Voileting The Oath

(Nova Kane's POV)

I woke up with my fingers already buried deep inside my pussy.

Again.

The silk sheets were tangled around my thighs, damp with sweat and my own juices. My breathing was ragged, my nipples hard and aching as I slowly pumped two fingers in and out of my soaked cunt, chasing that high I could never quite reach. The dream had been filthy - some faceless man bending me over the hood of my father's Rolls Royce, fucking me raw while the city watched.

"Fuck..." I moaned softly, adding a third finger, stretching myself as I rubbed my swollen clit with my thumb. My hips bucked against my hand, the obscene wet sounds filling my massive bedroom.

I was dripping. Leaking all over my expensive sheets like a desperate whore.

This was the third time this week I'd woken up like this - fingering myself before I even opened my eyes properly. My body was a traitor. Always hungry. Always empty.

I came hard, biting down on my lip to stay quiet, my pussy clenching around my fingers as waves of pleasure crashed through me. But the moment it faded, the familiar void returned. That cold, gnawing emptiness that no amount of orgasms could ever fill.

I pulled my fingers out, glistening with my juices, and stared at the ceiling of my penthouse bedroom. Crystal chandelier. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. Everything money could buy.

And yet... I felt nothing.

As I lay there catching my breath, a vivid memory from just two nights ago flashed through my mind.

---

**Flashback - Two Nights Ago**

The penthouse suite was dark except for the city lights bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I was on all fours on the massive bed, completely naked, ass up and back arched like a whore in heat.

Behind me, Marcus was pounding into me like a machine, his thick cock stretching my dripping pussy with every brutal thrust.

"Harder!" I screamed, pushing back against him. "Fuck me like you mean it, Marcus!"

He gripped my hips tighter, slamming into me so hard the headboard banged against the wall. The wet, filthy sound of his balls slapping against my clit filled the room.

"You're such a greedy little slut," he growled, slapping my ass hard. "This pussy is always so fucking wet."

I moaned louder, reaching between my legs to rub my swollen clit as he railed me. I didn't love him. I barely even liked him anymore. But his cock felt good, and that was enough.

"Deeper! Fill me up!" I begged, my voice breaking.

Marcus groaned, thrusting faster, his cock swelling inside me. He came with a grunt, flooding my pussy with hot cum. The feeling pushed me over the edge again - I came violently, my walls milking every drop out of him.

But even as my body shook with pleasure, I felt nothing real.

Just another empty fuck.

**End of Flashback**

I dragged myself to the bathroom, my legs still shaky, the memory still lingering between my legs. The mirror showed the truth I hated facing. A beautiful 21-year-old woman stared back at me - long dark wavy hair, flawless creamy chocolate skin, full lips, and a body that made men stupid. But my eyes looked tired. Haunted.

I turned on the shower, letting the hot water beat against my skin as I tried to wash away the shame. It never worked.

By the time I stepped out, my father's assistant had already sent three messages reminding me about the family brunch. Another performance. Another day of pretending the Kane family wasn't rotting from the inside.

I chose my outfit carefully - a tight white designer dress that hugged my curves, innocent enough for family but slutty enough to make men stare. No panties. I liked the thrill of it.

Downstairs in the private dining room of our mansion, the usual bullshit was waiting.

My father, Victor Kane, sat at the head of the table like a king, scrolling through his phone while barking orders at someone on the other end. My mother, Elena, smiled elegantly beside him, but her eyes were distant. She had that fresh-fucked glow again. Probably one of her secret lovers.

"Morning, darling," she said sweetly, the lie smooth on her tongue.

I smiled back, equally fake. "Morning, Mother."

Marcus, my boyfriend, was already there, looking perfect in his tailored shirt. He leaned over to kiss my cheek, but his hand lingered a little too long on my thigh under the table.

Later, I told myself. I'd fuck him in the bathroom or the car. Maybe both, but probably somewhere in this house.

But even as I thought it, I felt nothing. Just the same mechanical hunger.

The conversation flowed around me - stock prices, upcoming galas, board meetings. I nodded at the right moments, laughed when expected, played the perfect heiress.

Inside, I was screaming.

After brunch, I escaped to my room. The moment the door closed, I hiked my dress up, spread my legs on the bed, and grabbed my largest dildo from the nightstand.

