For a moment, he doesn't move. Then he points to the floor in front of him.
"Here. On your knees."
I sink down gracefully, keeping my back straight and my eyes lowered as I settle onto the carpet.
"Spread your knees wider. Submission requires vulnerability." His voice takes on that commanding tone. "Hands behind your back."
I adjust my position, feeling the silk robe shift around my body to give him a good view.
"Better. This is how you present yourself for inspection. Open, available, ready to receive whatever your owner chooses to give you."
"And if I don't want what he's giving?"
"You learn to want it. Or at least to convince him that you do." He moves closer, circling around me. "Your survival depends on your ability to make him believe that serving him is your greatest pleasure." He stops in front of me. "Look at me."
I raise my eyes to meet his, and the hunger I see there makes my breath catch.
“Maintain eye contact unless instructed otherwise. Men like Kozlov want to see your responses, want to watch you break."
"And if I don't break?"
"Then you fake it convincingly." His hand reaches out to trace along my cheek. "Can you do that? Can you pretend to surrender while keeping your strength intact?"
"Maybe with the right teacher."
"And what kind of teacher do you need?"
"One who understands both sides. Dominance and submission. Control and surrender." I lean slightly into his touch. "One who knows what it feels like to want something he can't have." His hand stills against my skin. "These lessons are your excuse to touch me, to have me kneel for you, to imagine what it would be like if I belonged to you instead of them."
His hand slides from my cheek to my throat, fingers wrapping around the delicate column with just enough pressure to make my pulse race.
"Fine." His grip tightens slightly. "Breath control. It’s in the files. Some buyers enjoy restricting oxygen during intimate moments. You need to learn not to panic when breathing becomes difficult. Accidents do happen."
He moves to the bed and sits on the edge, then looks at me expectantly. "Come here."
I approach slowly, and he guides me to straddle his lap, my knees on either side of his thighs. The position is intimate, unavoidable, and I can feel the heat of his body through his clothes.
"This position gives optimal control while allowing you to feel secure," he explains. "Place your hands on my shoulders."
I comply, and his hands settle at my throat, warm palms resting against the sides of my neck.
"The key is staying calm. If you fight or struggle, it becomes dangerous. If you relax and focus on the sensation, it can be... pleasurable at the right moments." His thumbs find my pulse points. "Can you stay calm for me?"
"Yes, sir."
I see something flicker in his expression at the formal address, but he doesn't break character.
"Now breathe slowly while I gradually increase pressure. Tell me if it becomes too much."
His hands tighten incrementally, and I feel my heartbeat accelerate even as I work to keep my breathing controlled. The restriction is just enough to be noticeable without being dangerous, but the intimacy of the position sends heat racing through my veins.
"How does that feel?"
"Intense," I whisper, and it's the truth.
"This is nothing compared to what Kozlov might do. He enjoys pushing limits, testing how much his acquisitions can endure." His grip loosens slightly. "The important thing is not to show fear, even when you're afraid."
"And if I am afraid?"
