Enjoy a reading of The Key to His Submission: Chapter 3. Audio Narration is available to my Patrons, or you can purchase a gift from my Throne Wishlist for your own audio copy to indulge whenever you like.
Velvet Chains
The folder trembled in Edward’s hands, the weight of its contents pressing against his palms like a physical manifestation of the tension coiled in his chest. Ms. Divine’s scent, a heady mix of expensive perfume and something wilder, lingered in the air, wrapping around him like a silken noose. Her words, laced with innuendo, echoed in his mind, sending a shiver down his spine.
“Hands-on assistance,” she’d purred, her voice a velvet caress. “Let me know if you need it.”
Need it? He was drowning in it, suffocating under the weight of her gaze, the brush of her fingers on his shoulder still burning through his shirt. The fluorescent lights above seemed to pulse in time with his racing heart, casting an eerie glow on the metallic surfaces of his office, transforming it into a sterile arena for their unspoken game.
He forced himself to look away from her, his eyes darting to the window, the city sprawled below a mocking panorama of freedom. He was trapped here, ensnared in her web of desire and control, the chastity device a constant, humiliating reminder of his submission.
“I… I’ll do my best, Ms. Divine,” he stammered, his voice cracking like a dry twig underfoot.
She smiled, a slow, predatory curve of her lips. “I know you will, Edward. You always do.”
Her hand, still resting on his shoulder, squeezed gently, a silent command, a promise of consequences should he fail. He felt a jolt of fear, mingled with a strange, intoxicating thrill. She was pushing him, testing his limits, and he was helpless to resist.
As she stepped back, the air seemed to thin, the tension stretching taut between them. Edward’s fingers tightened around the folder, the images within burning into his memory. Chastity devices, cold metal cages, symbols of denial and control. He knew, with a sickening certainty, that this assignment was more than just research. It was a lesson, a test of his obedience, a reminder of who held the power.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of forced concentration, each word he typed feeling like a confession, each image he studied a mirror reflecting his own subjugation. He could feel Ms. Divine’s presence, even when she wasn’t physically there, her eyes seeming to bore into him from across the room.
As the clock ticked towards the end of the day, his report, a meticulously crafted testament to his research and his submission, sat on his desk, a sacrificial offering at her altar. He knew she would scrutinize every word, every detail, searching for any sign of weakness, any hint of rebellion. The thought sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine, a strange mix of fear and desire coiling in his gut.
Just as he was about to send the email, Ms. Divine reappeared, her heels clicking against the floor like a metronome marking the rhythm of his heartbeat. She leaned against his desk, her eyes scanning the screen, her lips curled in a satisfied smile.
“Impressive, Edward,” she purred, her voice low and approving. “You’ve done your research thoroughly.”
He swallowed, his throat dry. “Thank you, Ms. Divine.”
Her gaze lingered on him, piercing, probing. “But tell me, Edward,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, “have you truly understood the implications of these devices? The psychological impact, the surrender they demand?”
His heart hammered against his ribs. He knew what she was asking, what she wanted him to admit. “I… I think so,” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.
She stepped closer, her scent enveloping him, her presence overwhelming. “Then prove it,” she said, her voice a command, a challenge. “Show me you understand the true meaning of submission.”
Before he could respond, she reached out, her fingers brushing his cheek, sending a jolt of electricity through his body. He froze, his breath caught in his throat, as her hand moved down, her fingers tracing the outline of the chastity device hidden beneath his clothes.
“You’re mine, Edward,” she whispered, her voice a velvet chain wrapping around his soul. “Remember that. Always.”
Her touch, her words, sent a surge of conflicting emotions through him: fear, desire, shame, and a strange, intoxicating sense of belonging. He was hers, body and soul, trapped in a web of her weaving, and he knew, with a chilling certainty, that there was no escape.
As she turned and walked away, her heels clicking a victorious march, Edward slumped in his chair, the weight of his submission pressing down on him. The city lights twinkled outside, a mocking reminder of freedom he could never attain. He was Ms. Divine’s, bound by chains of desire and control, and the game, he realized with a chilling clarity, had only just begun.