Rules of Mr. S -

After those two words, the conversation took a completely different turn. He was talking about his past week at work and some anecdote with colleagues, while I mechanically replied, my mind in chaos. I've never been a fan of someone being above me, reading my mind, ordering me around. And yet... my body responded differently. Completely the opposite

"I don't mean to undermine your confidence," I cut him off mid-sentence, trying to take back some control. "But you act too relaxed, like you already know how this is going to play out."

He paused for a moment, with a slightly puzzled expression, then smiled. Slowly, and once again, almost too confidently.

"Because I do."

"Aha, so you're one of those fortune tellers who look into crystal balls?" I rolled my eyes as I set the glass down on the table. "Or, even worse, you think I'm so predictable, just like all the others before me, that you read me like an open book?"

The light in the room felt too dim, or perhaps it was just the heavy buzz from the alcohol already clouding my senses. I couldn't fully make out the emotions shifting across his face. It seemed like his smile had faded slightly, and his expression became more serious. I felt the atmosphere change. It became heavier. Denser. As if the air around me was slowly constricting.

"You're not too predictable," he finally said, his voice low, almost whispering. "But, you know, reactions speak louder than words."

His thumb gently traced my leg, slow but deliberate, as if testing the waters. His hand slowly slid under the hem of my dress. My body reacted faster than I could respond. My skin trembled under his touch, as if it had been waiting for this moment all along.

"I see you listened to my second request," he said smugly, more to himself.

"Are you going to tell me again that I'm a good girl?" I responded, trying to tame the growing tension between us.

"No, next time you'll have to earn that."

Damn it. Did this man have to jab at my weak spots with every single sentence? It was as if he'd discovered a new hobby--watching me stare at him, dumbfounded, unable to muster a single reply.

His touches became less gentle until he finally grabbed my thigh, digging his fingers into my flesh. I flinched, letting out a quiet, involuntary moan. Surprisingly, the pain wasn't unpleasant. On the contrary, each flash of intense, burning sensation pulled me deeper into a world inside myself that I had never known before. I realized--it wasn't pain. It was ecstasy. Erasing all the meaningless traces of past lovers. Losing myself and finding myself again, all in one breath.

"We both know you're not here to beat me," his lips were close to my ear, his breath softly brushing my neck. "You're here because you finally want to feel what it's like to give up control to someone."

He paused for a moment, letting the words echo in the silence, before adding with a smile:

"Someone like me, maybe?"

The words hovered in the air, pressuring me to say something. To snap back. To prove that I wasn't such an easy target as he thought.

"Very confident, I must say," the words slipped out of my mouth before I even thought about them.

He stopped kissing me, pulled back slightly, and fixed his gaze on me. I responded confusedly, straightening up. What was this now? Had I said something I shouldn't?

"You know what I love most?" he suddenly changed the course of the conversation.

"What?"

"Breaking and reeducating spoiled brats like you."

--------

"I hope you're comfortable."

"I don't think the goal is for me to be too comfortable, is it?" I retorted mockingly, when a painful tug of the rope interrupted me.

After the atmosphere reached a critical level, Mr. S and I ended up in his bedroom. Again, nothing spectacular, but he had a very charming lamp that cast red light and made everything around us look like red velvet.

Everything started off slow and gentle, kissing and caressing by the wall next to the door, but Mr. S quickly realized I wasn't the most obedient girl he'd ever met.

"Stop moving," he muttered between kisses, biting my lip, and I gasped loudly.

"Stop devouring me," I laughed and pushed him away.

Now, he was already without the hoodie he had been wearing, and I had a perfect view of his rather nice, subtly muscular torso. He wasn't too tall or bulky, but enough to pin me to the wall, which he did, fixing my hands above my head with his.

"I told you not to move," he snarled in my ear.

"Or?" I looked at him provocatively in the eyes. "What are you going to do?"

And so, we ended up in this situation. It turned out Mr. S had quite a collection of ropes in his closet, and, oh boy, he knew how to use them.

"Of course, but I'll be a gentleman on our first date," he replied, deeply focused on the task at hand.