I didn't even bother with foreplay.

I slammed it inside my dripping pussy in one brutal thrust, moaning loudly as I fucked myself hard and fast, imagining a stranger's cock destroying me.

"Fuck... yes... harder..." I gasped, my free hand pinching my nipples roughly.

I came twice, shaking, but still felt empty.

This was my life.

Perfect on the outside. Filthy and broken on the inside.

Later that evening, my father summoned me to his study.

He didn't even look up from his laptop when I entered.

"You had another incident last week," he said coldly. "The club. The photos. I won't tolerate any more scandals, Nova."

I crossed my arms. "It was nothing."

"It was embarrassing." He finally looked at me, eyes like ice. "You're starting therapy tomorrow. Dr. Elias Voss. One of the best. You will attend every session. No excuses."

Therapy.

I almost laughed.

Another rich man trying to fix what couldn't be fixed.

But something in my father's tone told me there was no arguing this time.

"Fine," I said, turning to leave.

As I walked out, my mind was already spinning.

A new doctor.

Older. Respected. Supposedly unbreakable.

A challenge.

For the first time in weeks, I felt a real spark of excitement between my legs.

Maybe this Dr. Elias Voss would be different.

Maybe I could break him.

Or maybe... he would finally break me.

(Nova Kane's POV)

The moment I left my father's study, something dark and reckless ignited inside me.

Therapy.

Tomorrow I was supposed to sit in some sterile office and let a stranger try to fix what was unfixable. Dr. Elias Voss. The name already felt like a challenge. A man who thought he could handle broken little rich girls like me.

I wasn't going to make it easy for him.

If this was going to be my last night of freedom before someone tried to "cure" me, I was going to make it count. I was going to ruin myself so thoroughly that tomorrow I would walk into his office still dripping with the evidence of my destruction.

I started getting ready at 9 PM.

I chose the sluttiest dress I owned - a skin-tight black mini dress that barely covered my ass, with a plunging neckline that showed off most of my breasts. No bra. No panties. Just heels high enough to make my legs look endless and my pussy easily accessible.

I looked like sex walking.

Perfect.

The club was called "Velvet Sin" - an exclusive underground spot where the rich and depraved went to play without consequences. The bass hit me the second I stepped inside, vibrating straight between my legs. I went straight to the bar and downed two shots of tequila like water.

Within fifteen minutes, the first guy approached me.

Tall. Tattooed. Cocky.

I didn't bother with names.

I pulled him into a dark corner booth, hiked my dress up, and straddled him right there. His thick cock slid into my already dripping pussy in one smooth thrust.

"Fuck yes," I moaned, riding him hard, my tits bouncing in his face as the music pulsed around us. People could see us if they looked hard enough. I didn't care.

He gripped my ass and thrust up into me, grunting like an animal. I came fast and loud, my pussy clenching around him as I bit his shoulder to muffle my scream. He filled me with his cum shortly after, and I climbed off him without a word, feeling it drip down my thighs as I walked away.

That was only the beginning.

I found the second guy near the bar - older, muscular, married judging by the ring on his finger. I whispered filthy things in his ear until he dragged me to the VIP bathroom. He bent me over the sink and fucked me from behind like he hated his wife, slamming into my cum-filled cunt with brutal force.

"Harder! Destroy this pussy!" I begged, pushing back against him.

He slapped my ass red and railed me until I came again, squirting all over the floor. He pulled out and painted my ass with his load.

By 1 AM, I had fucked four different men.

One in the bathroom.

One in a private booth.

One in the back seat of his Lamborghini in the parking lot.

And one against the wall in a dark hallway while people walked past just a few feet away.

My pussy was swollen, sore, and leaking multiple loads of cum down my legs. My makeup was ruined. My dress was wrinkled and stained.

And still... I felt empty.

I left the club at 3:30 AM and went straight home.

The moment I stepped into my bedroom, I stripped completely naked and threw myself on the bed. My body was exhausted, but my mind was still racing.

I grabbed my thickest dildo - the black one that stretched me to the limit - and slammed it deep into my sloppy, cum-filled cunt.

"Fuck... yes..." I moaned loudly, fucking myself mercilessly.

