The Price of Obedience
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Author's note:
Hi everyone, this is my first time trying out the BDSM genre so this is just a teaser for what's to come. Big thanks to
bethany
_
s
for helping me with my questions on BDSM and providing some much needed insight on the female perspective. Be sure to check out her work as well!
To save people some time, if you're looking for a quick wank, this story was not meant for you, sorry :/. This series is meant to be a slow burn which builds over time and gets spicier as it goes along. Part 1 is mostly a setup for the rest of the series.
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Ch 1.
Brianna Keyes lazily scrolled through her Instagram notifications. She relished the attention that she received from her 500,000 followers. It had become an addiction for her. The crave for validation. She was a slave to it. It drove every aspect of her life. Her lifestyle was funded almost completely from her sponsorships with large clothing companies and lifestyle brands. She prided herself on the fact she had never needed an OnlyFans to make it big, though some might argue that Instagram was hardly any better.
Her sex life was boring. She had had many partners, an overwhelming amount, but lately she couldn't stay interested in most men long enough to last longer than a week. She would usually go from one one night stand to another. Of course she only dated the hottest guys and the funny charmers, but they were all so bland with no personality. One pretty face blended into the next. Her DM's had no lack of guys eager to 'conquer' the girl of their dreams yet as soon as she met them, they turned into putty in her hands. Just a bunch of simpering sycophants, willing to say or do whatever she asked so they could have even a sliver of a chance to get in bed with her. Even worse, were the rude classless douchebags who flooded her with unsolicited dick pics as if seeing some guy's crusty genitals would somehow make her swoon at their feet.
Then one message caught her eye. The name on his profile was Adrian West and his pictures showed a guy in his thirties with elegantly tousled brown hair and a chiseled jawline-- sharp enough to cut glass. He seemed to be some sort of big shot hedge fund manager. She clicked on the message. It read.
I heard you like to be edged. You're just begging for a man like me to tame you.
She almost laughed out loud. This guy had some balls. Didn't he realize how corny he sounded? She decided to send a snarky reply.
Uhm wow.. over-confident much?
His response was instant.
I can see it in your stories. Your posture, your attitude. You're just a spoiled little brat who's begging to be dominated. I can do that for you... if you ask nicely.
His confidence was extremely irritating and off putting, yet somehow she couldn't help responding. Her ego simply could not stand his know-it-all tone. Annoyed, she quickly typed a message.
I have hundreds of thousands of followers. Why in the world would I ever need to ask you for anything?
A few seconds later.
You think any of them could give you what you truly want? You want a pretty boy lapdog who does whatever you tell him or you want a man who can handle a spoiled brat like you?
She rolled her eyes. His continued use of the word 'brat' was starting to piss her off. Who did he think he was? Smirking slightly at her response she clicked send.
Yeah? You're hardly the first person to tell me that. All these 'alphas' who claim they can 'handle' me... I have them all wrapped around my finger.
Brianna waited impatiently for his reply. As the seconds slowly turned to minutes she began to get more irritated. Had he decided she wasn't worth the trouble?
Finally, she got a message notification. This time there was a picture attached.
Oh I'm sure you love making them your playthings. But they don't know how to keep you in check. You need some proper discipline.
Underneath was a picture of a table with a flogger and ropes on top.
Brianna's heart started to race at the implication. Why was she acting like this? It was just a picture from some rando. Grateful to be behind a screen, she took a few deep breaths to compose herself before responding.
Yeah.. I'll pass. Not looking to get assaulted.
She waited with bated breath for his reply.
Oh believe me, you'd enjoy every second of it. I'd have you moaning my name in no time.But talk is cheap. Don't believe me? Let's meet up. I'll show you.
Brianna blushed, her cheeks heating up as she read his words. How dare he? She put down her phone. Pfft. As if she'd meet up with a psychopath. Still... his pictures seemed nice enough and although his cocky attitude really annoyed her, there was something about his tone that she found oddly intriguing. Hardly believing that she was even considering it, she sent another message, her fingers shaking slightly as she did so. If they were going to meet up though, it would definitely have to be at a public location with lots of people... potential witnesses. Just in case.
Okay, let's grab a coffee then. Are you in New York?
Her phone dinged again.
I don't do coffee. 8:00 PM. Le Seraphin.
She blinked.
Excuse me?
It was the sheer dismissal of her suggestion, as if her opinion didn't even matter, that threw her off balance. In the past, whenever she suggested a place, if she even deigned to do so, her adoring flings would immediately jump at the chance. No one had ever turned her down, let alone suggested a different place.
I don't do coffee.
Just like that. No discussion. No compromise.
She started to type out a sharp response. Then she paused and deleted it.
She let out a huff of annoyance. He hadn't even asked if she was free. Dinner. 8 PM. Who did he think he was, just deciding for her?
Yeah, no thanks bub.
She typed out the short reply, her finger hovering over the send button.
Then the realization slowly hit.
Le Seraphin
?
This wasn't just some trendy spot for influencers to take photos at and pretend to be somebodies. This was the real deal. The kind of place where reservations were made months in advance, where celebrities dined behind velvet curtains, and where the wine list alone cost more than most people's rent. She and her friends had been trying for weeks to get a reservation and they had always been met with a dismissive rebuff by the maitre d. How could he just casually invite her there, today? The dude was clearly delusional or trolling.
But... still.
Le Seraphin
. If this was real, it was too good of a chance to pass up. Even if she had to endure his obnoxious controlling attitude.
She deleted her message and struggled through a few drafts before finally settling on a simple message.
Fine
.
Tapping send, she tossed the phone on the bed. While his tone still irked her, there was something about his confidence that had made her wet. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Her eyes widened. She reached down between her legs and felt her panties beneath her skirt. They were soaked.
Ch 2.
Brianna spent the next few hours agonizing over what to wear. She had wanted to impress him, perhaps intimidate him with her sense of fashion but if he could easily get reservations at such an exclusive establishment, there wasn't much in her wardrobe that was likely to impress him.
Brianna finally settled on a form fitting black satin dress from Saint Laurent with a daring slit. She matched it with a pair of strappy Louboutin stilettos, a nice set of earrings, and her Hermes clutch bag. She carefully laid everything out on the bed, and began the long process of doing her makeup and hair.
By seven, she had finished dolling herself up and she looked stunning. Brianna admired herself in the full length mirror. Swishing her dress from side to side, she smirked at her reflection. She was going to turn heads. Brianna was determined to make Adrian eat his words. Let's see how confident he was once he saw her in her designer dress and her makeover.
Her phone dinged. Her uber was here. Taking one final look at herself, she blew her reflection a kiss and hurried out to catch her ride.
As her Uber pulled in front of the gleaming entrance of
Le Seraphin
, a valet in a sharp black suit opened her door and gave her a polite nod as she stepped onto the curb. Adjusting her dress and clutching her Hermes bag close to her, she took a deep breath and pushed through the wrought iron doors and entered into the softly lit lobby. The impeccably dressed maitre d greeted her warmly.
"Bonsoir madame, welcome to Le Seraphin. May I have your name for the reservation?" he said with a slight accent.
"Adrian West." she replied, a little uncertainly.