His eyes move over me, all naked and shit, peeled open like a goddamn offering.
“And you, Arakawa-san… you looked like you wanted to be seen like this.”
My whole body wants to snap, to yellfuck off, I didn’t want shit.
But I’m here, aren’t I?
Flat on my back, every part of me forced open, bound so tight I couldn’t even flinch if I tried. More exposed than I was last night with Ryo, which is saying something. And somehow my body likes that.Fuck, my body more than likes it. Itthrumswith it.
Kaito, the guy who’s fought twenty men and walked away laughing.
Kaito, whose fists twitch when there’s silence in the room.
Kaito, who can’t sit still for five fucking minutes without pacing or breaking something.
That Kaito is tied flat on his back, arms bound to his ankles, legs bent up and open, every inch of him useless.
He can’t move.
Hehasto be still.
Maybe that’s what this kink shit’s about. Not the rope, not the position, not the pretty patterns or the aesthetics people love to jerk off over.
Maybe it’s about beingforced to stop.
Naoya steps in, kneeling between my open legs. His hands settle on the inside of my knees, and then he pushes my legs up even higher and wider. The ropes strain against themselves. My breath catches.
His hand slides slowly down between my legs, fingers deliberate and sure, and then his thumbs push my ass open. My breath hitches. The ropes won’t let me flinch or twist or pretend I’m not right here with my hole spread and cock throbbing and leaking all over my fucking stomach like some pathetic slut.
I wasn’t expecting this, to be honest. Naoya never touched me like this. It makes my brain go all blank.
“Some people confuse bondage with self-destruction,” he says, fingertips teasing just around the edges of me, where it’s hot and twitching and far too exposed. “But it isn’t. It’s about trust. And care. And limits.”
“Trust, my ass,” I mutter, panting, but the words are weak even to my ears.
Naoya presses a finger against my hole, not forcing it in, just resting there.
“Did you find your limits with the man who did this to you?”
“Tch… no fucking way,” I say, breath hitching. “Ryo was a pussy. Didn’t even give it to me hard enough.”
Naoya hums, like that doesn’t surprise him. His finger presses inside a little, and I grit my teeth as a rush of sensation tears through me. My head falls back against the mat, chest heaving.
“And do you know your own limits?” he asks.
“Death’s probably the limit for everyone, right?”
He sighs as if I’m not being funny when I obviously am.
He withdraws his hand and sits back on his heels. Then he stands, stepping out of view, and for a second I think he’s done, that maybe I pissed him off for real. But no. He comes back a moment later with that goddamn little tin of ointment he always insists on using after every session.
“Seriously?” I try to squirm, but the ropes don’t budge, and the movement only makes everything worse. “It’s fine, fuck—”
“Stay quiet.”
He kneels between my splayed legs again, dips his fingers deep into the ointment, and brings it to spread rightthere, all over my hole.
I flinch, humiliated.
