CHAPTER 33. THE FINAL ROUND
The process was not just long; it was an endless, intoxicating blur that seemed to warp the very fabric of time. The room felt heavy, the air thick with the scent of arousal, sweat, and the metallic tang of adrenaline. I had lost track of minutes, perhaps even hours. There was only the sensation—a relentless, overwhelming tide that threatened to pull me under.
Fred did not stop. He was a master of pacing, a cruel conductor of my nervous system. He held the s*x cane with a casual, terrifying grace, using it not to break me, but to keep me hovering on the jagged edge of sanity. He teased the sensitive flesh of my p***y, the leather tip dragging like a hot wire against my skin, making me hiss through clenched teeth.
Thwack.
The sound was sharp, cutting through
