Deleted Member Posted May 20 I was already trembling before he spoke. Hands bound in silk behind my back, knees pressed into cold stone, blindfolded in the dark—just the way he wanted me. Just the way I craved. The moment I surrendered the key, I stopped being a woman and became an offering. His. I could feel him circling me, that heavy silence between us thick with power. I moaned—soft, involuntary—as leather fingertips traced my inner thigh, not quite touching. He wanted me needy. Wet. Desperate. I whispered, “Please…” He growled, “Louder.” My voice cracked like lightning against the dungeon walls as I begged—sweet, shame-drunk, and aching. Every sound I made earned me more: the sting of the crop, the warmth of his mouth, the praise I lived for. “Look at you,” he purred, untying the silk, dragging it up my body. “So obedient. So perfect. So mine.” And when he finally took me? I shattered like a prayer on his tongue.
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