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Episode 1: The Red Button

The mansion was silent. Sacred.

Evelyn moved like a ghost down the marble halls, feather duster in hand, hips swaying beneath the tight cotton of her uniform. Every morning, she adjusted the hem of her skirt—too short. Always too short. But Mr. Voss had chosen it. And Mr. Voss always got what he wanted.

She was his now, after all. Contractually. Legally.

Owned.

The intercom crackled above her.

“Come to the west wing. Now.”

His voice was silk dipped in steel.

She froze.

The west wing was off-limits. No maid ever returned the same after being summoned there.

She swallowed her fear—and obeyed.

The door to the study was black oak, cold beneath her palm. She stepped inside.

He was waiting.

Seated behind a massive desk of obsidian wood, eyes pinned to her body like a blade to flesh. Sharp. Possessive. Patient.

Mr. Adrien Voss didn’t speak immediately.

He didn’t need to.

His gaze traveled slowly—throat, breasts, hips, legs. She felt exposed, even fully clothed.

“Lock the door,” he said finally.

She turned the key.

“Take three steps forward.”

He stood, towering.

“Closer.”

She obeyed. Her breath quickened. His scent hit her: bourbon, leather, shadow.

“Today is your obedience test,” he said. “Page forty-seven of your contract. Paragraph nine.”

Her lips parted. She remembered the page.

She hadn’t read it. No one did.

“You’ll learn,” he murmured. Then pressed a red button beneath his desk.

A hidden panel opened in the wall behind him. Velvet-lined. Lit from within.

Toys. Dozens of them.

Elegant. Terrifying. Gold. Glass. Leather. Vibrators. Gags. Restraints. Things she didn’t recognize.

Her thighs clenched instinctively.

“Strip.”

Silence.

“Do it, or leave this house with nothing but your shame.”

Her fingers moved, slow, trembling. Button by button, she peeled off the uniform until she stood before him—naked, flushed, nipples peaked, breath unsteady.

He walked behind her. She heard the soft click of cuffs being lifted from the velvet.

“Hands behind your back.”

She obeyed.

Cold leather encircled her wrists. Tight. Secure. She tested them—no give.

“You’ll be helpless,” he murmured. “And you'll thank me for it.”

He guided her to the edge of the desk, then reached into the drawer and pulled out a gag—black silicone, shaped like a thick, ridged tongue.

“Open that sweet little mouth.”

She hesitated.

“Now.”

She obeyed. The toy slid between her lips—filling her, silencing her.

“Perfect. A doll should be seen, not heard.”

Then came the bullet vibrator—gold, remote-controlled. He knelt, and without ceremony, slid it into her dripping heat.

Her gag muffled the gasp. Her knees wobbled.

“You'll clean this room, hands cuffed, mouth full, and my eyes on you.”

The vibrator buzzed to life. A low hum deep inside her.

She moaned into the gag, body jerking, but still she tried to dust—limp cloth in bound hands, hips swaying uncontrollably with every teasing pulse.

He sat, remote in hand, watching her fall apart without a word.

—

Episode 2: Punish the Doll

She never made it back to her room.

Mr. Voss had summoned her again—no words, just a message left on her bed: “Downstairs. Naked. Mouth open.”

She obeyed.

Now she stood tied to a polished column in the study. Wrist cuffs clipped to metal hooks above her head, ankles spread and fastened with black silk rope to the floor. Her bare body trembled in the cold air.

And her mouth was already filled.

A bit gag this time—wide, tight, buckled behind her head. She drooled around it, helpless. Vulnerable.

Mr. Voss circled her slowly, like a predator with a trembling pet.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Perfect. Dripping. Dumb and ready.”

He ran a gloved finger down the valley between her breasts, to her belly, then lower—where she was flushed and glistening.

“I can still feel the vibrator inside you.”

He removed it. A soft wet sound as it slid free.

“You begged last night with your eyes, little doll. But tonight… I won’t stop.”

He turned to the velvet wall and pulled two new toys:

A vibrating anal plug—black, curved, gem-tipped.

A long, dual-end thrusting wand—one end thick for penetration, the other smaller and ribbed.

Her eyes widened.

“Shhh,” he whispered, stroking her cheek. “Good girls don’t flinch.”

He lubed the plug and pressed it slowly against her tight entrance.

She moaned behind the gag—half pain, half pleasure—as it slid in.

Next, he filled her core with the thrusting wand. Smooth, firm, perfect.

“So full now,” he purred. “Let’s make you feel everything.”

The buzz came first. Then the pulse.

Her eyes fluttered. The sensations overlapped, collided. Her legs pulled against the ropes. Her body convulsed, needy and wild.

He stepped behind her and landed a sharp slap to her ass.

“That’s one. For getting wet before I even touched you.”

Another slap. Then another.

“Two. For staring at me like a whore.”

A fourth—hard, deep, enough to make her cry out behind the gag.

Then silence.

She was panting. Drooling. Writhing.

He pressed the wand deeper—and activated the thrust mode.

It moved inside her. Slow. Rhythmic. Mechanical domination.

She screamed into the gag.

Her body bucked as wave after wave hit her. The plug buzzed in sync with the thrusting wand. Her clit throbbed without even being touched.

She’d never come like this. Not once. Not this violently.

“Beg with your body,” he growled. “Show me.”

She did.

She convulsed—hard—back arching, moans muffled, liquid heat pouring down her thighs.

And still… he didn’t stop.

He kept going.

Two orgasms. Then three.

She sagged in the ropes, broken, used, blissed-out and trembling. He finally removed the gag, letting her gasp for breath.

“What do you say?” he whispered, lifting her chin.

Her voice was hoarse.

“Thank you, Mr. Voss…”

“Good girl. Now clean up the mess you made.”

He unhooked her wrists, pulled her to her knees, and guided her to the place between his legs.

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