Master and pet Episode 3: The Mirror

Episode 3: The Mirror

The third evening began not with a command—but with a question.

“Do you trust your own reflection, Jeva?”

Alex stood near the floor-length mirror in the training room, sleeves rolled to the elbows, dark eyes locked on her.

Jeva paused. The question unsettled her—not because she didn’t understand it, but because she did. Too well.

“I’m not sure,” she answered honestly.

“Good.” He nodded, as if that pleased him. “Then we’ll work on that.”

He gestured to the mirror. “Strip. Stand there. Look at yourself.”

She obeyed, her fingers sliding over the buttons of her black blouse. One by one, they gave way, exposing skin to the room’s quiet chill. She stepped out of her jeans, folding them neatly.

Naked, Jeva walked barefoot across the cool floor and faced her reflection.

She stood in silence, uncertain of what she was supposed to see.

Alex came up behind her, his presence a weight at her back.

“What do you see?” he asked, his voice low.

She swallowed. “I see… me.”

“Do you see my pet?”

She hesitated.

“I don’t know yet.”

He leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“I do.”

His words stirred something low in her belly.

He took her wrists and gently fastened the cuffs again—soft leather, snug but never tight. He moved slowly, reverently, as if she were something sacred.

Then, he took a length of black rope from the bench.

“Hands behind your back,” he said, and she obeyed.

His hands were efficient and sure as he bound her wrists. She watched her reflection, heart beating faster as each loop of rope pulled her tighter into his will.

“You see that?” he murmured, stepping back to admire his work. “That’s beauty. Control. Submission.”

She breathed in deeply, watching herself—exposed, restrained, vulnerable.

But not weak.

He moved again, this time with a blindfold in hand. He let the silk brush against her throat before lifting it to her eyes.

And just like that, the world vanished.

She could still feel the mirror’s presence, still sense her own reflection, but now she had to imagine it.

“Stand still,” Alex commanded.

She did.

She heard the soft sounds of him moving—drawer, cabinet, something being placed down. The faint scent of sandalwood and leather filled the room.

Then he returned.

She felt his hand brush her shoulder, fingers trailing down her arm. His mouth grazed her neck. A kiss. A promise.

And then his voice, steady and firm: “You belong to me.”

She nodded. “Yes, Master.”

His hand traveled lower, down the line of her spine, over her hips. He didn’t rush. This was never about haste.

It was about claiming. About presence.

“I want you to speak. I want to hear what you feel. Don’t protect me from your truth. Understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

He reached between her thighs, parting them.

“What do you feel?”

“Anticipation. And… a little fear.”

“Good. Let it live. It won’t hurt you—not here. I won’t let it.”

She believed him.

His fingers teased her, soft strokes that awakened every nerve. Her breath caught.

“What else?” he whispered.

“Need.”

“For what?”

“You,” she gasped.

He pressed closer, his voice in her ear. “You always have me, Jeva. But you only feel me when you surrender. Completely.”

He teased her longer, until her knees trembled, until her gasps filled the silence.

And just when she thought he’d take her over that edge—he stopped.

A cruel pause.

But there was no cruelty in his voice, only control.

“Not yet,” he said. “I want more first. More truth.”

He turned her toward the mirror again and pulled off the blindfold.

Her reflection stared back—bound, flushed, aroused, eyes glazed with longing.

“Now what do you see?”

Jeva inhaled sharply.

“I see a woman who’s letting go.”

Alex stepped behind her and kissed her shoulder.

“I see a pet learning her place. And her power.”

He unbound her wrists slowly, letting the blood flow return, massaging gently.

Then he knelt before her, taking her hand and placing it against his chest.

“You have the power, Jeva. The power to stop this. The power to choose me. Every day, every time. I take control because you give it.”

Her throat tightened. Emotion swelled.

“I give it freely, Master.”

He rose, gathered her into his arms, and carried her to the padded bench in the corner.

She lay curled against him, warm and trembling.

He didn’t touch her again that night—not in that way.

Instead, he whispered. Quiet truths. Simple affirmations. Promises not made with rings, but with rules and rituals and trust.

And when she finally closed her eyes, her reflection lingered in her mind—

Not a broken woman.

But a woman being remade, one scene at a time.

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