The chamber pulsed with warmth, the air heavy with anticipation. Shadows flickered against silk-draped walls, the scent of spiced oil and candle wax thick between breaths. A low hum of conversation had settled into something quieter now— expectation.
At the center of the room, where all eyes lingered, Victor and Selene stood beneath the golden glow of lanterns. The space around them felt sacred, a stage crafted for indulgence.
Seated against a lush divan, Kian felt Mira’s presence beside him, her fingers idly grazing his arm. She leaned in, her voice a whisper. “She likes to be watched.”
He knew.
Selene’s posture was poised yet loose, a glint of something mischievous in her dark eyes as she turned toward Victor. He, ever composed, reached for the hem of her dress, lifting it inch by slow inch, his fingers gliding over the smooth skin of her thighs.
A murmur rippled through the gathered guests as he pushed the fabric higher, baring the soft curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, the taut peaks of her breasts as he slid the dress over her head and let it fall to the floor.
Selene stood before them— naked, unapologetic, her skin glowing beneath the candlelight.
Just the day before, The alchemist had informed Kian that he’d be hosting a sensory feast. Kian had invited Selene who was extra happy to tag along.
However, the moment they arrived, Victor had left his wife for Selene, while Mira clung to Kian. From the corner of his eyes, Kian could see Lucian’s hand rubbing the thighs of the lady beside him as he watched Victor and Selene.
Victor took a step back, drinking in the sight of Selene. His lips curled into something sinful.
“Touch yourself.” His voice was low but firm, the command sent through the hush of the chamber.
Selene held his gaze, her chest rising and falling in measured breaths. Then, with deliberate slowness, she trailed her fingers over her stomach, over the swell of her breasts, teasing the sensitive buds with a roll of her fingertips.
A murmur spread through the room.
Victor’s eyes darkened, his expression unreadable yet unmistakably possessive. He moved behind her, his hands skimming along the curve of her waist, but never venturing further. He let her tease herself, his breath warm against her ear.
“You like this, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice silk and sin. “Knowing they’re watching?”
Selene swallowed, her fingers drifting lower.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Victor smirked. “Then let them see everything.”
He grasped her wrist and guided her hand lower, pressing it between her parted thighs. A shudder ran through her as she obeyed, two fingers disappearing into her wet, hot hole.
A ripple of tension passed through the audience, eyes locked onto the slow, intimate movement.
Victor stepped back again, undoing the buttons of his shirt, peeling it off to reveal the taut lines of his chest. His belt followed, the whisper of leather sliding through loops sending a delicious shiver through the air.
Selene’s breathing deepened, her fingers never ceasing their rhythmic strokes. She was putty beneath their gaze, surrendering to the pleasure of being seen.
Victor freed himself, his arousal evident as he wrapped a hand around his length.
Kian swallowed, an unfamiliar heat coiling low in his stomach as he watched.
Victor stroked himself slowly, matching the pace of Selene’s movements. His free hand ghosted over her shoulder, down the curve of her spine, but never interfering. This was her moment.
“Don’t stop,” he coaxed, his voice rich with approval.
Selene obeyed, her body trembling, her lips parting as pleasure built within her.
The room felt charged, every flicker of candlelight raining over bare skin and half-lidded gazes.
Victor’s jaw tightened, his strokes growing measured, controlled. He watched Selene intently, letting the sight of her unravel him.
Mira exhaled beside Kian, her grip on his thigh tightening.
“This,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “is what trust looks like.”
And Kian, though still battling the depths of his own restraint, couldn’t look away.
Because in that moment, beneath the golden glow of lanterns and the hush of reverence, Selene was not just seen.
She was worshipped.
And she thrived in it.
“Keep going,” Victor praised, his voice thick.
Selene’s lips parted, her breaths becoming soft, broken sounds. Her body tensed, her thighs quivering as she struggled to maintain control. She wasn’t just performing for Victor— she was performing for all of them.
And the weight of their gazes, the thrill of being watched, pushed her closer to the edge. She pumped the fingers — four now— into her hole faster, letting out broken moans, tears streaming down her eyes.
“I’m gonna cum,” she announced, whole body vibrating.
Everyone’s focus was on them, nobody daring to look away, some wishing they didn’t even have to blink.
Victor’s control wavered. His strokes became erratic, his jaw clenching as he watched her come undone in front of him. The muscles in his forearm flexed with each motion, his own pleasure escalating rapidly.
Selene’s head tipped back. Her free hand clutched desperately at her thigh as the pleasure overtook her. A sharp, keening cry left her lips— one that sent a violent shiver down Kian’s spine.
Victor groaned, a guttural sound of pure, unfiltered release. His hips jerked, his breath stalling as pleasure crashed over him.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Selene was still trembling, her body glistening under the dim glow of the chamber. Victor’s chest rose and fell in rapid succession, his body taut with the remnants of pleasure.
Then, a slow, lazy murmur of appreciation rippled through the gathered guests. Some clapped softly. Others whispered their approval.
