She had been restless all week, drifting through her days with half a mind and full-body tension. The thought of it curled at the edge of her focus no matter what she did. It wasn’t just desire. It was hunger. A need to dissolve. To be undone.
He had told her almost nothing.
Just: Be ready Friday. Pack lightly. No makeup. No questions.
She obeyed. She always did when his voice slipped into that lower, steel-threaded tone.
When the message came, it was late. Just a room number. 917. A follow-up text. The key will be under the door. Let yourself in. Undress. Blindfold. Knees. Wait.
By the time she reached the hotel, her hands were shaking. The hallway was muted and warm, the carpet swallowing her footsteps. The moment she bent to retrieve the keycard from beneath the door, she felt the shift. From woman to offering.
Inside, the room was cool and dim. The blinds were drawn. A single lamp cast amber shadows across the bed.
And on the bed, waiting for her, arranged with chilling precision: thick leather cuffs, a blindfold, coils of soft black rope, a small bottle of lubricant, black gloves. Vaseline. A whip. And, her breath caught, a polished baseball bat leaned gently against the wall.
She didn’t hesitate. Not now. Her hands moved quickly. Clothing fell to the floor in a soft rush. She slipped the blindfold on and climbed onto the bed, settling on her knees, arms folded beneath her, her face in the pillows, her ass high and exposed. Vulnerable. Presented.
She could hear her pulse in her ears.
And then, silence.
Minutes passed. Or hours. She didn’t know. The anticipation was agony. Every second that ticked by without sound made her skin tighter, her thoughts louder. She imagined him standing there, watching. Imagined his gloves flexing. His mouth twisted into that dark, unreadable half-smile.
Then she heard the door close.
She flinched.
Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Coming closer.
Then his hand, gloved, warm, steady, traced a slow line from the base of her spine to the curve of her ass. She gasped, but didn’t move. He made a soft sound of approval. Like she was a thing he’d ordered, and it had arrived exactly as expected.
“Good girl,” he murmured.
It was the first word he’d spoken. And it landed in her belly like heat.
She heard the soft rasp of breath as he unzipped. Felt the blunt pressure of him pressing against her. No teasing. No ceremony. Just a low growl and the hard thrust of his cock deep into her. Her cry was muffled by the pillow. He held her hips like he owned them and used her body to ease the ache that had built up all week. When he came inside her, hard and fast, she felt him claim her with it. Not just her body. Her submission. Her trust.
But that was only the beginning.
He withdrew slowly, fingers brushing her blindfold, tugging it tighter. She heard the rustle of rope. The creak of leather. His voice was low and sharp now, all softness stripped away.
“Now,” he said, as the bat's handle traced a line along her inner thigh, “let’s find out how much you can take. How far you’ll go for me.”
And she would. For him, she would take everything.
