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Stephanie’s POV

His fingers found my clit like they already knew where it was seated and he rubbed on it with slow circles at first, barely there, the pad of one finger gliding over the swollen peak with maddening patience. The pills still burned through my blood, turning every nerve into a live wire. I tried to rock against his hand but the cuffs held me open and helpless. He increased the pressure by degrees, he wasn’t rushing at all and that felt like torture—he was just steady, circling deliberate friction that made my thighs shake and my breath stutter around the gag.

I couldn’t even speak, I only allowed myself to moan. I came the first time with a broken, muffled cry. My whole body locked, cunt clenching hard around nothing, wetness spilling down my thighs. I thought that would be the end of it. I was wrong.

He didn’t stop.

His touch changed—still firm, still precise, but threaded with something that felt almost like reverence. He stroked me through the aftershocks as if he had been waiting years to do exactly this. Then I suddenly felt a brush of wet heat on my nipples, his mouth closed over one breast and sucked on it, the suction was deep and hungry, his tongue flicking the nipple in the same rhythm his fingers kept on my clit. It was filled with so much passion without cruelty. I held on the chains around my hands hard, moaned loudly and breathed harder as I nutted all over his fingers again, harder, legs trembling so violently the stand rattled.

I felt his knees crash to the ground, and his hands gripped my thighs tighter. The first drag of his tongue through my folds was slow, almost lazy, like he was tasting something he intended to memorize and I bite down the hard ball in my mouth. He licked me with endless patience—broad strokes, then focused flicks directly on the oversensitive bud, then long, deliberate thrusts of his tongue inside me. Every time I climbed too high too fast he eased off just enough to keep me suspended, then built me again. I lost count of the orgasms. Each one crashed through me stronger than the last, leaving me sobbing around the gag, body jerking in the cuffs, thighs slick and shaking.

After every climax he rose, raised the gag off my mouth and pressed two fingers between my lips. He made me suck my cum clean off his fingers as I tasted my cum mixed with the rubber of the gag. Before kissing me deeply, open-mouthed, and with his tongue claiming the whole of my mouth—letting me feel the same tongue that had just made me nuts like a cheap whore. The contrast of tenderness and ownership made my eyes burn behind the blindfold but I didn't mind at all.

I had lost track of time and thoughts. My shoulders already ached. My wrists burned, and he must have noticed, because the touches gradually slowed down before stopping even though I never wanted it to stop. I heard footsteps moving away and I was completely alone. The silence around me was deafening, it felt strange that he was done with me and had left without a word. I stood in place as thoughts rushed through my head until Marshall’s familiar voice returned.

“Easy now,” he said, and a sense of relief finally washed through me.

The ball gag was unbuckled and lifted away. Cool air rushed into my mouth laced with sharp pain followed with relief. I could finally feel my mouth again. The cuffs opened next. My arms dropped like dead weight and Marshall caught them gently, rubbing the circulation back into my wrists. He took off the blindfold last, and the low orange-red light of the alcove felt blinding after so long in darkness.

Marshall handed me my dress. I pulled it on with clumsy fingers, still trembling, still wet between my thighs.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked, voice mild.

“Yes.” The word came out rough. “I didn’t want it to stop. At all.”

A small smile touched his mouth. “Will you come back?”

“I’d be glad to.”

I hesitated, then asked the only question that mattered. “Who was he?”

Marshall’s expression didn’t change. “One of our top clients. High-paying. Discreet. I’m not allowed to disclose his identity unless he chooses to reveal it himself.”

I nodded, even though curiosity burned under my skin. I didn’t push. Somehow the not-knowing felt like part of the gift.

“Thank you,” I said, and he leaned closer, tilting my head up with the back of his finger.

“Sir,” he exclaimed.

“Thank you, sir,” I said and smiled.

“That’s more like it,” he answered, and I left the lounge on unsteady legs, the bass of the club above already fading behind me. The night air outside was cool against my flushed face. A cab pulled up almost immediately. I slid into the back seat with a smile I couldn’t quite wipe off.

The entire drive my mind stayed locked on the silent man. The weight of his hands. The patience of his mouth. The way he had touched me like my pleasure was the only thing that existed. No one had ever handled my body with that combination of control and care without a word. Not once in six years. Maybe not ever, and that felt weird.

***

The hotel lobby was quiet. The elevator still groaned. Inside my room I dropped the key card on the nightstand and stood there for a long moment, replaying every second. I reached for my phone, thumb hovering over Nadia’s name, then checked the time, it was too late to call her. She would ask questions I wasn’t ready to answer out loud.

I stripped my dress off again, climbed under the thin hotel sheets naked, and closed my eyes. My body still hummed. Every time I shifted, the sheets brushed over sensitive skin and sent fresh aftershocks through me. I pressed my face into the pillow and let the memories loop—blindfold, gag, the first sharp strike, the slow circles on my clit, the way he had made me suck his fingers after each orgasm. Damn! That was crazy, probably the craziest thing I've done in my years of living. My mind whispered “sometimes, it’s good to wander out of curiosity” and a smile curved on my face.

I fell asleep still tasting him on my tongue, still feeling the ghost of his hands, and still smiling.