Tae It

The hotel room door clicked shut behind me. My heart thudded hard in my chest. I didn't speak. I knew better. The rules were already clear--when I entered, I waited.

Nathaniel didn't even look up. He stood across the room near the full-length mirror, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his whole body still. Calm. In control. Always.

His dark brown hair was still damp from the shower, curling slightly at the ends in that way that made him look undone by accident--except nothing about Nathaniel ever felt accidental. The green of his eyes caught the low light like glass in sunlight.

He wore nothing but a pair of worn jeans that hugged his hips. The top button was undone, as if he'd only gotten halfway dressed before deciding it was enough.

The muscles in his forearms flexed as he adjusted the base of the mirror--slow, deliberate, precise. Even that mattered to him. Even the angle I'd see myself from.

When he finally turned toward me, it was slow. Intentional. My breath caught. The air shifted.

"Close the door," he said quietly. "And take off your clothes."

I froze.

Then he really looked at me. Met my gaze.

"Down to your underwear," he said. "No bra."

My hands moved on instinct. Slowly. Almost reverently.

I peeled off my dress first, letting it slide down my hips and puddle at my feet. Then my fingers found the straps of my bra. I hesitated before slipping them off my shoulders and unclasping the back. It dropped to the floor.

I stood in nothing but my black lace panties, arms crossed loosely over my chest. Not to cover myself, exactly. Just to hold something.

That was when I saw he was holding the collar.

"Come here," he said, low and firm.

I didn't hesitate. I stepped toward him like my body knew the way.

His fingers brushed the back of my neck as he fastened it around me. The click of the buckle sounded louder than it should have. I exhaled. My eyes fluttered closed. I leaned into the weight of it. Into him.

"There," he murmured. "Now you're mine."

I didn't answer. I didn't need to.

"Drop your arms," he said. "And go to the mirror."

My limbs felt heavy, but I obeyed. The carpet was soft beneath my feet. When I reached the mirror, I stopped. I could feel him move behind me--tall, steady, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body, but not touching me.

The space between us crackled.

"Look," he said.

I dropped my gaze instead.

"Juliet."

I lifted my chin, met the mirror and immediately looked away again.

"I said look."

"I'm not--" I started.

"You are beautiful," he said. "When I fuck you. When you beg. And just as you are. Right now."

I blinked. Heat crept up my neck. Shame, maybe. Or something more dangerous.

He stepped closer, and I felt his hands trail lightly down my arms until they rested at my sides.

"Don't hide from me," he said. "Don't hide from yourself."

"I don't like looking," I whispered.

"Which is why you have to."

I tried. I really did. But my eyes darted upward--not to my body, but to his. To the place where our eyes met in the mirror. His gaze was calm. Unflinching. I clung to it like a lifeline, desperate to anchor myself in his steadiness because I couldn't stand the sight of me.

"Not at me," he said coldly. "At yourself."

I looked down again. And that's when the slap landed on my ass--hard and sudden.

My breath hitched. The sting bloomed across my ass, hot and humbling.

"Eyes on yourself," he growled, stepping closer. "You don't get to hide in me."

The words cut deeper than the strike.

My body jolted. My cheeks flamed. Slowly, shakily, I raised my eyes again. And there I was.

The curve of my collarbone. The flushed skin across my chest. The soft slope of my stomach, the slight tremble in my thighs. The collar sat snug against my throat. My lips parted. I watched my breath fog the mirror. I looked... beautiful. Owned.

The instinct to look away rose up fast. I wanted to shrink, to disappear. But then his hand landed lightly on the back of my neck. He didn't push. He didn't hold me there. He just made it clear he was present.

"I see you," he said, voice no longer a growl but something softer. A tether. "Now you see you."

I bit my lip, eyes stinging. I held myself in that reflection like it might break. I didn't recognize this version of me--this bare, bared woman--but some part of me wanted to.

And Nathaniel wasn't going to let me look away again.

He turned from me without a word, walked to the nightstand, and picked up the anal plug--smooth and gleaming in his hand.

"Hands on the bed," he said.

I moved without thinking. Bent forward. The bed was cool beneath my palms, my breath catching as he stepped behind me.

