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 filth at the sex club. She's sprawled 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 smirk.
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 wring from this flesh?
Thursday night and the cocktail lounge 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 plunging 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 polish 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 he stalks over.
Jace cuts through the lounge's dim haze, smirk 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 smirks, eyes glinting.
She cocks her head, her voice a dry rasp. "What hole'd you crawl out of to find me?"
He smirks, leaning close, bourbon heat grazing her ear. "Word's out. Some prick at the club's still choking on how you owned that bet."
She snags the bracelet, lips twitching sharp. "Guess filth 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 smother 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 stilettos. Her heels stab the teak, sharp as a dare, each step a deliberate strike as she stalks aboard. The wood gleams beneath her, slick with salt and dusk, 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 sprawls 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 rabble. Their edges glint in the dusk, a promise of something harder, something she's hunted since that night struck a match to her marrow. Her pulse thuds--low, insistent--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 wring 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 dusk, 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 faint hitch she buries, testing the tease against the heat coiling low--tight, insistent, a knot begging to unravel.
"You've been 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 graze Izzy's hip--a quick slash, heat jolting low, sharp and electric. Izzy's cunt clenches, 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 smirks 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, wiry and coiled, his knee knocking hers as he drops to the cushion--gin in hand, eyes cutting through her with a smirk.
"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" thumps 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.
