"In the shadowed chambers of ancient palaces, where the jade moonlight kissed silk-draped walls, emperors and courtesans played games of submission and power—silent, intoxicating, eternal. Desire was not a weakness but an art, woven into the fabric of dynasties, as delicate and unyielding as the finest porcelain."
Later that night, I met yet another potential sub—a new prospect in this unapologetically liberated life of mine. He’d chosen a private rooftop dining experience at a billionaire’s penthouse, overlooking the glittering expanse of New York City. The Freedom Tower stood proud in the distance, and the cold night air bit at my skin through the daring blazer dress I’d chosen. I regretted the outfit but appreciated the wine as I waited, sipping and texting with him.
“Parking is hell tonight,” he joked, and I smirked at the screen.
“I don’t like waiting,” I texted back, though I’d arrived ridiculously early out of parking anxiety.
“I’ll ditch my car on the highway and Citi Bike to you, Master,” he replied, the humor light but deferential.
“Are you being a brat right now? Because I don’t tolerate brats,” I countered, half-joking. He apologized, and our exchange shifted back to playful banter. I appreciated the natural flow, the way conversation with him felt like two puzzle pieces sliding effortlessly into place.
When he finally arrived, my first thought was, God, that skin is flawless. My second? He’s practically a child. Twenty-four, he admitted—he’d just celebrated his birthday a week ago. I didn’t need to deny it anymore; I had a type, and it was going to be the death of me.
Curiosity flickered in my chest. “Do you speak Mandarin?” I asked in my not-terrible Mandarin, testing a hunch about his features.
His face lit up with genuine delight. “Yes, I do! How do you—?”
We delved into an animated conversation about my time in Asia, my experiences, my fascination with the culture. He listened intently, his almond-shaped eyes glowing with interest, and I began to feel more at ease.
“Master,” he said with reverence, his voice low and intent. “I’ve thought a lot about everything you’ve said since we started talking. I want the opportunity to serve.”
I raised a brow, intrigued but cautious. “You should sit with that feeling, reflect on it, and get back to me.”
“I don’t need to think,” he interrupted, his determination catching me off guard. “I know what I want.”
His certainty was captivating but reckless, and I gave him a lecture about impulse control, about the danger of acting in the heat of the moment. “Big decisions shouldn’t be made after a few carafes of sake and the thrill of something new,” I warned.
But he was resolute, presenting his case with grace and eloquence that belied his youth. I couldn’t help but be impressed.
“I don’t invite strangers into my home,” I said firmly. “And your place is too far for my taste.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “This rooftop happens to belong to a luxury hotel.”
The revelation caught me off guard. I took another sip of sake, considering his proposal. Finally, I set my glass down and met his gaze.
“Lead the way,” I said, my voice steady.
The way his eyes lit up in response was magnetic, a perfect balance of youthful excitement and unwavering intent. As we walked, I couldn’t help but think that this was a dangerous game—but one I was more than willing to play.
There was a quick exchange at the reception desk, and a room was swiftly arranged. The ease with which he navigated these luxuries was enviable. I often marvel at these young men who seem to drift effortlessly on the buoyancy of their parents’ unwavering support. I don’t diminish their hard work—it’s there, no doubt—but I know the fine line between earned privilege and inherited advantage. For me, all my family ever gave me funds for was relentless study and the occasional academic travel. Even now, my mother’s bitterness lingers—she’s never forgiven me for choosing my nomad artist boyfriend as a freshman over the son of a family business partner.
Not that she was right. I went on a date with that guy once. He was ghastly—soulless, smug, and deeply dull. His wife must live a life of quiet misery. My nomad artist may have left his mark in heartbreak, but at least he was alive, vibrant. I’d always choose chaos over monotony.
The room was charming, though not in the overdone, ostentatious way luxury spaces can sometimes be. A low-level suite with a stunning city view, it offered just enough height for discretion while allowing the tantalizing possibility of someone seeing. I stood for a moment, toying with the sheer curtains, rolling them into place for privacy but letting the idea linger in my mind: Someone could see. Perhaps someone should.
