Training His Slave

When I begged him to claim me, I thought I knew what I was asking for—submission, surrender, trust. But he's nothing like the men I've known. His dominance runs deeper, darker, wrapped in control so absolute it steals my breath and bends my will.

He was never meant to keep anyone. He trained submissives, shaped them into perfection, and released them without hesitation. Until me. I wasn't supposed to be different, but something in my defiance awakened the darkness he'd buried beneath the surface.

Now, my freedom is gone. Every command, every punishment, every touch pulls me deeper into his world—one where pleasure cuts as sharp as pain, and obedience is learned through fire and need.

He believes he's in control. But when he looks at me, when he breaks me open and rebuilds me piece by trembling piece, I see the truth.

He's falling, too.

This isn't just training.
It's transformation.
And when he's finished, I won't simply obey.
I'll belong.