Page 113 of Sliding into Love
"Please," I beg, and I don't even care how desperate I sound anymore. "Please let me come."
"Not yet," Royce repeats, and there's a note of finality in their voice that tells me there's no negotiating this. "You're going to stay right here—right at this edge—for as long as I want to keep you here."
The machine hums on, moving at the pace that keeps me hovering in this space between intense pleasure and desperate need. Royce is watching my face, watching every expression, clearly enjoying the torture they're inflicting.
And the worst part?
The absolute worst part?
Is that I'm enjoying it too. I'm enjoying the loss of control, the complete surrender, the knowledge that Royce is going to do exactly what they want with me and there's nothing I can do to stop them.
"We have all night," Royce says again, and I believe them. "And I have so many plans for you."
The machine continues its relentless rhythm, and I'm trapped in this beautiful, agonizing space of Royce's making. Unable to move, unable to look away, unable to do anything except exactly what they've told me to do.
Surrender. Wait. Endure.
It's the most intense thing I've ever experienced.
And they’re nowhere near done with me.
EPILOGUE II
ROYCE
I could watchKenneth like this forever.
The thought crosses my mind as I sit above him, remote in hand, controlling every aspect of his pleasure with a level of precision that borders on obsessive. His chest heaves with each breath, his muscles taut with the effort of maintaining control, his eyes locked on mine exactly as I demanded. The dedication it takes for him to follow my rules—to stay still, to keep watching me, to not allow himself the release he so desperately needs—is nothing short of beautiful.
This is one of the many things I love about Kenneth.
This willingness. This complete and utter surrender.
After everything we've been through, we've arrived at this place where he trusts me so completely that he'll let me torture him for hours if I want to. And the fact that he enjoys it? That he gets off on the loss of control? It's the most intimate thing I've ever experienced.
I increase the speed one speed, watching his jaw clench, watching the precome leak steadily from his cock as he struggles to maintain eye contact. He's close. Like really close. And the knowledge that I'm the only thing keeping him from falling over that edge is intoxicating.
"You're doing so well," I say softly, and I mean it. Kenneth has always been someone who needs structure, who thrives under clear expectations and defined parameters. In our relationship, I've become the one who provides that. And he's become someone who can completely let go in my presence, which is a gift I don't take lightly. "I can see how much you want this."
"Please," Kenneth says again, his voice hoarse from restraint. "Royce, I can't?—"
"You can," I interrupt, and I increase the depth of the machine slightly. The attachment moves further inside him, and I watch his thighs tremble with the effort of staying still. "And you will. Because you're mine, and I decide when you get what you need."
The possessiveness in my voice is intentional. Kenneth responds to it—I can see it in the way his pupils dilate even further, in the way his cock twitches at the sound of my dominance. We've built something so fundamentally dependent on this power exchange that I sometimes wonder what we'd do without it.
But then I remember that this is just one facet of what we have. This is the expression of the trust and love that exists between us in all its forms.
I lean down and kiss him, and it's slow and deep and completely controlled. Kenneth tries to follow my lead, trying to take what he can get, but I pull back before he can. The denial is part of the point.
Everything I'm doing right now is designed to reinforce my control, to remind him of exactly where the power lies in this moment.
"How long do you think you can last?" I ask, genuinely curious. Kenneth's been at this edge for nearly twenty minutes now, and I can see the strain in every line of his body. He'sreaching his limit. Not his safe word limit, but the limit of how much pleasure and frustration he can handle simultaneously.
"I don't know," he gasps. "Not long. I'm so close, Royce. I'm so?—"
"I know," I say, and I do know. I know his body as well as I know my own at this point. I know exactly how much stimulation he can take before he breaks, exactly which touches will make him desperate, exactly what words will push him to the edge of begging. "That's the point."
I increase the speed again. The machine moves faster, and Kenneth's hips jerk involuntarily, a full-body reaction to the increased stimulation. But he manages to stop himself from moving further, managing to maintain the control I've demanded despite how difficult it clearly is.
