His command hangs in the air, a low vibration that goes straight to my core. Get on the bed. The words aren’t a request; they are destiny. I rise on trembling legs, the severe black heels making me unsteady not from height, but from the sheer flood of anticipation coursing through me. He doesn’t help me. He just watches, his eyes burning with that new, terrifying hunger, as I crawl onto the mattress. The leather of the co...

The house is a tomb, silent and still, save for the frantic drumming of my heart against the stiff boning of the leather corset. One week. Seven days of stolen glances across the dinner table, of his knuckles brushing mine when passing the salt, of me sitting in my room upstairs, aching, while he slept down here. The memory of his taste is a ghost on my tongue, a persistent, hungry ghost. The new outfit he bought me is a...

The suds were warm around my wrists, the scent of lemon dish soap cutting through the humid summer air. I hummed softly, swaying my hips to a silent rhythm, the sleek nylon of my nude pantyhose whispering together with every slight movement. The way the little black dress hugged my waist, the way the red thong nestled snugly beneath it, the confident click of my mother’s black heels on the tile—it was a perfect morning. A...