energy was cooler, more contained, like the eye of a storm.

"We're friends of Erica's," Taylor said, stepping beside her sister. "And we've been looking forward to meeting you."

Kate smiled wider, clearly enjoying the moment. "You made quite the impression. Standing out there by that palm tree, silent, still. Very obedient."

"Very tempting," Taylor added with a smirk.

Kate stepped aside and gestured toward one of the plush seats near the front of the bus. "Come on, gorgeous. Sit. Relax. We're taking you to see Miss Erica. She's expecting you at her high rise."

As Ryan moved past her, Taylor brushed behind him; closer than necessary, and gave him a firm, flirtatious smack on the rear. "Behave," she murmured, her voice low and amused. Then she turned and climbed back into the driver's seat, slipping her gloves on again with slow precision.

Kate, now settling herself in the opposite seat, reached the table beside her and pulled out a small satin pillow. She set it carefully on the floor near her heels and looked at Ryan with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Erica requires you to kneel for the ride," she said lightly. "On this."

There was no edge in her tone, just matter-of-fact command, wrapped in silk.

Ryan nodded once, silent, and lowered himself onto the pillow, his knees sinking into the softness, hands resting at his thighs. His posture was straight, eyes trained forward.

The engine gave a soft purr, and the limo bus began to glide into motion.

Kate crossed one leg over the other slowly, letting her skirt ride up just enough to hint at the smooth curve of her thigh. Then her phone buzzed, and with a tap of her manicured nail, she answered.

"Hey," she said breezily. "Yeah, no, last night? Disappointing."

She leaned back into her seat, head resting against the cushion, voice shifting to a tone of casual annoyance. "Big guy. Looked the part. Total letdown. No foreplay, didn't listen, and then had the nerve to try and cuddle. I was like boy, no."

As she spoke, she continued crossing and uncrossing her legs with subtle intention, each motion causing her skirt to shift a little more. Ryan, eyes front but close, couldn't help but notice, smooth skin, the occasional flicker of red lace, the soft flex of thigh muscle under the dim lights.

Kate didn't acknowledge him. Not directly. But every now and then, she'd catch his eyes flicking upward. And each time, she'd smile, slow, knowing, entertained.

Then, as if on cue, she dropped her pen.

It rolled gently across the bus floor, stopping near her foot. She bent at the waist to retrieve it, one hand braced on the table, the blazer parting just slightly with the motion. From Ryan's vantage point, he couldn't look away. A smooth line of cleavage came into view, just enough to reveal a hint of bare curve beneath, the edge of a nipple visible before the fabric caught and closed again.

Kate sat back up, still talking into the phone as though nothing had happened.

"... mmhmm. You know what I mean? Looks good on paper, but just no spark."

She glanced down at Ryan briefly and winked; just once, before turning her attention back to her call.

After several more minutes of comfortable silence, Kate idly scrolling her phone, Ryan staying perfectly still on the pillow, she ended her call with a light swipe and set the device aside.

"We're approaching the city," she said, glancing out the tinted window. The skyline had begun to rise around them, the glass towers glowing against the twilight.

Kate looked down at Ryan, her smile curling with just a touch of mischief. "Erica said you could watch me change. Consider it a reward." She tilted her head slightly. "But no touching. And you don't leave that pillow. Understood?"

Ryan gave a slow nod.

Without another word, Kate turned and walked to the back corner of the bus. She opened a slim, black suitcase and began pulling out her new outfit: a pair of black latex pants, glossy and tight, and a matching corset with intricate boning and silver clasps.

She returned to where Ryan knelt and stood deliberately close, the outfit tucked casually under her arm. Then, with a smooth motion, she unbuttoned the cropped blazer and let it slip off her shoulders, the fabric gliding down her arms before she laid it neatly over a seat.

And there she stood, in nothing but her skirt, bare from the waist up.

Kate didn't flinch. Didn't hide. Her posture was confident, unhurried, completely at ease. Her breasts, full and elegant, caught the ambient light just enough to glow against her flawless skin. Her waist tapered in smooth, natural lines, every inch of her bearing composed and unapologetic.

Ryan's breath caught. The sheer confidence of her presence aroused him in a way that was visceral, immediate. She wasn't performing. She simply was.

As his eyes traced her frame, something shifted in his memory. A small tattoo just above her hips caught his attention, a stylized design that sparked a flicker of recognition.

Two serpents; one black, one white, coiled in perfect symmetry around a vertical line. Their bodies curved inward to form the shape of a heart, their tails intertwined at the base. One faced left with a small flame in its mouth; the other, right, cradling a droplet of water on its tongue. Elegant. Opposite. Balanced. Encircling the heart was a line of fine script: "Same soul, opposite fire."

The tattoo wasn't large, but it was deliberate. It marked a bond, two beings made identical by birth, but defined by divergence. The same blood, the same roots, mirrored into two distinct reflections.

And Ryan had seen it before.

A flicker of memory stirred, soft, blurred at the edges like a half-forgotten dream. The tattoo. The posture. The confidence. It was different now, sharper, more commanding—but the core hadn't changed.

"You look familiar," he said quietly.

Kate turned her head just enough to meet his eyes, her expression unreadable. "Do I?"

"That tattoo... I've seen it before."

She held his gaze a beat too long, then offered a faint, amused shrug. "Lots of tattoos out there."

