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I lift her—because kneeling would be too small for this moment.
I carry her into the playroom like she’s fire and salvation all at once. My arms full of the only thing I’ve ever truly wanted to protect.
I don’t speak as I strip the last of her clothing away. Don’t order her. Don’t bind her.
Not yet.
Tonight isn’t about ownership.
It’s about worship.
Dahlia
The strapsof the leather swing are cool beneath my skin.
Familiar.
But tonight, there’s no edge to it. No punishment in the air.
Just him. His hands and his mouth.
Every stroke is reverent. Every kiss a thank you and a warning and a benediction all rolled into one. His fingers trail down my spine, slow and aching.
They pause at the plug he insisted I wear through the heist, keeping mehiseven in enemy territory.
He leans in, breath hot against my ear.
“You were perfect,” he murmurs. “So fucking perfect. And mine.”
The words crash through me, making my breath stutter.
I nod. I tremble. Ifeel.
“I love you, Sir. Yours. Always. Completely,” I whisper. And I mean it.
He binds my wrists high—not tight. Just enough. Just so I know it’s real.
The soft leather cuffs wrap around me like vows.
Then he takes up the flogger.
Not to punish but to bless.
Dante
I touch her like a prayer.Like she’s something holy.
Something I have no business kneeling before—but do anyway.
She’s bound, but not to break. Her wrists hang above her, soft and willing, cuffs snug but not cruel. I watch her body—lush, trembling, flushed with heat and high from the win—as she melts beneath every inch of my focus. Her dark hair spills down her back, damp with sweat. Her breath is shallow, but steady. Expectant.
The flogger falls in a gentle rhythm, leather whispering across the curve of her ass, the backs of her thighs, her calves. A hairsbreadth from her slick and shining pussy.
No pain—just the bite of sensation. The gift of presence.
Her moans come softly at first, then louder as her body sways into it, surrendering deeper with every stroke.
She spreads her thighs wider without being told.