Kara had been living alone for three weeks now. The separation from Ethan was quiet—no slammed doors, no screaming matches, just a calm conversation one Sunday morning that ended with packed bags and separate addresses. He’d kept the house; she’d taken a small loft downtown, close enough to work, far enough to feel like a fresh start. Or so she told herself.

In truth, the only thing that felt fresh was this.

She stood in the center of Damien’s playroom, arms stretched high above her head, wrists locked in soft leather cuffs chained to the ceiling beam. Her toes barely touched the floor, body taut and exposed. A thick ball gag filled her mouth, strap tight behind her head, forcing drooling silence. Black silk covered her eyes, turning everything to warm darkness. She was naked except for the steel collar locked permanently around her throat these days.

Damien’s footsteps circled her slowly.

“You were twelve minutes late,” he said, voice low and even. “Ten strokes. Count through the gag.”

The first crack of the leather paddle landed hard across both cheeks.

“Mmmph—one!” she managed, the sound muffled and wet around the gag. Fire bloomed instantly.

The second followed quickly, lower, catching the sensitive undercurve.

“Ahh—unh—twooo!”

By the fourth her ass was throbbing hot, tears already soaking the blindfold.

“Mmmph—ahh—four!”

He didn’t rush. Each strike was deliberate, perfectly placed, building heat on heat. Her hips jerked forward involuntarily with every impact, pussy clenching on nothing, slickness trailing down her inner thighs.