Stella stood in the dim hallway, her fingers clamped tight around Jason's wrist, her eyes lowered, shadowed by the weight of last night's ghosts.
Her hair spilled loose over her shoulders, the silk camisole grazing her thighs, the faint outline of her nipples pressing against the thin fabric, betraying her calm.
The air between them crackled, thick with unspoken truths and the echo of her body's surrender.
Jason's gaze bore into her. "You didn't answer me," he said, voice firm, edged with frustration. "Didn't you like it?"
Stella's lips parted, her breath a slow exhale, heavy with hesitation. "It's not you," she said finally, her voice soft but deliberate. "Not your fault."
He stepped closer, heat radiating from him. "Then what?"
Her eyes lifted, quiet, guarded. "You're too soft, Jason."
His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking. "What does that mean?"
"You were good," she said, each word careful, like stepping over shards of glass. "You touched me right. You looked me in the eye. You made me feel… wanted. But that's not what I need."
He stared, his pulse thudding in his throat. "Then tell me."
Her breath hitched, sharp and shallow.
"I crave something ugly. Something filthy. I want to be used. Not worshipped." Her voice roughened, raw and unfiltered. "I want to be ruined. Fucked like a hole. Degraded until I cry. Spit on. Slapped. Owned. Not kissed sweetly between moans."
Jason blinked, his cock stirring traitorously at her words.
"I need a man who'll take me by the throat and make me submit," she whispered, her eyes burning into his. "Not ask me nicely. Not hesitate. Not treat me like glass."
Silence crashed between them, heavy and electric.
Jason stepped back, his face hardening, eyes narrowing. "You think I can't do that?"
"I think you're good," she said, her voice softer now, almost regretful. "You're not like the others I used to—" She stopped, biting her lip, cutting off the confession. "It's not a bad thing."
"But it's not enough."
She nodded once, her gaze dropping.
Jason said nothing more.
He turned and walked to his room, the air thick with the weight of her challenge.
Half an hour later, Stella stepped into the master bedroom.
Jason was waiting—shirtless, barefoot, his eyes unreadable, a predator's calm masking something darker.
The bed was a battleground, the contents of her leather bag laid out like an arsenal: coils of scarlet rope, leather cuffs, nipple clamps, a ball gag, a spreader bar, vibrating eggs, plugs, a long black riding crop, and two blindfolds, their presence a silent promise.
Her stomach flipped, a pulse of fear and want coiling low.
"Take off your clothes," Jason said, his voice flat, stripped of warmth.
She blinked, caught off guard by the steel in his tone.
"Now."
Her fingers moved, trembling slightly, slipping one shoulder strap down, then the other.
The camisole slid to the floor, pooling at her feet, leaving her bare—no bra, no panties, just her skin, flushed and vulnerable, her nipples already tightening under his gaze.
Jason grabbed the leather cuffs, their weight heavy in his hands.
He fastened her wrists behind her back, the leather biting into her skin, then pushed her forward over the bed.
His foot nudged her legs apart—rough, unyielding, no trace of the softness she'd called out.
Her breath hitched, her body responding before her mind could catch up.
"Say it," he ordered, his voice a low growl. "Say what you want from me tonight."
"I…" She swallowed, her throat tight. "I want to be used."
He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear, his voice a snarl. "No. Say it filthy."
She shivered, her voice trembling but resolute. "I want to be your whore."
Jason's hand fisted in her hair, yanking her upright, her scalp stinging with the force of it. "I'm gonna break you tonight," he said, his words a dark vow.
She moaned, the sound raw, needy.
He shoved the blindfold over her eyes, tying it tight, plunging her into blackness.
A leather collar came next, its silver ring glinting as he cinched it around her throat.
He tugged the attached leash, forcing her to stumble to her knees, her bound wrists useless behind her.
"Open your mouth," he commanded.
Her lips parted instantly, obedient.
He pressed the ball gag between them, strapping it tight, the rubber filling her mouth, muffling her breaths. Her body trembled, anticipation and shame twisting together.
Then the clamps.
His fingers teased her nipples, pinching, rolling them until she writhed, her gasps muffled by the gag.
The metal teeth bit into her swollen peaks, sharp and unrelenting, and she jerked, a choked cry escaping her.
"Color?" he asked, his voice steady but demanding.
She moaned, muffled but clear, no struggle in her body—green.
Jason picked up the riding crop, its weight solid in his hand. His voice dropped, thick with a darkness that matched her own.
"You want depraved? I'll show you depraved."
He circled her kneeling form, his cock rock-hard in his jeans, his eyes devouring her—bound, collared, gagged, clamped, trembling. She was his to unravel, to ruin.
This time, there would be no hesitation.
This time, he would give her exactly what she craved.