But Ryan wasn't convinced. Images resurfaced: warm nights, laughter under trees, whispered confessions by flashlight. And then it hit him.

Twin girls. Summer camp. Counselors. After their freshman year of college.

He and Kate had grown close in that final month. Stolen walks past curfew, shared secrets, slow smiles by the lake. They were both virgins. Awkward. Eager. Everything felt like a movie waiting to unfold.

Last weekend of camp, the counselors threw a party in the woods. They'd snuck off, found a quiet patch beneath the stars. Kisses turned clumsy. Breaths quickened. But before anything could begin, Ryan; nervous, overwhelmed, had climaxed in his pants.

He was mortified. She had touched his arm; told him it was okay. That she liked him. Really liked him.

He never answered her calls after that. Shame swallowed him whole.

Now, seeing her again; same face, older, stronger, he realized how much had changed.

Kate lingered by the suitcase a moment longer, folding her blazer with practiced care before slipping one leg into the latex pants. She didn't look at him immediately, but when she did, her gaze was level, sharp, but not unkind.

"You're remembering now, aren't you?" she said, fastening the side zipper in a smooth pull. "Camp. The woods. That ridiculous counselor party."

Ryan's breath hitched, but he said nothing.

Kate gave a small, knowing smile, though it lacked the softness of nostalgia. "That was a different version of me. A different girl, really. I thought love and sex were the same thing back then, or that they had to be."

She stepped fully into view; the corset now tucked under one arm. "Erica helped me separate it. Likes. Love. Lust. Devotion. I don't confuse them anymore. I choose what I feel. I control what I give."

There was no bitterness in her voice, only clarity.

She set the corset down and began lacing it with efficient fingers. "Erica changed my perspective. She gave me permission to take up space. And to be honest..." she paused, lips curving faintly, "she satisfies me more than I ever thought possible. In ways most men don't even know how to imagine."

Kate leaned forward slightly as she tightened the final pull of the corset, her voice softening but still precise.

"So now, when it comes to men? I use them for amusement. If they're lucky."

She stood tall again, a striking silhouette in black latex, and looked down at Ryan, still kneeling, still quiet.

"But don't take it personally," she added with a wink. "You're already doing better than most."

Becoming one of Erica's girls hadn't been about submission for Kate. It was about freedom. About mastering the rules so she could choose when to follow them, or when to make others kneel instead.

She discovered she preferred submissive men. Not because she loathed dominance, but because she loved watching power slip, inch by inch. She craved the tension. The teasing. The delicious silence between command and compliance.

With Erica's guidance; and Taylor's equally sharp instincts, Kate had found her stride. Seductive but composed. Cruel when she wanted to be. Worshipped, but never compromised.

And now, in the back of the limo bus, looking down at Ryan, kneeling, obedient, remembering, she felt something rare:

The soft purr of the limo bus grew steadier, the rhythm of the road beneath them signaling they were nearing the city's center. Tall glass towers loomed outside the tinted windows, glowing against the twilight in shades of steel and gold.

Kate glanced out briefly, then turned her attention back to Ryan, who still knelt quietly on the satin pillow where she'd first placed him.

"Bring that here," she said, her voice smooth and low, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against her thigh. "Right in front of me."

Ryan obeyed without hesitation, lifting the pillow and positioning it between her feet. He lowered himself again, knees sinking into the plush fabric, eyes level with the silver clasps of her corset.

Kate gave a pleased hum and crossed her legs briefly before uncrossing them again, then placed one heel on each of Ryan's shoulders. The shoes were sharp, elegant, and steady. The contact was firm but not heavy, like a crown placed carefully atop a subject's bowed head.

Her legs framed his vision, but his eyes remained forward, fixed on her face. She looked directly into his gaze steadily, commanding, but not unkind. A slow smile curled her lips. Then a wink.

Without a word, she leaned back in her seat, arms draping casually along the armrests, her posture relaxed, regal, utterly in control.

The low hum of the engine, the soft ambient lighting, the faint scent of leather and perfume, it all blurred into one quiet moment of suspended tension. Ryan didn't move. He simply breathed, the warmth of her presence resting against his shoulders, the intensity of her gaze still echoing in his mind.

Her heels rested on Ryan's shoulders, a casual but intentional show of control. The low hum of the limo bus rolled beneath them, steady and smooth, wrapping the moment in a cocoon of quiet tension.

She leaned back into her seat with a breath of satisfaction, then slowly raised her hands, running them through her dark hair. Her fingers combed through the strands, tugging lightly before letting them fall, framing her face with soft disarray. Her eyes never left Ryan's.

From her hair, her touch traced down her temples, around the curve of her cheeks, along her jawline. Her palms glided across her neck, slow and deliberate, drawing attention to the elegant lines beneath the corset's top edge.

With poised confidence, she ran her hands down over her chest, letting her fingers linger against the fabric's tight grip on her body. Then downward, across her sides, down her thighs clad in gleaming black latex, the material catching the light with every subtle movement. She moved with deliberate sensuality, drawing out the moment, letting her hands roam with no destination but full intent.

Her eyes flicked down to Ryan's once, just a glance, then back to his face. His posture hadn't faltered. Still kneeling, still silent, but his body betrayed him: his arousal evident, straining, unmoving.

She smiled. Playful. Knowing.

