Semua Bab Domica: Dominatrix Nights: Bab 21 - Bab 30

Some flames don’t burn—they consume.”The WREC room was darker tonight.The single red light above the cage flickered, like it was breathing. Sweat and smoke still clung to the walls from the last time she was here. But this time… it was different.She wore black vinyl gloves.Not for protection.For power.A collar rested in her palm—red, velvet-lined, fastened with a silver buckle. Wolf’s request.Her heels clicked slowly across the cracked tiles. Every step was deliberate, a quiet war drum.She reached the cage at the center.Empty. Waiting.Behind her, the door creaked open.She didn’t need to look.She knew it was him.“You’re late,” she said.“You’re early,” he countered.His voice—low, smooth, unhurried—crawled across her shoulders like silk soaked in gasoline.They stood across from each other, bodies almost in orbit.He was all shadows and quiet menace in a black thermal and chain-draped pants. The scar on his collarbone, just visible, glinted under the red light. His boots s

“The best predators never chase. They wait. And let you come to them.”Dominique adjusted the camera angle, slow and deliberate, like pulling thread through silk. The lens blinked red. Live, but hidden. A locked private stream, only accessible through a code buried on the darkest forum board she frequented—one where whispers, not usernames, ruled.The flyer she’d posted under Domica’s persona had been bait:Live tonight. No safe words. No masks. You want Domica raw? Then come and earn her silence.It wasn’t just a performance.It was a trap.Wolf—Damien—was watching from an encrypted back channel. His voice echoed in her earpiece, soft but charged.“Remember, don’t overplay it. Let him feel like he’s winning.”“I know how to sell surrender,” she said.“Just don’t forget who you are.”She didn’t answer.She couldn’t.Because in the dim red light of the WREC room, Domica was no longer a mask.She was the hunter.The room was bare tonight.No props. No chains. No leather throne.Just her

There was something about the house that felt colder now. Not the walls—those were still warm with wealth and false cheer—but the silence between them. The kind of silence that hummed too perfectly, like a prelude to something breaking.Dominique sat at her vanity, face bare, robe tied loose around her waist. Her reflection stared back like a stranger. It had been three days since the masquerade, and she hadn’t been able to stop replaying the moment the silhouette moved in the mirror. That flash of skin. The etched “V.”She hadn’t told her mother. Not that she would have listened. Her mother had been too busy parading graduation catalogs and college brochures in front of her, as if Dominique hadn’t already submitted her applications behind her back.“You’re quiet lately,” her mother had said at breakfast that morning, over her fifth black coffee. “Not a good look when alumni board interviews are coming.”Dominique didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The woman saw silence as compliance.

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.

She lit three candles, each one positioned around the chair at center frame, bathing the scene in gold and shadow. On the walls behind her, she pinned cryptic notes, torn diary entries, coordinates. A conspiracy that looked real because it was.At exactly midnight, she hit “Go Live.”The screen flickered. Chat exploded.Mistress is back. Did we displease you? Say the word, I’ll crawl. Dommy Mommy 😭 please punish me.Her voice cut through the frenzy, low and chilling. “Silence.”A thousand lines of chat stopped instantly.“I’m not here to play. I’m here to hunt.”Her eyes bored into the camera lens.“You’ve been watching me. You’ve been following me. You’ve left gifts… and threats. I liked the photo, by the way. Bold.”She smiled, a slow curl of satisfaction. “So here’s what we’re going to do, darling Fox.”That name caused the chat to spasm.“Tonight, I give you a stage. The question is—will you step into the light?”She reached for the leather folder on the table beside her, open