Professional. Clinical. As if I'm not rock-hard in my pants. As if my hands aren't shaking slightly with the need to touch her, claim her, mark her asminein every way that matters.
I cup her left breast, thumb brushing over the nipple until it hardens into a tight peak.
Then I attach the clamp.
Emmaleen gasps—a sharp intake of breath that she tries to swallow back.
I watch her face as I slowly tighten the screw. Watching for the exact moment when discomfort becomes pain.
There.
A tiny squeak escapes her throat. Her eyes squeeze shut.
I stop immediately, noting the tension setting required.
"Good girl," I murmur. "One more."
The right breast. Same careful process.
Cup. Stroke. Attach. Tighten.
This time she's prepared for it, but the squeak still comes—higher-pitched, more desperate.
I go over to the cabinet, pull out an additional chain from the nipple clamps drawer, and walk back over to her. She’s already flushed. When I attach the chain to her collar, then tug her head down, forcing her to bow so I can attach it to the chain between the nipple clamps, she hisses.
Perfect.
I step back to admire my work.
Emmaleen stands before me, collared and clamped, her chest heaving with each breath. The clamps pull with the movement, sending fresh waves of sensation through her. She wants to look up at me. To meet my gaze, despite the rules. But the chain keeps her chin down.
Her nipples are already darkening from the restricted blood flow.
I like this look.
I think I’ll ask Jino to use this for daily conditioning.
"The cuffs."
She bends again, careful not to move her head too much, and retrieves the leather wrist and ankle restraints, handing them over without meeting my eyes.
I hold them for a moment, weighing them in my hands. Considering.
Then I point to the floor in front of the throne.
"Lie down. Face down. Arms and legs spread wide."
Emmaleen carefully lowers herself with obvious reluctance, her movements stiff and uncertain. She arranges herself on the cold cement, cheek pressed against stone, limbs extended. Breasts flattened. Clamps bending her nipples in an unnatural way.
She is vulnerable.
Exposed.
Mine.
I kneel beside her, starting with the left wrist. I buckle the cuff snugly, then clip it to the ring embedded in the throne's front left leg.
The right wrist. Same process.