I kneel on the bedroom floor, blindfolded and silent. I brought this upon myself, but I’m not sure how.

My arms are bound in front of me with a silk scarf, the insides of my wrists are pinned together, which makes my hands useless for anything. My body is exposed, naked except for the heels he chose and the panties I wasn’t allowed to remove. The rug beneath my knees provides some comfort, but I’ve been here long enough to feel the pressure building in my legs. I know better than to speak.

Somewhere across the room, I can hear him moving. His footsteps land on the hardwood. Then I hear the quiet clink of glass. I think he’s pouring a drink.

I can’t be sure of what else he’s doing. I’m at his mercy. That’s part of it. I can’t tell if he’s sitting or standing, but I know he’s watching. Deciding what to do with me, assessing the weight of my transgression against a list of possible punishments. I don’t even know what I’ve done wrong.

The silence has a presence of its own, every sound that breaks it feels like a threat. I don’t know what William will do next, only that sound will be my only warning, if I get one at all. So I wait, anxious with anticipation, hoping to hear nothing… but knowing I will.

When I hear his voice, it startles me. But beneath the jolt, there’s relief.

“You were doing so well tonight,” he says. “That is until…”

I straighten instinctively, sitting up to show my attention, shoulders pulled back, making sure he sees the best of me.

“Sir—what did I do wrong?”

His hand grips my chin, just enough to hold me in place. His thumb presses over my lips. He doesn’t want to hear what I have to say.

“Don’t speak. Don’t ask questions. Just think.”

He lets go and walks away. The air moves with him. The door opens, then closes. I can hear the sound of his steps fading down the hallway.

I’m alone again. My pulse beats against the blindfold. The silence feels colder now, as if he was the source of heat in the room. I go over the night in my head. It comes in flashes.

The way he dressed me. The necklace he fastened himself. The ride to the party. The warmth of his voice in the limo. The dinner. The conversations that flowed easily, the wine, and the soft background music. All the laughter. How quiet he became, then the ride home. The rejection and the sudden understanding that wronged him in some way. And now, on my knees, on the floor, bound.

The door opens again. I can hear his footsteps from across the room. He’s approaching with intention. I stay still.

“I don’t want to hear a word from you,” he says with a flat tone. “Not until you know what it is, and you’re ready to apologize.”

I feel the ball gag brush my lower lip. He fits it into place, and I accept it without resistance. I angle my head to make fastening the buckle at the back easier. I bite down on the familiar taste of hard rubber that settles against my tongue.

His fingers move to my blindfold. He slides it up and off, and my eyes begin to adjust to the warm overhead light. When my vision clears, I see him.

William is seated in a chair near the window, fifteen feet away, relaxed and fully dressed. He holds a glass of white wine in his hand. He takes a sip without saying a word, just watches me, and waits.

I keep my eyes low, watching the floor just in front of my knees, trying not to look at him, but I feel his eyes on me all the same.

William lifts the wine glass, gives it a gentle swirl, and then breathes in the aroma.

“Weinbach Schlossberg, 2020. Made to be aged, but still excellent after only five years.”

He takes another sip and rests the glass back on the table. He looks at his Rolex, then the wine.

“I’m going to spend… thirty minutes on that glass. That’s how long you have to consider your actions tonight.”

I start searching again, turning over the night in my mind, looking for an answer. Where did I slip?

We were fine when we left the apartment. I remember the way he looked at me as I stepped out of the closet, still fussing with the zipper on my dress. He sat on the edge of the bed with a tumbler of scotch in his hand.

The dress was his choice. So were the heels, the clutch, the way my hair was parted. Even my perfume. I'd stood still while he fastened the necklace, a thin gold chain that hung just above the swell of my breasts. He took a step back, looking at me from head to toe before giving a faint nod of approval.

I remember the way that made me feel—lucky that he’d chosen me, picking me to invest his time and energy in. His desire to help me become a better woman changed the course of my life.

Then, my phone buzzed with a text from the car service.

Your driver has arrived. Vehicle is waiting at the designated pick-up location.

William stood and adjusted his cuffs as I draped a shawl over my shoulders. He offered his arm, and we made our way through the building’s private exit to the waiting car.

“Mr. Kennedy,” the driver said with a tip of his hat. “And the lady.”

The door of the limo closed behind us with a heavy thud. The windows were dark, the cabin was dim, and it sealed us off from the noise of the city. I sat across from him, my hands clasped together, and a smile on my face. I knew what came next. It had become a ritual on nights like this.

Shortly after the car pulled away, William nodded.

"Lift your dress," he said.

I paused for a breath, then obeyed.

