Chapter 4: Afternoon Delight
The afternoon sun through the glass ceiling was a solid, heavy gold, bleaching the vibrant greens of the garden into something surreal and dreamlike. Jamie sat on the same cushioned bench, the memory of her morning orgasm a faint, buzzing ghost in her nerves. Nico stood before a low cabinet she hadn’t noticed before, its dark wood blending with the foliage. The distant jazz from hidden speakers was a lazy, saxophone-driven hum.
Luca hadn’t come to the garden. She’d heard his footsteps pause in the hallway an hour ago, then move on. A strange, hollow disappointment had settled in her chest, which Nico had observed with a quiet, knowing look.
“He’ll watch when he’s ready,” Nico had said, running a hand through her hair. “For now, you have me. And today, you won’t.”
Now, he turned from the cabinet, his hands full. A simple black blindfold. A leather-bound spreader bar, the cuffs soft and lined. Her breath hitched.
“Sensory deprivation,” Nico explained, his tone clinical, the trainer reasserting himself. “Your other senses will sharpen. You’ll feel everything more acutely. And you’ll learn to listen for my voice above all else.” He knelt before her. “Lift your hips.”
She obeyed, and he slid her soft pants and panties down her legs in one smooth motion. The warm, humid air kissed her exposed skin, a shocking intimacy. He guided her feet through the cuffs at each end of the bar, buckling them snugly around her ankles. The bar itself was short, maybe eighteen inches, forcing her legs apart in a wide, vulnerable V. The position made her flush with immediate, helpless exposure.
“Stand up,” Nico said, helping her rise.
It was awkward. The bar kept her gait wide, unsteady. She felt utterly open, the heart of her on display. He led her the few steps back to the bench and gently pushed her down onto the edge, so her ass was perched and her spread legs left her completely accessible.
“Now, the blindfold.”
The world vanished into a profound, velvety black. Instantly, the sounds amplified: the trickle of the fountain became a rushing stream; the rustle of Nico’s clothes was like sandpaper. The scent of jasmine turned cloying, thick. Her own heartbeat was a drum in her ears.
“Your only job is to count,” his voice came, moving to her right. It was the only fixed point in the dark. “Count each stroke aloud. Clearly. If you lose count, we start from zero. Reach twenty, and you get a reward. My mouth on your cunt for one full minute. Understand?”
“Yes,” she breathed, her voice small.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Nico.”
The first touch was so light it was almost nothing. A whisper against her inner thigh. A feather. It traced a maddening, tickling path upward, dancing along her labia, skirting her clit. She jerked, a gasp escaping.
“One,” she managed.
The feather dipped, flicking once, twice, over her sensitive opening, already slick from fear and anticipation. “Two. Three.”
Then it was gone. The anticipation in the silence was worse. She waited, every muscle taut.
The next sensation was a complete, shocking contrast. Not a whisper, but a crack. A sudden, sharp slap of leather against the tender skin of her inner thigh. It stung, a bright, clean pain that blossomed into heat. She cried out.
“Four!” she yelled, her body trying to clench, the spreader bar holding her fast.
“Good,” Nico’s voice was approving. “Feel the difference.”
He alternated. The teasing, tortuous feather tracing circles around her nipple through the thin fabric of her top, making it pebble into an aching point. “Five.” Then the flogger, its falls landing with a soft, percussive thud on the same nipple, the pain radiating deep into her breast. “Six!”
He moved with methodical precision. Feather on her clit, a barely-there torture. “Seven.” Flogger on her other thigh. “Eight.” She was panting, adrift in a black sea of sensation, her skin alive with conflicting signals—tingling arousal, sharp stings, the overwhelming vulnerability of being bound and blind.
“Fifteen,” she chanted, her voice shaking. The flogger had just landed a series of rapid, stinging strikes across her mound, making her juice drip onto the bench beneath her. “Sixteen.” The feather was tracing her slit, gathering wetness.
“Seventeen.” A hard slap on her ass cheek.
“Eighteen.” The feather-tip circling her asshole, making her jolt.
“Nineteen.” The flogger, landing squarely on her pussy lips, a burst of pain-pleasure so intense she saw stars behind the blindfold.
