You don't knock.
I left the door unlocked. You knew what that meant. When you stepped inside, your breath caught but you didn't hesitate. You never do, not with me.
The room was quiet, low-lit, intentional. My silhouette waited near the edge of the bed, backlit by city glow. I stood in the low light, letting you take me in--my auburn hair falling just below my shoulders in loose, deliberate waves. The leather corset wrapped around me like a second skin, soft but unforgiving, every inch designed to remind you who I am. My thigh-high boots laced tight up my legs over my stickings. But otherwise I'm naked. I don't need to speak. I just watch you and I know. You remember exactly why you came. You froze, just a second too long, and I saw the flicker of nerves behind your eyes.
Good.
"Take off your shirt," I said.
You obeyed.
I don't praise you right away. I let you stand there, exposed and waiting, hands unsure of where to go. I walk a slow circle around you, close enough to graze your skin with my presence and my perfume, but not my touch.
"Now, hands behind your back."
There is a moment--just a breath--where I feel you wrestle with yourself. And then you give in. Fully. Beautifully.
I don't need to bind your wrists to know I have you. You are already mine. But I love the look of your bound wrists and you love the surrender. You feel a handcuff clamp around your right wrist and then your left.
"You want to know what happens next," I say. "You always do."
You nod.
"Words," I remind you.
"Yes," you say, voice strained. I loved the way it cracks, even just a little.
I fit a ball gag over your head and into your mouth. Then, I grab the waistband of your pants and lead you to the bed. There you see laid out a whip, a paddle, anal beads, and a strap on.
