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The Beautiful slave Beneath the Suit


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I got in the car and watched him play the part. Suit, steady hands, the kind of man everyone trusts. He opened my door first, as always, a small ritual I demanded. He drove like nothing was different. I smiled because I knew the secret he carried.

The little hum changed everything. With just a swipe of my finger he started to fall apart. He kept his face calm, gripped the wheel a little harder, and when we arrived he Quietly offered the things I wanted a coffee, a perfume, a bag. He never ordered for himself before asking me first. Those were his quiet ways of saying I mattered.

When the buzzing rose, he began to tremble. He swallowed and tried not to let it show. I heard the soft breath, the tiny sound he tried to hide. Sometimes he leaned in as if to kiss my cheek, only to whisper a plea for me to slow down, to let him breathe. He failed at hiding it, and it made me smile. I brushed a hair from his face smiling and kept sipping my coffee. He knew I wasn’t slowing down, and I knew he didn’t truly want me to stop. If he had, he would have used his safeword. His eyes were lost in a way only I could see.

To the world he was still that confident young man. To me he was exactly what I wanted: focused, obedient, quietly undone. What I liked most was the image a successful man in a suit, admired by everyone, yet nothing before me. He gave me his attention and his spoiling. I shaped him into a man who took pleasure in the contrast, to look so sure of himself and still crave being full and locked. That choice made him mine for the moment. And when it was over, I reminded him of one last ritual: to text me when he got home safe. Even undone, he followed my word first.

Because a properly trained alpha is nothing more than a beautiful dog.
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