Then her right hand returned to the juncture of her thighs, just above the zipper line. Slowly, casually, she pressed her palm flat against herself, her wrist rotating gently, the gesture more teasing than needed. Her gaze held Ryan's, watching every tiny reaction: the flicker in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the quiet hitch in his breath.

She did this for minutes, running her hands in slow circles, exploring her own body as if he wasn't there, but fully aware he was.

And he didn't move. Didn't speak.

Just as her fingers lingered, the intercom chimed from the front of the limo bus.

"Two minutes out."

The words had barely faded when Kate moved.

She leaned forward slowly, like a cat stretching from repose into motion. One hand reached down; calm, certain, and slid through Ryan's hair. Her fingers curled into a firm grip at the base of his neck. Not painful. Not rushed. Just... sure.

With one steady pull, she guided him forward.

His breath caught as his face moved between her legs, his shoulders instinctively tightening under the pressure of her grip. The latex of her pants was still warm from her touch, the heat from her skin rising faintly through the tight, slick material.

And then he smelled her.

It wasn't perfume, not this time. It was her. Clean skin with a trace of sweat from the heat of the bus, the faint bite of latex, and beneath that, something more elemental. Feminine. Intimate. A deep, rich scent that stirred something low in Ryan's stomach, something primal.

It wasn't overpowering, it was nuanced. The hint of her arousal mixed with the sharpness of the synthetic fabric, the warmth of her body, and the subtle remnants of whatever oil or lotion she'd used to polish the latex. There was a spice to it, something floral and peppery, and a softness underneath, something unspoken that hit the back of his throat and lingered behind his eyes.

Every part of him responded.

His jaw clenched, not in resistance, but to hold still, perfectly still. His chest rose slightly, then paused, as if even breathing might be too much. Heat radiated through his core, down through his limbs, every nerve tightened with the ache of anticipation.

Kate didn't speak.

She just held him there, face between her thighs, her fingers wound in his hair, her breathing quiet and measured. Her control was total, and she wielded it like art.

Then, after a long beat, she spoke, low, almost into his ear.

"Stay there."

The limo's engine purred a little lower now. Slowing.

The city lights sharpened outside the tinted windows as the limo bus glided to a smooth stop beneath the glowing awning of Erica's high-rise. The street shimmered with polished stone and quiet wealth. A valet stood waiting in a tailored vest, clipboard in hand, his posture already straightening at the sight of the sleek black vehicle.

Inside, Taylor's voice came crisply through the intercom. "We've arrived."

Without needing to be told twice, Kate uncurled her fingers from Ryan's hair. "Stand," she said softly, but with a tone that left no room for hesitation. "Go to the door."

Ryan rose, slowly and measured. His muscles tensed as he adjusted his stance, the pillow left behind in the hush of the bus. He moved toward the passenger door just as Taylor stepped in from the driver's seat, her long coat flowing behind her like a shadow.

She opened the door with professional precision.

Ryan stood directly in front of her now, shoulders squared, face composed, but his arousal was unmistakable. The tailored lines of his pants could no longer hide the hard strain pressing forward beneath the fabric.

Taylor paused.

Her sharp eyes flicked downward, then back up, meeting his gaze with a spark of amusement that bordered on wicked. She arched one brow, her lips curling with an almost lazy smirk.

"Well," she said, voice dry but velvet-smooth, "rock hard, and nobody's naked yet."

Ryan's jaw twitched, but he didn't flinch. He held her gaze.

Taylor leaned in just a hair closer, the barest breath of distance between them. "You better not cum in your pants again," she whispered, a playful threat wrapped in memory and challenge.

Then she stepped aside, gesturing toward the glowing lobby of the high-rise.

"Let's not keep Miss Erica waiting."

The elevator ride was silent but thick with tension. The ambient lighting above glowed soft and golden, casting warm reflections across the metal walls. Ryan stood beside Kate, hands at his sides, the hum of anticipation coiling through his chest like a wire pulled tight.

Kate didn't speak. She didn't have to. Her presence filled the small space with poise and restrained power. One glance at her, polished black latex hugging every curve, corset laced tight, eyes forward and lips unreadable, was enough to command the air around her.

The elevator slowed, the numbers ticking upward until the display read PH.

A soft chime. The doors parted.

They stepped out into a private corridor lined with high-end fixtures, quiet art, and thick carpeting that muffled every footstep. The air smelled of polished wood and something floral, subtle but expensive.

Halfway down the hall, the sound of laughter rose.

A group of five young men rounded the corner. Dressed in fitted shirts and expensive jeans, they walked in loose formation, shoulders bumping, arms gesturing, still laughing about some shared joke. Their voices carried.

As they approached, one of them caught sight of Kate.

His smile froze mid-sentence. Then widened.

The rest followed his gaze, their laughter slowing to a murmur of surprised amusement. Eyes trailed up and down her figure, glossy black latex, high heels, perfect posture, expression unreadable. Kate didn't acknowledge them.

"Damn," one murmured under his breath, elbowing the guy beside him. "She's like a whole fever dream."

Another chuckled low. "Bet she's not walking him into a board meeting."

One of the taller men leaned in slightly, eyes lingering. "Yo, where do we sign up?"

Their comments weren't loud, but they weren't hidden either. They passed by each one giving a final glance over the shoulder as if unsure whether to be impressed, intimidated, or just intrigued.

Kate said nothing.

