Titel:Obey

By the time she crossed the threshold, she wasn’t hers anymore.

The city faded behind her, and silence wrapped around the loft like velvet. No more emails, no barking orders, no mask of control. Here, she became soft. Still. Obedient.

He stood at the far end of the room, arms crossed, black shirt rolled at the sleeves. No words yet—just his eyes on her. Sharp. Knowing.

“Kneel.”

One word. That was all it took.

She sank gracefully, spine straight, hands behind her back, knees wide. Her heart pounded. The collar at her throat felt heavier than usual.

“You were late,” he said, finally.

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“You know that’s not good enough.”

“I know.”

He moved toward her, slow and deliberate. A predator. She felt the heat of him before he even touched her. Fingers threaded through her hair—tight, unyielding. He tilted her head back.

“Tell me what you are.”

“I’m yours.”

“And?”

“Your property. Your toy. Your good girl…” She swallowed. “When I earn it.”

A smile touched his lips—dark, dangerous. “You haven’t earned it yet.”

She gasped as he pulled her to her feet by the hair, her body instinctively falling into line. Submission wasn’t fear—it was release. The chaos of the world outside disappeared when he was in control.

“Strip.”

The word hit like a slap.

She obeyed, slowly undoing her blouse, then her bra, then sliding her skirt over her hips. Each movement was a ritual. A shedding of armor.

He said nothing—just watched.

“Turn,” he said. “Hands on the cross.”

The St. Andrew’s cross stood waiting, its leather straps ready. She stepped into position. He fastened her in—wrists, ankles—tight enough to feel it, but never to hurt.

Now she was open. Exposed. His.

He walked a slow circle around her, letting her feel the weight of his gaze.

“You ache for it, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“To be broken down.”

“Yes.”

“To be remade.”

“Yes, Sir. Please.”

His hand moved then—barely touching her, just trailing down the curve of her spine. She trembled. Her mind emptied. All that remained was breath, sensation, the beat of her heart echoing his steps.

Tonight wasn’t about pain or pleasure.

It was about surrender.

The kind so deep it rewired your soul.

He leaned close, lips brushing her ear.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “And I’m going to show you what that means.”

She shivered. Not from fear—but from the freedom that came with giving herself completely.

And then came the first strike.

Firm. Precise. Measured.

Not cruel. Never cruel.

Just a reminder.

That this body was his playground.

That her surrender was not weakness—it was worship.

Each impact left heat blooming across her skin. Each word, each breath, tied her deeper to him. Not with ropes or cuffs—but with trust.

Time blurred.

All that remained was the sound of his voice, the press of his hands, the quiet exhale of her own submission.

And when it was over, when her body hung loose and trembling and her mind was quiet for the first time in days, he undid the cuffs and caught her.

Held her. Rocked her.

“You did well,” he whispered, kissing her hair. “You gave me everything.”

“I did,” she murmured, eyes closed, safe in his arms.

“And I’ll give it back. Every time. Better than before.”

Because that was the truth at the center of their dynamic.

Power, when freely given, became something holy.

And to obey was not to lose herself.

It was how she found who she truly was.

The Contract

Male lead - Alex

Age-41 year

Female lead - Jenika

Age- 24 Year

The rain tapped hard against the tall windows of the penthouse, a dull rhythm that mirrored Jenika’s heartbeat. She stood barefoot on the cold marble floor, her black dress clinging to her skin like second thoughts. Her fingers fidgeted at her sides as she stared at the man seated across the room — Alex.

He didn’t speak. He hadn’t spoken since she arrived.

Instead, he watched her — not like a man watching a woman, but like a predator studying prey. His dark gray suit was tailored to perfection, his expression unreadable. The only light in the room came from the fire behind him, casting a golden glow on his sharp jaw and cool eyes.

“Take it off,” he said at last, his voice smooth, effortless.

Jenika didn’t hesitate. She’d read the contract, signed it with trembling fingers. There would be no negotiation, no slow seduction. This wasn’t about love. It wasn’t even about pleasure — not in the way most people understood it. She was his. And he would make her remember that.

Her hands slid up the sides of her body, fingers grasping the zipper at the back of her dress. The fabric fell in silence, puddling around her feet. She stood before him in nothing but her skin and the thin leather collar he had sent to her earlier that day — a simple thing, but the weight of it pressed into her like iron.

He stood, his six-foot-two frame casting a shadow over her. Close now, she could smell his cologne — clean, with a hint of danger. He reached out and touched her cheek, fingers brushing just under her eye.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“I know,” she whispered.

His hand fell. “Good.”