When he walked out of the bathroom, his entire demeanor had shifted. The easy confidence he’d worn earlier was gone, replaced by the slightest trace of fear. And oh, how that thrilled me.
“On all fours,” I commanded, my voice steady and sharp like a blade.
His response was immediate, his body folding to the floor as if compelled by an unseen force. Head down, he awaited further instruction, his submission like a hymn to my presence.
“Crawl to me. Slowly.” I remained seated in the plush velvet chair, crossing my legs as I watched him move, deliberate and reverent, across the carpeted floor. The sight was exquisite, and I felt the first surge of satisfaction ripple through me.
When he reached me, I extended my left foot, the patent leather of my Christian Louboutins catching the soft light. “Kiss,” I said, a single syllable, clear and unyielding.
He obeyed without hesitation, his lips brushing the pointed toe with reverence. I pulled my foot back just as quickly, presenting the right one. “Kiss.”
This time, his eagerness was palpable, and though I kept my expression neutral, inside I was amused. He learns fast, I thought, almost smiling. Almost.
“Good boy,” I said, the words deliberate and measured. “Stay.”
I rose from the chair, towering over him as I reached for the buttons of my blazer dress, slowly undoing them one by one. I let the garment slide from my shoulders, pooling around my feet in a soft whisper of fabric. The sharp intake of his breath was lovely—music to my ears. His chest rose and fell more quickly now, his restraint beginning to waver.
With my left foot, still clad in the unforgiving beauty of the Louboutins, I lifted his chin, forcing his gaze to meet mine. His wide-eyed awe was intoxicating. Beneath the dress, I’d chosen a full-body corset from Marimeur, its delicate yet firm boning cinching me in all the right places. It wasn’t just about the look—it was the feeling of being bound, contained, controlled. There’s a particular euphoria in restraint, but only when I’m the one who chooses it.
The addition of fine nylons made the ensemble complete. Every detail, every thread was a statement—a declaration of dominance, elegance, and allure.
“What are you waiting for?” I whispered, leaning slightly forward, my lips curling into the faintest smirk. His hesitation was delicious, and I savored it like the first sip of fine wine.
The room filled with the sultry beats of a playlist I’d stumbled upon, aptly titled “Beats the One You Love.” Its rhythm was intoxicating, setting the perfect mood. I could feel the music seeping into me, matching the thrum of anticipation in the air.
“Rise,” I commanded.
He stood immediately, his movements sharp, almost military, and I began to circle him. The sound of my heels clicking against the marble floor was a symphony of power, an accompaniment that rivaled the playlist itself.
“What’s your safe word?” I asked, the reminder more ritual than necessity after our detailed discussion at dinner.
“Ice,” he replied, his voice steady but tinged with the nervous energy I thrived on.
“Good boy.” I reached out and petted his head gently, a stark contrast to the tension I could see rippling through his body. This one had been specific about his desires—no “mommy” interactions. Instead, he wanted the sharp authority of a stern headmistress. Nothing could have pleased me more.
“If you need me to slow down at any point, use the word ‘yellow,’” I said, sliding his belt free with a deliberate, measured pull. The leather slipped from the loops with a whisper of submission.
Before he could process my next move, I grabbed him roughly by the back of his neck and tossed him onto the bed. His body landed with a soft bounce, his legs instinctively spreading wide as I placed the pointed tip of my shoe between them.
The look on his face—a perfect blend of terror and arousal—was intoxicating. I smiled, not just at him but at the universe for orchestrating such a perfect moment. The music pulsed in harmony with my movements, a soundtrack to seduction.
I knew the layout of these rooms well, and the closet did not disappoint. The robes hung neatly, their velvet belts sturdy and opulent. I retrieved them and returned to him, tying his hands securely to his thighs in a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He didn’t resist; he drank in the moment, his innocence and submission a delicious offering.
I didn’t voice my gratitude for his surrender—not yet. Instead, I turned away, letting him feast his eyes on me. The corset’s thong framed my curves perfectly, my buttocks on full display as I adjusted my position, aware of the power it held. My legs, long and sculpted, were always a favorite, but my rear—well, that was something truly exceptional.