Kian’s throat was dry.
He had to ground himself.
Exhaling, he forced himself to move, to shift the attention elsewhere. He lifted a hand and gestured to two attendees nearby.
“Help them off the stage,” he ordered, his voice rougher than he intended.
The two figures moved swiftly, stepping forward to guide Selene and Victor away.
The moment they were off the stage, Kian rolled his shoulders back, inhaling deeply. He needed to reassert control— needed to find a way to stabilize the shifting energy inside him.
But before he could fully collect himself, a familiar presence stepped forward.
Lucian.
And he was smirking.
Kian’s jaw tightened slightly as his gaze landed on the host’s unmistakable smirk. Lucian moved with an effortless confidence, his hand resting lightly on the curve of his partner’s waist as they ascended the stage.
His partner was striking— tall, poised, with a smirk that mirrored Lucian’s own. She met the gathered audience with an amused, knowing gaze, her fingers dragging lazily up Lucian’s chest before curling into the fabric of his shirt.
The room’s energy shifted. Where Victor and Selene’s display had been raw, a crescendo of sensation and surrender, this was different.
Lucian thrived on tension— on the art of the tease.
He turned to the crowd, his lips curling. “We won’t be as generous as our dear Victor and Selene,” he mused, his voice carrying easily through the space. “But I do believe a little anticipation is healthy, don’t you?”
A few murmurs of agreement. Some laughter.
His partner pressed against him, trailing her fingers over the buttons of his vest. With exaggerated slowness, she undid the top one… then the next… then stopped.
Lucian exhaled through his nose, a smirk playing at his lips. “Cruel,” he murmured, his voice just loud enough for the audience to catch.
His partner only arched a brow. “You enjoy it.”
Kian resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but damn if the room wasn’t utterly captivated.
For several long minutes, they toyed with the audience— unfastening buttons only to stop, tracing over each other’s skin without ever giving too much away. A few groans of frustration broke through the crowd, but that only seemed to amuse them more.
Then, just as it seemed they might finally give in to the moment— just as Lucian’s partner tugged his vest fully open and leaned in to press her lips to his throat— he stopped.
Lucian let out a quiet chuckle, stepping back just enough to break the moment. “I think that’s enough for now,” he said smoothly.
A chorus of groans followed, but Lucian only grinned, offering the audience a playful bow before leading his partner off the stage.
And just like that, the energy in the room shifted again.
Kian’s muscles were still tight, his senses heightened. He had barely processed Lucian’s departure before Mira moved beside him.
As Kian turned to Mira, he found himself momentarily stunned. Her dress had already been lowered, the fabric pooling at her waist, leaving her upper body completely exposed.
The soft glow of candlelight traced the contours of her bare skin, highlighting the rise and fall of her breaths. But what struck him most was the way she looked at him— her eyes full of trust, anticipation, and an unspoken plea for him to lead.
When he finally rose to his feet, she followed, letting the dress slip further, sliding down her hips until it pooled around her ankles. The room fell into a hushed silence, the audience captivated by the quiet intensity between them. Mira stood before him, fully revealed, her body trembling slightly— not from fear, but from the sheer vulnerability of the moment.
He looked away, leading them to the stage first, feeling all the eyes boring holes into their backs.
When they finally got on the stage, he faced her, letting himself heave a sigh of satisfaction at the sight of her nakedness.
Kian reached for her chin, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice deep and certain.
A slow, almost knowing smile curled on Mira’s lips, though her breath hitched as Kian’s thumb traced along her lower lip. He was taking his time, savoring every reaction, every shift in her expression. She had offered herself to him, and he would make sure she felt the weight of that surrender.
“On your knees,” he said softly, but the command in his voice was unmistakable.
Mira obeyed, sinking gracefully before him, her hands resting on her thighs. The intimacy of the moment was thick in the air, crackling between them like an unspoken promise. Kian reached down, threading his fingers through her hair, guiding her slowly, deliberately.
Mira looked up at him, her expression one of pure devotion, waiting for his next instruction.
“Take me into your mouth,” he murmured, watching as a small shiver passed through her. She was so responsive, so eager.
She obeyed, moving with an exquisite slowness as she undid the ropes holding his pants together, and pulled the pants down alongside his underwear, his fully erect cock getting released with a little bounce.
Mira’s mouth watered, the evidence presenting itself when she gulped. She didn’t waste any time before parting her lips to take him in.
Kian let out a low, controlled breath, his fingers tightening in her hair as pleasure curled hot and deep in his gut when she took his whole length in. He had to focus, had to stay in control, but the way Mira surrendered to him— her every movement guided by his touch— made it a challenge.
He let her set the rhythm at first, watching the delicate interplay of submission and pleasure on her face. But then, he took over, guiding her with careful precision, drawing out every sensation, every gasp. His free hand cupped the back of her head, encouraging her, praising her with quiet, approving murmurs that made her shudder.
When he finally pulled back, Mira’s lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed, her breath uneven. She looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes, waiting.
