Her gasp cut through the charged air like breaking glass—sharp, involuntary, completely beyond her control.

Dominique's hand shot out, gripping the edge of the chaise lounge as her body trembled with aftershocks she hadn't earned through physical touch. Just presence. Just my abilities settling into the room like divine judgment, flooding her senses with that primal musk until her pussy clenched and wept in helpless surrender.

"The—" Her voice cracked, and she had to stop, breathe, try again. Professional composure shattered into a thousand pieces she couldn't reassemble. "The women's satisfaction test is over."

I smiled. Didn't move. Didn't need to.

Her chest heaved with post-climax quivering—thighs pressed together, skin flushed that beautiful crimson that meant complete surrender, eyes unfocused like she'd just witnessed something religious, her pussy still pulsing with phantom throbs, slick soaking through her panties in a shameful flood.

"You've passed--" she managed, voice still shaking. "Now there is... there is the light BDSM test that comes next."

I nodded, understanding immediately. The agency catered to different types of women—each preferred different kinds of satisfaction.

Some wanted gentle worship, others needed rough claiming, their pussies drenched at the mere thought of being bent and broken. Some craved light BDSM while others demanded intense scenarios that required contracts and safe words negotiated through lawyers.

The spectrum varied from one person to another, each client bringing their own desires, their own needs, their own particular brand of starvation—craving the sting of a whip on swollen lips, the bite of clamps on aching nipples, the stretch of a thick cock claiming every inch.

And some women—though Dominique didn't mention this part—wanted to dominate men instead. Wanted to tie them up, use them, reverse the power dynamic entirely, milking their throbbing cocks until they begged, edging them to the brink while their own pussies ground down in triumphant release.

But the agency didn't approve those tests during evaluation.

That came later, if ever, entirely dependent on whether the escort agreed to those tendencies when specific clients requested them. Personal boundary, personal choice. Meridian protected their escorts as much as their clients.

Right now, Dominique was going to test how good I could be with light BDSM.

How well I understood control, restraint, the delicate balance between pain and pleasure that some women needed to feel truly satisfied—the sharp slap on a dripping pussy, the teasing drag of silk over a hardened cock, the exquisite torment of denial until they shattered.

She tried standing—legs betraying her immediately, thighs slick with her own arousal.

Staggered forward two steps before I moved, catching her elbow with gentle grip that steadied her weight against mine, my hardening cock brushing her hip in a promise of what was to come.

"Merde," she breathed, half-laugh and half-disbelief. Leaned into my support without shame, letting me take her weight as we walked toward a door on the room's far side I hadn't noticed before, her breath hitching at the subtle grind of my erection against her.

"You are a beast. An absolute beast." Her accent thickened with emotion, French-Canadian pronunciation bleeding through professional English.

"How many women are going to fall for your claws, hmm? How many are going to walk into sessions thinking they can handle you, only to discover they were prey all along—their pussies stretched around your cock, screaming in ecstasy?"

I laughed—genuine sound that surprised even me. "You're definitely part of that lot, Dominique."

She smiled, wide and unguarded, years of professional mask completely abandoned. "Oui. I am the first, non? The first to fall. But not the last. Never the last."

We reached the door, and she pressed her palm against a biometric scanner—same technology as the elevator, fingerprint recognition granting access to spaces most people would never see. The lock clicked open with mechanical precision, and she pushed the door inward.

The BDSM room opened before us like entering a different world entirely.

Where the main demonstration room had been soft luxury—plush bed, warm lighting, sensual comfort—this space breathed darker elegance, thick with the scent of leather and anticipation.

The walls were painted deep burgundy, almost black in certain light, with strategic accent lighting that created dramatic shadows, illuminating toys designed to tease and torment.

The floor was the same deep carpet, but here it seemed to absorb sound even more completely, creating a bubble of isolated privacy where moans would echo and cocks would throb unchecked.

Against the far wall stood a custom bondage frame—padded leather cuffs at four points, adjustable height and angle, built from polished dark wood that looked expensive as furniture rather than sex equipment, perfect for spreading a woman wide, exposing her dripping pussy to relentless worship.

Beside it, a cabinet with frosted glass doors that probably contained various implements—restraints, blindfolds, vibrators humming with promise, plugs to stretch and fill, floggers to sting and arouse—whatever tools light BDSM required to push a body to the edge, making pussies clench and cocks leak in desperate need.

I stepped forward, gripped her wrist, and spun her toward the leather bench in one fluid yank.

Dominique gasped as her hips slammed against the padded edge, bending her forward. I kicked her feet apart—wide—her skirt riding up to expose lace tops and the damp patch darkening her thighs.

"Hands behind your back," I growled.

She obeyed instantly, wrists crossing at the small of her back. I snatched silk restraints from the cabinet, looped them tight—snug enough to bite, loose enough to breathe—and cinched the knot. Her shoulders jerked; a whimper escaped as the silk pulled her arms immobile.

I shoved her down. Chest flattened to butter-soft leather, ass high, skirt flipped up. No panties—she'd ditched them after the first test.

Her pussy glistened, lips swollen and parted, slick trailing down her inner thigh in a single, shameless bead.

I delivered one sharp slap—palm cracking across her right cheek. The sound ricocheted off mirrors. Red bloomed instantly. She jolted, pussy clenching hard enough to squeeze out another drop.

"Count," I ordered.

"Une," she hissed, voice shaking.

Another slap—left cheek, harder. Her hips bucked, grinding air.

"Deux."

I dragged a feather from the cabinet, trailed it up her spine. She shivered, gooseflesh racing. Then I flicked it across her exposed clit—light, teasing flicks that made her thighs quake and her pussy flutter open like a hungry mouth.

"Please—" she begged, exactly as ordered.

I dropped the feather. Gripped her hips. Yanked her back until her toes barely touched carpet. My cock strained, thick ridge grinding along her soaked slit—once, twice—coating the fabric in her juices.

"Stay." I stepped away, circled. Mirrors showed her from every angle: flushed face, bound wrists, pussy dripping onto the bench in slow, steady pulses.

I unbuckled—slow zip, deliberate. My cock sprang free, heavy and veined, precum beading at the slit. Her eyes locked on it in the mirror, pupils blown.

I fisted the base, dragged the head through her folds—up, down, notch at her entrance. Held there.

"Beg for the restraint," I said.

"Please—tie me tighter—fuck me—own me—"

I slammed in to the hilt.

Her scream echoed endless in the mirrors as her pussy clamped down, milking my cock in violent spasms.

I pulled back, thrust again—harder—bench rocking under the force. Each stroke slapped skin on skin, her bound arms jerking uselessly, tits dragging across leather with every brutal drive.

I reached forward, fisted her hair, arched her neck. Forced her to watch herself in the mirror—mouth open, eyes wild, pussy stretched wide around my pistoning cock.

She came first—sudden, vicious—walls convulsing, squirting down my shaft in hot pulses. I didn't stop. Pounded through it, chasing my own release until I buried deep and spilled, flooding her with thick ropes that leaked out around my cock as I held her pinned.

Only then did I ease the silk loose, massaging red marks on her wrists. She collapsed forward, trembling, utterly spent.

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