The cuffs gleamed in his hands, dark leather with silver buckles that looked almost ceremonial. My stomach flipped as he turned them over slowly, like a jeweler inspecting gems before setting them on a bride.
"Wrists," he said simply.
It wasn't a question.
My body hesitated, but my soul obeyed. I lifted my arms, pulse drumming at my throat. The leather was cool against my skin, snug as he tightened the straps. With every buckle that clicked, something inside me unlocked.
Next were my ankles. He guided me to the bench, his touch firm but never rough. I perched on the edge, trembling, as he spread my legs apart and secured them wide. Exposed. Defenseless.
The silence in the room pressed against me. My breath grew shallow.
Then came his voice—low, commanding.
> "Breathe for me, Lethabo. In. Out. That's it. Tonight you don't have to hold control. You give it to me."
Something in me broke open at those words. My lungs obeyed. My body obeyed.
And then—he touched me.
Not with his cock. Not yet. With his hands. Large, deliberate palms sliding down my arms, across my lace-covered breasts, lingering at my hips. He explored me like territory he had already claimed.
His lips followed. At my neck first, warm and teasing. Down to my collarbone, then lower, until he reached my nipples pressing through lace. He sucked one into his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to sting.
I gasped. My back arched. The cuffs clinked as I pulled against them.
"Good," he murmured against my skin. "Fight if you must. But you will give in."
His fingers slid down my stomach, over the lace, pausing at the damp patch that betrayed me. He pressed there, slow circles, not enough to satisfy but enough to unravel me.
"You're soaked already," he said, amusement lacing his tone. "Do you know what that tells me?"
I shook my head, breathless.
"That you were made for this. For me."
The flogger appeared without warning, soft leather tails brushing across my thighs, my stomach, my breasts. My nerves lit up.
Then—snap.
A sharp sting kissed my inner thigh. I jolted. Another landed across my hip, then my breast. The pain bloomed into warmth, mixing with the need pulsing between my legs.
"Count," he ordered.
"One," I whispered, my voice shaking.
"Louder."
"One!"
Another strike. "Two!"
By the fifth lash, my voice had risen, my body twisting against the restraints, every nerve alive. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, not from misery but from release. The tight knot of control I carried every day was unraveling with every sting.
And then—his fingers plunged into me.
I cried out, the sudden fullness overwhelming. He curved them expertly, finding a spot so deep it felt like lightning inside me. His thumb pressed my clit, ruthless, unrelenting.
"Daddy—" The word slipped out, unplanned, raw.
He froze for a moment, then smiled. "Good girl. Say it again."
"Daddy," I moaned, louder this time, surrender spilling from me like a confession.
My body clenched, heat surging, and then I shattered—an orgasm tearing through me, violent, unstoppable. I screamed, my voice echoing off the walls, my cum dripping down his hand.
But he didn't stop.
He bent close, whispering in my ear as his fingers kept working, dragging out every spasm. "This is just the beginning, Lethabo. Tonight, I'll take you apart piece by piece until you forget your own name. You'll only remember one word."
His cock pressed against me then—thick, hard, relentless.
The session had only just begun.