Silence. He was drawing it out. She was trembling, her skin humming, her cunt throbbing and empty. The minute felt eternal.
Then, his breath, warm against her wet flesh. “Twenty,” he said for her, and his mouth was on her.
It was not like before. This was deliberate, technical, and devastating. He didn’t just lick; he lapped at her like she was the only source of water in a desert, his tongue flat and broad, coating himself in her taste. He sucked her clit into the heat of his mouth, applying a steady, rhythmic pressure, his nose buried in her curls. The groan he let out vibrated through her entire body.
The minute was measured in heartbeats, in the relentless, perfect cadence of his tongue circling and sucking. He was mapping her, learning what made her hips twitch and what made her moan. The orgasm built terrifyingly fast, a tight, screaming coil in her gut. She was on the edge, tipping over—
He pulled away.
The denial was a physical shock. A whimper, raw and desperate, tore from her throat. She heard him spit, a wet sound in the quiet.
“Not yet,” he murmured, his lips brushing her inner thigh. Then his mouth was back, even more focused, sucking her swollen clit, darting his tongue inside her. He brought her right back to that trembling brink, her toes curling, her hands gripping the edge of the bench, a silent scream building in her chest.
He stopped again.
“Please,” she sobbed, the word ripped from her. “Nico, please.”
“Ask nicely.”
“Please let me come. Please.”
“Again.”
“Please, I need to come, please, I’ll do anything!”
His mouth returned, a mercy and a torture. This time, as she careened toward the edge, she felt something else. The cool, slick head of something broader than a tongue, thicker, nudging at her entrance. A toy. Silicone, from the feel. He pushed it slowly into her as his tongue worked her clit, filling the aching emptiness, stretching her deliciously. The dual sensation was unbearable. He fucked her with the toy in a slow, deep rhythm, in and out, while his mouth never ceased its ruthless attention.
“Luca’s here,” Nico whispered against her, his voice hot and wet. “He’s been watching from the doorway for the last five minutes. He’s watching me eat this sweet cunt. He’s watching you squirm on this fake cock. He’s seeing how pretty you look blindfolded and spread wide for us.”
The image, the knowledge, was the final detonation. Her orgasm exploded without permission, a convulsive, shattering wave that ripped a scream from her lungs. It was different—deeper, longer, racking her entire frame with pulses so intense they were almost painful. She felt the gush, the hot release soaking the bench, Nico’s chin, her own thighs. She couldn’t stop it, couldn’t control the animal sounds she was making as the toy and his mouth wrung her out, stroke after stroke, until she was a boneless, sobbing thing held up only by the bar and his hands on her hips.
Finally, he slowed. The toy slipped out. He gently removed the blindfold.
The light was a brutal assault. She blinked, tears streaming. The first thing she saw was Nico, kneeling before her, his mouth and chin glistening with her release, his green eyes dark with satisfaction. He leaned in and kissed her stomach, tenderly.
Then her gaze shifted to the archway of the garden.
Luca stood there, leaning against the frame, one hand in his pocket. He was still in his tailored trousers and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up. His expression was unreadable, a mask of cool observation, but his blue eyes were locked on the mess between her legs, on Nico’s marked face, with a hunger so profound it felt like a physical touch. The bulge straining against his fly was unmistakable.
He didn’t speak. He simply watched as Nico unbuckled the spreader bar, rubbing feeling back into her ankles, as he cleaned her with a warm, damp cloth fetched from the fountain’s edge. Nico lifted her, cradling her against his chest, and carried her past Luca.
As they passed, Luca’s hand shot out, not to stop them, but to stroke a finger, once, through the damp hair at her temple. His touch was electric.
“Good girl,” he said, his voice low and rough. The praise, coming from him in that moment, felt more valuable than any orgasm.
Nico carried her to the bedroom, laid her in the center of the vast bed, and stretched out beside her, pulling her into the shelter of his body. She was drifting, consciousness fraying at the edges.
Through the haze, she heard the bedroom door open and close. Luca’s footsteps. The sound of his belt being undone. The whisper of fabric. Then the bed dipped heavily behind her. A hard, hot body pressed against her back, skin to skin. Luca’s bare chest. His rigid cock nestled against her ass.