He pushed the plug in slowly, teasing the stretch, filling me inch by inch until I whimpered. It was too much and not enough, exactly the way he liked it. His mouth brushed my ear.

"Now crawl to the mirror."

I hesitated. Just for a breath. Then I obeyed.

I crawled across the carpet, knees dragging, thighs shaky. I stopped when I reached the mirror. My reflection met me there again--collared, flushed, vulnerable. Different, but mine.

Nathaniel walked over to the mirror and pressed a suction cup dildo against the glass, anchoring it with slow, deliberate force.

"On all fours," he said. "Face me. Knees apart."

My breath hitched. Still, I obeyed.

I positioned myself the way he wanted--palms on the floor, knees wide, back arched. The stretch in my thighs made me tremble.

"Back yourself onto it."

My breath caught in my throat.

"Do it."

I swallowed hard and shifted my hips back, the head of the dildo nudging against my entrance. My moan came out soft at first--more surprise than sound. But as I sank onto it, inch by slow inch, my moan deepened, turned raw. When my ass finally met the mirror, my palms braced against the carpet, I could feel the silicone press against every inch of me. The balls at the base rubbed against my clit in just the right way, teasing me with every breath.

"Beautiful," Nathaniel said, voice rich with heat. He stood over me, watching. "Now fuck yourself. I want to watch."

I whimpered and began to move slowly at first, testing the pressure. The toy filled me deep and wide and maddeningly perfect. But somehow it still wasn't enough. I pulled forward, then rocked back onto it again, the sound of my wetness echoing in the room. The movement made the plug shift inside me too, and I gasped, overwhelmed.

He didn't move. Just stood there with his arms crossed like a goddamn sculpture, every part of him watching. His gaze felt like a second heat crawling over my skin.

"More," he said.

I pushed back harder. Each motion drove the toy deeper, made the friction more unbearable. My thighs began to tremble, but I didn't stop. I couldn't.

"Open your mouth."

I obeyed instantly. My lips parted, panting, tongue pressed against the roof of my mouth to try and hold in the sounds building in my chest.

"Faster."

I started fucking myself harder, the mirror catching every messy, desperate angle. My ass slapped against the glass with every thrust, my body jerking from the inside out. I was completely unraveling and he hadn't even touched me.

"Please," I gasped. "Please, Sir--can I suck your cock?"

He didn't move. Didn't say a word. Instead, he reached for the flogger.

The first strike landed across my ass--sharp and loud. I cried out, the sting blooming across my skin, but I didn't stop moving. I couldn't.

"No," he said finally, voice rough and controlled. "Not yet."

"Faster."

I obeyed. I gripped the carpet, grounded myself as I slammed back against the toy. The plug shifted again, the toy rubbed against my clit, and I sobbed out another moan, nearly incoherent.

"Beg for it," he said.

"Please," I panted. "Please, Sir--I need you. I need your cock in my mouth, please--please--"

He grabbed my chin his thumb brushed across my lip.

"You keep fucking yourself," he said. "Don't stop."

I nodded, barely breathing, tears stinging the corners of my eyes--not from pain, but from the aching, overwhelming need flooding every nerve in my body. And then, finally he relented.

He stepped in front of me, undid his belt with one slow pull, and knelt until his cock was right in front of my face. Thick. Hard. Beautiful. Mine.

"You've earned it," he said, voice thick.

I didn't wait.

I wrapped one hand around the base of him and took him into my mouth in a smooth, hungry motion. The weight of him on my tongue made me moan. I craved the taste of him, the way he filled my mouth, the way he filled me without even being inside me.

He hissed through his teeth as I slid down his shaft, tongue pressing up firmly as I went. I moaned again, and the vibration made his thighs tense. My other hand worked what my mouth couldn't reach.

When I felt him hit the back of my throat, I didn't pull away. I took him deeper. Swallowed around him. My eyes watered, my breath caught, but I didn't stop. I loved the way he groaned above me, the way his fingers gripped the back of my head--not to force, but to guide. To hold. To keep.

