Claudia sat up early, feeling the weight of the day settle on her even before she moved. Without thinking, she grabbed a simple pair of jeans and a black T-shirt she found neatly folded in the wardrobe. She dressed quickly, her movements mechanical, as if the clothes were the only thing she could control.
Mira was already waiting in the hallway. Silent. Watching her with that same quiet patience. After a moment, she tilted her head toward the stairs, a wordless gesture.
Claudia followed without speaking. Her steps grew heavier with every corridor, every turn. Mira stopped in front of a door, knocked once, then stepped aside, leaving Claudia alone with it.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Claudia stood still for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the muted light. The room was clean, almost clinical--padded bench, a small table with neatly arranged implements she didn't dare study too closely.
A man stood near the center. Tall. Composed. Dressed simply in black.
He stayed where he was, watching her--still in a way that unsettled more than any sudden move could.
"Claudia," he said, his voice low but perfectly clear. "I'm Marcus."
He let the name settle between them, like it explained everything and nothing. No handshake. No smile.
Claudia nodded once--sharp, guarded. She kept her posture still and composed--though she felt his eyes on her skin.
Marcus gestured toward a small, marked spot on the floor. "Stand there." His tone was quiet. Final.
Claudia hesitated only for a fraction of a second--long enough for both of them to feel it--before moving to the spot. Her steps were even, measured. She held her chin a little higher than necessary.
Marcus tilted his head. A flicker at the corner of his mouth--not quite a smile, but close enough to feel like one.
"Take off your clothes," he said. Simple. Final.
Claudia breathed out slowly through her nose. Not fear--she wouldn't give him that. But something more volatile, a tension coiling low in her stomach.
Her fingers found the hem of her shirt. One steady motion, peeling it off. She dropped it onto a small bench to the side. She kicked her shoes free, hard enough to send them skidding across the floor. Her jeans slid down her legs, tight over her thighs, her hips.
She stood now in her plain black bra and underwear. Practical. Nothing designed to impress. Her fingers worked at the clasp of her bra, slower than necessary.
Light padding in the cups--just enough to lift, to round, to offer the illusion of a little more. A quiet cheat.
No man she'd wanted had ever walked away once he had her close, once hands replaced eyes.
But here, choice didn't exist. Nothing to hide behind. Just skin, truth, and the steady, silent gaze of a man she hadn't invited to want her.
She slid the bra off her shoulders and let it fall.
Most people would probably call her figure athletic. Tight. Disciplined. Shaped by control than indulgence.
Not like Heather, who could glance in the mirror, poke at her hips, and wonder aloud if her ass had gotten bigger. Claudia had never thought like that. Never cared. Until now.
Her breasts were firm, neat, standing without much need for support. Nothing lavish. Nothing exaggerated. And suddenly she was aware of how very functional she looked--long muscles, clean lines, no soft drama for the eye to linger on.
Women like Heather and Lina had curves you could fall into. They moved with a lushness that seemed effortless. They wore their bodies like languages she had never learned.
She had built hers like a fortress--lean, efficient. A quiet strength no one was meant to touch.
Now, naked under Marcus's gaze, she wasn't so sure.
The words slipped out before she could stop them: "Disappointed?" Sharp. Defensive. Stupid.
The second it left her mouth, regret curdled in her stomach. She knew better. She knew he would use it against her.
Marcus didn't answer. He just let the silence stretch, heavy, almost tangible. It told her everything--and nothing. And somehow, that was worse.
She hated him. She hated herself. For standing here. For caring.
Claudia forced herself to stay still, though every instinct screamed to cover herself. Her hands flinched forward, reaching instinctively toward the bare skin of her lower belly.
"Arms at your sides," Marcus said--low and cutting. It left her no choice but to obey.
Claudia froze, forcing her arms back down, every muscle locked in brittle obedience.
For now. Fuck you. The words stayed locked behind her teeth, burning hotter than her shame.
Marcus watched her a moment longer, then turned to the table. He chose two broad, padded cuffs.
