Authors Note:
This story dives into BDSM; bondage, dominance, clamps, plugs, and a wild group peak with female ejaculation. Expect raw heat on a yacht. Enjoy or skip if it’s not your kink!
Rain lashes the glass, a thudding echo to the heat gnawing Izzy’s veins. It’s been three days since the playroom’s filter at the sex club. She’s sprayed on her leather couch, robe split wide, silk peels off one thigh like a shed skin.
The air’s thick. Wet earth and her musk tangle in her lungs, sharp and unwashed. Her skin hums, raw from that night’s clawing ghosts. Jace’s knuckles bruised her hips, Lila’s tongue cut like a blade, the crowd’s snarls rattle her ribs still.
Her lips twist, a jagged little victory carved quiet. I fucking owned it. Every slick inch. The feral snarl’s ash now, traded for a tight, blade-edged smile.
She’s clawed off the mask that caged her for so many years. Isabella Barnes, fifty and unchained. Her cunt kicks at the memory, a live wire spitting sparks. Guilt’s cinders, burned out in that dripping hell.
Hunger’s all that’s left. Hers, raw, clawing to sink deeper, but by her rules. Her nails scrape the couch’s seam, leather cold under her grip, and a spark bites low:
What else can I forget from this flesh?
Thursday night and the cocktail blind hums. Chandeliers bleed amber, jazz curls low. A slow burn licks Izzy’s skin. She’s at the bar, martini glass cold in her palm, gin biting her tongue.
Her dress hugs her. A black slash, neckline plumping to frame her 34DDs. No lace or playroom armor, just her. Raw and unscripted, sipping steady. The room’s a soft clatter. Glass, laughs, a poison she’s easing into, crackling beneath.
Jace slips in, unnoticed by Izzy. A shadow, she feels him before she sees him. All bulk and muscle. His shirt is stretched tight over a chest she’d shred if the itch hit. His eyes pin her, black and cutting, as hestalks over.
Jace cuts through the locke’s dim haze, smile curling.
“Knew you’d be prowling here, waiting for trouble.”
He tosses her bracelet on the bar–a silver glint, “I.B.” scratched deep. A playroom trophy crusted with that night’s stink.
“Trouble? I eat it alive. Show me wilder,” Izzy smiles, eyes glinting.
She cocks her head, her voice a dry rasp. “What hole’d you crawl out of to find me?”
He smiles, leaning close, bourbon heat grazing her ear. “Word’s out. Some price at the club’s still choking on how you owned that bet.”
She snags the bracelet, lips twitching sharp. “Guess filter travels fast.”
His heat crowds her, thigh grinding hers, no apologies.
“You’re stuck in my skull, Izzy,” he growls, voice rough. “The yacht’s waiting for you. Saturday, Tight crew, no trash. Bring that fire and burn me down.”
His eyes rake her like she’s already pinned. Izzy twists her martini, glass flaring gold, letting silence stretch. Her pulse kicks low. That night tore her rulebook to shreds, and she’s writing a sharper one.
Saturday’s close, just enough time to let the ache fester. She locks his gaze, voice low and hard. “Saturday it is. Make it worth my fucking time.”
She’s primed for his next move, hungry to claw more from her flesh. Gin sears her throat, his grin cuts the air. The weekend coils ahead. Hot, taut, hers to rip apart.
Dusk bleeds across Miami’s coast–lavender fading to bruise-purple, a violent smear choking the horizon. Clouds smooth the last light, thick and feral, the air trembling with a storm that won’t break.
The yacht lurches from the dock, its engine snarling low–a guttural hum vibrating up through Izzy’s silettos. Her heels stall the tea, sharp as a dare, each step a deliberate strike as she stalks aboard. The wood gleams beneath her, slick with salt and dust, mirroring her pulse–steady, ravenous, a predator’s beat.