Instead, she walked to the door at the end of the hall, sleek, dark wood with no visible number, and knocked twice. The sound was firm, deliberate.

Then she stepped back.

Just one pace.

Leaving Ryan directly in front of the door.

He stood still. Silent. Waiting.

Behind him, Kate folded her hands neatly in front of her, her eyes locked on the door as if already knowing what, who, waited behind it.

The air in the hallway changed. He could feel it. As if the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Then, a faint click from within.

The door began to open.

Standing in the doorway was Erica.

She was tall; taller than Kate, and striking, even in stillness. Her presence hit like cold steel wrapped in silk: calm, commanding, undeniably dominant. Her outfit was minimal but intentional, black slacks, barefoot, and a loose silk blouse that shimmered faintly under the overhead light. Her expression was unreadable.

She didn't look at Ryan.

Her eyes went directly to Kate.

"How was he on the ride?" Erica asked, her voice low and smooth, measured in every syllable.

Kate smiled with quiet satisfaction. "He was very well-behaved," she said, stepping just behind Ryan's shoulder. "Obedient. Silent. Did exactly as instructed."

Erica's eyes flicked briefly over Ryan, no more than a glance, like a buyer checking condition without needing to ask the price. Then she turned, her voice drifting behind her as she walked deeper into the penthouse.

"Good. Follow me."

Kate gave Ryan a gentle nudge on his lower back. He stepped forward.

The hallway stretched long and quiet, dimly lit by recessed lighting along the ceiling. As they walked, the soft hush of their footsteps was broken only by the occasional creak of floorboards and the low hum of distant city noise through thick glass.

On either side of the hallway, doors stood open, each revealing a different kind of room.

Ryan couldn't help himself. His eyes drifted sideways with every step.

The first room held a large, black St. Andrew's Cross, mounted against a dark wall, its straps neatly buckled, the surface polished. Soft lighting cast shadows across the angles of its form.

Another room revealed a bed; ordinary at first glance, until he saw the cage beneath it, narrow and made of steel, with a small, padded mat inside.

They passed a room lined with a wall-mounted rack of paddles and floggers; each one hung with military precision. Leather. Wood. Silicone. Some were labeled. Some were clearly worn from use.

The other room, looked like a doctor's office, clinical white, with drawers, a reclining chair, metal tools, and gloves. There was even a sterile tray waiting beneath a spotlight. The scent of disinfectant lingered faintly in the air.

Ryan said nothing.

But each glance pulled at something deep inside, curiosity, nervousness, anticipation. And through it all, Kate walked behind him, composed and quiet, as if she'd seen all this a hundred times and knew exactly where they were going.

At the end of the hallway, Erica paused before the last open doorway.

The room beyond was minimalist yet striking. A glass table stood in the center—sleek, sturdy, and cool under the ambient lighting. But it wasn't the surface that caught Ryan's attention. Beneath the glass, set like a hidden layer, was a padded bench, fitted with soft leather restraints at each end. It was integrated into the structure, a shadowed space clearly meant for someone to lie restrained beneath the full view of those above.

Kate walked beside him now, her fingers brushing his arm lightly as she led him forward.

Erica turned slowly, her gaze sweeping over him at last, not with hunger, but with calculation. She said nothing. Instead, she and Kate exchanged a brief look, the kind of silent agreement that came from familiarity and shared purpose.

Then Kate stepped behind him and began to unfasten the buttons of his shirt slowly, one by one. Her fingers grazed his skin as she worked, not rushed, just deliberate. As she slid the fabric from his shoulders, Erica moved in from the front, hands finding his belt buckle. Her touch was smooth, practiced. She looked into his eyes as she undid it, and smiled, not kindly, but knowingly.

The air between the three of them shifted. Slower. Thicker.

They didn't speak. They didn't need to.

Kate's hands explored his chest and shoulders as Erica slid his pants lower. Their fingers often crossed paths, sometimes lingering on him, sometimes tracing along each other's skin. Kate leaned in to kiss his shoulder, her breath warm. Erica followed a moment later, her lips brushing just beneath his collarbone, while her hand cupped Kate's waist.

Then Kate turned her head and kissed Erica, slow and soft at first, their bodies brushing as they pressed closer. The sound of their mouths meeting was subtle, wet and warm, as their hands continued to move over Ryan's bare skin.

Erica trailed her lips from Kate's jaw to her neck before turning her attention back to Ryan, planting a slow, deliberate kiss just above his sternum.

The restraint in their touch was its own kind of intensity, measured, teasing, calculated to build tension without giving release. Ryan stood still, eyes ahead, breathing shallow, his body electric with sensation.

The bench beneath the glass table waited.

Kate broke their kiss first, her smile curling with amusement as she glanced down at the glass table and then beneath it.

Erica followed her gaze, then looked at Ryan. Her voice was calm but edged with authority.

"Down. Now."

There was no question in the command.

Kate stepped ahead and knelt beside the padded bench beneath the glass surface. Her hand swept across the leather restraints, checking buckles with the smooth efficiency of someone who'd done this many times before.

Ryan lowered himself onto the bench, the padding cool beneath his bare skin. The air was still thick with anticipation. He lay flat, his back to the bench, arms and legs settling into the waiting cuffs.

Erica and Kate moved with shared rhythm, fluid, unhurried, but with a strength that surprised him.

