Chapter 36: The Client's New Command
The room held its breath after Yuki left. The silence was a physical thing, layered over with the smell of cinnamon and mint and the faint, sweet musk of Catriona’s sweat on the sheets. She lay untied but unmoving, her body thrumming with a deep, saturated awareness. The feeling of being meticulously opened lingered, a ghostly fullness.
Aidan scrolled through the confirmation message on his phone, the blue light harsh on his face. Payment processed. Client satisfaction: high. Request for archived footage within 48 hours.
He tossed the phone onto the dresser. It clattered against the silicone replica, which lay inert, a pale, veined doppelgänger. “Cup of tea?” he asked, his voice rough.
Catriona blinked, slowly reinhabiting her limbs. “Yeah. Please.”
In the kitchen, the normalcy was abrasive. The hum of the fridge, the checkered linoleum, the chipped mug he handed her. She held it with both hands, letting the heat scald her palms.
“That was…” she started, then trailed off.
“Intense,” he finished, leaning against the counter. He wasn’t looking at her; he was staring at the kettle’s base. “She’s good. Precise.”
“It didn’t feel like someone doing a job. At the end, it felt like… worship.” The word fell strangely in the bright kitchen.
Aidan’s eyes met hers. “It’s still a job. For her. For us. Remember that.”
“I know.” She did know. The client’s messages, the payments, the specific angles—it was a transaction. But in the dim bedroom, with Yuki’s focused breath on her skin, the lines had smudged. It had felt realer than anything in the library.
Her own phone buzzed on the table. A new notification from the secure server. Not an email. A live session request.
“Aidan.”
He took the phone from her. The message was brief.
Live Feed Test: Sequence 7-Delta Prep Verification. 10 min. Initiate? Y/N
Below it, a shorter, separate line of instructions.
Blindfold. Bind. Use replica. Audio priority: subject begging for cock. Talent Yuki to provide vocal encouragement in Japanese. Begin when ready.
“They want a verification,” he said, his engineer’s brain parsing it. “A live snippet. To see if the prep was adequate. To hear you.”
Catriona’s heart hammered against her ribs. This was new. A live feed meant eyes, somewhere, watching in real time. No editing. No second takes. The client was in the room with them.
“Okay,” she whispered.
“You’re sure?”
“I want them to hear me,” she said, and the truth of it burned. The demure librarian wanted a stranger to hear her beg for a fake cock while another woman whispered filthy encouragement. She finished her tea, the bitter taste grounding her. “Let’s go.”
Back in the bedroom, the set had cooled. Aidan moved efficiently. He didn’t re-light the candles. The single dim lamp cast long, unforgiving shadows. He collected the silk restraints from the floor.
“Wrists first,” he said, his voice assuming that low, directive tone that vibrated in her stomach. She offered her arms. The silk was cool, tight. He secured her ankles, the spread wider this time. He took the black velvet blindfold from the dresser.
“Last chance to back out,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear.
“Do it.”
Darkness. It was immediate and total. Her other senses surged forward. The texture of the sheets beneath her. The distant scent of Yuki’s perfume still on the air. The sound of Aidan moving, the soft click of the camera powering up, but differently—a live stream light glowing red.
The door opened. Footsteps, lighter than Aidan’s. The scent of green tea and clean linen.
“Yuki-san is here,” Yuki’s voice came, calm and close. The bed dipped near Catriona’s hip. “I have translated the client’s key phrases. I will use them.”
A hand, cool and dry, touched Catriona’s stomach. She jerked.
“Relax,” Yuki said. “My role is vocal. And this.” Catriona felt the pad of Yuki’s thumb circle her navel, a possessive, calming gesture. “You will beg for chinchin. It means cock. You will say please. You will sound empty without it.”
Catriona swallowed, her throat dry. “Okay.”
She heard the slick sound of lube, a bottle squeezed. Then the softer, wetter sound of it being spread. On the replica. Her skin prickled. She was completely exposed, blind, bound. The architecture of her own degradation was being built around her by people she had invited in.
“They’re watching,” Aidan said, his voice flat, reporting. “We’re live. Start whenever.”
Yuki’s mouth was at her ear. Her whisper was like paper rustling, utterly distinct from her clinical tone earlier. It was low, hungry.
“Anata wa sukoshi sabishii desu ka?” Are you lonely? “Kūki ga haitte iru.” There is only air inside you.
Catriona whimpered. The words, incomprehensible, were more erotic than any English dirty talk. The intent coiled through the syllables.
“Tell him,” Yuki breathed in English again. “Tell him you need it.”
