Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
They sit on the floor. Backs straight, eyes down. The room is dim. My heels click once as I cross my legs. I wear black silk, with gloves up to my elbows. Hair slicked back. I do not smile. They do not speak unless I say.
Jean trembles. I see it in his hands, folded in his lap. Luc breathes too loud. They wait for me. But I am not in a hurry. We have all night. I open a small box. Inside, there is a silver toy. Jean lifts his eyes just a little. I snap my fingers.
Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
He bowed his head as I circled him. Slowly. Deliberately. He didn’t move. He was a perfect statue of obedience. “It is the season for giving, isn’t it, pet?” I whispered. He shivered. “But you know I don’t give things away. I take them. And you are mine to take.”
I picked up the items I had laid out on the high table. First, the ribbon. Not the flimsy kind, but thick, expensive satin. I used it to bind his wrists behind his back, pulling the knot hard until I heard a faint, satisfying moan. I tied his ankles together next, ensuring he couldn’t even shift his weight without fighting the slippery silk. He was perfectly secured, kneeling like a forgotten ornament.
Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
“Why, Stella? Why do you insist on being the one holding the leash?” They look at the high polish on my boots, or maybe they see the faint marks on my neck left by a tightly fitted collar, wondering what I’ll say. It’s tempting to give them a chic answer about power dynamics or the beautiful theater of kink. But tonight, I will be honest. I don’t love power in the abstract. I love taking it.
The moment it happens—the shift—is a quiet, terrifying thing, even after all this time. You’re watching a person who handles boardroom negotiations or complicated machinery every day suddenly relinquish the single most burdensome thing we all carry: the right to decide. When they kneel, they aren’t just kneeling to me. They are kneeling to the absence of consequence. They are begging to hand over their anxiety, their morality, their burdensome free will, and place it directly in my hands.
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Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
I ran a thumb along the seam of my black lace glove, savoring the slickness of the leather against my skin. The title—naughty slut, dominant bitch—they were just labels. To them, they were prayers whispered into the void. To me, they were tools.
Tonight, my tool was denial. Exquisite, slow, psychological denial. I pushed open the door, and the air shifted. Elias was already in position, knees pressed to the cold concrete, wrists secured behind him with thick, dark cuffs. He wasn’t looking at me; he wouldn’t dare until I permitted it.