Rule 1

Mickey and Naomi play a game that has only a handful of rules. Rule 1 is simple: always be ready. The game is not knowing what for. She sits there in nothing but skin, blonde hair falling over her shoulders, wrists already bound behind her. The rope bites. She breathes through it. Markus stands over her, all shadow and muscle, and she knows he’s watching every twitch. He takes his time. When he drops her to the floor she lands on her knees, face pressed to the sheets, ass up. He drives into her without warning, hard enough to jolt the bed. She gasps, takes it, takes him, deeper with every thrust. He pulls out only to flip her onto her back, climbs over her face and sinks down. Her tongue works while his weight pins her. He rides it. She chokes on him and still keeps going. He flips her again, this time face down, ass high, and fucks her until the rope marks her wrists red. Every slap of skin says the same thing: she followed the rule. She stayed ready. And he never let her forget what ready costs.