And that's when the orgasm tore through me with no warning. My knees gave out beneath me. The dildo inside me shifted, dragged across every nerve as my body clenched hard around it. I nearly screamed--choked on my Master's cock--but I held him in my mouth, kept sucking even as I came so hard I saw white.

I moaned around him, my body grinding helplessly back onto the toy. I couldn't stop. I didn't want to.

Mess spilled down my thighs, thick and hot, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me. My mouth was a mess too--spit and slick and devotion. My lips were swollen. My mascara had to be ruined. And I didn't care. I was his mess.

"You filthy little thing," Nathaniel growled, voice low and wrecked. "Still fucking yourself while you suck my cock?"

I whimpered around him in response, eyes rolling back as his fingers tightened in my hair.

"Don't stop," he said, breathless. "I want to come down your throat while you ride that cock like you were made for it."

So I did.

I sucked harder. Deeper. I hollowed my cheeks and let him hit the back of my throat again and again. My hips never stopped moving, still grinding back onto the dildo, still chasing something I'd already caught and couldn't let go of.

His breathing broke.

"Fuck, Juliet--" he growled, the first crack in his composure all night.

I looked up at him through wet lashes, mouth full, heart open, utterly gone. I could've come again from just the praise in his voice and the tremble in his thighs.

He gripped the back of my head and held me still.

"Stay just like that."

I obeyed, mouth open, breath shallow, every part of me aching.

A beat later, he came--hot, thick, pulsing across my tongue.

I didn't flinch. Didn't pull away. I held him deep in my mouth and swallowed every drop, slow and deliberate, my body still trembling around the silicone cock buried inside me. He moaned as I licked him clean, my tongue tracing every sensitive inch with something close to reverence. My mouth was soft now. Devoted.

When he finally eased his grip and stepped back, I looked up at him. His chest was rising hard, his eyes locked on me like I was something unholy and divine all at once.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, still panting. Still wrecked. Smiling.

He knelt again, hands warm on my cheeks as he tilted my face up. His thumb brushed my bottom lip.

"Good girl," he said, soft now. Gentle.

I blinked, dazed. My lips were swollen. My knees ached. My whole body trembled with the aftershocks of everything I'd just given and everything he'd just taken.

"Let's get you up," he murmured.

He helped me to my feet, steadying me when my legs nearly gave out. He didn't rush. Just held me, both hands firm and grounding until I could breathe again.

Then his fingers went to the back of my neck. He unfastened the collar slowly, deliberately. The leather slipped away, leaving a faint imprint I didn't want to lose. He folded it carefully and set it on the nightstand.

"Nathaniel... " My voice was barely audible.

"I've got you."

He guided me to the bed and pulled back the covers like I was something fragile. I let him. He lay beside me, still in his jeans, the top button undone, his body coiled but calm. Present. There.

For a long time, neither of us spoke.

Eventually, I turned on my side, propped my head on my arm, and looked at him.

"You look different when you're not in control," I whispered.

He let out a quiet laugh. "Do I?"

"Your eyes get... softer. Like you forget to guard them."

He looked at me then and something passed between us that wasn't sex or power or play.

"I meant it," he said after a moment. "What I said in the mirror."

I swallowed. "About being beautiful?"

He nodded once. "Especially when you're afraid to believe it."

I didn't respond right away. I stared at the ceiling.

"I don't think anyone's ever looked at me the way you do," I said finally.

His voice dropped, low and rough. "And how is that?"

"Like I'm worth seeing. Even when I hate what I see."

He shifted closer. One hand slipped under the sheet to rest lightly on my hip. He didn't pull. Just held.

"I see all of it," he said. "The self-doubt. The ache. The fire. I want it all."

I felt it then.

That quiet, creeping pull. That dangerous, dizzying truth. I was falling in love with him.

He didn't say a word. Just lifted his arm. An invitation, not a command. I curled into his side, pressed my cheek against his chest. His skin was warm. His heartbeat steady. My hand rested lightly against his ribs.

He just held me there, like it was the most natural thing in the world and for the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt safe.

The last thing I heard before sleep took me was the sound of his breath--deep, even, calm. Wrapped in him, I let go.