Chapter 16: Toy Testing Gone Wild
The dinner at her grandparents’ villa was a warm, boisterous affair that stretched long into the Milanese night. Platters of pasta al pomodoro and osso buco were passed, wine flowed—sparkling water for Gabby—and Hyukjae endured good-natured interrogation from Nonno Claudio about football, family, and his intentions, all while enduring the pinch of his nonna’s cheeks every time he took a bite.
They returned to the apartment sated and sleepy, but Gabby’s energy had shifted. A restless, mischievous glint had replaced the serene contentment of the afternoon. As Hyukjae shrugged out of his jacket, she caught his hand.
“We’re going out,” she announced, her voice low.
He blinked. “Now? It’s almost eleven.”
“Exactly. The city’s alive. And I’m not tired.” She stepped closer, the silk of her emerald-green maternity dress whispering against his shirt. “I want to show you something. A place my cousin Luca told me about.”
There was a challenge in her eyes, the same one he’d seen in the hotel bathroom. It brooked no argument. Twenty minutes later, they were in a taxi winding through narrower, darker streets, away from the elegant boulevards. The driver dropped them in front of a nondescript black door nestled between a shuttered café and a graffiti-tagged wall. A single, small, crimson light glowed above the frame.
“Gabby, where is this?” Hyukjae asked, his hand instinctively finding the small of her back.
“A specialty boutique,” she said, a secret smile playing on her lips. She pressed a buzzer. A moment later, the door clicked open.
Inside, the air changed. It was cool, quiet, and smelled of sandalwood and polished leather. The space was deceptively chic, more like a high-end minimalist gallery than a shop. Glass cases held artfully arranged items whose functions became clear upon a second glance. Hyukjae felt a flush creep up his neck.
A woman with severe silver hair and a black sheath dress approached. “Signora Walker,” she said with a nod, her eyes flicking to Hyukjae. “Your private fitting room is ready.”
“Grazie, Elena.”
The fitting room was a revelation. It was larger than their bedroom back in Seoul, a velvet-draped sanctuary. The lighting was dim, amber, pooling in the thick carpet. One entire wall was a mirror. In the center of the room, on a low, round dais, sat an object that made Hyukjae’s breath catch. It was a Sybian, its sleek black vinyl curves and prominent, phallic attachment looking both clinical and profoundly obscene.
Gabby didn’t hesitate. She let her coat fall to the floor. Without breaking eye contact with him in the mirror, she walked to the dais, hiked up her emerald dress, and straddled the machine. The sight was utterly arresting: her lush, pregnant body, the vibrant silk bunched at her waist, the powerful, silent machine beneath her. She reached down, flicked a switch.
A low, resonant hum filled the room.
She gasped, her head tilting back. Her hips began to move in a slow, instinctive roll, grinding herself against the vibrating protrusion. The silk over her belly shimmered with the motion.
“Luca said they had the best… private collections,” she breathed, her voice already thrumming with the machine’s vibration. “He said a man should know how to please his wife. In all ways.”
Hyukjae was rooted to the spot, mesmerized. The raw, visual display of her pleasure, here in this plush, secret room, was more potent than any direct touch. He watched the muscles in her thighs flex, saw the telltale flush spreading across her chest.
Her eyes opened, dark and blazing. She looked at his reflection. “Don’t just stand there. Come here.”
He moved as if pulled by a string. He stood before her, close enough to feel the subtle tremor in the air from the humming device. She was biting her lower lip, her breaths coming shorter.
“In the case by the door,” she managed, her hips never stopping their rhythmic undulation. “There are rings. Bring them to me.”
He found the case. Inside, on a bed of black velvet, lay an array of cock rings in various materials—sleek silicone, cool metal, black leather. Some were simple bands, others were intricate, studded, or attached to vibrating bullets.
He carried the case over. She glanced down, her hand pausing its exploration of her own breast. She pointed with a trembling finger to one made of heavy, polished steel with a small, flat egg-shaped attachment. “That one. Put it on.”
His fingers fumbled with the cool metal. He undid his pants, his erection springing free, already painfully hard. Slipping the ring over himself felt both ritualistic and deeply taboo. It tightened at the base of his shaft, a constant, faint pressure that intensified the blood trapped there. The cold egg nestled against his perineum.
She watched him, her grinding becoming more urgent, more focused. “Good,” she purred. “Now turn it on. The button on the side.”
He found it. A soft buzz emanated from the egg, a counterpoint to the deeper vibration of the machine beneath her. The dual stimulation was immediate and intense. A groan ripped from his throat.
Gabby’s smile was victorious, wicked. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the console of the Sybian, presenting the full, glorious curve of her ass to him. The green silk was a mere veil. “Fuck me,” she commanded, her voice guttural. “Fuck me right now. I want to feel that thing inside you when you’re inside me.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He pushed the slippery fabric of her thong aside. She was drenched, her folds slick and swollen from the machine’s relentless attention. He guided himself to her entrance, the buzzing ring a strange, insistent against his skin.
