Linda

[Ma****]

My hands trembled as I folded the letter for the third time, the instructions etched into my mind like a mantra. "Hold," "inspection," "rest." Simple words, but they now weighed like stones in my stomach. The meeting with Sir was imminent, and I, Linda, a twenty-six-year-old woman accustomed to controlling every aspect of my life, found myself on the verge of the unknown.

The hotel, with its marble facade and its large windows reflecting the evening light, stood like a silent giant in the heart of the city. This meeting was about discovering myself, even though the path seemed to be paved with *** and submission. Just thinking about it sent an electric current through my body that reached all the way between my legs.

I climbed the marble stairs, my heels echoing in the silent lobby. The letter specified the room as "Suite 307." My heart pounded as I knocked on the door, my knuckles against the polished wood. A deep, authoritative voice resonated from within: "Enter."

The room was spacious, with red velvet curtains that filtered the sunlight, creating an intimate atmosphere heavy with expectation. He stood with his back to me, looking out the window, his tall, slender silhouette cut against the light. He wore a dark, impeccably tailored suit, his black hair combed with precision. I couldn't see his face, but his presence filled the space, imposing and magnetic.

"Undress," he ordered without turning. His voice was firm, leaving no room for discussion.

I swallowed hard, my trembling fingers unfastening the buttons of my blouse. The letter had been clear: I was supposed to enter naked, but shame had made me walk into the room clothed. Now, under his unseen gaze, I felt exposed, ***. My skirt fell to the floor, followed by my stockings and my underwear. When I was finally naked, he turned slowly, his dark eyes examining me with an intensity that made me take a step back.

"Do not speak unless you are permitted," he said, approaching me with measured steps. His gaze swept over my body, lingering on every curve, every imperfection. I felt my cheeks burn, but I held my ground, remembering the instructions: "Absolute obedience."

"Do you understand?" he asked, his warm breath grazing my ear.

"Yes, Sir," I murmured, my voice barely a whisper.

"Look at me when I speak to you, and I want to hear it clearly that you want this, do you understand?" This time, he stared at me, his gaze so deep I couldn't control my face; it was on fire.

"Yes, Sir, I want to obey, Sir," I said, staring directly into his eyes… I felt shame, but also, inside me… pride?…

A fleeting smile crossed his lips before he took me by the chin, forcing me to raise my gaze higher. His eyes were deep, almost black, and in them I saw something I couldn't decipher: was it desire? Control? Or simply curiosity?

"Good," he said, releasing me. "Let us begin."

He guided me to the center of the room, where a Persian rug cushioned my bare feet. "Position 'hold'," he ordered.

I remembered the instructions: squatting, legs spread wide, hands on the back of my neck, tongue out, looking Sir in the eyes. I got into position, my muscles trembling from the effort, my tongue touching my lips. He knelt in front of me, his face inches from mine, his eyes locked on mine.

"Don't look away," he whispered, his hot breath against my skin.

I tried to maintain eye contact, but his proximity was destabilizing. My legs began to shake, the weight of my body demanding relief. I wanted to speak, to beg for a moment's rest, but I remembered his warning and bit my lip, holding back a whimper of frustration. I stayed like that for a length of time I couldn't determine.

"Good," he said finally, standing up. "Position 'inspection'."

I stood, my body aching, and assumed the new posture: against the wall, on the tips of my toes, legs spread and straight, hands on the back of my neck, elbows touching the wall. I felt my muscles protest, but I held firm, my breath coming in ragged gasps. He approached, his fingers grazing my skin as he examined me with a meticulousness that made me feel like an object, not a person. He even reached down there.

"Interesting," he murmured, his fingers pressing against my inner thigh, making me tremble. "You're wet."

My face flushed, shame mixing with a strange excitement I couldn't deny. He smiled, a smile I didn't quite understand, before bringing his fingers to my mouth.

"Clean them," he ordered.

My eyes widened, but I didn't dare disobey. I saw his fingers coming to my lips, my tongue brushing against his skin, tasting my own wetness. He watched my every move, his expression impassive, but his eyes shone with an intensity that made me feel small, submissive.

"Rest," he said finally, and I fell to my knees, my body grateful for the relief.

