Depraved Domination

She steps in like she’s already in over her head—green, wide-eyed, every move giving her away. I clock it the second she crosses the door. This one’s brand new. Doesn’t know the rules. Doesn’t know how far it can go. That suits me fine. I like them when everything is still a first. The nerves crawl up her throat as the ropes bite, wrists pulled tight above her head. I watch the fear spark when the first strike lands. It’s sharper than anything she expected, hotter than she can file away as “play.” She’s caught, squirming against the cuffs, breath hitching every time I land another. Her body’s fighting the sting and chasing it at the same time, and she doesn’t understand why. That’s the best part—watching her learn it in real time, the line between pain and want blurring until she can’t tell which she’s begging for.