She knocked twice, like she always did — already trained. I opened the door without a word. Her eyes searched mine, but I gave her nothing. Just a gesture toward the hallway, and she followed. Quiet. Barely breathing.

In the bedroom, the box I left on the bed said enough.

“Put it on. Leave everything else on the floor. Hands behind your back when you’re done.”

I waited in the next room. I didn’t need to watch — I wanted her to feel the weight of silence. When she appeared, standing obediently in lace I’d chosen, the sight alone tightened my grip on the moment. Her body was a canvas of surrender. She didn’t speak — she knew better.

I circled her once, fingers brushing her waist.

“Blindfold,” I said. The silk slid over her eyes. The tension rose.

I guided her gently, then firmly, to the table. Cold wood. I spread her arms wide, tied them down. Ankles followed. Each knot was deliberate — slow, final.

“You’re not here to think,” I said, my voice low near her ear. “Only to feel. Only to obey.”

Her breath hitched — a mix of nerves and need.

Then the door opened.

She froze. Her head turned instinctively toward the sound, but the blindfold held. Two sets of footsteps. Slow, sure. Male. I watched her chest rise, then fall — her body already reacting.

“She’s ready,” I said. “No talking. Just follow my lead.”

They didn’t reply. They didn’t need to.

She trembled as they walked around her — examining. One brushed her thigh lightly. Another grazed her wrist, tied firm to the table. She gasped — unsure who was where, or what came next.

“She’s yours. But my rules, always.”

She heard movement. Breath. A belt. The creak of the table under her tension. She strained against the ties, but didn’t resist — not really. I made sure she knew resistance wasn’t an option.

For the next stretch of time — measured only by her breath and my satisfaction — they did exactly as I told them. Not a word spoken. No names. No faces. Just obedient use of a willing gift.

When they left, the door clicked shut like a period at the end of a sentence.

I stepped close again, removed the blindfold slowly. Her eyes were glassy. Spent. Beautiful.

“You did well,” I said, brushing her hair from her face.

“And we’re not finished.”