Mistress Bonnie demanded Obedience

Mistress Bonnie pulled him to her lap like a favored pet, her fingers carding slowly through his hair. His head rested against her thigh, heart pounding, cock already straining with need—but he knew better than to beg. That lesson had been driven into him weeks ago. She did not entertain desperation. She fed on control.

“You’ve improved,” she said, voice smooth as silk. “You’re thinking. You’re watching. But your body…” Her hand slipped down his neck, tracing the muscles of his back. “It betrays you.”

He tensed as her fingers slid lower, brushing across the waistband of his pants. His breath hitched, but he didn’t move. Not until she gave the command.

She leaned in close to his ear, voice a low command: “Strip. Everything.”

He rose to his feet and undressed slowly, methodically, folding each piece of clothing with precision before kneeling once more, naked and exposed, cock flushed and throbbing.

Bonnie extended her leg and rested her foot on his thigh, trailing the tip of her toe along his skin. “Look at you,” she murmured. “So eager. So hard… and yet you’ve done nothing to earn release.”

Oz exhaled shakily. “I’m here to serve, Mistress. Not to take.”

“Good,” she purred. “Remember that.”

She rose, walking slowly to her chaise lounge—an elegant piece of furniture she’d often used as her throne. Draping herself across it, she beckoned him with one finger.

“Come to me.”

He crawled, always on hands and knees unless told otherwise, and knelt beside her.

“Touch yourself,” she said. “But don’t you dare come.”

The words sent a jolt through his spine.

“Yes, Mistress.”

His hand slid around his shaft, slow and deliberate, as she watched him like a cat watching its prey. Her eyes were heat and judgment. He kept his strokes measured, controlled, every nerve on fire as her gaze held him captive.

“Slower.”

He obeyed instantly, the ache growing deeper. His hips tried to thrust into his hand, but he held himself steady.

“Look at me.”

He met her eyes. That was the hardest part—the way she watched him, fully clothed, perfectly composed, while he was exposed and unraveling under her control.

“Stop.”

He froze, letting go with a strained breath. The tension sat heavy in his pelvis, desperate and delicious. She leaned forward and placed one hand on his cheek.

“You want to come so badly, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he breathed.

“But you don’t need to. That’s the lesson.”

She sat back. “Stroke again. But this time, tell me what you feel.”

He obeyed, hand gliding once more, slower now. “I feel… need. Heat. Desire. But also pride. To be seen like this. To be controlled. I feel… yours.”

Her smile returned.

“Good boy. Now stop.”

He did, hand hovering mid-air as his whole body quivered.

“I could do this to you for hours,” she said. “Edge you until your mind dissolves. Until you beg without speaking. Until the only thought left in your brain is me.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he whispered, eyes wide. “Please… I want that. I want only you.”

She leaned forward and whispered against his lips: “Then prove it.”

And so the cycle began—her voice commanding, his hand obeying. Stroke. Stop. Stroke. Stop. Each time, the tension built, more unbearable than the last. She watched his every flinch, every trembling breath, until he was trembling like a leaf, sweat slicking his back, thighs clenched, eyes wild.

“I’ve taught you patience,” she murmured. “And now, I’ll teach you denial.”

She snapped her fingers.

“Hands behind your back.”

He obeyed, panting.

“Tonight, you don’t come,” she said simply. “You learn to crave restraint. You learn to love the ache.”

He bowed his head, desire pulsing through him like thunder, aching for release—but deeper than that… was devotion.

“Yes, Mistress.”

She leaned back again, sipping her wine.

“And if you please me tomorrow,” she said, voice a soft blade, “perhaps I’ll let you beg.”