The cuffs closed around his wrists first tight, but not painful. Just enough to remind him they controlled everything now. Then came his ankles, spread and buckled into place. Kate adjusted one, pressing his leg just a little wider with a playful push of her palm. Erica secured the final strap and then reached up to fasten the restraint across his chest, pinning his torso firmly to the bench.

The last touch was the head strap.

It cradled the base of his skull at first, gentle, almost comforting, until Erica pulled it taut and clicked it into place. His head could no longer turn. He was locked in.

For a moment, Ryan lay still, blinking up through the glass at the ceiling light, suddenly aware of just how little control he had.

It felt clinical, like being secured to an EMS backboard after a crash. Immobilized. Helpless. Every muscle restrained. His chest could rise and fall, but nothing else moved. Not his arms. Not his legs. Not even his head.

But this wasn't rescued.

This was something else entirely.

Kate leaned over the glass table above him; her latex-clad body reflected faintly in the polished surface. Her face appeared upside down in line of sight, grinning with mischief.

"You're not going anywhere," she said playfully, tapping a fingernail against the glass.

Erica stood behind her, arms folded, watching with a look of total satisfaction. Her voice came next, low, amused, confident.

"Now we begin."

Ryan couldn't see them, at least, not entirely.

The position of the glass table and the angle of his restrained head left only the ceiling, the glow of recessed lighting, and faint reflections to tease his vision. Shadows moved above him, the occasional shift of legs, the soft creak of heels on polished floors.

Then came the first sensation: a soft thump on his chest.

A garment, Kate's blazer.

Another landed across his stomach.

Her corset.

He couldn't lift his head to see, but each article was unmistakably hers. Latex pants next, cool to the touch as they draped across his hips. One by one, Erica discarded them with deliberate aim, each piece of Kate sent flying to Ryan as a kind of gift, or more precisely, a reminder of what he couldn't see.

The rustle of movement above him continued. A small laugh from Kate, low and teasing. Then a murmur from Erica, inaudible, but indulgent.

And then came the final item.

It wasn't tossed. It was placed.

Erica knelt beside him, her presence sudden and magnetic even before she touched him. With careful precision, she draped the last piece of fabric, Kate's panties, across his face.

Not casually.

Not carelessly.

The soft, warm fabric settled perfectly over his nose and mouth, the curve of the crotch positioned just so. The scent was immediate, rich, intimate, unmistakably Kate. A mixture of skin, heat, faint perfume, and something deeper. Raw. Alive. The air he drew in passed through it, coating every breath with her essence.

The effect was instant.

Helpless, restrained, unable to look away or even turn his head, Ryan's entire world narrowed to scent and stillness.

Erica leaned close to his ear, her voice barely a whisper.

"Breathe her in."

Then she stood and walked away, heels clicking slowly.

And Ryan did.

Bound. Blind to what unfolded just beyond his reach. Surrounded by their presence but allowed nothing more than the scent left behind.

Above him, the rustle of skin against skin began again. Kisses. Laughter. The faint shift of weight as bodies met, just out of view.

The rustle above him slowed.

A pause. A presence drawing near.

Erica's silhouette leaned into his line of sight, partially through the glass, her face just at the edge, framed by soft light and shadows. She didn't kneel this time. She didn't touch him. But her voice slid through the air like silk with weight beneath it.

"Ryan," she said, quiet but direct. "We need to talk."

There was no mockery in her tone. Only certainty.

"You didn't just disappear after that night at camp. You ghosted her. Cut her off. And maybe, in your head, it felt like the right thing. You were embarrassed. You'd come too soon, lost control, and shame told you to vanish."

She circled slowly, her reflection catching now and then on the glass, broken by the curve of the table.

"But you need to understand how she thinks. Kate doesn't see that night the way you do. You were turned on, so turned on by her, by the energy between you, that you couldn't hold back. That meant something to her. You were real. Raw. Honest in a way most men aren't."

A beat passed.

Erica knelt beside him now, her fingers brushing the panties still resting over his nose. Not removing them. Just... reminding him.

"But then you blew her off. Left her wondering what she'd done wrong. And that silence? That hurt her far more than any awkward finish ever could."

Ryan stayed still; he had no choice, but his breath came a little faster now. Shame rises. Memory pressing inward.

"She found me later," Erica continued, softer now, but still sharp. "We met in a place where people come to figure out who they are, what they want. I saw how she carried that night like a thread never tied off. So, we untangled it."

She stood again, the echo of her steps moving back toward Kate.

"And now we're going to use you to finish what you started."

A faint laugh, warm but edged with intent.

"Most of her fantasies still include you, Ryan. Not because she needs you, but because part of her still wonders what it would've been like if you'd stayed."

There was quiet for a moment.

Then Erica added, almost gently, "Since that night, Kate's been active. Curious. She's played with men, women, couples... anyone who matched her energy."

A breath.

"But you... you're the only man who's ever come with her. The only one. And deep down, that stayed with her."

Ryan's breath hitched.

Erica stepped closer again.

"She believes that when a man comes, he leaves. That's what you taught her."

Silence.

Then, from somewhere just above the table, Kate's voice, soft, steady.

"Let's teach him something else."

Glass creaked softly under shifting weight.

Ryan couldn't see everything from his fixed position beneath the table, but he could feel the change, the air stirred, the pressure shifted, and the warmth of presence hovered directly above him.

Erica's voice was low but deliberate.

"Lie back."

