Page 43 of Captive Mafia Wife

We make our way to the sex room that I had earlier prepared for us tonight. I told a tiny white lie to keep her safe tonight; this is room one, two, and three. It’s decorated in black velvet and wood, creating an atmosphere of luxury and sophistication. As she enters, I can see the apprehension in her eyes and her deep curiosity.

Candles burning in a candelabra over our heads cast a warm glow on the walls, and black velvet covers every surface. The air is filled with an intriguing mix of exotic perfumes; I catch a hint of orange and sandalwood.

Freya stops moving into the room as she spots the chains that hang from the ceiling, fur-lined handcuffs dangling from them. The metal chains and cuffs starkly contrast with the luxurious setting. They also symbolize trust and submission, heating my blood with anticipation.

I don’t like games, but with her, I’ll always play.

Grabbing her hand, I pull her to the center of the room. I snag the cuffs, removing them from the chains. My voice is a rake over hot coals. "Are you ready?”

Shenods, her eyes on other chains that hang from the wall. Slowly, she holds out her hands to me, silver fingernails glittering, her eyes full of angst yet anticipation. I take her wrists, kissing them in turn before fastening a cuff around each one.

Raising her cuffed wrists over her head, I adjust the length of the ceiling chains and fasten them securely to the cuffs.

"Do you trust me?" I ask, my voice a low murmur.

She looks up at me, a jumble of emotions. She glances down at her breasts as if she wants to remind me not to touch them. Instead, she glances back at me, saying, “I do trust you.”

“Thank you.” I begin to explore every inch of her body—carefully avoiding her chest—my hands running down her back, over her sides, her stomach. Every touch is deliberate, every movement calculated to create a wave of pleasure and anticipation in her.

Arms reaching high, her short dress has ridden up. I reach lower, my hands brushing against the sensitive skin of her naked inner thighs. She lets out a small gasp. Her breathing becomes ragged, her eyes shining, her cheeks flushed in the candlelight.

“I’m not stuffy. I’m calculated. But I do enjoy some games.” I reach for the riding crop on the wall, flicking it before her. “Ready to play?”

Freya's eyes widen as I hold up the crop. She's both apprehensive and intrigued by what this new element might bring. She steels her nerves, narrowing her gaze. "Of course," she says, her voice shaky but determined.

I walk around her, slowly circling her body, taking in every curve and contour of her exquisite form. I can feel the tension building within me, the desire to unleash myself upon her, to take her in a way that we've never experienced before.

I approach her from behind, gently brushing the crop's tip over the delicate skin at the backs of her thighs. She trembles slightly, her breathing becoming shallower with each passing moment. "Do you like this?" I ask, running the implement lightly over her back and shoulders, where her skin is bare above the red dress.

She gasps slightly at the sensation, her muscles tensing, her body responding to my every touch. "Yes," she murmurs, her voice barely audible over the thumping of the music outside the room.

I slowly bring the crop down against the backs of her bare thighs, starting lightly and gradually increasing the force. Each stroke is carefully calculated to create a wave of pleasure and pain that seems to consume every inch of her.

As I continue my teasing of her body, I can feel myself getting lost in the rhythm of the music and the crop and the tension between us. It's like we're in another world where time and space don't exist, where it's just us and the energy between us.

Freya's skin flushes from the crop.

"Do you want more?" I whisper into her ear, my voice barely above a murmur. "Do you want me to take you? Right here, right now, your wrists chained. With you being totally out of control?”

She shudders, her breath catching in her throat as she nods vigorously. The desire to be taken by me, to surrender completely to my control, is obvious in her every movement.

“Too bad.” I can feel the adrenaline rushing through my veins, my heart pounding in time with the music. I want to take her, to plunge deep inside of her and claim her completely. I know she’s not ready. “This is not the place or the time for me to take you for the first time, pretty Freya. But I will make you come. Hard and fast, till your knees go weak.”

I kneel before her, reaching up under her dress, tugging her lacy elastic thong down over her hips, drawing them down till they’re wrapped around her, mid-thigh. Her enchanting scent calls to me, and I can’t resist an opportunity to put my mouth on her.

Licking and teasing, I get a taste of intoxicating Freya. “Oh. God.” Her eyelids flutter.

I need to prepare her to ensure she's ready for what's to come. Forcing myself to unbury my mouth from her, I step back, picking up a small bottle of my preferred lubricant from the nearby table. I generously apply it to my fingers, slicking them up as I approach Freya again. She looks at me with fear, anticipation, and a burning desire that ignites a bonfire in my core.

"I'm going to touch you now," I whisper into her ear, "and I want you to let go of any fears or reservations. Just focus on the pleasure and sensations building within you."

I slowly run my slick fingers over her entrance, feeling the warmth and wetness that seems to emanate from her very core. Her body trembles slightly, her muscles clenching in anticipation of the promised release.

As I begin to insert one finger, then two, inside of her, Freya lets out a small gasp of pleasure. Her eyes roll back slightly as she loses herself in the moment, her body awash with a wave of pleasure. I continue to explore her inner depths, my fingers stroking and probing every inch of her sensitive flesh. Her breathing becomes heavier, her heart pounding faster as she surrenders entirely to my touch.

"Are you ready?" I ask, my voice a low rumble that seems to send her over the edge.

“I’m—I’m going to come.” She shrieks, muscles locking around my fingers as she comes on my hand.

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