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Title: “Obey Me”The soft of

Title: “Obey Me”

The soft click of heels echoed through the hallway as Mistress Leona entered the room, her silhouette slicing through the dim light like a blade. Everything about her exuded control—sharp eyes, a body draped in leather and lace, and a voice that could drop a man to his knees with a single word.

Drew was already waiting—shirtless, kneeling by the side of her velvet chaise lounge, head bowed, his breath shallow with anticipation.

“You’re early,” she said, circling him like a predator.

“I wanted to please you, Mistress.”

She smirked, her red lips curving with amusement. “Then don’t speak unless told. You know the rules.

“Yes, Mistress,” he whispered.

Leona sat, slowly crossing her legs, and let her fingers glide down his jawline. “Have you thought about me today?”

“All day, Mistress.”

“Did you touch yourself?”

He hesitated—mistake number one.

“I asked you a question.

“No, Mistress. I didn’t.”

She tilted her head. “Good boy. But I think you need reminding who owns your pleasure.”

Standing up, she walked to the drawer and pulled out a black silk tie, then approached him, letting it slide between her fingers. She slipped it over his eyes, plunging him into darkness.

He heard the soft clink of metal—the sound of cuffs being taken from their drawer.

Within seconds, his wrists were bound, and his breath hitched. She knew every tick of his body. She knew he craved the sting of her palm, the praise from her lips, the power she held when he gave himself over completely.

She leaned in, whispering into his ear, her breath hot. “Tonight, you’ll forget your name. You’ll forget control. There’s only me. Only obedience.”

He moaned, already lost in her voice.

Then came the first strike—her palm against his chest, sharp and commanding. She didn’t ask. She didn’t pause. She owned him, every twitch, every breath, every desperate need that curled deep in his gut.

She teased him with her touch—light fingertips that never lingered long enough. She traced his inner thighs, leaned in close enough that he could feel the warmth of her body—but never gave him the satisfaction of contact.

“You want release?” she asked, her voice velvet and steel.

“Yes, Mistress, please.”

She chuckled. “You’ll earn it.”

The next hour was a blur of sensation—her mouth, her words, the occasional, delicious pain that made him gasp. His world shrunk to the space between her commands and his obedience. Nothing else mattered.

And when she finally granted him permission, when she pressed her lips against his neck and whispered, “Now,” it wasn’t release he felt.

It was surrender.

Total. Perfect. Surrender.

Want a part two, or a different scene in the same dynamic?

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