There had been teasing the day before and throughout the morning. A bit of flirtation. Some mental stimulation that made her mind hum and her body ache. She hadn’t expected to see him—but she always hoped. If it were up to her, she’d see him every day. Offering herself to be used, taken, and undone for him again and again.

And then it came.

“Unlock the door.”

Those words flipped a switch inside her. Every time. Her body lit up with anticipation, nerves tingling, heart racing. She never knew what version of him she’d get—but it never mattered. Every version of Sir wrecked her in the most beautiful ways.

She laid out some of their favorite toys, careful and deliberate, along with a new addition. A heavy wooden paddle with dark veins of grain and a Halloween design craved in it. Something she bought with him in mind.

The door creaked open, and her breath caught. Just the sound of him entering made her thighs clench. His presence settled into the room like a storm front: slow, thick, electric.

He greeted her casually. Warmly. They chatted for a bit—he always let the tension simmer. He worked on his time, and she lived for that slow build.

Then he picked up the paddle.

He turned it over in his hands, feeling its weight, dragging his fingers along the edge.
“Why this one?” he asked.

She was in the process of answering him when he put it down, stepped forward, and his mouth closed around her nipple.

Her breath hitched.

He sucked hard, pulling the sensitive flesh deep into his mouth, then bit down just enough to make her cry out. His hands were everywhere—rough palms dragging over soft skin, one forearm pressed firmly across her collarbone, pinning her, restricting breath, locking her in place as he tormented her breasts with his mouth.

She was already shaking, mind foggy. And then he produced the knife.

That knife.

“Do you remember this?” he whispered, voice thick with threat and promise.

She nodded, body arching in response.

He dragged the flat edge across her chest, slow and deliberate, letting the cold steel contrast the heat of his mouth. He circled her nipples with the tip, then gave each one a quick, deliberate prick. She gasped—and he swallowed the sound with his tongue, sucking the blood from one, then biting the other with renewed hunger.

She was gone. Floating. Deep in subspace. Her brain a blur of dopamine, pleasure, submission.

His hands roamed lower, between her thighs, slipping easily into her soaked heat.
“You came?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.
She whimpered.
“I didn’t say you could.”

He pressed one finger inside her, curling it wickedly, teasing her clit with his thumb. Then he added another—then another—until he was fucking her hard, relentless. His hand slammed into her over and over, wet, obscene sounds filling the room as she shattered again and again, her body convulsing, dripping down his wrist.

But he didn’t stop.

He bit her stomach. Her thighs. Marking his property all while continuously fucking her with his hand. Then he pulled his fingers out and wiped them across her tits, across her lips, smearing her own arousal all over her skin.

She turned her face.

“Uh-uh,” he warned.

He shoved his soaked fingers into her mouth.
“If Sir has to taste you, so do you.”

She gagged around them but obeyed, sucking herself off his fingers while his gaze burned into hers.

And then—just when she thought he was finished—she felt something press against her again.

The handle of the knife.

He ran it along her slit, coating it in her slick, then pushed it inside her with slow, terrifying precision. She gasped at the intrusion, the chill, the wrongness of the shape—and the way her body clenched around it anyway.

He fucked her with it. Deep. Steady. Watching her face twist as he thrust it in and out. “Good fucking slut,” he said.

She could only moan.

Then, without warning, he pressed it against her ass. The resistance gave way under his command, and he began to fuck her ass with the handle too, slow at first, then brutally deep, grunting every time it bottomed out.

Tears formed in her eyes. Her body wrecked. Her mind gone.

When he finally stopped, she collapsed in a trembling heap.

He left her there, breathless, ruined, while he cleaned up. She knew she had a meeting soon, but she could barely stand, let alone function.

She had just begun to steady herself when he returned.

He grabbed her hair, pulled her head back, and kissed her.

It was rough and full of heat, then softened—deepened—until she whimpered into his mouth, aching for more. It was the kind of kiss that left her drunk on him—addictive, consuming, impossible to pull away from. Passion and intensity collided with something deeper: connection, surrender, need.

Then he unzipped his pants.

Still seated on the couch, she opened her mouth. Took him deep into her throat, tongue flat, eyes up. He held her head in place and began to fuck her mouth, hips snapping forward until she gagged, until tears dripped again from her eyes—not from pain, but from how fucking perfect this all felt.

He groaned. His cock throbbed.

She held still, obedient, throat stretched wide as he came—pouring down her throat, hot and thick. She swallowed every drop, then kissed the tip, worshipful.

He wiped the last of himself on her tits, dragging his cock across her soft flesh, smearing her with it.

Then, he picked up the new paddle.

Smack.
The back of her thigh lit up.
Smack.
The other.
Back and forth, fast and hard.

Her cries were guttural—half sob, half moan. The pain sang through her.

He slowed, then leaned down, kissed the angry red welts he’d left behind.

Finally, he kissed her forehead.
“Be safe going to your meeting,” he whispered.
Then leaned in one more time:
“Lock the door behind me.”

And he was gone.

She lay there—dripping, dazed, shaking with pleasure and bruises. She’d have to change out of the little white dress she’d been wearing—really nothing more than a half-slip of a dress, entirely inappropriate for a meeting but just right to be Sir’s slut in. And then she would clean up, fix her face, put on her professional smile. She would sit through her meeting like nothing had happened.

But he would be with her the whole time.

Sir was always tucked away in her mind.

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