Her red dress grips her like a second skin, tight and unyielding. The slit slashes high–jagged, reckless–baring her thigh with every stride, muscle flexing under taut flesh. The neckline plunges deep, cradling her 34DDs, fabric hissing as it drags over her curves–each shift a whisper against her skin, a taunt.
Salt air rams her lungs–sharp, raw, a sting that claws her bare arms, waking every nerve. Her hair whips wild in the breeze, dark strands lashing her shoulders, and she feels it: the night’s edge, primed to sink its teeth into her.
She rakes the deck with her eyes, slow and deliberate–teak shimmers under the moon’s cold fire, a pale glow that licks the wood’s grain. Leather sprayls across cushions–dark, greedy, its surface taut and begging for bodies. The scene hums, alive, a stage set to devour her.
Jace’s tight circle waits near the rail–handpicked, he’d sworn, smaller and sharper than the playroom’s rabbit. Their edges glint in the dust, a promise of something harder, somehing she’s hunted since that night struck a match to her marrow. Her pulse thuds–low, insist–driving her forward, starving for more.
Miami’s neon skyline flares as the yacht cuts offshore, the dock shrinking to a smudge behind her. The city’s glow pulses–pink, green, electric blue–a distant throb syncing with her hunger.
That playroom fire still smolders in her bones, a slow burn she’s Here to stoke, to wrap dry. She’s not sated-never sated–and the deck vibrates with it, waves slapping the hull like a heartbeat she can’t shake.
Kara drifts in–a deckhand, lean and hushed, her presence a soft shadow against the night’s snarl. Her hair’s knotted tight in a prim bun, strands pulling at her scalp, but her eyes betray her–wide, unguarded, snagging on Izzy’s dress.
She balances a tray as the yacht rolls, steady despite the sway, her fingers flexing against the metal. “Martini?” she breathes, voice a low hum, barely cutting the air–a flicker of want cracking her quiet, lingering too long on Izzy’s curves.
Izzy claims the glass, her fingers grazing its chill–deliberate, slow–gin sloshing as she dips her chin. “Thanks,” she rasps, her voice a dry scrape, eyes locking Kara’s for a beat.
The cold bites her skin, a sharp kiss against her heat, and she feels Kara’s stare hold–hungry, unvoiced, flexing on the tray like she’s gripping something else. Then Kara fades into the shadows, tray slicing the dark, leaving a thread of tension dangling in her wake.
Jace looms near the rail, as striking as her cunt remembers–broad shoulders cutting the dust, dark eyes glinting with a festering hunger she knows too well. His hands bruised her hips that night, left marks she traced later, her pussy slicking at the thought now–wet, pulsing, a memory that won’t fade.
Glass in hand, he steps closer, his heat brushing her before his skin does. The air thickens, salt and musk coiling tight, and her nipples stiffen, jabbing the red fabric like a challenge.
“Still dreaming about me?” she quips, voice a dry rasp, leaning against the rail–casual, taunting, her hip cocked.
His fingers graze her arm–elbow to wrist, warm and deliberate–a slow drag that prickles her skin, waking every hair. Her breath snags, a faith hit she buries, testing the tease against the heat cooling low–tight, independent, a knot begging to unravel.
“You’ve have burning in me since I first saw you,” he murmurs, a wicked tilt of his lips flashing sharp–teeth catching the moonlight, a predator’s grin. His voice sinks into her, a low rumble she feels in her chest, stacking against the ache in her gut. She lets it hang there, tasting it–his want, her power–letting it simmer as her pulse kicks harder, a steady thud syncing with the waves.
Lila prowls in, red nails glinting like fresh blood as she nurses her gin. Her hips sway under a black skirt–short, tight, skimming her thighs like a taunt, a dare to look.
“Thought you’d forgotten me after I tongue-fucked you raw, darling,” she purrs, voice rough velvet, a jab wrapped in silk. Her nails grazed Izzy’s hip–a quick slash, heat jolting low, sharp and electric. Izzy’s cunt clunkes, a sudden spasm–she remembers Lila’s tongue, the wet heat, the way it broke her–and her breath stumbles, caught on the edge of a growl.
