Chapter 3: Say It With Your Body

Sunday night.

Maya's car pulled into the underground parking lot of the tower Rico had texted her just hours before. Her hands trembled on the steering wheel—not from nerves, but from anticipation. She didn't know what he'd planned. She only knew what he expected.

White dress.

No panties.

Mouth ready.

Mind empty.

She walked through the corridor like she wasn't herself. Her heels clicked softly, her body humming beneath the fabric. The dress hugged her figure—tight across the hips, chest slightly exposed, showing off the curves Rico hadn't even let himself fully touch yet. Not where it counted. Not yet.

She reached the suite door.

It opened before she could knock.

Rico stood there—shirtless, his dark chest carved like a statue, sweatpants low around his hips. He didn't speak.

He simply stepped aside.

Maya entered like a woman walking into ritual fire.

Inside, the room was dim. Only red glow from corner lamps lit the space. The furniture was gone—cleared out except for one high-backed chair in front of a full-length mirror. A narrow table beside it held leather cuffs, a blindfold, a gag, and a riding crop.

Her heart stuttered.

"Turn around," Rico ordered. "Face the mirror."

She did. Her breath caught at her reflection. The white fabric clung to her like a second skin. Her nipples were hard. The space between her thighs glistened. She didn't even realize how wet she was until she moved.

He stepped behind her, wordless. Gripped her chin and tilted her face toward her reflection.

"Look," he murmured. "At what I own."

Her thighs clenched. He slapped them lightly.

"Don't move."

Rico began undressing her in silence. First, he pulled her zipper down—slowly. The white fabric fell off her shoulders like water, pooling at her feet. She wore nothing beneath. His palm slid down her back, possessive, until both hands spread her hips.

"You think this body tempts me?"

Maya whispered, "Yes."

He gripped her throat again. "It doesn't. It belongs to me."

He guided her to the chair. Sat her down. Spread her arms and locked the cuffs to the armrests. Her legs were already shaking, but he tied them to the chair's legs anyway—wide, vulnerable, open.

"You'll sit here, hands tied, legs apart, while I teach you to beg without words."

He slipped the gag into her mouth—tight, firm, rubber between her lips—and buckled it behind her head.

"Good girl."

Her eyes fluttered.

He kissed her forehead.

Then picked up the crop.

The first tap was gentle—barely brushing her inner thigh. The second had bite. The third left her squirming. He circled her—tapping her nipples, thighs, belly, under her breasts—each one sharper than the last. She writhed, moaned through the gag.

"You're not here to come," he said, voice low. "You're here to learn patience. Restraint. Devotion."

He kneeled between her legs, his breath hot against her folds. She moaned, hips twitching. He licked her—once. Then pulled back.

She whimpered, muffled, aching.

"Use your body to speak. Show me how much you need it."

She pressed forward. Moaned. Arched her back. Her eyes—wild, glazed—begged louder than words could.

Rico smiled.

He licked her again—slower. Just over her clit. Then again. Then stopped.

Her body shook.

Then the crop returned.

Each tap timed with the throb between her legs. Tease, spank, kiss, edge. Over and over. She was leaking. Lost. Her thighs trembled violently.

He pulled off the gag.

"Ask."

"Please…"

"Ask properly."

"Please, Sir… I need to come. I can't—"

"You can. But you won't. Not yet."

He rubbed his cock over her thigh—still clothed—but she could feel it. Thick. Hard. So close. He was teasing himself now, too. She could see it in his jaw.

But he wouldn't give in.

He walked behind her and slid the blindfold over her eyes.

"Let go," he whispered. "You're not a MILF. You're not a teacher. You're not a woman in control."

He leaned in—his lips brushing her ear.

"You're my plaything."

His fingers slid inside her—deep, slow, then faster. Curling. Searching. She screamed.

Right when she reached the edge, he stopped.

Pulled out.

Slapped her clit.

Her whole body convulsed.

"No."

She gasped.

"I decide when. Not you."

He stood. Walked around in front of her. Unbuckled his pants. Let her see it—big, dark, dripping at the tip.

She reached for it instinctively—but couldn't. Tied.

He stepped closer.

Pressed the thick head against her lips.

"Suck."

She opened and welcomed him. Greedy. Needy. Her mouth worked while her pussy throbbed untouched. He moaned, eyes closing briefly.

"You're better when you're gagged by me."

He held her there. Her throat stretched. Her tears streamed. Her thighs clenched.

He grunted and pulled out—just before he could explode.

"Not yet."

He untied her arms. Her legs. She collapsed to her knees, exhausted, drooling.

"You want it?"

"Yes," she rasped.

"Then crawl."

She did—toward the mirror.

"Look at yourself," he said. "See what I made you."

She stared at her reflection—face smeared with spit and lipstick, eyes half-lost, body shaking, folds glistening. Owned.

Rico grabbed her hair.

"You're ready now."