My head is buzzing already. I haven’t even really begun and I’m already so hard it fucking hurts. She’s the perfect blend of submissive and feisty to sate my appetite. She’s a natural submissive, but there’s a fire in her that refuses to be extinguished. That’s a challenge I can enjoy.

Even as I open the briefcase full of BDSM implements, I have to remind myself not to get attached. No matter what my cock seems to think, this ends after tonight. I don’t do attachments. I don’t do relationships. When people get close they start to think they can ask questions. They think they have a right to know about my past.

I mentally force myself to focus, silencing my trailing thoughts.

There’s no time to get distracted tonight. This woman deserves every bit of my attention and every drop of my focus. It’s not hard to recenter my focus on her. The sight of her breasts hanging and her ass in the air for me snaps me back to the present in an instant. She’s watching me very closely.

I could let her continue to wonder, maybe even to think I might be some kind of psycho who is planning to hurt her, but that’s not the kind of experience I want her to have. Some Doms get off on frightening their submissives. It has never been about that for me. The dominant and submissive relationship is just a tool. It lets me keep an emotional distance. I can enjoy myself and not worry about messy strings or baggage. But it doesn’t hurt that I’ve always had a knack for reading people.

Even now I can see that Stephanie is afraid but hungry. She wants me to test her limits. She’s not just hoping I’ll fuck her. She’s hoping I’ll destroy her. She wants to hide from something so badly she’s going to let me do whatever I want. It makes me clench my teeth to think how foolish she’s being by giving me this much control blindly. I’ve known men that would take advantage of the trust she’s placing in me in an instant. They’d leave her broken and scarred.

“You’re wondering how bad it will hurt,” I say, pulling a leather paddle from the briefcase. It’s shaped much like a ping-pong paddle but the leather is floppy and thinner. “Maybe you’re thinking I’ll leave you bloody and bruised?” I ask.

“No,” she says. “I don’t think you would do that.”

Without warning her, I slap her ass with the paddle, careful to land the blow on her panties to take a little of the sting away.

“What was—” she starts.

“You’ll wait for permission to speak,” I say flatly.

“You asked me a—”

I raise the paddle again and she flinches. “A rhetorical question,” I say, finishing her sentence and lowering the paddle.

She nods, averting her eyes.

“There’s a reason I demand complete obedience, treasure.” I run the edge of the paddle from her shoulder blades down to the small of her back, watching as goosebumps ripple in the wake of its touch. “It’s not because I crave the control.” Liar. “It’s not about what I want at all.” Fucking liar. “It’s because you crave the submission. You might not be ready to admit it to yourself, but you crave it. You want the release of responsibility, even if it’s only for a night. You want to feel used and taken. You want to be the prize I rut into and fill with my cum.

“Strip away what society wants from you,” I say, dragging the edge of the paddle down the line of her ass and over her panties until it’s against her soaked pussy. She shivers, fingers tightening against the armrest of the couch. “Strip all that away and we’re just animals. We want what feels good. Society tells us it’s only allowed to feel good if we’re fucking our husbands or our wives. But all you have to do is surrender. Let it all go and put that weight on my shoulders until the only thing left is the animal behind the mask. Let me get to the real you and I’ll make you cum so hard you’ll forget who you are, treasure.”

“Who says I want to forget?”

Her voice startles me. I cock an eyebrow at her. I just finished explaining exactly why she wasn’t supposed to speak out of turn, and yet I find I can’t really be surprised that she continues to defy me. This one is different, isn’t she? In all the right ways... “You don’t?”

She shakes her head, almost self-consciously. “Maybe I just want to take a break from me. Just a break.”

I nod. I’ll never tell her as much, but she just explained why I continue to have meaningless flings like this. Maybe I’m not so strange for wanting a break from myself. I refocus my attention on her, where it belongs. I can’t keep letting my thoughts wander if I want to give her the night I promised, the night she deserves.

I’ve let her talk too much. I need to remind her that we’re not playing by the rules she’s used to. I grip her panties and rip them off. The elastic pops into the silence of the room like a small firecracker. She jumps, turning surprised eyes on me.

Her hands are still bound tightly with my tie and her ankles are secured with my belt, but she’s not as immobilized as I would like. I rub my thumb across the stubble on my chin while I decide what to do with her.

A grin creeps across my face. I know exactly what I’ll do.

I reach in the briefcase and pull out a black silk cloth, which I use to cover her eyes. For once, she waits patiently and doesn’t offer up resistance while I work. Maybe she’s learning. Finally. Next, I take out a nine-inch vibrating dildo with a clit stimulator. I’ve always prided myself on my control. It’s part of the drug for me. I put myself in an impossible situation and prove again and again that I can remain composed. I can be the composer. The one on the stage with my back to the crowd while I orchestrate the perfect sexual experience. I can do it all without ever letting myself bleed into the equation. That’s all it has ever been—a test of will, of power.

But even as I walk behind Stephanie and begin to work the head of the dildo against her slick pussy, I know I’m faltering. If I was my normal self, I’d start soft with her. I’d drip candle wax on her or use ice cubes. She’s not just a virgin to BDSM, she’s a virgin in every sense of the word. She doesn’t need anything more than the faintest touch of intensity to feel like she’s riding the edge of a razor between safety and danger.