I rode it like a whore, hips slamming down, tits bouncing wildly. I pinched and twisted my nipples until they hurt. I even pushed two fingers into my ass while the dildo destroyed my pussy.

I came over and over again - screaming, shaking, squirting all over my expensive sheets. I changed positions constantly - on my back with my legs over my head, on all fours like a bitch in heat, riding it reverse cowgirl while watching myself in the mirror.

Every orgasm felt good for a few seconds.

Then the emptiness returned stronger than before.

By 6 AM, I was a complete wreck.

My voice was hoarse from moaning. My pussy was red, swollen, and leaking everywhere. My body was covered in sweat and dried cum. I lay on my back, legs spread wide, staring at the ceiling as the first light of morning crept through the windows.

Tomorrow I would meet Dr. Elias Voss.

The man who was supposed to fix me.

I smiled bitterly into the darkness, my fingers absentmindedly circling my sore clit.

He had no idea what kind of filthy, broken mess was about to walk into his office.

I was going to test every ounce of his control.

And deep down, I hoped he would finally be the one strong enough to break me... or the one I would completely destroy.

By 6:30 AM, I was still lying there, legs spread obscenely wide, my swollen pussy throbbing from hours of abuse. Cum from multiple strangers and my own juices had dried on my thighs and stained the expensive sheets beneath me.

I should have felt satisfied.

Instead, I felt hollow.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand with a shaky hand and opened the gallery. Picture after picture of my filthy night stared back at me - blurry shots I'd taken in the club bathroom, my face flushed with pleasure as different cocks disappeared inside me. I scrolled through them slowly, my fingers absentmindedly circling my sore clit again.

Even after all that, my body still wanted more.

I forced myself to stop.

Tomorrow - no, today - I had to meet Dr. Elias Voss.

I dragged my exhausted body into the shower, letting the scalding water punish my skin. As I washed away the evidence of my night of ruin, my mind kept drifting to him.

What would he look like?

Would he be old and boring? Or dangerously attractive?

Would he see through me the moment I walked in?

A dark, twisted smile formed on my lips as I rinsed the soap from between my legs.

Let him try to fix me.

I was going to walk into his office still reeking of sex, still dripping from the night before, and I was going to make sure Dr. Elias Voss remembered exactly what kind of patient he was dealing with.

I stepped out of the shower, my body sore but my mind already buzzing with filthy possibilities.

This therapy session was going to be anything but professional.

(Dr. Elias Voss's POV)

The morning light filtered through the half-closed blinds of my office, casting long shadows across the oak desk and the neutral-toned furniture I'd chosen precisely because it revealed nothing. Neutral ground. Safe space. A place where control was supposed to remain absolute.

I had reviewed Nova Kane's file twice already. Twenty-one. Heiress to one of the most powerful family empires in the city. Recent public breakdown. Severe behavioral issues flagged by her father-though Victor Kane's cold email had been more threat than referral. "Fix her. Discreetly."

As if people like the Kanes ever allowed themselves to be truly fixed.

I adjusted my cufflinks and glanced at the clock. 10:02 AM. She was late. A small act of rebellion, no doubt. They always tested boundaries first.

The door finally opened without a knock.

She stepped in like she owned the room-and everything in it.

Nova Kane was dangerously beautiful. Long dark waves cascading over one shoulder, warm brown skin glowing under the soft lighting, and a body wrapped in a dress that walked the razor's edge between elegant and obscene. Her eyes-sharp, arrogant, and far too knowing-locked onto mine immediately. There was no hesitation. No vulnerability on display yet.

Only challenge.

"Dr. Voss," she purred, her voice low and velvet-smooth as she closed the door behind her. She didn't sit. Instead, she drifted toward the leather couch, hips swaying with deliberate grace, before lowering herself onto it with the fluidity of someone who knew exactly how her body affected people. The hem of her dress rode high on her thighs. She made no effort to adjust it.

I remained seated behind my desk for a moment longer than necessary, maintaining the physical barrier. Professional distance.

"Miss Kane," I said calmly, keeping my tone even, measured. The one I'd perfected over years of practice. "Thank you for coming. Please, make yourself comfortable."

A slow, wicked smile curved her full lips. "Oh, I plan to."