He didn’t take her. He just held her, one arm slung over her hip, his hand coming to rest possessively on her lower belly. Nico held her from the front, his breath evening out into sleep.
Sandwiched between them, sated and shattered, Jamie hovered on the edge of sleep. The last clear thought she had was that this, this exact configuration of heat and weight and unspoken possession, felt more like a claim than any contract her family had signed. And the most terrifying part was the deep, quiet part of her that wanted to sign it too, in her own blood, forever.b
She woke to fingers in her hair, pulling just enough to tilt her head back. The room was dark, but not the deep black of night—the heavy drapes were drawn against a city twilight, the only light a muted amber from the ensuite bathroom. Luca’s scent, whiskey and clean sweat, filled the air around her. Nico’s warmth was gone from her front.
“You looked so beautiful coming for Nico, bella mia.” Luca’s voice was a low rasp right against her ear. His other hand splayed over her lower belly, pressing down possessively. “Spread wide. Vulnerable. Begging. So fucking beautiful.” He bit her earlobe, sharp and sudden. “You’re going to come again.”
Before she could form a thought, he was moving. He rolled her onto her back and pulled her up the bed. Nico appeared at the bedside, his silhouette holding a small black duffel. The contents clinked as he dropped it onto the mattress.
Luca’s hands were swift and efficient. He pulled her wrists above her head and snapped cold metal cuffs around them, attaching a short chain to the ornate headboard. The spreader bar from the garden reappeared, and he buckled her ankles into the cuffs, legs forced wide once more. The exposure was instant, a flush of cold air and hotter shame washing over her skin.
“You get to come as much as you want tonight,” Luca said, his tone almost conversational as he rummaged in the bag. “But you need to count your orgasms, bella. Each one. Out loud.” He pulled out the tools: a large, menacing Hitachi wand, two smaller bullet vibrators, and a sleek black silicone plug. “We lose count, we start over. Understand?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Luca.”
He attached the two smaller vibrators first. He peeled the lace of her top down, baring her breasts. The cool, smooth silicone circles were placed directly on her stiffened nipples, the adhesive back holding them fast. They looked like obscene, mechanical buds. He turned one on. A sharp, localized buzz made her gasp, her back arching off the sheets. Then the other. The dual vibration was an immediate, piercing demand.
Then, the Hitachi. He pressed the broad, rounded head directly against her clit, already swollen from the afternoon’s abuse. He used a length of the Velcro strap to bind it in place, wrapping it tightly around her thighs and over the wand’s handle, locking the intense pressure against her most sensitive flesh. The mere threat of it being turned on made her whimper.
“Now, this,” Luca murmured. He uncapped a bottle of lube, coating the tapered plug. His other hand gripped her ass cheek, squeezing. “Relax.” The cool, slick tip nudged against her other hole. She tensed, a shocked sound catching in her throat. “I said relax.” He pressed, inexorable, and the thick silicone head popped past the tight ring of muscle. The burn was brief, shocking, then replaced by a profound, stretching fullness as he worked the entire plug inside her. It seated deep, the flared base resting against her.
Her body was trussed, pierced, and filled. A live wire of anticipation thrummed through her veins. Luca leaned over her, his blue eyes capturing hers. He kissed her, deep and searching, his tongue mapping her mouth. She could taste the whiskey, the dark promise.
He pulled back an inch. “Count, Jamie.”
He flipped the switch on the Hitachi.
The world exploded into a white-hot roar of sensation. The wand didn’t vibrate; it thrummed with a brutal, industrial power that attacked her clit with the force of a jackhammer. The two bullets on her nipples became drilling needles of pleasure-pain. The plug inside her ass came alive, a deep, internal buzzing that seemed to shake her very bones.
Her first orgasm was ripped from her in under ten seconds. It was less a wave and more a seizure, a violent, involuntary convulsion that tore a ragged scream from her throat. Her cunt clenched around nothing, gushing wetness onto the sheets beneath her. “ONE!” she shrieked, the number a desperate prayer.
The machines didn’t stop. The vibrations were relentless, unfeeling, dragging her sensitive, spasming flesh back up the peak almost immediately. The second climax followed fast, a dizzying, crushing cascade that made her vision blur. “TWO! THREE!” She couldn’t tell where one ended and the next began. Her hips bucked against the restraints, a frantic animal trying to escape the very pleasure that was destroying her.