I pulled the fabric of my dress up until it rested near the tops of my stockings.  The air inside the car was cool on my skin, but my thighs were still warm. I kept my hands on my lap, parted my knees slightly, and waited for his command as my heart began to tick faster by the second.

"Touch yourself."

I spread my legs wider as I leaned back into the seat. I slid my hand down, my fingers slipped into the front of my panties, already damp with heat and anticipation.

I didn’t look away from him. That was one of the rules.

Two fingers found my clit and circled, barely brushing the surface, just enough to tease. I was already sensitive enough that the lightest touch made my hips twitch. My breathing deepened, and my lips parted around a soft gasp as I pressed down a little harder, beginning to find a rhythm.

His eyes never left me. His focus made my skin burn. I imagined what I must’ve looked like to him, my legs open, flushed, desperate, trying not to come too fast.

It was building quickly. I felt it rising in my gut first, then my whole body began to tense. My toes curled in my heels.

“Stop.”

It took everything in me to obey, but I did.

My hand pulled back immediately, my fingers were slick. I rested them on my thigh, shaking. The ache between my legs throbbed in protest, but I didn’t move. I wouldn’t dare.

I bit the inside of my cheek and let my hand fall slowly back to my lap. The heat didn’t fade. If anything, it deepened.

William undid his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and pulled down the zipper. He didn’t have to do anything else. I knew what he wanted. I dropped to the floor between his knees and pulled his pants down enough to free his cock. I took it in my mouth. Sucking it felt like an honor that I needed to prove myself worthy of.

William relaxed in his seat and placed a hand on the back of my head. No force applied, just a reminder that he was in control and I was exactly where he wanted me to be.

I took him slowly into my mouth, letting my lips stretch around him as I sank down until I felt the soft press of him at the back of my throat. I held there, breathing through my nose, tasting salt and skin. Then I began to move, drawing back just far enough to tease the head with my tongue before swallowing him again. I kept my hands at my sides, wrists resting on the floor of the limo, my back arched as I bobbed on his cock like the trained woman he’d molded me into.

The sound of his breath picked up, and I felt him twitch in my mouth, while his hips lifted slightly. His hand gripped my hair as he began to shoot deep in my throat. I swallowed around him, staying still and letting him finish completely before I eased off and licked him clean.

He tucked himself back in and drew his pants closed, then straightened his collar as if nothing had happened.

I knelt there a few seconds longer, my thighs still aching, the wet heat between them was unbearable. I climbed back to my seat and pulled my dress back down over my legs.

Back in the bedroom, I look up at William. It wasn’t the limo ride. That went exactly as it always did. He takes another sip of wine. And I still don’t know what I did wrong.

I remember the warm light in the hall where the dinner party was held. There was a spattering of conversations coming from the large room beyond the entrance. An attendant took the shawl from my shoulders and hung it with care. A butler with white gloves and a silver tray offered us a wine as we stepped into the main area.

The host lit up and greeted us, William first, of course. “I think you know everyone here,” he said with a smile, “but let me take you around, I’ll introduce you to anyone you don’t.”

We made the circuit together, like we always do, his hand resting lightly across my back, guiding me in a way that seemed affectionate, not domineering.

There were names, handshakes, nods, smiles… I listened and I did what was expected.

Then there was Hamish. He was rugged, a little louder than the rest, and very Scottish. He was out of place in a room full of polished teeth and crisp collars. His tie was loose and his hair a little wild. I guessed this was the first time he’d worn a suit in ages. And somehow, he fit in with a natural charisma that pulled people closer rather than scared them off. I don’t even remember what his first words to me were. Something about my necklace, I think, but I remember how he looked at me, like he wanted to know what I looked like underneath the dress.

It was subtle, but he wasn’t hiding his intentions. I entertained his flattery before making it clear. “I’m with William,” leaving no room for doubt.

He smiled and nodded. Backed off, disappointed, but respected the boundary.

Did William see it? Did I let it play out a moment too long?

He’s not the jealous type, not in the way other men are. But he notices everything. And even if he didn’t think I invited it… Maybe I let it linger. Maybe I enjoyed it too much before shutting it down.

I reposition myself on the floor, hoping to shift my weight and take some of the growing pressure off my legs. He’s looking down at me, still enjoying his wine. I consider apologizing for Hamish, but deep down I knew that wasn’t it. He knows other men want me. He loves that other men want me. This isn’t something he’d punish me for.

We were seated at a long table with at least twenty guests. William was at my right, speaking with an older gentleman across the table, a transatlantic shipping magnate named Cedric. The wait staff were busying themselves with dinner service, and so I took it upon myself to refill our wine glasses.