When he came back, his steps were slow.
"Hands forward."
Claudia raised her right hand first. The leather felt warm from his touch--snug, controlled.
As he reached for her left, she shifted. Barely. But he caught it.
His grip closed--steady, unrelenting.
"You like to make things complicated, don't you?"
His voice almost sounded amused.
Claudia lifted her chin. Said nothing. Her nostrils flared.
Marcus gave no further comment. He buckled the second cuff in place with the same calm efficiency, as if logging her first small act of defiance for later use.
Without pausing, he retrieved two broader cuffs, leaning down to fasten them high on her thighs. A short clasp linked each wrist cuff directly to the strap around her thigh, locking her body into a vulnerable display.
The restraints pinned her open, stripped her of even the illusion of control. Every breath reminded her how ridiculous her stance must look--how exposed she was.
She wanted to slam her legs shut, to tear the cuffs from her skin, to spit in his face. But there was no escape. Only the slow, venomous crawl of helplessness under her skin.
Still, her body betrayed her--petty, pathetic. A roll of her shoulder, a tightening of her jaw. Movements that felt brave inside her head but probably just looked ridiculous.
Marcus saw it. He stood behind her, one hand settling on her hip for balance--and delivered a firm slap to her ass.
Not brutal. Not playful either. Just enough to make her flinch.
"You really want to test me today," he said quietly.
She stiffened--but didn't move again.
Marcus straightened, retrieved a simple black leather collar, and stepped close once more.
The restraints tugged slightly with every small movement, a mocking reminder that even defiance would look ridiculous now.
Wide enough to bare her completely. Wide enough to erase any hope of modesty.
Bound, collared--stripped of even the illusion of choice--her body wasn't her own anymore.
And for the first time, she wondered--not with fear, but with a slow, creeping certainty--how naked she really was to him. How much of herself she had already given away.
Finally, he stepped back--a slow, deliberate withdrawal. His voice was calm. Absolute.
"Now we can begin," Marcus said, his voice steady as stone.
But he didn't move immediately. He just stood there, watching her--long enough for the silence to thicken, to press against her skin like a second layer.
Claudia held still, jaw clenched, her body thrumming with tension.
Marcus turned away without another word, walking slowly to the table. He ignored her completely, his movements calm, indifferent--like someone rearranging furniture.
The dismissal stung sharper than a slap.
Claudia shifted--barely. An instinctive rebellion. But the restraints caught the motion, made it clumsy. Ridiculous.
The small chains at her thighs tugged against her wrists, a constant reminder: there was no graceful way to stand, no dignified way to hide. Only exposure. Only waiting. Cool air licked over her skin, raising goosebumps--and underneath, a slow, unwelcome heat began to bloom. Her thighs twitched--an instinctive, useless bid for protection. But she stayed open, teeth clenched, too proud to give him the satisfaction. The sound of her own breathing grew loud in her ears--short, shallow.
Beneath it all, a darker certainty uncoiled: Not carelessness. Not hesitation. All of this was power. Control without a single raised voice or rough hand.
When Marcus finally turned back, he held a slim leather flogger in one hand, its tails trailing loose between his fingers.
He approached without urgency, stopping just close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body.
Still, he didn't touch her. Didn't speak. The seconds stretched unbearably.
Heat bloomed low in her stomach, unwelcome and sharp. She gritted her teeth, furious not at him--but at herself. At the way her body, traitorous and stupid, responded to nothing but silence.
Claudia stiffened--waiting for pain, for a command, for anything.
Instead, Marcus lifted a hand and traced the line of her jaw with the back of his knuckles.
Soft. Calculated. Inevitable in the way a falling blade was inevitable.
She flinched before she could stop herself.
Marcus's thumb brushed lightly across her lower lip--not gently, but almost clinically.
His voice, when it came, was a a wire drawn fine against raw nerves: "You want to be brave?"
His thumb pressed a fraction harder against her mouth, then retreated.
