Third week with a new trainer. I signed up for him myself, having seen him on Instagram: tall, broad-shouldered, with a look in his eyes as if he already knew all the most embarrassing things about me. Vadim Romanovich. A former champion in some martial art, now the most expensive personal trainer at the Platinum club. They said he's tough. They said he'd show results within a month. They didn't say anything else. The first training session is hell. The second is a humiliating hell. He doesn't ask, he commands: "Five more," "Faster," "Are you weak?" And the worst part is, I do it. I can't stop. He looks at me, corrects my technique, places a heavy palm on my lower back, and a treacherous warmth spreads in my lower abdomen. I started wearing the most protective clothing so as not to give myself away by shaking. This morning I broke my diet again. Just one croissant and a latte with syrup, but he always knows it with some kind of animal inst... continue reading

The highway was empty. I pressed the gas pedal too hard, rushing home after a bad date. Anger and frustration burned inside me, and I longed for speed. The red lights of a patrol car flashed unexpectedly behind me. I cursed under my breath and pulled over to the side of the road. The inspector approached slowly, the beam of his flashlight gliding across the car, across my bare knees. I rolled down the window. "License and car documents," the voice was low and brutal. "You're speeding by forty kilometers, citizen." "Sorry, I'm in a hurry," I handed over the documents, trying to speak softly. The flashlight still shone in my face, and then the beam slowly crept lower, down my neck, to the neckline of my light sundress. My breathing quickened. "The punishment for such violations is severe," he said, walking around the car and opening the door on my side. "Get out." I stepped out. My legs were shaking slightly for some reason. He stood ver... continue reading

He had an important dinner with his partners, and he repeated a hundred times: "Be home by seven, don't let me down." And as luck would have it, I was stuck in a meeting, then traffic jams, my phone died... I burst into the apartment just after eight, sweaty, in a business suit, in heels, and from the moment I stepped inside I knew there was going to be a storm. He was sitting in the living room, in the semi-darkness. He wasn't shouting. He was just looking. His gaze made my insides clench. I started babbling about a meeting, about traffic jams, but he interrupted me very quietly: "You've embarrassed me. I've called ten times." "I tried..." "Shut up. Go to the bedroom. Stand facing the wall and wait." Goosebumps ran all over my body. I took off my shoes and walked wobbly to the bedroom. I stood up as he told me. My heart was pounding somewhere in my throat. A couple of minutes later he came in, and I heard him lock the door. I could te... continue reading

I stood in the corner of his office, barefoot, wearing only a simple cotton shirtdress that barely reached mid-thigh. My hands were clasped behind my back, my chin raised—exactly as the Master demanded when we were in his workspace. He called it "the attention pose." And I hated waiting more than anything in the world. "You distracted me today," he said, not looking up from his papers. His pen scratched against the heavy paper, the only sound in the quiet office. "You knocked on the door three times, even though you knew I was busy. You put your impatience above my orders." I swallowed. The dark wood walls of the office seemed to weigh me down, and the smell of old books and candle wax only reinforced the feeling that I had done something unforgivable. “Look at me,” he ordered coldly. I turned my head and met his gaze. He sat behind a massive oak desk, wearing a pristine white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows—his workaday appearance always made... continue reading

The pool is a special aquarium in the evenings. By evening, the water is as smooth as glass, the lights are dimmed, and only the steady hum of the pumps breaks the silence. My group of adults had left about twenty minutes ago, and I was about to close the door when she appeared on the edge. Marina. The only one of them all wearing a tailored swimsuit, but it fit so well that every man on the path instinctively held his breath as she emerged from the water. She was in her early thirties, with a ring on her finger and a son whom she sometimes brought along. She was married, happy, and fit. Judging by the occasional exchange, everything was going well with her husband: a comfortable house, a mortgage, and a vacation in Turkey. But there was something else about her. A kind of hungry pucker at the corner of her mouth when she thought no one was watching. The way she lingered after practice, swimming closer than necessary when I explained stroke technique. That evening she asked me to he... continue reading

I love it when men talk about their dreams—the Beautiful Princess or Queen they want to serve. For many, this remains just a fantasy, but for me, this dream has become reality. I am a Mistress, and one man gave me seven years of his life—seven years of devotion, pain, trust, and submission that have become part of my soul, part of my world. Our acquaintance began timidly: he came to test himself, his limits, to understand how much he could trust a woman who takes complete control. In his gaze, I noticed a mixture of timidity and quiet delight, a desire to surrender, trembling and tension, but most importantly—a willingness to be mine. The first punishment was a test. I made him kneel before me and selected a whip, a belt, and a cane. "Lower your head," I ordered, and his voice trembled: "Yes, Mistress." Strike after strike fell on his skin, leaving stripes and marks. His breathing quickened, his body tensed, he fought back a scream but did not beg for mercy. "Say... continue reading

The car pulled up to a building somewhere in the neighborhood. I sat at a distance from him in the backseat. He seemed to pretend I wasn't there. I cautiously peered out through the raindrops to see what this place was like. It was already past midnight, but I felt calm. The master had explained back in the café that the girl had to ask him for a session herself, explained the rules, and the girl, without a second thought, did so. And now she was here. The screeching of brakes, the sound of drips on the roof of the car, and the sound of the door opening. The man walked around the back of the car, opened the door, took off his coat, and covered me with it to keep me dry. I got out of the car without meeting his gaze, and we hurried inside. It was a reception area of sorts, but it was so dim, so intimate. The girl behind the counter smiled at the man, and she clearly recognized him. I shrugged off his coat and hung it over my arm; it was barely wet. And I stepped aside. I looked... continue reading

His loft smelled of old books, leather, and the faintest hint of his cologne—something woody, tart. The candles on the nightstands cast dancing shadows on the walls, creating bizarre giants of light and darkness. I stood in the middle of the room, feeling small and fragile, almost translucent. My short black hair seemed even darker against my pale skin, and the tiny swallow tattoo on my wrist felt like my only talisman of protection. He was thirty-eight. Tall, with a graying beard and eyes that had seen too much. His hands—strong, with the sinewy fingers of a photographer and thin silver scars on his knuckles—now ignited a fire within me that sent shivers down my spine. He approached me silently, like a predator. "Ready?" His voice was low, almost chest-like, and it sent a shiver down my spine. I merely nodded, unable to speak. My throat was dry. We'd met several times, discussed boundaries, safe words. But the theory proved worthless compared to the practical items lyin... continue reading