“Did I do well?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. He hadn’t cum yet, so he could sense her fear.
Kian’s thumb brushed against her cheek, a rare gentleness in his touch. “Very well,” he murmured.
A small, satisfied smile tugged at Mira’s lips, but he wasn’t done with her yet. He bent down, lifting her effortlessly to her feet. Her body melted into his, soft and warm against the firm planes of his own.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against her ear, his voice like velvet, coaxing her to admit her desires.
Mira’s fingers dug into his shoulders, her breath shaky. “I— I want you to taste me,” she confessed, her voice breaking with need.
Kian hummed in approval, pleased with her honesty. He led her back to the plush seating area, positioning her exactly how he wanted— sprawled beneath him, completely at his mercy, before burying his face between her thighs.
He took his time, teasing, savoring the way she writhed under his touch, the way her breath caught with every slow, deliberate movement of his mouth against her pussy. Mira was wilding beneath him, her body trembling, every muscle drawn tight with anticipation.
When she finally shattered, gasping his name, Kian didn’t stop until he had wrung every last tremor of pleasure from her body. He pulled back, watching as she struggled to catch her breath, her eyes dazed with satisfaction.
The room was silent, save for the sound of Mira’s ragged breathing. And then, from the corner of his vision, Kian caught a slow, approving nod from The Alchemist.
A strange sense of satisfaction settled over him— not just from what had transpired between him and Mira, but from the realization that he had let go, had surrendered. And, he didn’t regret it.
Kian didn’t give Mira a moment to catch her breath. His hands slid down her thighs, his grip firm as he pulled her closer beneath him. His heartbeat was a heavy drum in his chest, matching the deep rise and fall of Mira’s breath. Every inch of her was soft and pliant beneath him, her body humming with anticipation.
Without hesitation, he positioned himself between her legs, his body pressing into hers, and as his cock entered her, a deep, guttural sound rumbled from his chest. Mira’s fingers clutched at his arms, her head falling back as she surrendered to the overwhelming sensation. The way she fit around him, the way she clung to every movement— it unraveled something in him he hadn’t realized was wound so tightly.
Kian set the rhythm, slow at first, deliberate. He wanted to watch every reaction ripple across Mira’s face. She was completely lost in the pleasure, eyes fluttering open only to meet his for brief, electric moments. Her lips parted, breath hitching as he pressed deeper, and deeper still.
Mira whimpered beneath him, her nails dragging down his back. “Kian…” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, laced with need.
He leaned down, brushing his lips against her ear. “You can take more, can’t you?” His voice was low, teasing, edged with control.
Mira nodded quickly, desperate, and Kian rewarded her by driving the rest of his length into her with renewed intensity. The sounds of their bodies moving together filled the chamber, mixing with the murmurs of the watching guests. Every snap of his hips sent waves of pleasure through both of them, building, cresting higher with each thrust.
“You like this, huh? Does my cock make you feel better than your husband’s?” he asked her, pounding away.
“Yes!” Mira screamed, eyes leaking tears. “Harder. Faster, please. Fuck.”
Kian went on for two minutes, fucking into her like a raging dog, their skins gleaming with sweat.
Then, shifting his grip on her waist, he pulled out and turned her over onto her hands and knees. Mira gasped, her body instinctively arching to meet his. Kian ran a hand down her spine, savoring the way she shivered beneath his touch.
“Look at you,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Completely pliant for me.”
He drove into her again, this time harder, deeper. Mira cried out, her body rocking with the force of his movements. Kian didn’t let up. He gripped her hips, controlling the rhythm, controlling her pleasure. She wasn’t just surrendering to him— she was reveling in it.
Mira’s fingers curled into the soft cushions beneath her, her moans coming faster, higher. Kian could feel the tension coiling inside her, the way she was teetering on the edge. He bent over her, his lips ghosting over the back of her neck.
“Let go,” he commanded softly.
From our workshop
And she did. A tremor overtook her as she shattered beneath him, her body pulsing, her cries echoing through the chamber. The sight, the feel of her losing herself completely, sent Kian spiraling after her. He pulled out at the last moment, his breath ragged, his release spilling hot over the smooth plane of her back.
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their labored breathing. Mira collapsed onto the cushions, boneless and spent. Kian followed, gathering her against him as they both let the remnants of pleasure course through them.
The realization hit him all at once. He had done it. He had let go.
For the first time in years, he had given himself permission to feel, to want, to take. And it hadn’t broken him. If anything, it had made him feel more alive than ever.
A small, satisfied smile tugged at Mira’s lips as she turned her head to meet his gaze. “You’re glowing,” she murmured.
Kian exhaled a soft, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Maybe I finally understand.”
The Alchemist came to them, watching Kian slowly closely, a knowing smile playing at their lips.
“You’re ready,” they said simply.
Kian didn’t fully understand what they meant. Not yet. But as he lay there, his body warm and sated, his mind unclouded by hesitation, he knew one thing for certain— he wanted to experience more.
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