“Tell me,” I say, feeling myself edge closer to what I know is a very, very bad idea. I ease the head of the dildo just a fraction of an inch inside her opening. My throat tightens with barely suppressed need at the sound of her slick pussy parting for the dildo. “Tell me when the first time you ever touched yourself was.”

“W-what?” she asks. She’s blindfolded, but still turns her head to look toward me.

I press the dildo an inch deeper, careful not to force it through her hymen if it’s still intact. I’m not about to break her virgin pussy with a dildo, but I only need to use the first couple inches.

She lurches forward. By the way her hands scrabble to grip more of the fabric on the couch, I can tell she’s not used to having something inside herself. No dildo of your own at home, treasure? You’ve been saving this perfect pussy for the man of your dreams, haven’t you? My own thoughts turn my stomach a little. She’s waited so long for the right man, but she had the misfortune to meet me.

“Tell me,” I say firmly.

“I was seventeen,” she says tightly. “It was kind of an—oh, God.”

She buries her face into the cushion of the armrest when I angle the dildo and let the head slip out of her to graze her clit.

“Finish,” I growl. “Tell me how you did it.” My cock is already throbbing just thinking of this innocent woman waiting so long to discover her sexuality, to think how suppressed she must be, like a dormant volcano primed to explode.

“It just kind of happened,” she says between heavy breaths. “I was in my bed. I thought it would be less dirty if I did it through my panties. So I just—oh,” she pauses to clench her entire body when I slide the dildo back inside her and use my thumb against the swollen bud of her clit.

“I just did it,” she finishes.

“Touch yourself for me now,” I say, taking away the dildo and untying her wrists, which causes the bra that was dangling there to fall to the ground. I know the sudden absence will nearly be a physical pain for her. Bit by bit, I’m driving her into a kind of sexual trance. She’ll feel the pressure of her orgasm build until she’s so desperate to cum that she’ll do anything I ask. “Don’t make me ask twice,” I say.

She shifts her weight, leaning her shoulder into the backrest of the couch and using her other hand to reach between her legs, where she hesitantly starts rubbing her fingers against her pussy like she’s afraid of it.

I frown. “No,” I say.

Her hand stops suddenly, fingers motionless against her still-wet pussy.

“It’s not just a tool,” I say, taking her by the wrist and pressing my hand to hers. I slide my palm down so that my fingertips rest against her fingernails and I’m able to guide her hand exactly where I want it to go. “Trust me,” I say softly. “Relax.”

I apply pressure to her middle finger, not starting with her clit but pressing the area just between her ass and her opening to drag her finger up her slick valley. She takes in a shuddering breath when we reach her clit and I show her how to circle it, almost reverently, like a dance where the most important part isn’t the touching but the promise of touching, so that when her finger finally brushes the swollen, sensitive skin, her shoulders go slack and she arches her back. Her moan is as sweet as honey in my ears.

I work with her slowly and patiently, even though my cock is already throbbing to feel her tight warmth.

“Now show me what you’ve learned,” I say, stepping back from her to watch and enjoy. I bring my fingers up to my nose and breathe deeply, catching the faintest hint of her sweet pussy on my skin.

If there’s one thing I’ve prided myself on, it’s my control. Whether it’s in a business setting or in the bedroom, I’ve always had an iron grip on my own emotions. But for the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel my control waver. I watch her slender fingers dip into her pussy lavishly, like she’s finally realizing what a treasure she really is, and the foundations of my self-control shake. I take a half-step toward her, only barely stopping myself.

If I give in like this. If I go to her and fuck her while I’m out of control, it will be different. It will mean I failed to keep myself distant—that she has some kind of hold on me. All I need to do is stand here. I can close my fucking eyes if I want, but going to her will undo everything I’ve fought to protect.

Even now, the sound of her moan calls up a vile memory. I clench my eyes shut, trying to ward it off but it comes all the same. I see tan hands with garish red fingernails on my thighs. Not the thighs of an adult, but of a teenager. All the fear and confusion I felt back then comes rushing back with the memory, making my breath come short. I grip an end table to keep from stumbling, thankful that Stephanie’s eyes are covered so she doesn’t see my weakness.

Instead of waiting for the memory to fade—instead of overcoming it, I lurch forward, climbing on the couch behind Stephanie and gripping her hips.

She moves her hand away, more than ready for whatever I have planned by now.

I unzip my pants and slide them down with my underwear in a quick motion, still trying to suppress the images of what that fucking woman did to me. The only thing that has ever worked to push it all back down was to take control, to grab the reins like I couldn’t back then, to be strong like I wasn’t.

I had planned so much more for tonight, but as soon as my cock is freed, I drive it home into the warmth and wetness of Stephanie’s pussy.

I sigh with relief as she tenses around me. “You feel so fucking good, treasure,” I growl.

“Oh my God,” she gasps.

“You’re going to take every inch of my cock,” I say, feeling myself regain composure with each passing moment. It passed. Calm the fuck down, Tristan. It passed. “Don’t fight the pain if it comes,” I say, guiding more of my length into her even as she squirms against me. “Embrace it. Pain gives an edge to your pleasure.” My hips slap against her ass now. Her pussy grips my cock like a goddamn fist, like nothing I’ve ever felt, and I lose myself in the sensation.

I let go of the control I’ve clung to like a shield. I let go of everything except my need to thrust into her again and again, working my body into a rhythm of blinding speed that has her gasping for breath.