Chapter 3

My boyfriend was waiting for me in the living room, and I took a deep breath, trying to steady the wild beat in my chest as I gripped the doorknob. I needed courage to open that door and cross the threshold. I didn’t know what I’d find when I knelt before him or if I’d really like it. I repeated the safe word in my mind like a mantra, like an anchor, a reminder that I still had control. I wanted this, I admit, but the fear was there, burning, lurking in every thought.

I unlocked the door, turned the knob with trembling fingers, and crossed the threshold naked, walking down the hallway to the living room. My arms crossed over my chest, trying to cover my breasts, as if I could hide what he already knew so well. The shame made my body shrink, but I walked with slow steps, holding onto the appearance of calm I didn’t feel.

He was there, sitting on the couch, fully dressed. His eyes fixed on me carried an intensity that disarmed me, an expression I couldn’t quite read. I felt my face burn, the floor almost giving way under my feet, but I knelt in the spot he’d designated — a pillow positioned precisely in the middle of the room. I stayed still, my heart hammering against my ribs, waiting in silence for his first command to break the thick silence enveloping us.

“Pin up your hair,” he said, handing me a clip, his voice firm, without hesitation.

He’d set up the whole scene and was acting like a performer in a meticulously rehearsed play. For a moment, I wanted to laugh at the theatricality, but I held back, biting the inside of my cheek. I knew if I gave in, I’d ruin everything. With slow, obedient movements, I tied up my black hair, trying not to meet his gaze while I did it.

He started undressing slowly, piece by piece, revealing the body I already knew so well, but in that moment it seemed different, charged with silent authority. My hands itched to break the silence with some joke, something casual to dispel the tension. But if I did, the spell of that moment would shatter, and I wouldn’t forgive myself.

“Stay right there,” he ordered, nodding toward the spot to keep me kneeling.

Without more explanation, he walked away naked toward the bathroom. The door stayed half-open, and I heard the sound of drawers opening, the cabinet being rummaged through. It didn’t take long, and he returned with something that made my heart skip a beat. It was the belt from my bathrobe, a thin strip of fabric that he now held like an artifact of power.

My mind immediately pictured what was coming. He was going to tie me up, I thought, and I felt the heat rise up my neck. I wanted it. I craved it. But then, to my surprise, he started working the fabric with nimble fingers, creating a knot I didn’t recognize. He turned that simple piece of cloth into something unexpected — a collar.

Without undoing my freshly pinned hair, he slipped the loop around my neck, adjusting it carefully. The touch of his fingers was cool, precise. When he finally tightened the cord, I felt the fabric against my skin, and for a brief moment, the air was restricted. My whole body lit up in alert, a sensation that was half fear and half something deeper, more visceral. My skin seemed to pulse, every inch of it screaming in a mix of panic and excitement.

He wrapped the cord around his hand firmly, the thin fabric becoming a secure, tight loop. This was serious. If he pulled hard, he could actually choke me. The safe word echoed in my mind like an alarm, but it stuck in my throat. I was turned on, no denying it, but the fear was an intruder, throbbing at the edges of my pleasure.

He stopped in front of me, his gaze fixed on my face, and started jerking off. From that angle, I had a perfect view. I liked watching him like that, vulnerable in his own pleasure, but this time, there was something different. He seemed to want to intimidate me with the act, turn that moment into a scene of absolute dominance. But instead, I had to bite the corner of my mouth to keep from letting out a silly smile.

“Open your mouth, bitch,” the order came sharp, without hesitation.

I parted my lips, the heat rising to my face not just from the shame, but from the word he used. The insult, unexpected and raw, hit me, but at the same time it spurred me on. Before I could react, he pushed his still-soft cock against my mouth.

“Suck it, what are you waiting for?” the next order came with a tug on the collar that made my neck ache slightly.

He forced himself against my mouth insistently, his member not fully hard yet, but already big enough to make me open wide. He didn’t give me time to adjust, thrusting without care. The gags came as involuntary reflexes, saliva drooling from the corner of my mouth in uncontrollable waves. When the first gag hit, I thought I was going to puke, a river of saliva rising from my throat, dripping down my skin and soaking my chest.

He finally pulled out and gripped my chin hard, forcing me to lift my face and look at him.

“Look at me. You’re gonna do this looking at me,” his voice was low, threatening. He tightened the collar, making the fabric scrape the sensitive skin of my neck. “And breathe. If you die, I’ll fuck your corpse. You understand?”

Those words, dirty and cutting, sliced through my skin like a hot blade, bringing a shiver that burned me from the inside. He shoved his cock into my mouth without mercy, hard now, ignoring my limits, as if the only thing that mattered was satisfying his animal hunger. With every thrust, he sank deeper, crushing my throat, holding me by the fabric collar. I gagged, gasped, feeling the air escape and my consciousness float. It was suffocating, humiliating, and yet, every time the air left me, I felt my body more alive, more surrendered.

His roars echoed through the room, wild, brutal, making me his perfect prey. He pulled away suddenly, but only to grab my face with a brutality that made me stagger. The slap came hard, and before I could regain my balance, the hot spit hit my face, blinding me momentarily. I couldn’t say if it was humiliation or ecstasy — maybe both at once — but I knew I didn’t want to stop. The desire to be fucked, to be consumed by that uncontrollable force, took me completely.

He positioned himself in front of me, his hands working his own cock, each stroke preparing the final blow. I felt my face pulled against his balls, hot and throbbing, while his deep voice ordered me to lick, suck, obey. My trembling lips tried to follow the commands, but I was limp, disoriented, eyes watering and cheeks burning. The first hot spurt of cum woke me like a shock, spreading across my skin as he roared like a satisfied animal, marking me as his.

“Suck it, slut… That’s it, good girl…” His words, though cruel, sounded strangely affectionate in my ears. He fixed the messy bun on top of my head, his rough fingers sliding with an almost careful calm. For a brief moment, he let me breathe, and the air that filled my lungs came as desperate relief, though my skin still burned with excitement.

“I’m gonna get you some water,” He walked away, but not before locking his cold, dominant eyes on mine. “Sit on the couch, but don’t you dare wipe your face. I want you just like that, with that cum-covered face, until I decide I’m done with you.”

I dragged myself to the couch, obedient, feeling the cum dry slowly on my skin while the heat of the moment still pulsed inside me.