“You need to surrender.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, eyes burning. Every nerve’s begging me to fight back, but all I can do is grind my teeth and take it.
He doesn’t rush.
Each hit’s clean, switching between ass and thighs, always avoiding the rope marks. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. My cock throbs against the floorboards, a traitorous pulse of need syncing with the impacts. Every slap drives home my failure, my stupidity, my desperate craving for his control.
He stops at thirty.
His hand presses against my burning skin, heat radiating through the ache. Thirty hits. Thirty reminders I fucked up as his sub.
Then his hand lifts, and I hear the soft rustle of fabric, the slide of his suit jacket hitting the floor somewhere behind me. His footsteps are quiet, crossing the small room. My apartment’s a cramped shithole, but Naoya-san moves through it like he owns the place. And right now he does, right? Because he owns me.
I twist my head when his shadow falls over me again. He’s holding my tanto.
“This belongs to you,” he says.
“Yeah,” I grind out. My throat’s dry. “So?”
“So,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the worn lacquer of the sheath. “A blade requires discipline and respect. Qualities you lack.”
Anger flares, hot and stupid. There’s no way a fuckingsenseiwill understand my tanto. The last thing she wants is discipline. She wants blood and lives.
“Fuck you. I know how to handle her.”
“Do you?” He tilts his head slightly. “Or do you just use it without thought? Like you do to your fists and your tongue?”
He draws the blade slowly, the beautiful sound of steel on wood reaching me, sending another wave of adrenaline through me. He holds it balanced on his palm, testing the weight. Feels like a damn crime someone else holding her like this.
He taps the flat of the blade lightly against the inside of my thigh, right beside the rope bite. The metal’s cold. I jerk, the ropes digging instantly.
He moves closer, the tip of the blade hovering near the curve of my ass. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck?!
He drags the blade, the flat, cool steel resting lightly against the hottest patch of my punished ass cheek. I gasp. The shockof cold against the deep, radiating heat makes my hips jerk involuntarily.
“Hold still.”
He trails the flat of the blade down, over the swell of my ass, tracing the curve towards my thigh, the metal kissing my skin and leaving trails of goosebumps in its wake.
It’s not painful, obviously. He’s not even scratching my skin like Ryo would do without thought. But fuck, it’s terrifying anyway. Every nerve ending feels hyper-aware, screaming that this is notright. That I have to do something. That I have to rise and fight andkill.
The blade lifts. For a second, there’s only the sound of my ragged breathing. Then, the cool tip touches the sensitive skin just below the rope binding my thigh. He presses.
“You crave sensation,” Naoya-san murmurs. “You crave intensity. You cravemycontrol. Yet, you fight it every step.” The tip drags slowly along the crease where my thigh meets my ass. A thin, cold line against the fire. “This blade is yours. It knows your hand. Now it’ll know mine.”
He shifts the angle. The sharpened edge kisses my skin, and my whole body locks, trapped, exposed, and utterly at his mercy. My cock throbs violently against the floor with it, and shame wars with a sickening wave of pure lust. Fuck. Fuck me. He’s usingmytanto onme.
What a turn-on.
“Do you feel it?”
“Yes,” I say obediently. Inside, it’s a fucking riot.Cut me, you bastard. Do it. Show me what you can do with my own fucking knife.
The thought burns hot, tangled with the shame of how hard my cock is, pressed against the wood and leaking onto it.
The blade lifts. Relief hits cold for a second, then dread floods back harder. I hear the whisper of steel moving through air, then the flat, cool metal hits the hottest, most swollen patch on my left ass cheek. The shock of cold impact on deep, throbbing heat punches a gasp out of me. My hips jerk violently. Fuck.
“Hold,” Naoya-san commands. “Accept your punishment.”
