Obey Me in Room 406 - 3

I told myself I wouldn’t go.

I swore I’d ignore his command. That I didn’t belong to him. That it was just sex.

But here I am again.

Room 406.

Only this time, I don’t even hesitate. I knock once.

The door opens instantly, like he knew the exact second I’d show up.

He doesn’t greet me.

He just smiles—smirks, really—like a man who already owns the answer to a question I haven’t dared to ask.

“You’re ten minutes early.”

“I couldn’t wait.”

His eyes drag down my body. I’m in a dress this time—tight, short, braless. Panties? Not a chance.

He steps aside without a word.

I walk in. And freeze.

There’s a box on the bed, black velvet. Like a gift.

“For me?” I ask.

He nods once.

“Open it.”

My heart beats faster as I lift the lid.

Inside is a black leather collar. Smooth. Sleek. Unapologetically filthy. And a small silver tag that reads: Mine.

I stare at it then glance at him.

“Put it on,” he says, already unbuttoning his shirt.

My fingers tremble slightly as I fasten the collar around my neck.

He walks over once I’m done, tugging gently on the D-ring at the front.

“Perfect.”

“You’re serious about this?”

His hand slides between my legs, finding me already wet.

“I don’t play games.”

I gasp as his thumb brushes my clit.

“You’re dripping,” he murmurs. “From wearing my collar alone.”

“You make me wet.”

“Good. You’ll need it.”

His eyes gleam with something darker.

Because tonight won’t just be the bed.

Tonight, I’ll be pushed further.

He doesn’t fuck me right away.

Instead, he tells me to kneel.

Then opens the second drawer of the nightstand and pulls out a small, remote-controlled bullet vibrator.

He slides it into me—without asking—and fastens a pair of lace panties over it. Just enough friction to drive me wild.

Then he helps me up and smooths my dress over my thighs.

“We’re going out.”

My stomach flips.

“What?”

“You want to be my toy? You’ll wear my plug, my collar, and my vibrator in public. You’ll smile and act normal. And when I say come, you’ll come.”

I clench around the toy inside me.

My heart pounds.

I should say no.

I should feel shame.

Instead, I follow him out the door.

We’re at a private rooftop bar downtown.

Dark. Velvet booths. Candlelight flickering. Jazz in the background and rich men with richer women sipping dark liquor.

He orders whiskey. For me, wine.

He doesn’t ask what I want. He just tells the bartender what I’ll drink, and I don’t object.

I feel the collar against my throat. The bullet inside me. The panties growing damp with each second.

I feel possessed and and I love it.

“Open your legs,” he whispers as we sit.

I do.

He taps something on his phone and the vibrator hums to life. I bite my lip hard, face flushing, legs tensing.

“Don’t move.”

I try, I really do but I’m already panting.

“Breathe through it,” he says, sipping his whiskey like he’s not teasing me to the edge of madness.

“You’re such a bastard,” I hiss.

“Language.”

He raises the intensity.

I jerk slightly in the seat, nearly spilling my wine.

My nipples are hard beneath the dress, throbbing, begging to be touched.

My thighs tremble. My body is screaming.

“You’ll wait until I say,” he murmurs, brushing a single finger along my inner wrist. “And when I do, you’ll make a mess.”

I nod frantically, clutching the table.

He lets it buzz for three minutes straight.

Then turns it off.

I sag against the seat, shaking.

“You didn’t come,” he says, sounding impressed.

“Because I’m desperate to please you.”

He leans in and kisses the side of my neck, just under the collar.

“Good girl.”

He takes me back to the room without a word.

By the time the door closes behind us, I’m on my knees without being told.

I peel off the dress and panties while he watches, cock already hard and straining through his pants.

“I’ve been dripping in your toy for hours,” I whisper.

“I know.”

“You’re gonna fuck me now, aren’t you?”

His voice is sharp. “Beg.”

“Please.”

“Not good enough.”

I crawl to him on all fours, drag his zipper down with my teeth, and pull him out.

Then I take him into my mouth. Deep.

Gagging. Moaning. Letting drool spill down my chin.

His hand fists in my hair.

“Fucking hell.”

I bob faster, swirling my tongue around the head, sucking like it’s the only thing that matters.

Because it is.

His groans get rougher, throatier.

“Stop,” he growls.

I obey instantly, mouth wet and red, lips swollen.

He drags me up, spins me around, and bends me over the desk.

He pulls the toy from my pussy and tosses it aside.

“You want to come?”

“Yes.”

“You want to be filled?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then take it like my good little slut.”

He enters me in one hard thrust.

No warning. No tenderness.

Just raw, unfiltered dominance.

I cry out, nails scraping the wood as he fucks me brutally, the collar tight around my throat, my breasts swaying with every slam of his hips.

He grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls.

I arch back.

“I said messy,” he growls. “Come for me now.”

And I do.

So hard I scream.

So hard my knees buckle.

So hard my pussy clamps around him like a vice.

He grunts, thrusts deep, and spills inside me, his cum hot and endless.

I collapse to the floor, panting.

He follows me down, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me. Soft. Slow. Barely a whisper of lips.

Then he drags a warm towel across my thighs, cleans me up like I’m something precious.

Which is almost more intimate than the sex.

He doesn’t speak as he lifts me into the bed, wrapping me in his shirt.

Just holds me.

And right before sleep claims me, I whisper the one thing I haven’t dared say out loud.

“I came back because I want more.”

His reply?

A single, dangerous promise.

“You’ll get more.”