Jace smiles sidelong, a dark glint in his eye. “Heard that bar prick’s still whining about you,” he says, voice low, teasing–a nudge at her chaos.
Nico flanks her then, wyry and coiled, his knee knocking hers as he drops to the cushion–gin in hand, eyes cutting through her with a smile.
“Figured you’d bolt,” he mutters, breath a hot lick on her shoulder, close enough to sting. Her skin prickles, heat blooming where he brushes her, and she cocks her head, dry as bone.
“Keep dreaming,” she fires back, voice a blade, her defiance stoking the air.
Lust clots thick–humid, heavy–her nipples peak harder, straining the fabric, a visible ache. The yacht hums beneath her, waves slapping the hull in a relentless pulse.
Beyoncé’s “Partition” thumbs through the deck–bass rolling deep, a sultry snarl: Driver, roll up the partition, please. The sound sinks into her bones, a rhythm she feels in her hips, her chest. She sips her martini-gin sharp, cold–sets it on the rail, catching Lila’s glint across the glass. The night tightens, a wire pulling taut.
Jace and Nico sink to the leather, their eyes scorching–dark, unblinking, burning holes through her.
Lila presses to Izzy’s back, suddenly and fierce–her hips grind slow, heat seizing Izzy’s spine through the dress. The friction builds–deliberate, punishing–Lila’s skirt rides up as Izzy reaches back, hands clawing up her thighs, nails digging into soft flesh. She bares Lila’s dripping heat–lips parted, glaiming wetter with each swway, brushing Izzy’s curves. The air chokes with musk, salt, gin–a cocktail of want she cantaste.
Lila’s fingers slip through the dress slip–slow, invasive–climbing Izzy’s tights with a taunt, then clamping her tits over the fabric. She squeezes–firm, possessive–nipples peaking hard under her grip, a jolt spiking Izzy’s chest.
They turn, bodies pivoting–eyes lock, inches apart–Lila knees her breasts, rolling her stiff nipples between thumb and finger, slow and cruel. The pressure builds-sharp, sweet–her pulse hammering, syncing with the bass, thudding in her ears.
A throaty purr drips from Lila–pure sex, liquid heat–Izzy’s hands grip her hips, steadying the swway, their lips brushing soft–a slow melt, a tease of tongue. She dips a finger into Lila’s slick cunt–hot, soaked–smirks, “Soaked already,” then sucks it clean–sharp, sweet, a tang that lingers on her tongue.
Lila groans, low and sultry, her thighs trembling against Izzy’s hand, and the sound hits like a wave, rippling through her gut.
Jace’s cock strains in his pants–thick, twitching, a bulge she can’t miss. Nico’s screams louder-hands gripping tight, his erection a hard vow against the leather.
“Fuck, you’re killing us,” Jace growls, voice gravel-rough, fraying at the edges.
“Come finish what you started,” Nico rasps, a plea wrapped in a snarl, his eyes dark pools of want.
The girls snap back–see the bulges, grins flashing triumphant: We fucking did that. Power surges, a current under her skin–she owns them, and they know it.
Miami’s neon sprayls wide as the yacht drifts offshore–far from prying eyes, idling on the tide, a floating world of their making.
Jace rises, closing the gap to Izzy–his fingers trace her neckline, slow and deliberate, brushing the swell of her breasts–heavy, warm beneath the fabric.
“Worth the wait?” he growls, peeling the straws down–inch by inch–red fabric snagging at her hips, baring her torso. Her curves gleam in the moonlight–hair spilling wild over her shoulders, a darkcascade catching the glow. Her thighs flex, cunt slicking hot under the dress, a pulse she feels in her core.
Jace bends–lips close over one stiff peak, sucking slow, wet, a pull that drags a shiver up her spine. His thumb rolls the other–a lazy circle, firm and teasing–spiking her chest with heat. Izzy’s hands grip his shoulders-taut, unyielding–nails biting into muscle as her breath catches, jagged and thin.
