Page 38 of Covert Desires

“Nico…” It’s the same tone my mother would use when she was extremely disappointed in us, which was often.

Kiah tugs lightly on my dick, and I gasp, completely at her mercy. With a single finger, she traces S-shapes over my balls until I’m leaking pre-cum through my cage, whimpering like a little boy.

But she doesn’t let me come, she never gives me the satisfaction of finishing.

Not that there’s any satisfaction to be had in this cage. It’s been weeks since I’ve had a decent orgasm, and it’s all this bitch’s fault.

It’s making me so desperate, so needy. I’m usually a twice-a-day kind of guy when it comes to jerking off…

“What did I say about violence?” Kiah asks patiently, stroking the cage I wish wasn’t between our skin.

“Not necessary,” I give her the answer she wants, despite wanting to be a brat.

She smiles. “Exactly. Look at you being such a good boy.” The words of praise sink into my gut like a sharp knife, cutting deeper than the shard she jammed into my shoulder before. It makes my insides burn.

How can I be so affected by those simple words? Who the fuck would be so naive as to call Domenico a “good” boy? I’m not good. She clearly doesn’t know who she’s dealing with.

I don’t have time to ponder the psychological effect of her praise because Kiah bends me over her lap with a single command I follow like a hypnotized puppet.

The bed is low, and my bulky 6’1” figure bows over her like a bridge, the tips of my extremities touching the faded floorboards.

Trapping my cock between her thighs, she clamps her knees down around the cage, holding me in place.

“It seems you will need to learn this lesson again,” the innkeeper says simply, without rage, as she runs her hand over my bum in a move that covers my skin in goosebumps like a freshly plucked chicken.

Is she about to spank me?

What the fuck?

I’m a grown-ass man.

Fresh humiliation creeps up around my neck, flushing my cheeks, and I’m grateful to have my eyes glued on the floor, my face hidden from her.

“I want you to count with me. Just until ten. Okay?”

I nod, not trusting my voice.

“Words, boy,” Kiah insists, and I respond affirmatively in a voice that sounds ridiculous—small.

How can she have this effect on me?

I’m Domenico Ricci, for fuck’s sake. I’d break someone’s fucking neck for humiliating me like this. I once fed a man’s eyeballs to his dog for accidentally knocking into me in passing.

Yet I lie perfectly still as the first flat-handed smack lands loudly on my ass, stinging me with pain as much as embarrassment.

“Count, Nico.”

I bite my lip and press out a strained “One.”

Why do I feel like crying?

This is crazy.

I could just get up. Even with the collar on, I know she wouldn’t kill me for refusing her punishments.

But I don’t want to get up.

I want this.

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