Baiting the Beast

Dominique sat in the center of her bedroom, ring light off, relying only on the crimson glow of her LEDs as the script unfolded line by line across her journal. No one had seen Domica live in weeks—not since the chaos, the threats, the shiver that ran down her spine in the wake of Fox's sudden silence. But silence wasn’t safety.

Silence was strategy.

She had been the prey far too long. Now, she would be the bait.

On the floor, her laptop blinked with mock innocence. The window to her Domica persona waited: open, breathing, humming with unread messages and unclaimed lust. She flipped the last page in her journal, fingers trembling with something between power and panic.

“Tonight,” she whispered to the screen, “we hunt the hunter.”

Her outfit lay across the bed—a velvet bodysuit, leather gloves, a sheer cape like a whisper of menace. But the most important element was the setting. The WREC room. A place where pain bled into pleasure, and pleasure masked vengeance.

It was time to return. And this time, the Fox would reveal himself.

She set the stream to private, invite-only—except for one guest whose IP she was now quietly tracing.

The WREC room was ready.

Dim crimson spotlights warmed the air. A single steel chair sat under a dripping leak in the ceiling—symbolic, raw, perfect. Chains hung like waiting mouths. On the floor, a masked submissive knelt obediently, silent and prepared.

Domica entered without sound.

Her heels kissed the concrete like silk daggers. Her cape whispered across the floor. She took center stage and paused—letting the tension bloom.

“To my loyal pets,” she purred into the microphone, her breath soft thunder, “tonight, we return to the order of things.”

She walked a slow circle around the submissive, gloved fingers brushing his shoulders, then snapping against his skin.

In the dimly lit WREC room, the air buzzed with anticipation as Domica, dressed in a sleek, black bodysuit, stood before her sub, a man who trembled with a mix of excitement and submission. She commanded him to his knees, her voice a low, dangerous purr. "You know what you are, don't you?" she asked, her eyes locked on his. "You're my plaything, my pet. And you're going to do exactly as I say." The sub nodded, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, his body trembling with anticipation. Domica reached into her toy bag, pulling out a set of anal beads, each one a different size, gleaming under the dim light. She positioned herself behind him, her movements fluid and confident. "Beg for it, my pet," she commanded, her voice a low, sultry whisper. The sub complied, his voice a desperate plea. "Please, Domica. Please let me have them." She smiled, a wicked glint in her eye, and began to insert the beads, each one stretching him more than the last, making him squirm and whimper. "That's a good boy," she purred, her fingers tracing the line of his spine. "You take them so well." Next, she retrieved a cock ring, its metal gleaming in the light. She secured it around his cock, feeling it pulse and throb against her fingers. "This is to make sure you don't cum until I say so," she explained, her voice a low, dangerous promise. "You understand, don't you, my pet?" The sub nodded, his body trembling with anticipation. Domica then grabbed a can of whipped cream, spraying it liberally over his face, his chest, and his cock. "Now, lick it off," she commanded, her voice a low, stern warning. The sub complied, his tongue working fervently to clean the whipped cream from his body, his moans a symphony of submission and pleasure. Domica watched, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. She reached down, her fingers tangling in his hair, guiding his head as he licked and sucked. "You're doing so well, my pet," she purred, her voice a low, sultry whisper. "But I think you need a little more." She tightened the cock ring, her fingers brushing against his sensitive flesh, making him gasp. "Beg for more, my pet," she commanded, her voice a low, dangerous purr. "Beg for me to make you feel good." The sub complied, his voice a desperate plea. "Please, Domica. Please make me feel good. Please make me cum." Domica smiled, a wicked glint in her eye. She reached down, her fingers brushing against his cock, feeling it pulse and throb beneath her touch. "Not yet, my pet," she whispered, her voice a low, sultry promise. "First, you're going to beg for it. You're going to beg for me to let you cum." The sub nodded, his body trembling with anticipation, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. "Please, Domica. Please let me cum. Please make me feel good." Domica tightened the cock ring once more, her fingers brushing against his sensitive flesh, making him gasp. "That's a good boy," she purred, her voice a low, sultry whisper. "You're doing so well. Now, let's see how long you can last."

Domica paced behind him, expression unreadable. She lifted a paddle and whispered, “Each strike is a lesson. Each gasp, a hymn. Let’s pray together.”

