Carolina knew the rules before she knocked on the door. She’d read the contract twice, signed it with a steady hand, and chosen her outfit with care—a black silk dress that ended mid-thigh, no jewelry, her hair pulled into a tight, obedient knot. This was a game of power, but she intended to win by playing by his terms.
He walked to the chair and sat, legs spread, watching her. “You came here because you wanted to be told what to do. But obedience without trust is just performance. So tell me—why should I trust your surrender?”
He circled her slowly. “You remember the safeword?”
Marcus opened the door without a word. Tall, dark-suited, expression unreadable. He stepped aside, and she entered the minimalist apartment—gray walls, soft lighting, and a single leather chair in the center of the living room. Tushy - Carolina Sweets - Obedience
Again. Harder. “Two.”
When he stopped, he set the brush aside. His hand rested on her back, warm and still. “You’ve done well,” he murmured. He unbuckled the cuff, rubbed her wrists, helped her sit up. She was shaking, but her eyes were clear.
“Same time next week?” he asked.
Marcus smiled—just a flicker. “Good answer.”
Then she draped herself over his lap, heart pounding. The first swat of the brush was sharp, startling—a red bloom of heat on her silk-clad rear. She gasped but didn’t move.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good evening, Carolina,” he said, voice low.
The crawl was slow, deliberate. Her silk dress rode up, but she didn’t stop to fix it. When she reached him, she leaned forward and drank from the glass, lips finding the rim, water spilling down her chin. She didn’t wipe it away. That would be a hand.