“Fuck, look at her,” Nico growled. She barely heard him over the buzzing and her own cries.
Luca was watching her face, his own a mask of rapt obsession. He unbuckled his pants, freeing his cock. It was fully erect, thick and gleaming. He didn’t touch her. He turned to Nico, grabbing the back of his neck. “You need this,” Luca stated, a rough command.
He pushed Nico onto the bed beside her, yanking his jeans down. Luca spat into his palm, slicked himself, and without ceremony, pressed the head of his cock against Nico’s entrance. Nico braced, a sharp intake of breath, then a low, grinding groan as Luca pushed in, fucking into him with a slow, powerful thrust.
The sight unhinged her. Luca, powerful and dominant, fucking into Nico’s body, both of them watching her come apart. Nico’s face was turned toward her, his green eyes glassy with pleasure, his teeth bared. He reached over and pinched one of her vibrating nipples, sending a fresh lance of agony-ecstasy through her.
Another orgasm detonated, a scorching wave that felt like it peeled her skin off. “FOUR! FIVE! SIX!” she sobbed. She was drenched, the sheets beneath her a soaking mess. The sensations were merging into a continuous, unbearable scream of nerve endings. “Please… Luca… it’s too much…”
“Count,” he grunted, his rhythm against Nico never faltering.
“SEVEN! EIGHT!” The numbers were becoming screams. She was begging now, tears streaming into her hairline. “NINE! Please, stop, I can’t, I can’t remember—”
The vibrations ceased.
The sudden silence was louder than the noise. Her body throbbed in the aftermath, a phantom buzzing in her teeth. She gasped, shuddering, overwhelmed by the reprieve.
Nico gently pulled the adhesive vibrators from her nipples. The cool air on the wet spots was a shock. He looked at her, his face softening for a fraction of a second before his enforcer’s mask slid back into place. “Dolcezza,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You lost count, baby.”
Her heart plummeted into her stomach. A cold dread washed through the heat.
“So the orgasms continue,” Nico said, stroking her thigh, “until you remember how to count.” He leaned close, his lips brushing her ear. “Then you get your punishment. And that,” he whispered, a dark thrill in his voice, “I’m going to absolutely love giving you with Luca.”
Luca withdrew from Nico with a wet sound. He loomed over Jamie, his cock still hard, glistening. He reached down and turned the Hitachi back on, setting it to a lower, still relentless setting. The buzzing started again, a deep, threatening purr against her overstimulated clit. A fresh, helpless moan crawled from her throat.
“Start remembering, bella,” Luca said, his thumb wiping a tear from her cheek. “We have all night.”
The low, relentless buzz of the Hitachi was a taunt. It wasn’t the brutal jackhammer from before, but a deep, pervasive thrum that kept her clit in a state of agonizing alert, a live wire mere seconds from sparking. Her entire body felt flayed raw, every nerve ending exposed to the cool air and their watching eyes. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, tracking into her hair.
“Please,” she whispered, the word barely audible over the hum.
“Please what, dolcezza?” Nico’s voice was gentle, a cruel contrast. He trailed a single fingertip up her inner thigh, through the slick mess she’d already made. “You know what you need to do.”
Luca moved then, a shift of weight on the bed. He knelt between Nico’s spread legs, his back a canvas of tension and tattoos. He spat into his palm again, slicking his cock, which was still hard and angry-looking. He positioned himself, his eyes on Nico’s face. “Look at her while I do this,” Luca commanded, his voice gravel. “Watch her fall apart.”
He pushed into Nico in one long, steady invasion. Nico’s head fell back, a sharp groan tearing from him, his hands fisting the sheets. His green eyes, heavy-lidded with pleasure, locked onto Jamie’s wide, desperate ones. Luca began to fuck him in earnest, a hard, driving rhythm that made the bed frame creak. The sound was obscene, wet and physical, a counterpoint to the electric buzz between her legs.
The sight was a seizure to her senses. Luca’s powerful hips pistoning, the dense muscle of his ass clenching with each thrust. Nico taking it, his body yielding and welcoming, his own cock thick and leaking onto his stomach. The raw masculinity of it, the unfiltered hunger between them, was more arousing than any touch. A fresh, hot gush of her own arousal seeped out around the plug, mingling with the earlier mess.
