The Velvet Rebirth

Fear is a leash. Tonight, she burns it.”

She didn’t tell anyone where she was going.

Not that anyone would’ve cared—not her mother, not her classmates, not even the subordinates in her inbox who begged her daily to return. They didn’t want Dominique.

They wanted Domica.

And tonight, they’d get her.

Not behind a velvet screen.

Not through curated filters.

Raw. Unforgiving. Real.

The WREC Room sat two towns over in the slums of Greystone, nestled between a boarded-up tattoo parlor and a liquor store with a flickering sign. The building looked condemned from the outside—tagged in graffiti, windows boarded, door scarred with rusted locks.

But inside?

Inside, it breathed.

An old industrial loft, converted by sin and imagination into a studio for the underground. Stained concrete floors. Black-painted brick walls. One rusted chandelier hung overhead like a noose made of gold. The air was dense with sweat, old smoke, and the ghosts of screams.

She rented it in cash.

No ID. No questions.

Just the space, the silence, and the stage.

The setup was simple.

One camera.

One chair.

One throne.

Dominique peeled off her coat slowly, revealing what lay beneath:

Patent black thigh-high boots sharpened to a blade-like heel

A leather halter harness that left her breasts exposed but armoured with crossed straps

Gloves tight as skin

A red velvet cloak draped across her shoulders like spilled wine

Her collar—the one from Madam—hidden beneath her jaw like a secret oath

She pinned her hair up messily. Painted her lips the color of dried blood. Rimmed her eyes in kohl so thick it could kill a man on sight.

Domica, reborn.

Not soft.

Not shattered.

Wickedly whole.

The man arrived fifteen minutes later.

He crawled in from the edge of the frame.

Nude. Masked. Eager.

She didn’t speak to him.

She didn’t offer comfort.

She didn’t even acknowledge him as a person.

He was a vessel for her rage. For her reclaiming. For everyone who had doubted her.

She snapped her fingers.

He bowed.

“Begin recording.”

The chat flooded within seconds.

Names. Tips. Praise.

Old subs resurfacing.

New ones gasping.

But Domica didn’t look at the screen.

Her focus was on him.

She circled once, slow, dragging her gloved finger along his spine until he shivered.

Then came the clamps.

She clipped them to his nipples with cold, ritualistic care. Not cruel—but not kind, either. She twisted one, and he moaned around the gag.

“You remember how this works, pet,” she purred. “Pleasure is earned. But pain is your privilege.”

The prod came next.

Slim. Polished. Charged.

She traced it across his thigh until he twitched.

“Color?”

“Green,” he groaned.

“That’s my good toy.”

Zzztt.

He cried out—more shock than pain. His cock throbbed against the air. She licked her lips and knelt slowly.

Only to strap on the phallus.

Black. Bold. Heavy against her hips.

She stood above him like a statue of war, haloed by the shadow of the chandelier.

She didn’t penetrate.

She didn’t need to.

Presence was enough.

She pressed it against his cheek and whispered:

“You wanted to forget who I am.”

“You wanted someone softer.”

“You wanted a fake.”

She smiled then.

A flash of teeth.

“Let me remind you what real feels like.”

She walked to the camera, letting the strap swing with each step.

“To those of you watching—wondering if you’ve replaced me.”

She unhooked the ball gag from the side table. Pressed it between his lips. Buckled the choker strap with a little extra force.

“You haven’t replaced me.”

She snapped the prod again. He flinched so beautifully.

“You’ve earned me.”

She crouched beside him, one boot planted on his back, the phallus resting like a promise near his trembling lips.

“And I hope you remember this…”

She stared dead into the camera.

No mask.

No mercy.

“I am the ALPHA WOLF.”

Then she howled.

A low, guttural, primal cry that echoed through the WREC Room like the voice of every forgotten god rising from ash.

Then she reached up—

And clicked end stream.

The chat exploded behind the screen.

Comments. Tips. Submissions.

The pack had returned.

But Domica didn’t read a single one.

She walked to the folding chair, collapsed into it with a satisfied groan, and exhaled for the first time in days.

The man was still panting on the floor.

He hadn’t broken.

But he was close.

She didn’t release him yet.

That was her final reward—for her.

Not him.

The laptop pinged.

Just once.

Her eyes flicked to the inbox.

Sender: WolfEyes89

Subject: The Pack Bows Again

You remembered what it means to bare your teeth.

Now the forest listens when you walk.

– W

She didn’t respond.

But this time—

She smiled.

Wide.

Real.

And whispered, half-laughing to herself:

“Good boy.”As the screen went black, silence took over the WREC Room.

Except for her breath.

Her chest rose and fell in powerful, ragged waves, sweat glistening between the ridges of her exposed sternum. Her boots clicked once as she stepped away from the camera—controlled, electric, spent—but high on it. On the claiming. The conquest.

The man on the floor was trembling. Still gagged. Still collared. He didn’t dare move.

She didn’t release him yet.

She wasn’t finished savoring.

She reached for the discarded crop and ran it over his back in a slow, final caress—no pain now. Just ownership. Just goodbye.

“You may thank me, pet.”

He mumbled against the gag, eyes filled with tears and awe.

She smirked, finally pulling the red choker free from his lips.

“Now crawl,” she said. “Out.”

He obeyed without question.

The door clicked behind him.

And she was alone.

No mask.

No echo of a name she didn’t own.

Just Domica.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she peeled the phallus harness from her hips and let it fall to the velvet throne.

She didn’t need aftercare tonight.

She was the care.

She sat before her laptop, her cloak still flowing around her like shadows and blood, and checked the stream dashboard:

643 live viewers

4,221 active comments

93 new tribute tips

7 private session requests

12 former subs re-submitted applications to serve

She closed the request list without answering.

Power didn’t beg.

It chose.

Then the inbox chimed.

Just once.

Sender: WolfEyes89

Subject: The Pack Bows Again

The message read:

You remembered what it means to bare your teeth.

Now the forest listens when you walk.

– W

She didn’t reply.

Didn’t cry.

Didn’t doubt.

She smiled.

Not because of him.

But because he saw what she already knew.

She hadn’t been lost.

She had been hunting.

Dominique shut the laptop, wiped her lips clean, and whispered into the dark:

“Long live the Alpha.”