Ep 1: Red Room of Surrender

The room was drenched in red.

Not the garish red of danger, but the seductive glow of temptation — soft, warm, pulsing like a heartbeat. Shadows danced against the walls, stretching long and liquid as the candles flickered in their holders. The air itself felt heavy, charged with heat, with lust, with anticipation.

And then there was the mirror.

It covered the ceiling entirely, gleaming in the dim light. Every angle of me reflected back — the vulnerable arch of my back, the delicate tremor of my thighs, the way the silk ropes cut into my wrists as I lay restrained on the velvet bed. I could see myself surrendering before I had even truly begun.

And he knew it.

Zed — my King, my devourer, my tormentor.

He stood at the edge of the bed, cloaked in shadow, a predator savoring his prey. The faint rustle of his black jacket as he slipped it off made my stomach tighten. My chest rose and fell faster. I could not move. Could not resist. And God help me, I didn’t want to.

“Look at yourself,” his voice came low, a growl that curled down my spine.

My eyes shifted to the ceiling, catching sight of my own trembling body. Bound. Helpless. Already wet. My lips parted as if confessing without words.

“You’re mine now. Every breath, every moan, every ounce of your surrender belongs to me.”

I swallowed hard. “Yes… my King.”

The words felt like shackles locking into place — beautiful, intoxicating shackles that I never wanted to escape.

He moved closer, the bed dipping under his weight. One hand brushed down the length of my thigh, so light I almost thought I imagined it. I gasped, arching against the ropes. The mirror caught the desperate movement, reflecting my helpless need, and shame and desire crashed together inside me.

His chuckle was dark. “Already begging with your body. But I’m not merciful tonight.”

A silk blindfold slid over my eyes. Darkness swallowed me, though the mirror above still existed — I could picture it, even if I couldn’t see. Every sound sharpened. The scrape of chocolate being unwrapped. The faint clink of ice in a glass. My breath hitching louder than I meant it to.

Then — the cold kiss of ice on my lips.

I gasped, trying to turn away, but his hand locked firm at my jaw, forcing me to part. He traced the cube along my lower lip, then pressed it inside. The shock of cold melted into heat as his tongue followed, chasing the drip, kissing me hard. My muffled moan filled the silence.

“Sweet,” he murmured against my mouth. “But not nearly sweet enough.”

His lips dragged lower, across my throat, down to the swell of my breasts. A tug — the silk robe slipped open, baring me fully. My nipples hardened instantly in the chilled air. His hand cupped one, squeezing just enough to make me whimper. Then his mouth closed around it, sucking hard.

I writhed, tugging the restraints. “Please—”

A sharp slap across my thigh silenced me. Not brutal. Just enough sting to remind me: I was his.

“No begging yet,” he warned. “You’ll take what I give.”

And then he gave everything.

His tongue circled, teased, bit, devoured my breasts until I could hardly breathe. His free hand slid lower, between my thighs, parting me with an authority that made me shudder. His fingers found me dripping, and he groaned in satisfaction.

“You’re ready to be devoured,” he whispered.

He pushed one finger inside — slow, deliberate. My back arched, my voice cracked into a moan. He added another, stretching me, curling against that aching spot deep inside. The mirror above would be showing my body trembling violently, the ropes straining against my wrists, the sheen of sweat on my skin.

And he knew it. He wanted me to see myself undone.

“Watch yourself,” he commanded, yanking the blindfold away.

My eyes flew up. The reflection hit me like fire. My mouth open in a silent cry, my breasts rising and falling, his hand moving relentlessly between my legs. The sight alone nearly tipped me over the edge.

I begged without words, tears pricking the corners of my eyes.

“Not yet,” he hissed, curling his fingers harder, faster. His thumb pressed cruelly against my clit. My body screamed with pleasure-denial. My thighs shook, my hips bucked helplessly.

“Say it,” he demanded.

“I… I’m yours,” I cried. “Only yours.”

His smile was wicked triumph. “Now you may break.”

He thrust deep, hard, curling his fingers inside me at the same time his thumb rubbed merciless circles over my clit. My entire body convulsed, a scream tearing from my throat as the climax shattered through me. Hot waves of release pulsed out, soaking his hand, soaking the sheets, while my reflection above captured every raw second of my surrender.

I collapsed against the ropes, trembling, sobbing, gasping.

He kissed me then — slow, claiming, a seal to his victory. “That was only the beginning, my Queen,” he whispered against my lips.

And as I stared up at the mirror, still shaking, still broken, I knew he was right.

This was only Episode One.

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