Across the deck, Nico unzips–cock springs free, thick and veined, stroking slow, deliberate. Lila drops to him–skirt high, bare pussy dripping-nails raking his thighs, red streks blooming on his skin. Her lips drag over his tip–wet, glistening–tongue swirling, then taking him deep, eyes locking his as a groan tears from his throat.
Izzy smiles, dry–“She’s fucking starving”–her voice fracturing as Jace rises. He kisses her deep–lips hot, hungry, tongue claiming hers–a bulge pulsing against her thigh, a hard promise grinding into her. Her nails claw his chest, tugging his shirt free–buttons pop, fabric tossed aside–his bare skin flexes under her hands, sweat-sheed and firm.
Lila’s wet lips work Nico–slurps echoing, her hand fisting his hair–twin fires blaze, tension coiling tight, a wire stretched to snap.
The deck swways–waves rocking–Izzy’s senses fry under Jace’s grind. Salt stings her bare torso, sharp against her heat–his bulge throbs, relentless, a tease that winds her tighter. His lips pull off her nipple–a wet pop sparking her chest–thumb still circulation, slow and maddening.
Her breath fractures–sweat slicks her spine–heat coils low, cunt aching untouched, screaming for friction. She’s close–too close–every graze a jolt, every pulse a plea she won’t voice.
Across the deck, Lila’s nails rake Nico’s thighs–her mouth a wet vise, slurps loud and obscene. Her skirt rides higher–bare pussy gleaming, dripping onto the tea–a slick sheen catching the moonlight.
Nico groans–guttural,wrecked–his hand wrenching her hair, pulling tight. Musk thickens the air–lust drenching every breath–Miami’s neon throbs in the distance, waves crash in rhythm.
Lila pulls off Nico–lips slick, spit stringing from his cock–slides her skirt down slow as she rises, a cruel smile taunting him. Her slick heat drops–bare thighs glaiming–a punching forming on the tea, a filter claim.
“Like that?” she purrs, husky, voice a blade diplomad in honey.
Nico groans, “Fuck, yeah,” his cock thick and pulsing–her nails graze his chest, leaving weak red trails.
The salt air bites–Izzy’s cunt spasms under the dress, wet and ravenous–Jace’s heat, Lila’s drip–a filthy edge she’s riding hard.
Jace’s lips drag her jaw–hot, slick–hands clamp her hips, thumbs teasing her string nipples before yanking the dress down. Red fabric crumbles at her heels–her body bare, gleaming–cunt throbbing, exposed to the night. His bulge grinds her thigh–a brutal tea–her nails clawhis back, tracing sweat-sheened muscle, going weak lines. She smiles, defiance flaring-her hunger a live thing, clawing her gut.
Lila swings over Nico’s lap–bare, dripping heat glaiming-grinding slow, lips parted and wet as she taunts his cock, sliding along it, not sinking. Her groan’s a husky taunt, low and deliberate–his hands dig into her thighs, bruising.
“Fuck, ride it,” he growls, voice cracking with need.
She drops–slow, deliberate-her slick heat swallowing his cock in a deep, wet claim. Lips gaping, glaiming as she rides–her moan’s a rough snarl, hips rolling hard. His hands wrong her hips, slamming up into her dripping pussy–a rhythm that shakes the leather.
Izzy’s breath snags–Jace’s tongue lashes her ear, hot and wet-hands gripping her ass, kneeing firm. His bulge grinds firece–a hard tease on her bare thigh–her nails gouge his shoulders, drawing blood. Cunt throbbing, starving–she’s a coiled spring, wound tight. Jace’s growl rumbles her chest–fingers digging deeper, her tits bouncing free–bare, heavy, catching the moonlight.
Lila’s rhythm quickens across the deck–pussy gleaming, Nico’s groans jagged–twin blazes roar, feeding her fire.