Kate complied without hesitation. The movement was slow, deliberate, and deliberate as always. She climbed onto the glass table with a grace that made it look effortless, the latex long gone, her skin now bare against the cool surface.

The table was wide, but Kate's position was intentional, she lay lengthwise across it, head resting on her arms above, her back arching slightly, and her hips positioned near the edge. Her bare skin against glass made a soft sound as she adjusted. Her buttocks hung just past the end of the table, lifted slightly, shaped perfectly by the natural curve of her posture.

Below, Ryan's breath caught.

From his vantage point, bound, still, helpless, he was directly beneath her. Her pelvis hovered only inches from his face, the soft warmth of her radiating down through the space between glass and body. Every breath he took was laced with her scent, rich and human and dizzyingly familiar.

He couldn't move.

Couldn't lift his head.

But he could feel every pulse of blood in his body.

Kate, above him, let out a slow exhale. Her thighs relaxed, parted slightly, not in invitation, but in comfort, in ownership of the moment. She was completely at ease, fully aware of where she was and who lay beneath her.

Erica's fingers traced lightly over Kate's torso, skimming her ribs, her waist, her thighs, never hurried. She adjusted Kate's position subtly, making sure her core hovered directly over Ryan's face, close but untouched.

Erica's fingers made one final pass along Kate's thigh, then lifted away.

Her presence shifted, footsteps moving out of Ryan's limited field of vision, heels soft against the floor.

Then a sound.

Click.

A latch opened somewhere nearby, followed by the soft scrape of hinges and the unmistakable rustle of objects being moved. Ryan couldn't see her anymore, but the soundscape filled in the picture. He lay still, beneath Kate's body, the weight of her scent and warmth pressing downward like gravity, and above him, her stillness was electric.

Buzz.

A vibrator flicked on for a moment; sharp, high-pitched, and then clicked off.

"Hm. Too sharp," Erica murmured to herself, voice thoughtful, distant.

Another hum filled the air, lower, smoother, almost like a cat's purr.

"No, not enough power," she said again, the tone light, like someone picking out a wine. "Needs just the right curve... something smooth, something persuasive."

Ryan's muscles tightened against the restraints with instinct alone. He couldn't see the toys, but he could hear the selection. The casual confidence in her voice. The deliberate nature of her choices. And the waiting.

Another buzz, this one is steadier. A pause. A faint click of setting adjustment.

"Ah... there it is," Erica said finally, her voice soft and certain, as if she'd found a favorite. "Not too aggressive. Just the right amount of intensity."

She closed the case with a smooth snap, and the click of her heels returned, growing closer, slower, each step a heartbeat.

Ryan didn't know what she held.

But he knew it was for Kate.

And that he was going to feel every moment of what came next, without touching.

The sound of Erica's heels came to a stop beside the table.

Ryan couldn't see her, but he felt her reappear, the shift in Kate's breath, the subtle pause before movement resumed. Above him, Kate remained still, her skin flushed slightly now, her legs relaxed and spread just enough to show trust... or surrender.

Erica didn't speak immediately. Instead, she moved with purpose.

Leather straps slid into place around Kate's thighs, broad, smooth restraints pulled snug just above the knees, anchoring her legs to discreet brackets along the table's underside. Kate exhaled softly, a breath not of fear, but of focus. Erica buckled her wrists next, binding them gently to the table's upper corners, leaving her arms open and outstretched, like an offering.

Then came the final strap, a wide, padded band that slipped across Kate's abdomen, pressing her spine lightly against the glass, locking her hips into place just above Ryan's restrained face.

Ryan couldn't turn his head. Couldn't shift an inch. But he could feel the tension in Kate's body tighten, then melt beneath Erica's touch.

Now both were secured.

And only Erica moved freely.

She stood between them; one below the glass, one atop it, her expression calm, thoughtful, with a presence that radiated total control. But not the harsh kind. It was measured. Focused. Earned.

"Do you feel it?" she asked quietly, directing the question into the space, not at anyone. "The stillness. The silence before a storm."

Neither Ryan nor Kate answered.

Erica's hands moved to Kate's stomach, fingers gliding just under the strap. She didn't stimulate. She was reassured. Grounded. Her voice followed, slow and warm.

"You're both restrained. But restraint isn't about holding you down, it's about holding you still. So, you can feel everything."

Her hand drifted lower, pausing just above Kate's center.

"And right now..." she continued, "you're both tuned to each other. One above, one below. Helpless. Waiting."

Ryan could feel his pulse in his throat. His chest. His wrists. Every part of him responded to Erica's presence, not just her actions, but her command of the entire moment.

She didn't dominate with force. She dominated with clarity.

"You're not just tied down," Erica said, running her hand lightly down the inside of Kate's thigh. "You're held."

Then her voice lowered, almost to a whisper.

"And I hold you both."

Kate moaned softly, not from pleasure yet, but from surrender.

Ryan's breath caught.

Because it was true.

Erica didn't just control their bodies.

She had their trust, their focus, their vulnerability.

And they were exactly where she wanted them, and they wanted to be there.

The knock was soft but unmistakable.

Erica didn't flinch. She didn't even turn. Still positioned between Kate's legs, her hand resting on the curve of Kate's inner thigh, she simply called out:

"Come in."

The door creaked open, followed by footsteps, two sets. Familiar voices, now quieter, stepped into space with a mixture of hesitation and curiosity.