The coil in her gut, never truly gone, wound tighter, fed by this visual feast. Her breath came in short, sharp pants. An orgasm began to build, a third wave in this endless sea. She choked it back, fear a cold knife in her throat. She couldn’t come. She couldn’t lose count again. The numbers were a tangled knot in her mind.
“She’s close, Luca,” Nico grunted, his voice strained.
“I see her.” Luca hammered into him harder, his own control fraying. “Count it, Jamie. Give us the number.”
Her vision swam. The sensations merged—the deep vibrations in her clit and ass, the pounding of Luca into Nico, the desperate need to obey. The pressure reached its breaking point. A silent scream built in her chest. Her body arched, the cuffs biting into her wrists.
And then, watching Luca’s mouth fall open in a silent snarl as he buried himself to the hilt, watching Nico’s hand fly to his own cock to stroke in frantic time, the numbers suddenly unscrambled. They clicked into place, clean and precise as a gunshot.
“TEN!” she screamed, the word ripping through the room, louder than the buzz, louder than the slap of skin on skin.
Everything stopped.
Luca froze, buried deep inside Nico. Nico’s hand stilled on his cock. A beat of profound silence rang out, broken only by Jamie’s ragged sobs.
Slowly, a wicked, approving smile spread across Luca’s sweat-sheened face. He withdrew from Nico with a deliberate slowness. “Again,” he said, his voice dangerously soft.
“Ten,” Jamie repeated, a whimper now, but clear. “It was ten. I remember. It was ten.”
Luca looked at Nico. A silent communication passed between them. Nico nodded, once.
In a single, fluid motion, Luca reached down and ripped the Velcro strap holding the Hitachi. He tossed the wand aside, where it thrummed uselessly into the mattress. He unfastened the spreader bar, then the cuffs on her wrists. His hands were rough, urgent, but not cruel. He manhandled her onto her stomach, yanking the plug from her ass with a slick pop that made her gasp. He hauled her hips up, presenting her, her soaked, swollen cunt exposed to the night air.
“Your reward,” Luca growled, his cock nudging at her entrance. He didn’t ask. He drove into her in one devastating thrust, filling the overwhelming emptiness, stretching her bruised, sensitive flesh. She cried out, a sound of sheer relief.
At the same time, Nico moved. He knelt before her, his hands cupping her face. “Watch us now, little red,” he murmured, and guided her head to the side, giving her a perfect view of Luca’s cock pistoning in and out of her, glistening with her cream. Then Nico shifted, positioning himself behind Luca. She heard the rustle of a condom wrapper, a low, pained sigh from Luca as Nico pushed inside him.
They moved in a synchronized, brutal rhythm. Luca fucking her, Nico fucking Luca. A chain of penetration, of total possession. The room filled with the sounds of their grunts, the slick slap of flesh, her own muffled cries into the bedding. Luca’s thrusts became erratic, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to bruise.
“Now, Jamie,” he commanded, his voice guttural. “Come with me. Don’t you fucking hold back.”
The permission, the primal sight of them using each other, using her, shattered the last of her resistance. Her orgasm exploded through her, a silent, convulsing wave that milked Luca’s cock deep inside her. He roared, his body stiffening as he poured into her, his own release triggered by her clenching heat and Nico’s relentless pace behind him. Nico followed seconds later, a sharp, punched-out groan as he emptied himself into Luca.
They collapsed into a heavy, sweat-slicked heap of limbs, a tangled mess of spent desire. Luca rolled, pulling her with him, keeping her against his chest. Nico slumped beside them, his forehead resting against Luca’s shoulder, his arm thrown across Jamie’s waist.
No one spoke. The only sound was their ragged breathing slowly evening out. Jamie’s mind was utterly, peacefully blank. In the darkness, Nico’s fingers found hers and laced through them. Luca’s lips pressed against the crown of her head.
She had counted. And in the echoing aftermath, lying in the wreckage of their combined release, she understood the lesson wasn’t about numbers at all. It was about witnessing the truth of their hunger, and choosing to be part of it.