Jace snatches silk from a nearby table–knots it over her eyes, tight and suddenly–darkness slams down, her world shrinking to heat, sound, want.
“Below deck, now,” he growls–hand locking hers, dragging her to the pollished steps–his grip briising, unyielding.
Lila’s purr cuts through–“Blind’s a fucking rush”–her wet rhythm echoes Izzy’s pulse, a thumbing taunt.
Twin lanes blaze–tension a taut wire, release dangling just out of reach–her cunt spasms, slick and aching, as the night swallows her whole.
“Time to see how deep you’ll fucking thrown, Izzy,” Jace snarls, his voice a low, jagged blade as he shaves her down the tea staircase.
The blindfold bites into her skull, silk grinding against her temples, sealing her in darkness. The yacht pitches with the sea’s restless churn–each step a sweep, each graze of his knuckles against her arm a live wire sparking through her haze. Her breath catches, shallow and sharp, her pulse kicking beneath her skin like a trapped thing. The air hums thick–salt and lust–and she feels it, the weight of eyes she can’t see, boring into her.
Jace prowls past Lila and Nico, their bodies a sweaty, understanding knot on the leather cushions. Their heat radiates–skin slapping skin, a fear, wet rhythm that sees into Izzy’s blind hunger.
Jace flicks his wrist, brutal and sure, a silent command–his growl rolls out, thick as tar, coating the air with intent. It sinks into her chest, a slow drip down her ribs, pooling low. She strains to hear, to feel, her senses clawing through the dark.
Lila, straddling Nico, snags Jace’s signal mid-thrust. Her hips roll–slow, vicious, a deliberate grind that drags a shudder from her thighs. She’s milking him, squeezing his thick cock with every cruel twist, her feral grin splitting wide, teeth glinting like a predator’s.
Nico’s hands claw her hips, his breath a ragged snarl, but she owns him–owns the quake in his legs, the slick sheen on his skin.
Then she rips herself off, a slow peel, his shake sliding free–glistening, heavy–with a guttural groan tearing from his throat. The sound hits Izzy like a fist, her cunt clenching in the dark, empty and aching.
They rise, feet flexing on the teak, their presence hovering–a taunt, a promise. They linger, deliberate, letting their heat brush her blind senses. Her ears snag the wet slap of their descent–bare soles on wood, a soft, deliberate rhythm that mirrors her pulse. Each step winds her tighter, a shiver knifing down her spine, slicing through her fog. She’s starving, and they know it–every pause a twist of the blade, every sound a lick against her fraying edges.
The stairs spill into a tight passage, then yawn wide–a playroom pulsing below. Red silk walls shimmer under sconces, their amber spill licking the air. Satin cloaks a spraying bed, rippling like liquid, while a St. Andrew’s Cross looms–jet-black, unyielding–its cuffs flashing like teeth in the dim glow. The room breathes, humid and alive, wrapping Izzy’s blind world in a chokehold of lust. She feels it–the weight, the promise–before Jace’s voice cuts Through.
“Against the cross,” he growls, shoving her forward, his grip bruising her arm.
She sneers, defiance flaring, and struts up–hips jutting sharp, tits thrust proud against the humid air.
His palm slams her ass–a bright, vicious snap that cracks the silence. The sting blooms, slow and searing, radiating across her skin. She arches into it, chasing the burn, her pulse hammering wild, hunger clawing up her veins. Her breath hitches, a ragged edge–she wants more, needs it, and he knows.
“You’re fucking drenched,” Jace snarls, his voice a dark thread cooling around her throat.
Lust clamps her tight–her senses scream, every nerve lit raw. She feels the dampness between her thighs, the slick heat pooling, betraying her.
His rough thumbs find her nipples, circled slow–too slow–grinding firm against the tender peaks. Electricity rips south, a jagged bolt, her cunt spasming hard, soaked and ravenous under his torment.
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