At Your Service

Master loved showing off his girls. He lined her up just right so the eye had no choice but to follow every curve. She wasn’t just meat on a hook, though. Every inch of her was his canvas, and he worked her like a man who knew exactly how the brush should bite. He chained her in place, dark hair spilling over pale skin, and let the chains do the talking. She felt each shift of cold metal, each small tug against her wrists and ankles. The tension climbed. He pushed buttons she didn’t know she had—heat one moment, sting the next—until the dam inside her broke and the room filled with the sound of her surrender.