Kiya
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 16
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 16 - Before she died of cancer, Stephanie Barrett did one last thing for her husband Nathan—she found him a slave. She spent her final months training her young cousin Kiya to love him the way she had loved him, completely and without reservation. Kiya spent a year watching Nathan from a distance before walking into his life with a sealed letter and a truth she had been carrying for two years. "I am the slave she made for you”
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Slavery BDSM DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Light Bond Spanking Anal Sex Analingus Exhibitionism First Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Water Sports Big Breasts AI Generated
He had been there for two hours.
He had come from the office at five-thirty. The market had closed unremarkable and he had not stayed to read the wrap. He had driven through the last of the evening light and had parked in his spot and had taken the elevator to the third floor. Caroline had been at the nurses’ station and had looked up when he came down the hall. Her face had told him, before she said anything, that the day had been a hard one.
“She is sleeping. She has been sleeping most of the afternoon. Her breathing has changed.”
“How changed.”
“It is shallower. The doctor was in at four. He thinks tonight or tomorrow.”
Nathan absorbed this. He had been absorbing some version of it for weeks. He had not absorbed this exact version.
“All right.”
“Go in. I will come and check on you both. I am here until midnight tonight.”
“Thank you, Caroline.”
He went in. He sat in the chair beside the bed. He did not turn on the lamp. The room had the soft dim light of the hallway coming in through the half-open door and the late blue light of the window, and that was enough.
He took his wife’s hand. Her hand was warm in a way it had not been on Saturday. He had read that the temperature went strange in the last hours. He did not know if this was that.
He sat. He held her hand. He did not speak. She did not wake.
He had been there for two hours when her breathing changed again.
He noticed it before he understood that he had noticed it. The room had been quiet in the way it had been quiet for hours and then it was quiet in a different way. He looked at her. Her chest was still rising and falling. The rises were further apart. He counted between them. He had been counting between them on and off for an hour without admitting that he was counting.
Twelve seconds. Fifteen. Twenty.
He stood up. He did not let go of her hand. He leaned closer.
“Steph.”
She did not open her eyes. Her face did not move. But something in her hand pressed back against his, very faintly, the way a person presses a hand in sleep when they have been spoken to. He felt it. He was sure he felt it.
“I am here.”
The hand in his went soft again.
He sat back down. He kept her hand. He did not call Caroline yet. He was not sure why. He thought, if I call her in, she will start doing the things she has to do. I want one more minute. He sat with his wife and he watched her breathing and he counted between the rises and the counts got longer and at some point the counts got long enough that he understood the next count was going to be the one that did not end.
He leaned in. He kissed her forehead. He said, quietly, against her hair, “I love you. I love you. You can go.”
The next breath came. It was small.
The one after did not come.
He waited. He waited a long time. The not-coming did not come back. The chest under his other hand—he had laid it there at some point without thinking—did not rise.
He sat with her. He did not get up. He did not call Caroline. He kept her hand and he sat with her and he said her name once more, not because he thought she would answer but because the name needed to be in the room with her.
After a while—he did not know how long, it might have been ten minutes, it might have been twenty—he stood up. He walked to the door. He opened it. Caroline was at the nurses’ station and she looked up and she saw his face and she stood up without saying anything and she came down the hall.
“Just now,” he said.
She put her hand on his arm. She went past him into the room.
He stood in the hallway. He looked at the wall opposite the door. There was a print on the wall, a watercolor of a beach, that he had been seeing for eleven months without seeing. He looked at it now. He could not have described it ten seconds later if asked.
Caroline came back out of the room. She put both hands on his arms.
“Sit with her as long as you want. I will let the doctor know. There is no rush. Take the time.”
“Thank you.”
“Nathan.”
“Yes.”
“I am very sorry.”
“Thank you.”
He went back into the room. He closed the door behind him. He sat in the chair beside the bed. He took his wife’s hand again. The hand was already different. He held it anyway.
He sat with her for over an hour. He did not cry yet. The crying was going to come and he knew it was going to come and he was letting himself have this hour before it did. He held her hand and he looked at her face and he tried to fix the face in his memory and he understood at the same time that the face he was fixing was not the face she had had, and that the real face was already beginning to leave the room with the rest of her.
At some point he stood up. He bent over the bed. He kissed her forehead one last time. He said, “Goodbye, Stephanie.”
He went out.
In the parking lot he sat in his car for a long time before he started the engine. When he started the engine he drove home. He went into the apartment. He stood in the foyer for a minute without turning the lights on. Then he walked through the apartment and turned on every lamp in every room, because the apartment was too dark, and he stood in the middle of the living room with all the lamps on and he cried for the first time, standing in the middle of his lit-up living room with his coat still on.
He cried for a long time. When he stopped, he took his coat off. He went into the kitchen. He poured himself a small whiskey and he sat at the kitchen island and he drank it slowly, without thinking, and at some point he went to bed and he did not sleep.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.