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.