Page 75 of Edging Coach
Put them on, Jack.
How did he know I hadn’t yet? Or that I wasn’t putting them on right then?
I peered around the room. Had he put up a camera? No. He wouldn’t film me without my consent. He probably just knew I was staring at them and wondering how I was going to survive this.
And even though I didn’t want to move because holy fuck, I didn’t want to agitate the toy again, a moment’s discomfort was better than Devon’s disappointment.
I grabbed the clamps off the table. When my vision had cleared, I carefully put one on my nipple.
“Oh my God,” I whined. The pain was intense, and it didn’t let up. On its own, it would’ve been amazing. Coupled with the cage and the toy—I genuinely didn’t think I could handle any more.
But I wanted to. I wanted to know just how deep I could get lost in sensation, even if this restlessalmostfeeling threatened to drive me insane.
I held my breath and put on the second clamp, closing it as slowly as I had the first one. Then I let my head fall back and I stared up at the ceiling as the room spun around me. I had never simultaneously loved and hated something so intensely. This was torture, and it was thrilling, and it was too much, and I wanted to beg for more.
As I gathered my senses and found my equilibrium amidst all the chaotic overstimulation, I found my phone, which I’ddropped on the couch beside me. It took a few tries, but I managed to get a photo that was clear enough.
I sent it to Devon.
Then I sat there, trying to stay as still as humanly possible while my brain and body adapted to this maelstrom of pain, pleasure, and a miserable, blissful combination of the two.
It wasn’t lost on me that all the toys Devon had brought could bring me so, so much more. This was only the tip of the kinky iceberg of torture we’d be exploring over the next few days.
The cage got even tighter.
I swallowed, then just tried to breathe. Tried to calm myself down. And of course, every breath moved my chest, which was just enough to remind my body that, hey, there were vicious little teeth digging into each nipple.
My phone pinged.
I had to find it again. I didn’t even remember putting it down or dropping it, but somehow it had landed beside me on the sheet-covered cushion. It took two tries to enter my passcode. When the screen finally unlocked, I opened my text app.
Devon had responded with a photo of the front of his pants, which were quite obviously tenting.
Going to need a minute to calm down. Can’t run like this.
Goddammit. That meant longer without him. Longer in this cage. Longer in this awful, heady state ofalmost.
“Fucking run, Devon,” I growled over the sound of the porno, which I’d almost completely forgotten about. There was a different triad on the screen this time, two of them spit-roasting the third. Would Devon pound me like that while he watched me blow another guy? I didn’t have any interest inanyone besides him, but the thought of him getting off on thrusting into me while another guy fucked my mouth?—
The cage tightened once again.
I closed my eyes and breathed. I tried to think about something other than sex or Devon or pain or bliss.
The slapping and moaning and growled cursing weren’t helping. Neither was the relentless vibrating inside my ass. Or the way my nipples burned while a deeper ache glowed around them. Or the stupid, evil cage that wouldn’t let me get as hard as I needed to be.
Not a moment too soon, a key in the door whipped my attention away from everything else. I turned, forcing my eyes to stay open and focused, and…
Oh Jesus. Finally.
Devon was soaked to the skin. How much was rain and how much was sweat, I had no idea, but he was absolutely drenched. Drops of water clung to the spiky ends of his hair. More rolled down his face.
And his eyes…
Fucking hell. All this frustration and discomfort were worth it in that moment I saw the fire and approval in his eyes. When his lips curved… God, yes.
It was like that moment when, after I’d played through a fractured hand, a core muscle injury, and a hip that desperately needed surgery, my team had won the Cup. All my injuries had been screaming as I’d hoisted that thirty-pound trophy over my head, but it had been worth it. All the pain. All the sleepless nights. All the mornings my teammates had to help me out of bed. Worth it because we’d fucking won.
The last hour or so hadn’t been nearly as excruciating, but it had been its own torture, and it was worth it.
