A Slave Maker

*Author's note*

*For those who might be lost*

*Our MC is embarking on a journey into other people's lives, by being them and living it, without knowing it.*

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Jesus, mother of fucking Mary.

That place inside of Ash where everything was icy and sterile, where he noticed everything as if he were standing on a mountaintop? That beautiful place that was where he had been made to rule from?

It was a hundred times more with her beneath him. He didn't know why. Maybe it was because she was so obviously out of control, so clearly craving it.

But it was something almost transcendent in nature with her bowed in front of him and bent for punishment.

Asher had always felt a moment of connection with his partners because in that special clarity, he felt almost godlike, like he could see everything about them, notice every muscle tension and expression.

With her? It was like being connected on the deepest possible level. He just knew everything to say and do. He knew without considering it that he had to be cold and distant and have complete control to earn her submission.

However badly he craved to fuck her, he couldn't do it and somehow, in that state, his discipline and self possession had been something that made even him amazed.

It had been impossibly easy to ignore his raging hard on. He had always been good, but no one was that good. No one could be near that heady, intoxicating scent that Jezebel gave when she was dripping cum and not struggle for a brief moment to keep a sense of restraint.

No one.

And yet Asher had been that good. It had been something surreal, like a Chinese finger trap. However hard she pulled at his self-control was as hard as it pulled back.

Her temptation made him all the stronger with every breath he took of that delicious, hot scent of her.

God, the cream she had dripped. The only thing missing when she'd been bowed beneath his boot was a belt wrapped around her neck for him to pull and torment her with.

He would have tugged on it while holding her down just to feel the power rush up his arm, feel the tension up his muscles, and feel that magical knowledge when he saw her back arch in panic that let him know he had to give slack.

And when Asher was away from her, he didn't even jerk off. His body craved the release, but he didn't want to break her spell.

Denial had never been his thing, but this feeling of powerful rush was the most exquisite hell. From the first taste of her humiliating service, he was hooked.

Jezebel was the one who had been on drugs, but it was almost like she had given them to him instead.

He burned for her, had to have her.

How to approach that topic with her? That brief insight and connection, as deep as it was, gave him a decent bit of knowledge.

She was a wild little thing, flighty as all hell too, and obviously without many moral boundaries that most people had if she was indulging in drug use of that caliber.

But more to the point she was without inhibition, a sexual creature who indulged in hedonistic behaviors, and she was a joy of emotional range.

Those were all delightful qualities in a slave and he hadn't met someone who had them in such full nature as she did. She would be something exceptional after a month of conditioning.

'You, Ash, are getting way the fuck ahead of yourself.' Asher told himself.

God, was he ever. He sounded like a narcissist, taking her as a foregone conclusion. He stopped and blinked, realizing that while he was lost in his thoughts, his steps had taken him to his own private dungeon, the one he so rarely used.

He had shaped it with the intention of training a real slave sometime, as a room of pleasure conditioning, a Master's room. He traced his hands over the locks and sighed. "Well, fuck."

Because he realized that he'd already made up his mind, even by that point.

You see, he had never really gotten to use his dungeon for its original intention. He had never gotten to have his true slave. It had taken a few years before he realized that his training dungeon fantasies might not be something he could make into reality.

That same cold place that made him the perfect master? It was the same place that ensured he couldn't get close enough to someone to enslave them.

Submissives he had been with wanted more, but he didn't have that kind of more to give. There was no depth beneath his surface. There was only more mastery and more dominance, more of that perfect ice.

And sometime when he had her under his paddle in that light little punishment session, he had made a decision.

He was going to have his fantasy, and she was the slave who was going to star in it. Like her, his moral compass did not point north, and he had evidently already set his eyes on something he wanted.

Asher's conscience was not registering that the object of his desires should probably not be taken.

This was... new.

Okay. So. Hmm. Well, he had options. Jezebel had obviously felt safe under his hands. And she was an amazing creature. Legality evidently was not a deterrent for his personality, but there was something else that he focused on.

Her pleasure, her safety.

Asher didn't know if that justified the things he was willing to do, the fact that he knew he could calm her and make her safe and give her security.

Because... if he were being honest?

He was absolutely willing to take her against her will. She made his kinky radar go absolutely batshit haywire with how submissive she was, even if she hid it.

'Behave, Ash. You have to be good, damn it.' He thought to himself. 'You knew this when you broke laws and damned yourself once that it would be easier to do it again after that. And you knew that you had to be good.'

But there was another thought, too. 'I have been good. I've been really, really good for years now. And this one is really worth it. She fit so perfectly to me.'

'Ugh. Not good. Bad Ash. Very bad Ash.'

The other problem with all of this was just how perfect Asher's self-control and dominance was, once again.

You see, it was glaringly obvious to him that he could absolutely manipulate and ease her along a pathway that ended in his dungeon with gentle coercion and persuasion.

And he'd get away with it. There was nothing to stop him. She was just barely old enough to walk into his club and didn't even know her way around that underworld enough to know better.

She hadn't even asked him for a safeword.

Fuck. Not good.

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*Author's note*

Show some love guys.

let's get the powerstones up.

Also, would love a review, if you can drop one.

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