I remained there, in silence, my breathing returning to normal as he walked away, his presence still dominating the space. I didn't know what to expect; I had no idea what would come next. I only knew that I was in his hands, and for the first time in my life, I had no control. And, strangely, that didn't scare me. It excited me.

The room fell silent, broken only by the sound of his footsteps moving away. My mind was spinning as I tried to process everything that had happened. Who was this man? What else would he ask of me? And, most importantly, how far would I be willing to go?

The answers would have to wait. For now, there was only uncertainty and a sense of anticipation that ran through me like a shiver.

He gave the order for my next position, and I immediately stood up, my legs spread and straight, my hands behind my head, my gaze fixed on the floor. The air in the room seemed to grow heavier with each passing second, as if time itself had stopped to watch our game. Sir moved around me with approval—I had followed his orders—his steps silent but full of intention. His presence was overwhelming, as if his every movement were a tacit command that my body was desperate to obey.

"Very good," his voice resonated with a calmness that contrasted with the storm I felt inside. "You have been obedient, but this is only the beginning. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," I answered, my voice a nervous whisper.

His fingers returned to my body, this time slower, more deliberate. They ran along my arms, tracing invisible lines that made me tremble. When he reached my breasts, he couldn't help but notice how my nipples hardened at his touch. He smiled, a smile I didn't see but felt in every fiber of my being.

"You're so sensitive," he murmured, as if talking to himself. "I wonder how much more you can take."

His fingers played with my nipples, pulling at them with a mixture of firmness and gentleness that made me moan silently. My body tensed, every muscle on alert, awaiting his next move. Then, without warning, his hands moved up to my face. His thumbs brushed my cheeks, my forehead, my lips. I felt his breath close, so close I could taste it.

"Stick out your tongue," he ordered, his voice a whisper.

I obeyed without hesitation, so quickly that I was ashamed of myself. My tongue emerged, trembling, and he touched it with his fingertips, tracing slow circles that made me feel as if I were on the verge of something indescribable. Then, without warning, he pushed his fingers into my mouth, deepening the contact until I could barely breathe. My eyes were locked on his, but my mind was elsewhere, lost in the sensation of his dominance.

"Look at the floor," he said, very firmly. "And open your mouth wider, stick your tongue out all the way."

I did as he asked, feeling his fingers move inside me, exploring, dominating. My body arched slightly, but I held still, remembering his order not to move. His other hand moved down, gliding over my torso until it reached my vulva. A shiver ran through me when his fingers found my clit, pressing on it with a firmness that made me whimper.

"Shh," he whispered, his hand on my neck, squeezing hard. "Don't make a sound."

His grip was firm, almost ***ful, but I didn't dare complain; I endured it obediently. Instead, I focused on the sensation of his fingers on my clit, on how it made me feel on the brink of an abyss. He would press, release, press again, each movement calculated to bring me to the limit without letting me fall. My breath quickened, my body tensed, and just as I was about to come, he stopped.

"Not yet," he said, his voice as cold as steel, pulling his fingers from my mouth. "You will come when I order you to. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir," I replied, my voice broken with need. I opened my mouth as wide as I could for him and stuck my tongue out again.

"Good girl. I see you are eager to be obedient."

He repeated the process, over and over, each time bringing me closer to the edge, only to stop at the last moment. My body was a bundle of nerves, every cell screaming for release. My clit throbbed with an intensity I had never felt, and the imprints of his fingers seemed to be seared into my most sensitive part; I could feel them.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, when I couldn't take any more, he spoke and gave me permission.

"Now you may come," he said, his voice echoing in the room like thunder.

My body exploded in an orgasm that shook me to my core. I cried out, but his hand on my neck silenced me. "Do not make any sound. Do not breathe", he ***d me to swallow the sound. My legs trembled, my muscles contracted, and I felt my essence flow as he maintained his firm grip, controlling even my breath.

When it was over, he let me collapse onto the bed, my body exhausted but my mind alert. He stood over me, his imposing figure, and smiled.

"This is only the beginning, Linda," he said, his voice laden with promises. "There is much more to explore."

He looked at me with an intensity that made me feel naked not just in body, but in soul. The room fell silent, but the air remained charged, as if the game had only just begun. And although my body was still trembling, a part of me was already waiting for what would come next.