He pushed in.
The sensation was catastrophic. The tight, wet heat of her, already fluttering from her own stimulation, was joined by the maddening vibration transferred through his body and directly into hers. She screamed, a raw, shattered sound that echoed off the mirrored walls. Her inner muscles clenched around him in a fierce, rhythmic pulse.
He set a brutal pace, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks. Each thrust drove the buzzing egg harder against him, each withdrawal was agony. The mirror showed him everything: the desperate hunger on his face, the magnificent heave of her body, the way her breasts swayed with every punishing drive.
“Yes! God, yes, just like that!” she shrieked, her words dissolving into meaningless, sobbing chants. “Deeper! Fuck, I can feel it everywhere!”
He was losing himself, the combined sensations short-circuiting his control. The room was filled with the sounds of their colliding bodies, the dual electronic hums, her cries, his guttural grunts. The mirrored walls created a fracturing infinity of the act, surrounding them with endless, pounding reflections.
He reached around her, his fingers finding her clit, already swollen and throbbing. The touch sent her over the edge. Her climax was a violent, seismic event. Her whole body seized, her back arching wildly, a guttural wail tearing from her throat as she convulsed around him, milking his shaft in wave after wave of paralyzing contractions.
It was too much. The visual, the physical, the overwhelming sensory overload. With a final, ragged shout, Hyukjae buried himself to the hilt and came. His release felt explosive, wrenched from the very core of him, spurred by the relentless vibration. He pulsed inside her, his vision whiting out, his body held rigid by the intense, drawn-out pleasure.
Slowly, the world bled back in. The hum of the Sybian was still there. Gabby had slumped forward, her forehead resting on the machine’s console, her body trembling with aftershocks. Hyukjae, breathing like a sprinter, carefully withdrew, the sensitivity almost painful. He fumbled with the ring, finally releasing the clasp, the sudden cessation of vibration leaving a strange silence.
He helped her off the machine, her legs wobbling. He lowered them both to the thick carpet, his back against the dais, cradling her in his lap. Her dress was ruined, soaked and crumpled. His own clothes were in disarray. They were a mess. A beautiful, satiated, perfect mess.
In the mirror, he saw their reflection: a young man, dazed and spent, holding a heavily pregnant woman whose face was buried in his neck, a smile of utter conquest on her swollen lips. The sleek, obscene machine loomed beside them, a silent witness.
“So,” she mumbled into his skin, her voice hoarse. “What do you think of my cousin’ boutique?”
He barked a laugh, the sound rough in his raw throat. “Remind me to thank Luca,” he managed. “Profusely.”
She chuckled, the vibration pleasant against his chest. They sat there in the quiet, decadent room for a long while, listening to each other’s hearts slow. The dinner with her family, the old-world opulence of the villa, felt like a lifetime ago. This was their world now. A secret, velvet-lined universe of their own making.
Finally, with a groan, Hyukjae moved. “We should go. Before they charge us for the room by the hour.”
She stood, wincing slightly, and smoothed down her dress with a futile gesture. “Too late. I already bought the ring.”
He looked at her, stunned. “What?”
She gestured to the steel ring on the carpet. “It’s ours now. A souvenir.” She leaned down, picked it up, and dropped it into her small purse with a definitive click. “Consider it… training equipment.”
He just shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face as he helped her into her coat. As they stepped back out into the cool, anonymous Milanese night, the mundane sounds of the city felt like a return from another planet. He hailed a taxi, his hand never leaving the warm, solid curve of her back.
In the backseat, she leaned her head on his shoulder. “Nonna asked me when we’re getting you a proper suit,” she murmured, half-asleep. “For the baby’s baptism.”
He stared out the window at the passing lights, the ghost of the vibration still humming in his bones. The future—the suit, the baptism, the looming reality of fatherhood—felt both immense and perfectly simple. It was the next play. And as long as she was in his arms, still smelling of sandalwood and sex and endless, shocking possibility, he knew exactly how to move.
“We’ll get one,” he whispered into her hair, the promise settling into the quiet dark. “Whatever you want.”
The silence in the taxi was soft, filled with the hum of the engine and the glow of passing streetlights painting stripes across their laps. Gabby’s hand slid from his knee to his thigh, her fingers tracing a slow, idle pattern through the fabric of his trousers. “You know,” she said, her voice a sleepy murmur, “I think I’m going to need another bath when we get in.”
Hyukjae smiled, his head resting against the cool window. “Another one? The tub in Milan wasn’t enough?”
“That was days ago.” Her fingers crept higher. “And my back aches. The steam helps.”
