⚠️ CONTENT WARNINGS
This book contains adult themes intended for mature readers only (18+), including:
• Dark romance dynamics
• Consensual but extreme BDSM themes
• Power imbalance and psychological manipulation
• Emotional dependency and coercion
• Physical punishment and bodily endurance
• Non-traditional relationship structures
Chapter 1
God! I never dared to dream that this kind of life would happen to me! God! Help me! This kind of heaven is too much, I must pray ten thousand lifetimes before to be granted this in this lifetime!
…
I lay flat on the cold, unforgiving marble. I was completely still, a statue of flesh and fear. My arms and legs were utterly trapped.
My wrists and ankles were locked in thick, heavy leather cuffs.
Beneath the table, cold, unyielding steel bolts secured them. The restraints were solid, binding me absolutely.
They would not yield an inch. The constant, crushing weight pressed deeply into my skin.
It was an aching, exquisite pleasure—a constant, undeniable reminder: I belonged to them.
My neck was held rigid and immobile. A heavily padded leather frame cradled it, supporting my head.
A tight collar and harness held my body unnaturally upright and completely exposed.
The air in the cavernous room was chilly on my bare skin, raising goosebumps.
Every inch of my body, from my throat to my feet, was vulnerable, laid bare for their inspection.
The massive crystal chandelier light flickered unevenly above, casting dancing, fragmented shadows over my body.
The table, the centerpiece of their ritual, was me.
My body’s contours, my soft flesh, were the base for their opulent feast.
Platters of food, arranged with careful, artistic precision, were balanced across my stomach, thighs, and chest.
Delicate figs and ruby-red pomegranate seeds glistened moistly against my skin.
Soft, pale cheeses rested directly on my flesh, slowly cooling against my core temperature.
Each plate, each morsel, was meticulously placed and desperately precarious.
One wrong move, one tremor of my trapped limbs, would ruin the entire display.
My mouth was forced wide, painfully stretched. A clear, thick silicone ring gag held my lips taut and parted, leaving my tongue exposed.
Soft, honey wine-soaked brioche was pressed against my tongue, filling the hollow of my mouth.
I was forbidden the relief of chewing. I had to savor, passively, the sticky, decadent sweetness as it slowly melted.
Every involuntary swallow was a struggle, a deliberate, silent exercise in submission and control.
Beneath me, pressed deep inside, a sleek silicone plug vibrated softly. Its remote-controlled pulsing was a deep, internal thrum.
The low setting was steady, consistent, and never overwhelming.
But it was constant enough, a deep, persistent ache that reminded me I had surrendered everything, even my internal peace, to their command.
*
They were finally here, their presence filling the space with unspoken power.
Daemon, my fiancé, sat effortlessly at the head of the marble table. His posture was relaxed, yet his eyes were sharp, dark, and intensely possessive.
His bespoke suit and polished, expensive shoes screamed wealth and absolute power. His look down at me was private, intimate, and profoundly owning.
Declan and Aeron sat on either side of the table, flanking him. Their combined presence was commanding and absolute.
Their voices were low, a confident murmur, full of quiet, contained amusement at my predicament.
They ate with calm, assured movements. They used silver forks to slice thin pieces of meat and sipped expensive wine from crystal glasses.
I lay completely helpless beneath them, a part of the serving platter.
The silence in the room was broken only by the delicate, rhythmic clinking of their silverware against the ceramic plates.
Their conversation was casual, discussing mergers, corporate contracts, and high-stakes financial deals.
Their high-stakes world felt impossibly far away, yet I was the vulnerable, shivering submission beneath it.
I had, with open eyes and a willing heart, agreed to this ritual.
Hours before, in a different part of the room, I had knelt before them. My hands were shaking, not entirely from fear, but from a profound anticipation.
I had whispered the sacred words they required of me, the final, binding phrase: "I give myself to you. All of me. Body, mind, and soul. Tonight, I belong to the ritual."
That single, whispered vow had started everything. It was the key that unlocked this beautiful, terrible devotion.
Now, I lay motionless, bound by that very promise. My entire being was a vessel for their power, a canvas for their pleasure.
The mix of intense, confusing shame, burning desire, and absolute, unwavering devotion was a consuming fire inside me.
The room felt charged, electric with barely contained tension. I was their canvas. Their centerpiece. Their feast. Their offering.
And with every fiber of my being, I craved to be consumed.
Chapter 2
Declan's hand moved suddenly. It was a slow, deliberate, and precise movement.
He reached for a small silver tray that had been placed carefully on the marble beside his wine glass.
The tray held tools designed purely for sensation play. He selected a slender chrome rod.