I perched on his lap, my movements slow, deliberate. I began to grind against him, teasing him with the barest touch, my body moving to the beat of the music. I giggled, a soft, playful sound, as I pressed kisses to his cheeks, his neck, before turning to straddle him fully. His inability to move, bound as he was, only heightened my pleasure.
“The word ‘green’ may be used if you’re enjoying this,” I whispered, my voice low, dripping with intent.
Without warning, I pushed him backward, and he fell onto the bed. I remained perched atop him, a queen on her throne, and leaned forward. My lips hovered over his chest, and then, slowly, I let my saliva drip onto his skin. The act was deliberate, sensual, the drops trailing down his chest in a way that made him shudder beneath me.
I leaned back, my bottom still pressing into his crotch as I extended my legs forward, my feet brushing against his face. His mouth opened eagerly, and he devoured them, his lips and tongue worshiping each toe as if they were divine relics.
I watched him, my gaze cool, appraising. His face was lovely—soft yet masculine in its own way. He lacked the chiseled, warrior-like jawline I usually preferred, or the piercing light-colored eyes that often caught my attention. But his features—a delicate blend of Jason Scott Lee and Hyun Bin—were captivating in their own right.
“You’re doing so well,” I murmured, letting the words slip out like honey. The game was only beginning, and I couldn’t wait to see how far he was willing to go.
I pulled the restraints I had expertly tied earlier, unfastening him with practiced precision. The improvisation tonight had been passable, but I was starting to think it was time to carry my tools with me at all times. There’s an elegance in preparation, in precision, and having to adapt on the spot sometimes grated on my nerves.
Once freed, I commanded him to stand. He obeyed instantly, rising with that nervous energy that excited me so much. I circled him slowly, savoring the tension, before stopping behind him. With deliberate care, I undid his pants. He stood there, facing the window, where the sheer curtains hung loosely, offering the illusion of privacy.
As I worked, I saw a shift in him—a flicker of something new in his eyes, his body stiffening just slightly. Curious, I followed his gaze outside. A woman stood on the sidewalk below, wrapped in an expensive coat, idly scrolling through her phone.
“Do you like blondes?” I asked, my tone almost teasing.
He shook his head, but his eyes remained locked on her.
“She can’t see you,” I said, my voice low and calm. “She’s too far.” But as I spoke, the thought struck me: if we could see her this clearly, perhaps she could see us. All it would take was for her to glance up, and the spectacle would unfold before her.
When he reached for the blackout curtains, instinct taking over, I stopped him with a sharp snap of the belt across his arm.
“Who said you could move? Who said you could make decisions?”
His head dropped immediately, his voice small. “I’m sorry, Master, it’s just—”
I silenced him with a firm shhh, placing my hand roughly on his neck. With one swift motion, I pushed him against the window, his body pressed against the cold glass and the thin, sheer fabric of the curtains.
“Afraid someone might see you?” I murmured, my voice like silk against his ear. “Hard, aroused, humiliated?”
He nodded, his breathing shallow and rapid, his chest rising and falling as he surrendered completely to the moment. I smirked, undoing the last button on his trousers, letting them slide down to join the heap of fabric around his ankles.
“What if I want them to see you?” I whispered, my lips close enough to graze his ear. “Why should you care what some stranger thinks?”
My hand slipped over the taut fabric of his boxers before they fell, feeling the heat of his desire straining against the material, desperate for release. He groaned softly, the sound pure and uninhibited, and I knew he was enjoying this more than he cared to admit.
“Maybe,” I mused, dragging the words out, “we should let her see just how much you’re enjoying yourself. Wouldn’t that be fun? To give her a little show?”
He trembled under my hand, and I raked my nails down his back, slow and deliberate, leaving red trails that would linger long after tonight. His skin was flawless—too flawless not to mark—and I relished the contrast of my handiwork against its perfection.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” I said, almost to myself, my hand gliding back up his spine. “Bare, exposed, desperate. And for what? My approval? Or the thrill of being seen?”
He moaned again, his body arching slightly as I pressed him harder against the glass, the tension between his vulnerability and arousal building into something exquisite. I leaned in, my lips brushing against his ear.
“Tell me, my sweet boy—what would you do if she looked up?”
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