Obey

Titel:Obey

By the time she crossed the threshold, she wasn’t hers anymore.

The city faded behind her, and silence wrapped around the loft like velvet. No more emails, no barking orders, no mask of control. Here, she became soft. Still. Obedient.

He stood at the far end of the room, arms crossed, black shirt rolled at the sleeves. No words yet—just his eyes on her. Sharp. Knowing.

“Kneel.”

One word. That was all it took.

She sank gracefully, spine straight, hands behind her back, knees wide. Her heart pounded. The collar at her throat felt heavier than usual.

“You were late,” he said, finally.

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“You know that’s not good enough.”

“I know.”

He moved toward her, slow and deliberate. A predator. She felt the heat of him before he even touched her. Fingers threaded through her hair—tight, unyielding. He tilted her head back.

“Tell me what you are.”

“I’m yours.”

“And?”

“Your property. Your toy. Your good girl…” She swallowed. “When I earn it.”

A smile touched his lips—dark, dangerous. “You haven’t earned it yet.”

She gasped as he pulled her to her feet by the hair, her body instinctively falling into line. Submission wasn’t fear—it was release. The chaos of the world outside disappeared when he was in control.

“Strip.”

The word hit like a slap.

She obeyed, slowly undoing her blouse, then her bra, then sliding her skirt over her hips. Each movement was a ritual. A shedding of armor.

He said nothing—just watched.

“Turn,” he said. “Hands on the cross.”

The St. Andrew’s cross stood waiting, its leather straps ready. She stepped into position. He fastened her in—wrists, ankles—tight enough to feel it, but never to hurt.

Now she was open. Exposed. His.

He walked a slow circle around her, letting her feel the weight of his gaze.

“You ache for it, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“To be broken down.”

“Yes.”

“To be remade.”

“Yes, Sir. Please.”

His hand moved then—barely touching her, just trailing down the curve of her spine. She trembled. Her mind emptied. All that remained was breath, sensation, the beat of her heart echoing his steps.

Tonight wasn’t about pain or pleasure.

It was about surrender.

The kind so deep it rewired your soul.

He leaned close, lips brushing her ear.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “And I’m going to show you what that means.”

She shivered. Not from fear—but from the freedom that came with giving herself completely.

And then came the first strike.

Firm. Precise. Measured.

Not cruel. Never cruel.

Just a reminder.

That this body was his playground.

That her surrender was not weakness—it was worship.

Each impact left heat blooming across her skin. Each word, each breath, tied her deeper to him. Not with ropes or cuffs—but with trust.

Time blurred.

All that remained was the sound of his voice, the press of his hands, the quiet exhale of her own submission.

And when it was over, when her body hung loose and trembling and her mind was quiet for the first time in days, he undid the cuffs and caught her.

Held her. Rocked her.

“You did well,” he whispered, kissing her hair. “You gave me everything.”

“I did,” she murmured, eyes closed, safe in his arms.

“And I’ll give it back. Every time. Better than before.”

Because that was the truth at the center of their dynamic.

Power, when freely given, became something holy.

And to obey was not to lose herself.

It was how she found who she truly was.

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