The metal gleamed coldly under the chandelier's flickering light.
He dipped the rod into a crystal bowl sitting adjacent to the tray.
The bowl was full of melting ice cubes and clear water. He waited, letting the excess cold water drip deliberately off the end of the metal rod and onto the marble.
My breath caught sharply in my throat. Every muscle in my body instinctively tensed. I waited for the inevitable, icy contact.
The rod finally touched my inner thigh. The sensation was an immediate, stunning bolt of icy fire.
Every nerve ending in the area screamed out a protest. My thigh muscles involuntarily clenched hard without my command.
My legs twitched desperately against the thick, restrictive leather restraints.
I was utterly unable to escape the invading, shocking cold.
Goosebumps instantly erupted across my skin, tiny explosions rippling outward from the point of contact.
A deep, unstoppable tremor of helplessness started in my core.
They watched me. All three of them. Their eyes were unblinking, analytical, and full of proprietary interest.
Aeron's smirk was a faint, yet cutting curve of his lips. "She moved," he observed calmly. His tone was casual, yet undeniably mocking.
Declan merely shrugged, his eyes glinting with detached amusement. "Hardly. She is learning control, but the instinct is still there."
Their voices were calm. They were clinical, conversational. Their casual cruelty intensified the depth of my submission.
I swallowed hard, a painful effort. The sweet, soggy brioche was melting further in my mouth. Its sticky warmth clashed violently with the frost being left on my skin.
I wanted to scream. To beg for release. To plead for mercy. But the solid silicone gag held me silent, trapping the noise inside my throat.
Inside, my mind was a vortex of chaos—a frantic swirl of profound fear and intense, dark desire.
The cold, intrusive rod was a sharp reminder: I was completely helpless.
My body's involuntary, desperate reactions were merely their display.
Declan withdrew the rod, but did so agonizingly slowly. The ice water dripped in a thin, cold stream down my leg. It was a slow, cruel, deliberate trail.
Aeron leaned closer to Daemon. His voice was low and businesslike. "The market is unstable. We need her to hold steady. No cracks in the structure."
Their talk was always of business, of high finance. It was the detached, clinical backdrop to my sensual torment.
It confirmed that this entire event was a serious, non-negotiable ritual. It was absolute ownership, expressed through sensation.
I trembled beneath them, yet I paradoxically embraced the frozen fire.
The line between pain and pleasure was completely, hopelessly entwined.
Daemon did not look at me. He was focused on his wine glass. He casually tapped a button on his sophisticated phone.
“Nghhh!”
A sudden, jarring surge of power hit deep inside my core. My breath instantly caught in my throat. The vaginal plug pulsed sharply, repeatedly.
It felt violently aggressive, like tiny, rapid knives flickering erratically beneath my skin.
I choked violently on the honeyed bread. Muffled, desperate sounds were instantly trapped and distorted by the silicone gag.
My eyes welled up with involuntary tears, instantly blurring the chandelier lights above.
My whole body began to tremble hard, a full-body shudder against the unyielding leather restraints.
Daemon calmly swirled his wine glass, watching the red liquid cling to the sides. His voice was completely calm. It sounded almost bored.
"The Paris merger finalizes after Q3," Daemon stated flatly. "That one was a headache from the start."
Declan nodded in agreement. "The CEO almost walked out on the deal entirely."
Aeron smirked dismissively. "Typical. We always get the messy ones who resist the inevitable."
My stomach muscles tightened further, desperately trying to contain the internal shock.
The intense vibration rhythm suddenly changed again. It sped up aggressively, then suddenly slowed to an agonizing crawl.
It was completely unpredictable, cruelly designed to deny me any chance of adapting.
I bit down hard on the soft bread, tearing the delicate tissue inside my mouth, struggling with absolute silence.
Daemon finally looked up, his eyes lifting to meet my terrified gaze.
His eyes darkened with cold, proprietary satisfaction at my visible distress.
"You're handling this well," Daemon observed, his voice commendatory yet detached. "No major tremors this time."
I swallowed hard, struggling silently to hold my body perfectly steady against the internal assault.
Declan leaned forward, observing my clamped lips. "She’s tougher than last time," he commented, as if discussing a physical specimen.
Aeron grinned, a flash of white teeth. "Or maybe she's just learning exactly what we expect from her now."
The intense vibration hit another sudden, sharp spike. My hips twitched involuntarily against the marble surface, a small, pathetic jerking motion.
A sharp, audible gasp was caught and muffled by the restrictive silicone.
"Good girl," Daemon mouthed, silently shaping the words. His voice, though silent, felt soft but absolutely firm in my head.
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