I stride into the BDSM club with the confident swagger of a woman who knows exactly what she wants – domination, submission, or something in between, as long as it’s with the right partner. My long blonde braids sway behind me, a dark contrast to the tight black leather hugging my curves. I’ve always been a switch, able to easily transition from Domme to submissive, and back again. It’s just who I am.
I scan the room, my ice blue eyes picking out the power players, the ones who command respect. And then I see him, the most sought after Dom in the city. Strong, mysterious, devastatingly handsome, and richer than sin. He radiates an aura of raw, masculine power. Our gazes lock and I feel something spark between us, an undeniable attraction.
I saunter up to him, meeting his intense stare head on. But when he speaks, his deep voice full of promise and warning, I lower my eyes, submitting to his superior position. Mmm, this man could be the one, both Dom and master. He extends an offer – a contract, a year of service in exchange for the pleasure only he can give me.
I agree with a smoldering look of my own. He takes my hand and leads me to his sleek penthouse apartment. The room he shows me is opulent yet sparse, a velvet-covered bed the only place to lay my head. “Strip,” he commands roughly. I obey with a submissive nod.
He binds my wrists behind my back, my braids falling like a curtain. Then he fucks me with a domination only a true master can deliver, claiming me utterly. I wail in ecstasy, overwhelmed by sensation, lost to pleasure. In the afterglow, he circles my neck with a diamond choker. “You’re mine now, pet. My sub, my property.” I shiver, aching for more of his domination, deliriously happy to submit, a switch finally at peace.
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