He tied my other leg, leaving me in a position where my hands were bound above my head, and my legs were spread wide, parallel to them. He left just enough space for me to lift my head and look at him. Only then did I realize I still had my panties on.

"I think you forgot something," I nodded toward my crotch.

A devilish smile appeared on his face, and the red light from the lamp played with the shadows, giving him an almost surreal, ominous allure.

"Don't worry, I don't forget things that easily," he replied, turning toward the nightstand.

A devilish smile appeared on his face, and the red light of the lamp played with the shadows, giving him an almost surreal, ominous allure.

Curiosity forced me to glance sideways, trying to figure out what exactly he intended. The moment metal gleamed in the dim light, my heart skipped a beat and then sped up with a wild rhythm. A knife. He was holding a knife. His fingers tightly wrapped around it, and the blade shone like a warning, catching every reflection of light.

"Don't be afraid," he said softly, his voice both soothing and provocative, as if testing the limits of my trust.

The blade lightly glided over the skin of my thighs, cold and relentlessly precise, but without pressure. I didn't dare move. What's more, I realized I had even stopped breathing, so I slowly exhaled.

In the next moment, the sound of fabric tearing echoed through the room, followed by my scream. He tore my panties with the knife, leaving me now soaked and fully exposed.

"You don of a b..." I barely managed to exclaim when a quick, precise slap landed on my butt.

And another. Another one. A sharp, dull pain struck again and again, forcing my body to twist and writhe in an attempt to evade his large hands. Unfortunately for me, he had done an excellent job tying me up, so I could only move an inch or two. Soon, my skin was burning, and my mascara was completely smudged.

Suddenly, the strikes stopped, filling the room with a silence that echoed louder than all my cries. His dark, menacing silhouette loomed over me.

"Now thank me," he said softly, but his tone unmistakably revealed how much he was enjoying this.

"E-excuse me?" I managed to mumble, barely piecing together the syllables, my voice cracking from the earlier crying.

"Thank me," he repeated, sliding the blade gently along my neck and down my chest. "For teaching you not to act like a filthy street rat."

My breathing became shallower as I stared at him with wide eyes--or at least at the outline of his body under the red light. Every atom of my being screamed against uttering the word I so desperately didn't want to say. The cold tip of the knife still rested casually on my skin, cold and warning.

"I won't," I stammered more to myself, barely even hearing my own voice as it got lost in the darkness.

"Oh, you will," he interrupted me before I could finish, a sly smile on his face and not a trace of doubt in his voice.

He knew. He was certain I would respond just as he wanted. He desired it, pushing me toward that moment, toward that answer. The tip of the knife descended from my collarbone to the side of my stomach, leaving a trail of coldness in its wake. I stayed silent, holding my breath as if that would protect me from the cold steel. But that silence couldn't last forever--I knew that.

"You will thank me," he repeated, and then suddenly made a sharp movement with his hand.

Before I could comprehend what was happening, a sharp, burning pain coursed through my body. The knife left a shallow but long cut along my side. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the pain, but I couldn't stop the trembling that overtook me. I felt droplets of blood beginning to slide down my skin, the warmth accompanying each drop spreading strongly and uncontrollably.

"Well?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I can keep going if you'd like--there's plenty of space for more."

"Thank you," I whispered quietly, my voice sounding distant even to myself.

His eyes sparkled in the dim light, and a barely perceptible, triumphant smile appeared on his lips. "Thank you... what?"

I felt my cheeks burn with humiliation, but I couldn't look him in the eye. "Thank you, sir," I barely whispered.

The blade disappeared from my sight, and his fingers gently cupped my cheek, lifting my head to meet his gaze again.

"That's right," he said softly but with authority, stroking my still-burning skin. "Now, I hope you've learned your lesson. Or will we have to repeat it?"

Even though he was very close to me, I couldn't make out his facial features at all; my vision was blurred by all the overwhelming sensations. His mere presence pressed down on me, not allowing me to take my eyes off him.

"No," I finally managed to whisper, my breath shaky. "There's no need."

He released me, his hand sliding gently through my hair in a mockingly tender gesture.

"Good girl."