Becky And Stan

Stan adjusted his collar in the dim candlelight, his fingers trembling slightly as he smoothed down the fabric of his neatly pressed shirt. The restaurant was an intimate one, the kind where couples nestled close together over candlelit tables, their laughter and whispered affections filling the air with a warm, romantic hum. It had been two years to the day since he and Becky had first started dating. Two years since he had sat nervously across from her at a similar table, heart pounding as he worked up the courage to hold her hand.

But things were different now.

Across from him, Becky swirled her wine glass lazily, her manicured fingers trailing along the delicate stem. Her lips, painted the same deep red as her dress, curled into an unreadable smile as she watched him with those knowing, chestnut eyes. She was beautiful--achingly so. The kind of beauty that turned heads and stopped conversations. The kind of beauty that made men ache to please her, to serve her.

Especially Stan.

A tight knot formed in his stomach, twisting uncomfortably as he tried to hold her gaze. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across the table, accentuating the sharp curve of her jawline, the delicate arch of her eyebrows. He felt small under her scrutiny, as if she could see straight through him, past his forced confidence, past the polite smile he was barely holding onto. There was no hiding from Becky. Not anymore.

"You're nervous," she noted, amusement flickering in her voice as she took a sip of her wine. "You always get that way when I'm about to give you something."

Stan swallowed hard. She was right. Becky had a way of surprising him--sometimes with sweet gestures, sometimes with something far more... demanding. He wasn't sure which one this would be, but the pit in his stomach told him he already knew.

"I just--I wasn't expecting a gift," he admitted, forcing a weak smile. "I thought tonight was about me spoiling you."

Becky leaned forward, resting her chin on the back of her hand. "Oh, sweet boy. You do spoil me. In so many ways." Her voice dripped with something that made his stomach tighten further. The way she said it, soft and teasing, sent a shiver up his spine.

She reached into her purse, retrieving a neatly wrapped package, small enough to fit in her palm. "But tonight, I wanted to give you something special. Something to remind you of how much I adore you."

Stan hesitated before taking the gift, his pulse quickening as he carefully unwrapped the paper. Beneath it was a small velvet box. His breath hitched as he flicked it open.

A tiny, silver padlock gleamed under the soft glow of the candlelight.

His mind stalled. His breath shallowed.

Stan's fingers tightened around the box as he stared at the object inside, his throat suddenly dry. The weight of what it meant settled on him before Becky even had to say a word. A hundred emotions crashed through him at once--excitement, dread, longing, submission. The edges of his vision blurred as his world narrowed down to the tiny lock sitting in his palm.

She tilted her head, watching him, delighting in his reaction. "I had it engraved," she murmured. "Turn it over."

With trembling hands, he lifted the lock from the box and turned it in his palm. Etched into the surface, in delicate cursive, were the words: Property of Miss Becky.

Stan's breath hitched, his face growing hot. His entire body felt electrified, every nerve ending hyper-aware of Becky's presence, of her voice, of the way she was watching him like a predator enjoying the moment before the kill.

His thoughts tumbled over themselves. This was real. This wasn't just playful teasing or idle fantasy. This was a statement--a declaration.

He felt himself sinking, drowning in the implications. Was this what he wanted? Was this what he had been hoping for all along? His stomach twisted with uncertainty, but beneath the doubt, beneath the shock, there was something else, something darker and more insistent--a need. A deep, inescapable craving that made his fingers tremble as he held the tiny lock.

Becky reached into her purse again, retrieving something even smaller. A single, silver key. "And this... this belongs to me."

Stan's heart pounded as she dangled the key between her fingers before tucking it away inside the pendant that hung around her neck. Right next to her heart. A cruel, beautiful metaphor.

"I know you've been waiting for a release," she said, her voice syrupy sweet. "And I've been thinking... maybe I'll give you one."

Hope flickered in Stan's chest, but it was quickly doused as Becky leaned in closer, her lips inches from his ear.

"...Next anniversary."

His stomach dropped.

Becky giggled, tapping the lock in his palm with her fingernail. "One more year. No keys. No complaints." She leaned back, sipping her wine with a satisfied sigh. "Happy anniversary, baby."

Stan swallowed hard, staring at the lock in his hand. His body ached with the weight of the gift, the weight of her control.

And yet, despite the knot in his stomach, despite the humiliation burning in his cheeks, he already knew he wouldn't say no.

He never did.