The city remains noisy at midnight. Outside the window are the sleepless lights of Manhattan, but inside, another silent fire burns.
Elena stands in front of the mirror, wrapping her black velvet dressing gown with both hands. It was custom-made for her by Damien, with a neckline that dips low to her chest and a belt loosely coiled around her waist. The collar around her neck still fastens, its golden engraved words shimmering slightly in the light:
Mine. No exceptions.
She raises her hand to take it off but stops the moment her fingertips touch the velvet. As if removing it would make her fall back from being someone's woman to the lonely, cold self she once was.
Just then, the door opens.
Damien walks in, followed by a man—tall and slender, with deep features, wearing a gray suit and a playful smile. His eyes linger on her, a mix of scrutiny and amusement.
"Elena," Damien steps to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder. "This is Marc, the guest perfumer I invited from France. Tonight, he's not here for business."
She turns to look at him, her brows furrowing slightly. "What do you want to do?"
Damien bows his head, nibbling her earlobe, his voice low and husky. "You said you wanted to prove you can't be easily controlled. So tonight, I'll give you a chance."
Marc steps forward, standing before her. His eyes are no longer playful but gaze into hers earnestly.
"I won't touch you," he says, "unless you want me to."
But Damien pulls the silk ribbon from her waist from behind, letting the dressing gown slide down her body. As the air caresses her bare skin, shame flames up her cheeks like fire.
She stands between the two men, naked as a sacrifice.
"Look at him," Damien's voice is like a thread, teasing the most dangerous desire in her heart. "Then tell me—does your body belong only to me?"
He takes a pair of black leather handcuffs from the drawer, raises her hands, and fastens them to the metal bar of the headboard. She wants to resist, yet 隐隐约约 wants to know—how far can she be pushed?
Marc sits on the room's bench, watching her in silence, while Damien slowly kneels and kisses her abdomen. His kisses trail downward, his tongue tracing her sensitive curves until his lips and tongue cover her wettest spot.
She instinctively struggles but, with her hands bound, can only let him lick her wantonly. Every suck is a deliberate act of 拖延 and control, making her tremble between shame and pleasure.
"Close your eyes," Damien commands.
She obeys.
Thus, she loses all sense of time and space, with only her senses infinitely amplified. She hears her own rapid breaths, feels his fingers curve slightly inside her, precisely finding the spot that makes her legs go weak.
Her moans rise gradually, but Marc continues to watch her in silence.
This game carves a rift in the depths of her consciousness. She isn't truly being "used," but her shame, her orgasm, her every reaction have all become a performance.
Damien stops, biting her already hypersensitive nipple with his lips while looking up at her.
"Do you like being seen when you orgasm?"
"I—no…" She tries to deny it, but the redness on her cheeks has already betrayed her.
He chuckles softly, reaching into the drawer for a narrow leather gag, placing it at her lips.
"If you keep denying it, put this on. If you admit you belong to me tonight, open your mouth yourself."
The air freezes.
She looks at the leather strap, then at Marc, and finally slowly opens her mouth, biting the symbol of shame between her teeth. When Damien fastens it, she knows: she has completely surrendered.
Then he enters her again, slowly but irresistibly. He isn't hasty; instead, each deep thrust pushes her to the edge as he toys with her nipples and whispers in her ear: "You belong to me. Even if you cry while orgasming in front of others, you can only be mine."
Her body is like a burning lyre, every nerve taut, gradually breaking down under his slow yet dominant rhythm. Marc remains silent, but as he sits there, he watches her twist her waist like a wild animal, her moans blocked by the gag, only stifled sobs escaping.
When the orgasm finally sweeps over her, her entire body trembles, and tears fall from the corners of her eyes.
Damien bows his head to kiss away the tear, then whispers: "That's enough, Marc. You can go."
The man nods and turns to leave. Throughout the entire process, he never touches her.
The moment the door closes, Damien unfastens the gag and handcuffs, hugging her tightly.
"I don't need to share you," he says. "I just want you to know that even in shame, even when being watched, you still only want me to fuck you."
Elena lies on his shoulder, too exhausted to respond, but for the first time in her heart, she admits:
She isn't just controlled by this man's body; she's beginning to crave that dangerous loss of control in her heart.