Instead, she turned her attention back to her task, her role undisturbed, deliberate.

She held the toy now, sleek, curved, cool. A piece of design so precise might as well have been engineered for Kate's body. Her fingers wrapped around it with practiced ease.

Ryan watched from below, his heart pounding, his senses narrowed to the glint of light on the smooth surface of the toy and the warmth above him, Kate's body, trembling slightly, held still by the straps.

Erica leaned in, her face coming into Ryan's field of vision, cool, composed, her voice just for him.

"Open wide," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "Get it wet for Kate."

There was no hesitation.

Ryan opened his mouth.

Erica brought the toy to his lips, guiding it slowly in. The surface was cool at first but quickly warmed to the heat of his tongue. He let it rest there, coating it with saliva, tasting the soft silicone as his breath deepened. His eyes stayed forward, locked on the sight of Kate above him, her legs spread, her core poised directly above his face.

He didn't know if the two men behind them were still watching. He didn't care.

This wasn't about them.

This was about her.

And Erica.

And obedience.

As Erica slowly withdrew the toy from his mouth, now warm and slick, she smiled—just slightly.

"Good boy."

From his fixed place beneath the glass, Ryan's gaze locked on the space above, the subtle glow of lighting casting soft shadows through the curved planes of Kate's body. Every inch of her was poised in tension, restrained yet fully open, vulnerable but never weak.

And then he saw it.

A small puddle, glistening just beneath the center of her, collecting against the glass where her body met the table. It had formed slowly, unnoticed at first, but now unmistakable.

It wasn't a performance. It was real.

Kate was wet.

Dripping.

Not from touch; not yet, but from anticipation alone. From power. From memory. From the man restrained beneath her and the woman holding the reins.

The sight hit Ryan hard. It wasn't crude. It was beautiful. Raw. Unapologetic. And more arousing than anything he'd ever imagined. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, but the ache in his chest and the burn of desire in his body tightened like a coil wound far too tight.

Above him, Erica moved.

She stepped in close between Kate's legs, the slick curve of the toy now in her hand, still warm from Ryan's mouth. She pressed her palm flat against Kate's thigh, grounding her gently, and positioned the toy at her entrance.

Kate trembled.

Erica spoke softly, almost to herself, or perhaps to the room.

"I was going to take my time."

She leaned in slightly.

"But she's ready."

The moment the vibrator made contact, Erica applied only light pressure, barely enough to part the slick folds.

But Kate's body responded instantly.

With a slow, almost hungry motion, her core enveloped the toy; swallowed it, inch by inch, smooth and seamless, as if her body had been waiting for this exact shape, this exact rhythm. A soft gasp escaped her lips, her hips held tight by the strap but her muscles pulling the toy deeper.

Erica held it steady.

"Look at her," she whispered, voice full of pride and promise. "She doesn't just want this, she owns it."

Kate moaned, low and rising, her eyes closed, her lips parted, her wrists pulling slightly against the straps.

And Ryan lay still beneath her, every sense tuned to the heat, the sound, the scent, and the sight of Kate above him, surrendering to sensation.

Erica's hand moved slowly, with amazing rhythm, in, then a pause, then out, just enough to let the vibrator catch and press in all the right places. The toy glided easily, slick from Kate's arousal, her body responding with tightening breaths and gentle shudders that rippled through the glass beneath her.

Kate moaned again, her voice soft but raw, her fingers curling against the restraints.

Erica leaned over, close to Kate's ear but loud enough for Ryan to hear beneath the table.

Ryan's pulse thudded in his ears.

Kate's hips tensed, a tremor rushing up her legs. Erica's hand didn't stop, still pressing in, sliding out, angled just so, hitting a spot that made Kate's thighs twitch against the straps.

Erica paused, just long enough to make them all feel the silence. Then her voice dropped lower. Another stroke of the toy, deeper, firmer.

Kate's moan rose again, unfiltered this time, her body pressing instinctively against the table, the straps flexing but holding firm. She was close on the edge of something not just physical, but emotional.

Kate's breath caught. Her body tensed in response, not from fear or doubt, but from something else.

Validation.

Erica paused her motion for the briefest second, acknowledging the words with a small, approving hum, then resumed. Slower. More deliberate. Her strokes curved inward, angled just right, the toy gliding deeper, pressing into the spot she knew Kate could barely think around.

Kate's breathing changed.

It wasn't rhythmic anymore; it broke, staggered, climbed. Her hands clenched the table's edges through the restraints, her thighs pulling against the straps not to resist, but because her body had to move. Had to react.

Her hips lifted slightly with each thrust, the tension curling in her stomach like a spring winding tighter and tighter.

A moan slipped out, higher now. Not loud, but raw. This kind of sound is made when the body begins to lose the ability to pretend. Her lips parted. Her chest heaved. Kate whimpered.

The puddle beneath her grew. Her body trembled more frequently now, held in perfect place by leather and purpose. She was seconds away, her legs quaking, her core tightening around the toy like it was part of her.

And Ryan, bound beneath her, felt it all, the heat, the pressure, the scent, the closeness. His arousal was now impossible to hide, his body surging against his restraints, not for freedom, but in awe.

Not because it was just a physical act, but because she believed; knew, it was something every woman deserved to feel at least once in her life.

Not just the orgasm. But the letting go. The moment of absolute surrender where desire becomes release, and release becomes power.

