Cassy’s POV

The collar cinches tight around my neck, cool leather pressing into my skin, branding me with something far deeper than touch—ownership.

His fingers brush along my jaw, lingering at the hinge, then drift down the column of my throat. I shiver.

“Breathe, pet.”

I inhale shakily through parted lips, the blindfold keeping me in darkness, heightening every other sensation. My hearing sharpens—his soft breaths, the faint jingle of metal tools on the wall behind him, the wet sound of a moan from another room.

But it’s his presence that consumes me. A living force. Dominant. Controlled. Predatory.

“On your hands and knees.”

I obey instantly, knees sinking into the soft leather flooring, palms pressed flat. I feel exposed—naked and displayed—but it also awakens something wild and primal in me.

He walks around me slowly, deliberately, like he’s appraising prey. I can’t see his eyes behind the mask, but I can feel them, scorching down my spine.

“I will teach you to obey,” he murmurs. “To beg. To break. To burn.”

He crouches beside me, palm cupping my chin, turning my face toward his. “But only if you give me everything, pet. All of it. Your control. Your pleasure. Your pain.”

A small gasp leaves me. “Yes, Master.”

“Good girl.”

His hand slides down my back, caressing every vertebra with aching precision. Then—without warning—crack.

I yelp as his palm lands on my ass, the sting blooming hot and sharp. Another slap follows, then another, until I’m panting, moaning, arching back into his touch like I’ve already forgotten what shame feels like.

“You’re not here to think,” he growls, spanking me again, harder. “You’re here to feel. To serve.”

“Yes, Master,” I gasp, tears prickling behind the blindfold, but not from pain—from overwhelming sensation.

I feel something press against my lips—his fingers. Wet with my arousal.

“You’re soaking already. Good little slut,” he whispers, voice raw with desire. “I want to hear you beg for what you need.”

“Please,” I whimper. “Touch me, Master. Please.”

The slap is sharp and sudden. “Not what I meant. Beg right.”

I tremble, body aflame, mind dizzy with want. “Please use me, Master. Please take me. I want to be yours.”

He growls low in his throat. “That’s better.”

Strong hands grab my hips, positioning me just right. I hear the unmistakable sound of a zipper being undone.

Then I feel him. Hot. Thick. Pressing against me—but not entering. Teasing.

“You’ll earn this.”

He leans over me, his chest grazing my back, one hand wrapping in my hair again, the other slipping between my thighs, fingers slicking through the proof of my submission.

“You’re already dripping down your legs,” he murmurs against my ear. “Do you even understand how tempting you are right now? How ruinous?”

I moan, helpless.

And then he pushes in—slow, deep, unrelenting.

A gasp tears from my throat, hips jerking back, trying to take more. His grip tightens, keeping me still.

“Patience,” he growls.

He begins to move, slow thrusts that build with precision, dragging me through wave after wave of aching pleasure. I’ve never felt anything like this—this complete surrender. Every sound I make is music to him, every twitch of my body another note in the symphony of our lust.

My mind shatters under the rhythm of his hips, his hands, his voice.

“You’re mine now. Say it.”

“I’m yours, Master,” I cry out, and I mean it.

He pulls out suddenly, and I whimper at the loss—but before I can protest, I feel the cold kiss of silk restraints wrapping around my wrists.

“Up.”

He hauls me to my feet and presses me back against a padded X-shaped frame. My arms are stretched wide, ankles secured, my back exposed to him. I’m completely vulnerable.

Then I hear it—the soft whistle of a flogger.

My heart races.

The first lash is gentle, a caress of suede that makes me shudder. The second is firmer. Then harder.

By the tenth strike, I am writhing, moaning, my body on fire and begging for more. Each strike melts into the next, pleasure and pain fusing into a storm that consumes me.

When he finally stops, I’m sobbing—blissful, trembling, desperate.

He kisses down my back, whispering praises into my skin. “So beautiful when you surrender,” he murmurs.

Then he kneels behind me again, tongue stroking over my swollen, aching heat.

I scream—loud, shameless, needy.

He eats me like a man starved, fingers and mouth dragging me toward the edge again. And when I shatter, it’s not just my body—it’s my soul.

I collapse against the frame, boneless, breathless, undone.

He releases me gently, catching me before I fall, cradling me against his chest.

“You did so well,” he whispers, kissing the top of my head.

I cling to him, blindfold still on, floating in a sea of something deeper than pleasure—trust.

And as he wraps me in a soft blanket and lifts me into his arms, I realize I’ll never be the same.

Not after tonight.

Not after him.