Mika Tan and Sonya

Mika’s in the chair already, wrists cuffed behind her back, black hair pulled tight. Sonya circles once, fingers tracing the ridge of Mika’s spine, then leans in to check the cuffs. “Still good?” she asks. Mika nods, eyes steady. They’re not playing yet; this is the part where they lay it all out—safe words, hard lines, what Mika can take and what she won’t. The room smells of leather and the faint metallic bite of the new restraints. Sonya’s hand slides down, testing the give of the strap across Mika’s hips. One last tug. Mika exhales through her teeth. They’re ready.