He circled behind her, his fingers grazing her spine, down to the curve of her back. Then he stopped. A small, cruel smile touched his lips.

“On your knees.”

Jenika obeyed, sinking onto the cold marble. Her knees spread instinctively — a position she had practiced at home, preparing. Still, it felt different here. Raw. Real. He walked around her slowly, his footsteps soft against the floor. When he returned to face her, he held something in his hand: a thin bamboo cane.

She felt the air shift.

“You’ll count,” he said.

She nodded.

“No. Say it.”

“Yes, Master.”

The first strike came fast — a whisper in the air, then fire across her thighs. She gasped, head jerking back, but she didn’t fall.

“One, Master.”

Another. This time across her left breast, the sting blooming into a sharp ache.

“Two, Master.”

He didn’t stop. He painted her skin in red, his strokes precise, methodical. Ten. Then fifteen. By twenty, her breath came ragged. Tears welled, but she refused to let them fall. The pain sang through her veins like a violent kind of music. It hurt. God, it hurt.

And she loved it.

At twenty-five, he stopped. He crouched in front of her, lifting her chin with two fingers.

“You’re going to break,” he said quietly. “I’ll enjoy every second of it.”

Jenika stared at him, heart pounding, skin burning. Her lips parted, and she whispered:

“Yes, Master.”

He smiled then — not cruel this time, but proud. He stood and turned toward the small table near the fireplace, where leather cuffs and ropes waited like promises.

“We begin now.”

Chapter 2: Obedience

The leather cuffs felt heavier than she expected.

Jenika stood with her wrists bound above her head, secured to a black steel bar that extended from the ceiling. Her feet barely touched the floor, just the tips of her toes grounded, enough to keep her balance. The pain from the earlier caning still echoed across her skin — each welt throbbing with heat. She could feel them when she shifted, stretched, breathed.

Alex stood behind her now, silent. She could sense his presence, the charged energy he carried like a second skin. She had imagined this so many times — what it would be like to submit to a true Master. But no fantasy had ever prepared her for the terrifying calm in his voice, or the intensity in his silence.

“You look beautiful like this,” he finally said, his breath grazing the back of her neck. “Vulnerable. Weak.”

Jenika said nothing. The contract was clear — she was allowed to speak only when asked a direct question or given permission. Everything else would be punished.

He moved in front of her, dragging a single gloved finger down her sternum. The cold leather traced the edge of a fading welt. Her breath hitched. He saw it — and smiled.

“You’ll learn your place, little one,” he murmured. “And when you forget…” He turned away, reaching for something on the table. “I’ll remind you.”

She heard the jingle before she saw the source — a chain leash, smooth silver, short. He clipped it to the ring on her collar with a practiced snap.

“You’re mine. Not just in body. I own your pain. I own your fear. And I will carve my name into every inch of you.”

Her knees nearly buckled.

He brought out a crop next — short, stiff, with a leather tongue at the end. Jenika braced herself, but he didn’t strike right away. Instead, he circled her like a storm building pressure, waiting for the right moment to release.

“Tell me,” he said, voice low. “Why are you here?”

“To serve you, Master,” she answered without hesitation.

“And?”

“To be broken.”

He nodded. “Good girl.”

The first strike of the crop landed across her stomach. A sharp crack, then a sting that bloomed like fire under her skin. He moved quickly, delivering two more strikes in succession — her ribs, then the top of her thigh.

She bit her lip.

“Count,” he reminded her.

“Three, Master.”

“Four, Master.”

“Five, Master.”

The next landed just beneath her breast. She whimpered.

“Six, Master.”

“You’re doing well,” he said calmly. “But we’re just beginning.”

Her body screamed with sensation — pain layered over pain, but beneath it all was the heat she couldn’t deny. Her body betrayed her, slick and wanting, despite the agony. Maybe because of it.

He noticed.

“You like it, don’t you?” he asked, brushing a finger between her thighs.

She moaned softly. “Yes, Master.”

“Say it louder.”

“Yes, Master — I like the pain.”

“Say it properly.”

“I crave it, Master. I crave your pain.”

He chuckled — low, dark, pleased. “That’s more like it.”

He unhooked her wrists from the bar. She collapsed into his arms, trembling, weak. He held her there for a moment — not gently, but firmly. Possessively. Then he led her to the padded bench near the fire.

“Over it. Knees apart.”

She obeyed, positioning herself with trembling grace. She didn’t know what was next — she didn’t need to. Her body, her mind, her will… they belonged to him now.

Alex stood behind her, sliding a hand into her hair, gripping tightly.

“This is obedience,” he said softly.

Then the whip cracked.