Domica watched as her sub trembled beneath her, his body slick with sweat, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. She knew he was close, his body coiled tight with the effort of holding back his orgasm. She tightened the cock ring once more, a wicked smile playing on her lips as she watched him squirm. "You're so close, aren't you, my pet?" she purred, her voice a low, sultry whisper. "You're so close to cumming for me." The sub nodded, his body trembling with anticipation, his eyes locked on hers, pleading for release. "Please, Domica," he begged, his voice a desperate plea. "Please let me cum. Please make me feel good." Domica reached down, her fingers brushing against his cock, feeling it pulse and throb beneath her touch. She leaned down, her lips finding his in a hungry, demanding kiss. She could taste the whipped cream on his lips, sweet and intoxicating. She deepened the kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth, tasting him, teasing him. She reached down, her fingers finding the cock ring, and slowly, deliberately, she loosened it. The sub gasped, his body convulsing as the blood rushed back to his cock, his orgasm building, his body coiling tight. "Cum for me, my pet," Domica commanded, her voice a low, dangerous purr. "Cum for me now." And he did, his body convulsing as he spilled his seed, his cries of pleasure echoing in the room. Domica watched, a satisfied smile playing on her lips, her body sated and content. She reached down, her fingers tracing the line of his spine, feeling his body tremble beneath her touch. "That's a good boy," she purred, her voice a low, sultry whisper. "You did so well for me." The sub looked up at her, his eyes filled with adoration and submission, his body sated and content. "Thank you, Domica," he whispered, his voice a low, grateful murmur. "Thank you for making me feel good." Domica leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead, her fingers tangling in his hair. "You're welcome, my pet," she whispered, her voice a low, sultry promise. "And remember, you're always mine. Always."

She turned to face the camera, lips parted slightly.

“And to those watching in secret,” she said slowly, “I see you.”

She clicked her tongue.

“Your turn is coming.”

The comments lit up—but one caught her eye. A symbol.

🜏

Her breath hitched.

Dominique froze, just for a second.

🜏

The symbol glowed on screen like an ancient mark, a sigil left by some god of voyeurism. She scanned the chat—comments, emojis, hearts—and then another line appeared.

“Seraphim28 never really disappeared. She just evolved.”

Her stomach twisted.

That name. That name. It was her old handle. Her secret self. Her barely-born identity before Domica emerged fully formed. Only one person had known it.

The Fox.

She masked her fear with a flick of her crop and signaled the next movement in the performance. But her mind was elsewhere—tracking the IP silently behind the scenes, every keystroke logged, every ping echoing in the back of her mind.

Then came another comment.

“Prove you're still in control. Show them what darkness tastes like.”

The words wrapped around her like silk soaked in gasoline.

Domica leaned into the mic, slow and deliberate.

“Oh darling,” she cooed, “you think I’ve lost control? Watch closely. The night’s just begun.”

[INSERT PLACEHOLDER FOR SUGGESTIVE POWER MOVE / EROTIC PLAY]

But her eyes never left the chat box. She watched the symbol vanish… then reappear.

He was here. Watching. Not just digitally. She felt him breathing down her spine.

Part IV – The Trap Closes

The stream ended in silence.

Domica’s silhouette was the last thing visible—corseted, commanding, untouchable. Her final whisper was a challenge.

“Catch me if you can.”

The screen blinked black.

But it didn’t stay that way.

Dominique’s laptop buzzed. A file appeared on the desktop. No sender. No explanation.

It was labeled BEFORE DOMICA.

She stared, heart thudding. Clicked.

Photos.

Grainy shots of her outside her childhood bedroom. Curled on the floor in a red robe, whispering lines from her mirror. Private webcam tests she’d never published. Audio files of her breathing. A video labeled First Collar Fitting—recorded without her knowledge.

Her vision blurred.

This wasn’t obsession. It was archive. A curated vault of her most vulnerable evolutions. And he’d had it all along.

Her fingers hovered over delete—but stopped.

Instead, she whispered to the cold glow of the screen, “You watched me become a goddess… and now I’m coming to burn your altar down.”

She copied the IP behind the message, opened her secure tracing tools, and grinned.

“You want prey?” she murmured. “I’ll give you a predator.”

The hunt had officially begun.

1707