I filled his glass, then mine. “Thank you,” he said softly, and raised his glass to clink mine. “Cheers.”

The conversation continued with Cedric introducing me to his much younger wife, Colette. Her accent was French, Parisian if I wasn’t mistaken.

Back in the bedroom, he swirled his glass, half empty now. “Fifteen minutes out of the bottle, and the lemon zest is more pronounced now. This vintage is a future classic.”

He sets the wine on the table beside him and leans forward, with his hands folded, arms resting on his knees, staring at me more intensely now.

“You’re not thinking hard enough.”

His voice is quiet. I can’t tell if he’s bored or impatient.

William stands and walks toward the dresser. I can’t see what he takes out, but I know the drawer. I know what’s inside.

A moment later, I feel the pinch.

The first clamp snaps onto my left nipple, and I gasp behind the gag. The second one comes a moment later, this one bites a little tighter. Then he attaches a weight to the chain linking them, and the pull is immediate.

“We’ll have to get your nipples pierced soon,” he says. “The new clamps connect directly to the studs and can hold more weight.”

It swings between my breasts, tugging the clamps down with each breath I take. The pain isn’t sudden, it’s constant. Burning, like a flame held too close to my skin. I let out a sound, not from fear but from the cruelty of how it tricks my mind into blurring the line between pain and pleasure.

The ache doesn’t fade. It spreads and coils in the pit of my stomach. Each inhale lifts the chain just enough to make the exhale worse. There’s no relief, just an unrelenting, inescapable sensation of searing pain masked as pleasure.

I close my eyes and force myself deeper into memory.

We were still at the table. Dinner was over, dessert plates cleared, and the candles burned lower. The tone of the evening had relaxed, becoming less formal, and the drinks always loosened the mood. Conversations flowed and overlapped with laughter from one end of the table to the other. Glasses clinked, and jokes landed more freely.

I remember feeling good. Buzzed just enough to confidently ride the social current without second-guessing every word that left my mouth. I didn’t come from this world, but with a drink in my hand and William’s presence at my side, I let myself believe I belonged to it.

Colette was still across from me. I learned more as we talked. She was a model from Paris, her cheekbones and posture made that easy to believe. Now she was in New York pursuing art. At twenty-five, she said, with a shrug and a smile, she was “too old for the runway.”

At one point, a more boisterous Hamish leaned into our conversation. “Don’t try to get into this one’s pants,” he said, gesturing toward Colette. “She’s shot me down ten times already.”

“My husband controls the ports,” she replied, flashing a sly smile.

It was delivered like a punchline. I liked her even more after that.

We talked like old friends. She told me about fashion shows in Dubai, night clubs in Monte Carlo, and a private party in Ibiza where a very famous actor had sex in the open with a porn star. I told her I’d once been a dancer. When she assumed I meant ballet, I didn’t correct her. I was a stripper until William entered my life.

After Hamish drifted away, Colette leaned in slightly, her voice lowering just enough for only William and me to hear her.

“He’s heard the rumors,” she said, meaning Hamish. “About my husband and I having an open marriage.” She took a sip of her drink. “But Cedric can’t stand the sight of him.”

I gave her a curious look and she smiled back.

“They’re true by the way… at least when the right people come into our lives.”

The look she gave me answered every question I didn’t quite dare ask.

At some point, I reached for the bottle, filled my glass, and set it back down.

William stood. He murmured something polite and excused himself. I watched him walk away, his hand brushed lightly against the back of my chair as he passed. He stepped through the open balcony doors and disappeared into the night air.

I considered going after him, I even started to rise. But Colette touched my wrist, asked me a question about New York, and I let myself get pulled back.

When William returned, his demeanor had changed. He was still composed, but colder. Not icy, just absent. He kept a hand on the back of my chair but barely spoke for the rest of the evening, and we left earlier than usual.

I told myself I’d ask him in the car. It wasn’t something I could bring up in the moment, but I suspected it had to do with what Colette had said.

But now I’m here. On the floor, bound, with metal teeth tearing into my nipples. My legs ache, my arms are beginning to numb, and I can hardly feel anything other than him watching me.

The driver shut the car door behind us, closing us off from the rest of the world.

I sat beside William in the back seat, close but not touching. Streetlights passed in intervals, creating stripes of light across his face and vanishing again, like frames from an old film. I waited for him to speak, but he didn’t. He just stared out the window, watching the skyline move.

I turned slightly toward him, unsure if I should allow him his silence or try to fix whatever I’d broken without knowing.

I placed a hand on his lap.

“Would you like me to take care of you?” I asked with an almost hopeful voice.