The replica’s tip, warm from the lube, pressed against her. Not entering. Just pressure. A promise of the same stretch, but without the preparatory reverence. This was for show. For sound.
“Please,” Catriona gasped.
“Louder,” Aidan directed from behind the camera. His voice was tight.
“Please, I need it.” The words were ash in her mouth and fire in her belly.
Yuki whispered again in Japanese, a stream of sibilant, encouraging sounds. Then, in English: “She says your emptiness is ugly. She says only his shape can fix you.”
The toy pushed in. The initial penetration was smoother than before, her body still softened from Yuki’s meticulous work, but it was colder. Imperfect. It was a tool. Aidan worked it into her with steady, measured thrusts, his rhythm mechanical, designed to elicit sound.
Catriona cried out. It was a raw, unfiltered noise.
“Beg for the cock,” Aidan said, his voice a wire.
“Please… give me the cock, I need it, I need it inside…” She babbled, the phrases she’d read in a thousand stories now tumbling from her own lips, made real by the slick, driving pressure filling her. The blindfold was soaked with tears she hadn’t felt coming.
Yuki’s commentary was a constant undercurrent, a mix of harsh Japanese and soft English translations. “Motto. More. She is a good, empty girl. She exists for this.”
The clinical detachment was gone. Yuki was performing, but her performance had layers. Catriona could hear a thread of genuine arousal in the breath between her words. A soft, damp sound—Yuki touching herself as she watched, as she spoke.
The duality shattered Catriona. She was a thing being used for a client’s gratification, and she was a woman bringing two other people to the edge with her. Her hips strained against the silks, meeting the thrusts of the replica.
A text alert pinged on the monitoring laptop. Aidan glanced over.
“They’re typing,” he said. The thrusts didn’t stop.
A second ping. He read it aloud, his voice devoid of all emotion. “Make her come.”
For a beat, the only sound was the wet, rhythmic noise of silicone and skin. Then Yuki’s hand moved from Catriona’s stomach. There was a low buzz, the sound of a vibrator being turned on. It touched Catriona’s clit.
The switch from anal fullness to the acute, electric stimulation on her clit was catastrophic. Her world narrowed to two points of devastating sensation.
“Now,” Yuki commanded, her voice sharp. “Come for them. Let them see.”
It wasn’t a choice. Her body convulsed, the silks cutting into her wrists and ankles as she arched violently off the bed. A scream tore from her throat, long and ragged, utterly beyond language. The pleasure was a white-out, a system overload, acute and almost painful in its intensity.
As the waves began to subside, she felt a new pressure at her lips. Something solid, smooth. A gag. Yuki slid it gently into her mouth, silencing the sobbing breaths that followed the scream.
The replica withdrew. The vibrator stopped. In the sudden, ringing silence, Catriona could hear her own heartbeat, the wet sound of her own breathing through the gag. She heard Yuki stand, the rustle of clothing.
The live feed light went out.
Aidan’s footsteps approached the bed. He didn’t untie her immediately. His fingers touched her cheek, wiping away a tear that had escaped the blindfold. His touch was shockingly gentle.
“Feed is ended,” he said, his voice back to being just his. Rough with his own unmet need. “Client sent a heart emoji. Then a money bag.”
He undid the blindfold. The light was cruel. She blinked up at him, her vision blurred. Yuki was by the door, straightening her skirt, her face a calm mask once more.
“The verification was a success,” Yuki said, giving a small bow. “Your vocal performance was exceptional. The client will be very pleased.”
Catriona tried to speak, but the gag muffled it. Aidan carefully removed it. She worked her jaw.
“Thanks,” she croaked.
Yuki nodded. “I will see myself out. The archive footage will be ready tomorrow.”
The door clicked shut. Aidan began untying the silks. The freed blood rushed back into Catriona’s hands and feet in a painful, prickling tide. She didn’t move. She stared at the replica, discarded on the rumpled sheets, glistening under the lamplight.
It was just silicone and dye. But for ten minutes, it had been the most important thing in her world. She had begged for it. And a stranger had paid to watch.
Aidan lay down beside her, on his back, not touching her. He stared at the ceiling. “That was fucked up,” he said quietly.
“Yeah.”
“You were incredible.”
She turned her head to look at him. “It doesn’t feel incredible. It just feels true.”
He finally looked at her, his eyes searching hers. He saw the librarian, shattered. He saw the woman beneath, exposed. He saw it all. He pulled her to him, her back against his chest, and held her silently as the last tremors faded from her muscles, the echoes of Yuki’s whispers the only thing left in the dark room.