He knew it wasn’t just her back. The past week since returning to Seoul had been a cycle of deep, sudden cravings. She’d wake in the dead of night, her body arching into his, her mouth hot and demanding against his neck. Fill me, she’d gasp, her hands already guiding him inside before he was fully awake. Her hunger was a tangible force, a third presence in their bed.
“It’s the baby,” she’d whispered once, after a particularly slow, drowsy coupling. “Making me greedy.” Hyukjae never complained, pouring all his exhausted adoration into her. But a thread of worry had begun to weave itself through his satisfaction. He wanted to be enough.
The apartment was dark and still. While Gabby ran the bath, he stood in the kitchen, staring into the shadowed recesses of a cabinet. His fingers found the small, unlabeled bottle tucked behind the tea canisters. The so-called “harmless aphrodisiac” from the boutique—a clear, viscous oil Luca had sworn by. Hyukjae had used it once before, a single drop on his tongue, and the resulting intensity had left them both breathless and sore.
He stared at the bottle. He thought of her midnight whispers, the desperate clutch of her hands. He wanted to drown her in sensation, to be the source of her fulfillment, to quiet the insatiable thing growing inside her. He unscrewed the cap.
He took two drops this time.
The heat was immediate, a slow bloom in his stomach that spread like molten gold through his veins. By the time he reached the bathroom, his skin felt two sizes too small, every nerve ending sensitized to the humid, rose-scented air. Gabby was submerged to her chin, her hair piled loosely on her head, her breasts buoyant and pale in the water. Her eyes tracked him as he entered, dark and knowing.
“You took it again,” she stated, not asked.
He didn’t pretend. “Yes.”
A slow smile spread across her face. She lifted a leg from the water, the droplets catching the low light. “Come in then. I’m ready.”
He stripped, his movements quick, his erection already a fierce, aching line against his stomach. The water sloshed violently as he sank in behind her, the heat searing his overheated skin. She settled back against his chest with a sigh, her ass cradling his cock. The feel of her, slick and heavy and real, sent a jagged bolt of need through him.
“It’s starting,” he rasped into her ear, his hands sliding down to cradle the impossible swell of her belly. “I can feel it.”
She ground back against him, a slow, deliberate rotation. “Good.” Her hand disappeared below the water, between her own legs. He watched her fingers move, saw her breath hitch. “Fuck, I’m so wet already. Just thinking about you on that stuff.”
He couldn’t wait. He nudged her hand aside and guided himself into her with one smooth, sinking thrust. The wet, tight clutch of her was absolute, overwhelming. A raw, punched-out sound left his throat.
“Yes,” she hissed, her head falling back onto his shoulder. “God, that’s it. Don’t you dare be gentle.”
He obeyed. His hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and he set a deep, relentless rhythm. The water surged and slapped against the porcelain walls with each driving motion. The aphrodisiac twisted the pleasure into something sharper, more desperate. Every sensation was magnified: the slap of skin, the clench of her internal muscles, the scent of her sweat mingling with the roses.
“Talk to me,” she demanded, her voice ragged. “Tell me how it feels.”
“Like you’re fucking milking me,” he groaned, his vision spotting at the edges. “Like your cunt is trying to swallow me whole.”
“It is,” she panted, her own hands braced on the tub’s edge, pushing back against him to take him deeper. “I want every drop. Give it to me. Fill me up.”
His control was a fraying wire. The drug, her words, the crushing heat of the water—it converged into a single point of blinding pressure. His pace became punishing, animalistic. The sounds were obscene, wet and fleshy and loud in the tiled room.
“I’m gonna come,” he warned, his voice breaking.
“Do it,” she snarled. “Come inside me. Pump it deep.”
He shattered. His orgasm tore through him, a convulsive, racking expulsion that seemed to have no end. He held her locked to him, pulsing, his shout echoing off the walls. She cried out a moment later, her body seizing around his in a series of violent, fluttering contractions, her nails scraping against the porcelain.
The water stilled. The only sounds were their ragged breaths and the distant drip of the tap. He stayed inside her, softening, spent. The intense, drug-fired urgency ebbed, leaving a hollow, trembling fatigue. He nuzzled into her damp neck.
“Was that…” he started, his voice hoarse.
“Perfect,” she finished, her own voice thin with exhaustion. She leaned her full weight back against him. “Just perfect.”
He helped her wash, his movements tender now, reverent. He dried her carefully, lotioned her stretched skin, and led her to bed. She was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow, a deep, untroubled sleep he hadn’t seen in weeks. He lay awake beside her, the chemical fire in his blood gradually cooling to an ache. His hand rested on her belly, where a faint, fluttering kick answered his touch. He stared at the ceiling, satiated and hollow, wondering what he had just fed, and if it would ever be enough.