I expected the usual response when I offered him a blowjob, motioning me down with his eyes, a tilt of his head toward the floor, the silent instruction to kneel and serve.

Instead, his voice came back with a firmness that startled me.

“You shouldn’t be thinking about my cock. You should be thinking about your transgression and the punishment waiting for you at home.”

“If this is about Colette, I didn’t mean to—"

“This isn’t about her. It’s about you.”

His words hit like ice water. My whole body went still. I tried to pull back my hand, but it wouldn’t move. My mind started to race, and my heart followed close behind.

I couldn’t think of anything. Nothing made sense. I ran back through the night in my mind like rewinding a tape, scene by scene, sound by sound, searching for whatever it was I’d missed.

If it wasn’t Colette, what was it?

Hamish?

I’d shut that down.

I couldn’t remember doing anything out of line or saying anything that might have caused this kind of reaction. I kept thinking, searching for something… what had I missed?

I was still unraveling it when he spoke again.

“When we get home, I want you undressed. On your rug. Don’t say a word. Just wait for the silk.”

That was all.

The rest of the ride passed in silence, his words echoing in my chest louder than in my head. He looked calm, but I could feel the disappointment radiating from him.

A snap of his fingers brought me back to the present.

“You’re not thinking hard enough,” he says. “You need motivation.”

My stomach drops. I brace before I realize I’m doing it.

He sets his wine glass down on the small table beside the chair. It’s nearly empty now.

“Crawl to the drawer. Add another weight to the chain. And bring me the crop.”

I hesitate, but only for a second.

My hands are still bound in front of me, wrists aching slightly from the position. Crawling like this is awkward and slow. The heels make it worse. The weight pulls tight on the chain, swinging with every inch I move, jerking the clamps from one pressure point to another. I try to breathe evenly, but my body’s betraying me again. I feel the tears forming, not from pain but anticipation. The certainty of what’s coming. More pleasure, wrapped in more pain.

The drawer looms in front of me, just a foot away, everything within arm’s length. My fingers curl under the edge and pull. I know what’s inside. Everything is neatly laid out, exactly where it should be. I reach for the second weight. My fingers pause on the cold metal. I’m shaking. Behind me, I hear his voice.

“You asked for this, even begged for it. You wanted training, this is how it’s done.”

He was right. I needed discipline in my life. Without the structure that William now provides me, my life had no direction. With him, I have purpose. Without him, I have none.

I bite down on the gag, ready myself, then clip the second weight to the chain.

The pull is immediate and tormenting. My nipples flare with pain, nerves scream beneath the clamps. My hand trembles over the leather shaft of the crop. I take it and begin the crawl back. Each motion sends another shock through me.

When I reach him, I sit up on my knees and offer the crop with both hands, presenting it like something sacred. He takes it, turns it slowly between his fingers, then snaps it through the air. The sound of it makes me flinch. I know what it’s going to strike next.

“Bend over. Arch your back. Show me your ass.”

I do as I’m told.

The first swat lands across my right cheek. The sting is sudden. The second follows fast, landing on the other side. I gasp into the gag, the sound caught in my throat.

“Think,” he says, the third comes down harder. I jolt.

“Think harder.”

The fourth makes my legs shake.

My pride shows. It always does. It’s the part of me that needs the most correction, but I can’t help myself. I arch my back more, spread my legs wider, push back toward him, offering myself without being told. Making it easier for him to strike.

He makes it to eight. Then, silence and a pause.

He picks up his glass again, holds it to his lips, and sips.

My heart is pounding so loudly I’m certain he can hear it. My head is fogged with adrenaline and heat and something dangerously close to panic. My mind claws at itself, replaying the night once again from every angle.

Getting ready. The limo. Hamish. Dinner. Colette.

Still nothing.

Is he testing me? I wonder. Trying to make me break? Trying to make me confess to something I didn’t do?

He takes the final sip of his wine and sets the empty glass down. Right in front of me.

And suddenly, I see it.

My memory flashes to Colette laughing, and my own laughter rising to meet hers. My hand reaches for the bottle, and I top off my glass without a thought.

Now I can see Colette’s face clearly. That exact moment. There was something in her eyes, a look of surprise or discomfort. It passed too quickly to register at the time, but I see it now. Her eyes turned to William, just a quick glance.

In the moment, I brushed passed it and continued the conversation, unaware of the infraction.

Somewhere to my right, just out of focus, there’s an empty glass on the table. William’s. I hadn’t even looked. I’d poured for myself without checking or even thinking of him. Not just putting myself first, but failing to consider him at all. Failing to even see him. The man I call my Master.

Back in the room, the crop lands again. Once, then again in quick succession.

“That’s ten,” he says.