She had guided women through it with patience and precision. Taught them how to stop holding back. To trust their bodies. To let the energy build, crest, and spill.

It was never the same.

Each woman brought something different to the moment, fear, thrill, vulnerability. But the end was always the same: breathless, stunned laughter. Tears, sometimes. And always that soft, pulsing silence after, when they realized what their bodies had been capable of all along.

Now, it was Kate's turn.

Erica's hand moved in smooth, calculated strokes. She could feel the way Kate's muscles tightened, hips trembling, thighs quaking beneath her grip. She knew the moment was coming. Imminent.

Kate's cries were higher now, her restraint slipping not in her body, but in her mind. Her voice shook. Her toes curled. Her breath caught; once, twice...

Then it happened.

The first spasm rocked through her.

Her back arched as far as the straps allowed. Her cry burst free, sharp and full, her body no longer responding to rhythm but to need. Erica didn't stop. She stayed with her, steady, anchored, until...

Release.

It was sudden.

A rush of liquid gushed out with the force of something that had been held for too long. It covered Erica's hands first, then splashed against her thighs, warm and unstoppable. She welcomed it, moved with it, like riding a wave instead of bracing against it.

She smiled, not with pride, but in joy.

It mattered every time.

And this time, it was different, because Ryan was beneath them.

She watched Kate's body poured itself out, the stream trickling down the table's edge and onto him, covering his chest, his neck, his face. He didn't flinch. Didn't shy away.

He took it.

All of it.

The warmth, the wet, the reality of her desire, landing not as shame, but as a gift.

Erica's voice came soft but certain, as she reached down and gently stroked Kate's trembling thigh.

"This is what power looks like," she whispered.

Then she looked through the glass at Ryan, soaked, still, overwhelmed.

For a moment, the room held only silence.

Kate lay motionless, her chest rising and falling in fast, shallow waves. Her wrists remained bound, but her whole body had softened, sated and flushed, every muscle humming from the intensity of what had just happened.

Then, softly, she laughed.

It started as a giggle, breathy and surprised, then deepened into real laughter. Joyful. Unfiltered. The kind that came when you knew you'd just crossed a threshold and would never look back.

Erica, still kneeling between her legs, joined in, low, warm, proud. Her hand rested gently on Kate's thigh, grounding her, soothing.

"That felt so good," Kate whispered, still catching her breath, her eyes wide with afterglow. "Can we... can we do it again?"

Erica's smile was slow and wicked.

"Absolutely."

She rose to her feet with smooth, deliberate purpose, no longer the quiet, guiding presence from before. This time, her energy shifted.

Rougher.

Playful.

Dominant.

She leaned over Kate and brushed damp hair from her face, then cupped her jaw firmly.

"You naughty girl," Erica said with a smirk, her voice darker now, teasing with edge. "You couldn't even wait a full minute before begging for more."

Kate bit her lip, her smile blooming with anticipation.

Erica turned slightly, her gaze sliding down through the glass to Ryan, still bound, soaked, his eyes wide and locked on both women above him.

"And you," she said, pointing at him without looking away from Kate. "My cum-hungry little male slut."

Her words weren't cruel, they were laced with heat and control, designed to pull him deeper into submission, to tie his worth to their pleasure.

Ryan's breath hitched.

He didn't speak.

He didn't have to.

Erica was in command again, and the room was hers to orchestrate, everybody, every breath, every drop of sweat and need tuned to her design.

She reached for the toy once more, slick with warmth and memory, and smiled.

"Let's see if the second one's even messier."

Erica didn't ease into the second round.

There was no gentle buildup this time, no pause for breath or reflection. The moment Kate gave her consent, Erica was already moving, already inside her again with the toy, her pace faster, her strokes deeper.

Kate gasped; then moaned, then clung to the restraints as her body responded instantly, no longer easing toward pleasure but chasing it.

Her hips strained against the straps, her heels curling inward, her body trembling like a live wire held just beneath the surface of the glass.

Ryan watched; helpless and transfixed, his body still pinned, his senses soaked in scent, sound, and heat.

Erica's control remained perfect.

"That's right," she said, her tone sharper now, breath threaded with power. "Come for us again. Come for him."

Kate whimpered, her voice caught somewhere between a cry and a plea. Her thighs quaked, and Erica only pushed harder, the curve of the toy hitting her just right, over and over, no mercy, no hesitation.

Then it happened.

Kate exploded.

This time it wasn't just release; it was detonation. Her body bucked against the straps, every muscle tightening, then breaking into shudders so deep they made the table groan beneath her.

A surge of fluid poured from her, more than before, soaking Erica's hand, the table, and cascading through the gap until it drenched Ryan below.

He blinked through it, eyes wide, lips parted, not in shock, but awe.

Erica looked down at him through the spray and laughed, full and wicked.

"Oh, Ryan," she said, shaking her head in mock pity. "You really are a cum-hungry mess now."

Her tone was playful but pointed, her satisfaction unmistakable.

Above, Kate's body finally began to relax, trembling with aftershocks, her face flushed, glowing, stunned.

She let out a soft moan, her head rolling to one side, and then...

"Thank you, Mistress," she whispered, voice raw but reverent.

Erica smiled and leaned down, kissing her gently on the temple.

"You earned it."

And Ryan, bound below them, covered and still understood:

This wasn't just about sex.

This was devotion.