She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them just as slowly, her gaze never leaving mine. The air in the room felt heavier already. Charged. I could sense the game beginning-the way she was studying me, cataloging weaknesses, deciding how best to dismantle the man she'd been sent to.

I folded my hands on the desk. "Your father mentioned some recent difficulties. Would you like to start by telling me what brings you here today?"

Nova leaned back against the couch, letting her head tilt slightly. The movement exposed the elegant line of her neck. "Difficulties," she echoed, tasting the word like it amused her. "That's such a polite way to say it, Doctor. I fuck too much. I can't stop. Even when it doesn't feel like anything anymore. I wake up with my hand between my legs and I still feel... empty."

Her words were explicit, but delivered with clinical detachment-like she was testing whether I would flinch. I didn't.

Instead, I held her gaze steadily. "And how does that emptiness feel in the moments when you're not chasing relief?"

For the briefest second, something flickered behind her arrogant mask. A shadow. Real pain, quickly buried beneath another layer of seduction. She shifted again on the couch, her dress slipping higher. The scent of her-something expensive mixed with a faint, unmistakable trace of recent intimacy-drifted across the space between us.

She was testing me. Weaponizing her body and her truth at the same time.

I felt the pull. Not just physical-though that was undeniable-but the deeper psychological one. The broken girl behind the heiress armor. The one who believed she could control everyone by giving them what they wanted.

Including me.

I leaned forward slightly, keeping my voice low and controlled. "This is a safe space, Nova. But it only works if we're honest. Games won't help you."

Her eyes darkened with delight. "Games?" She let out a soft, throaty laugh. "Doctor, I haven't even started playing yet."

(Nova Kane's POV)

He didn't flinch.

Most men would have shifted in their seat, let their eyes drop to my thighs, or cleared their throat like nervous schoolboys. Not Dr. Elias Voss. He sat there like a fortress-calm, composed, those sharp gray eyes steady on mine as if my words were simply data to be analyzed.

It pissed me off.

It excited me.

For the first time in months, the emptiness inside my chest felt... interrupted. There was a spark. A real one. Not the cheap chemical high I got from strangers or Marcus or my own fingers. This was something sharper. Dangerous. He was older, controlled, and clearly fighting to stay professional. The perfect forbidden fruit.

I uncrossed my legs again, letting them part just enough that the cool air of his office kissed my bare skin. No panties. I wondered if he could tell. If he could smell the evidence of last night still on me.

"You want honesty, Doctor?" I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees so the neckline of my dress dipped lower. "Fine. My family is a fucking illusion. My father cares more about the Kane legacy than whether I'm breathing. My mother smiles like a queen while she's getting fucked by men half her age behind his back. And my boyfriend?" I laughed bitterly. "He's convenient. Good on paper. Terrible where it counts."

Elias's expression didn't change, but I caught the subtle tightening of his jaw. Good. I was getting under his skin.

"I use sex to shut it all up," I continued, my voice dropping lower, more intimate. "The louder I moan, the quieter the void gets. For a few seconds, anyway." I bit my lower lip, holding his gaze. "Last night I let four different men fuck me. Came home and still had to destroy my pussy with a toy until sunrise. And you know what I felt when it was over?"

I paused, letting the silence stretch.

"Nothing."

I stood slowly and took a few steps closer to his desk, my heels clicking softly against the floor. Not close enough to touch. Just close enough to invade his carefully maintained space.

"But sitting here right now, talking to you..." My eyes traced his broad shoulders, the strong line of his jaw, the way his hands stayed perfectly still on the desk. "I feel something. A spark. You're trying so hard to stay in control, Doctor Voss. It's almost admirable."

I tilted my head, letting my hair fall over one shoulder. "Tell me-does it turn you on? Knowing your patient walked in here still sore from being used? Still wet? Still broken?"

His control was impressive. He didn't look away. Didn't scold me. But I saw it-the tiniest flicker in those gray eyes. Conflict. Curiosity. Maybe even hunger.

It made my pulse race.

I wasn't just playing anymore. I wanted to crack him open. I wanted to see what lay beneath all that professional armor. Because for once, the idea of using someone didn't feel completely empty.

It felt like the beginning of an obsession.