I scream into the gag, not from pain, but from shame. From understanding, from finally knowing.

William sees it and leans forward. His hands lift the strap at the back of my head. The gag unbuckles. The ball drops from my mouth with a wet, hollow thud as it hits the hardwood.

I inhale sharply. My throat is raw, and my chest is heaving.

“I didn’t fill your glass,” I gasp, still breathing hard. “Not only that… I was thinking only about myself. I let you slip from my mind.”

His hand glides over my ass. It should feel soothing. But it doesn’t, it brings every strike back to the surface, every welt lighting up under his palm like it just landed.

“What else?”

“The look… on Colette’s face,” I whisper. “She noticed. I embarrassed you in front of her.”

He stops stroking. Then, a slap. A single open-handed smack. Not hard. Just punctuation.

“You embarrassed yourself,” he says. “You showed Colette that you’re self-centered. That you only think of yourself. That you don’t appreciate me, and take my generosity for granted.”

I turn, eyes burning, and look at him over my shoulder.

“You’re right,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

He watches me for a moment longer with his eyes focused on mine, evaluating my sincerity.

“Stand up.”

I rise with my legs trembling beneath me.

He removes the clamps. The sudden rush of blood back to my nipples makes me wince and causes a pain that’s almost worse than the pressure.

William unties my wrists, then slides his fingers into my panties.

“You’re wet,” he says.

“I hate disappointing you. But I crave the discipline,” I confess. “It proves you’re invested. And that… has its effect on me.”

He pulls his hand back and lifts it to my mouth.

I take his wrist and meet his eyes as I draw each finger into my mouth, sucking them clean one by one.

“Get on the bed,” he says. “Hands and knees.”

I climb onto the mattress and assume the position. I raised my hips, planted my arms in front of me, and presented myself exactly as he liked.

I hear the sounds of him undressing, the weight of his clothes hitting the floor piece by piece.

Then the mattress shifts beneath me.

He pulls my panties to the side, and I can feel his cock running up and down the length of my slit, teasing me while lubricating himself with my wetness.

Then I feel it. The thick, brutal push of him splitting me open in a single stroke, the stretch and burn lighting up my nerves as he buries himself to the hilt. I cry out, as much from shock as surrender, as his hands clamp around my hips, pulling me back onto his cock with a force that steals my breath.

He starts to fuck me hard, each thrust deeper than the last, shaking the frame of the bed. The sound of the headboard hitting the wall fills the room. He isn't holding back. There’s nothing romantic about this. William is fucking me. The weight of his body, the rough snap of his hips, the feel of his cock driving into me again and again, all to put me in my place. His cock is a tool of domination, slamming into me as his fingers dig into my skin, claiming what he owns.

I moan as my body quivers under his control. I can’t even pretend I don’t want this. Every sound and movement I make begs for more. Every thrust and every slap of skin makes me ache for more. I’m careful not to speak. This isn’t for my pleasure. It’s to remind me of who I serve.

When William comes, he pushes me down to the mattress, then turns me onto my back. He unloads all over my stomach, and some of it reaches as far as my breasts. My orgasm falls just out of reach, throbbing quietly inside me. My only pleasure comes from being used exactly the way he wanted to use me.

I lean forward and take him into my mouth, obediently cleaning him until he’s satisfied.

“Go shower,” he says. “You have my permission to cum while you’re in there.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

I get up slowly, my thighs still trembling as I walk to the bathroom.

When I return, wrapped in a towel, the clamps and weights are gone, tucked away with the crop back in their drawer. His wine glass is full again, this time with a second one next to it.

William is in bed, propped up by pillows. His expression has changed. The discipline is over. He smiles and opens his arms.

I slide into bed beside him, still naked and damp from the shower. I curl into him as he strokes the side of my face gently.

“I’m excited for you to try this,” he says as he hands me the wine.

I take a sip. It’s better than what was served at the dinner.

“I see what you mean about the citrus notes coming through.”

William smiles, proud that what he’s taught me about appreciating wine has taken root.

“You understand what happened tonight, right?”

“I do. And I’m sorry.”

“I don’t like punishing you,” he says, fingers drifting through my hair. “But we know what happens if I don’t.”

“If there aren’t consequences, my behavior doesn’t change.”

This is the part no one can imagine. It’s this, this is what binds me to him. It’s these quiet moments of tenderness that are earned, not granted. The reward that comes after the lesson.

I want to be molded. He doesn’t do things to me. I learn from him. In William’s hands, I become something better. And the price I pay for that, the pain, the rules, the obedience, that’s what lets the change take hold.

And it’s these moments that come after that make it all worthwhile.