Damien Turning, my gaze landed on the wall—a gallery of power. Whips hung in clean order, each speaking a different promise, some soft and teasing, others carved for pain. Steel and suede Collars rested beneath them, and in shadows like trophies. Chains looped with military precision, their gleam catching in the light.I walked slowly, deliberately. My presence filled the room, I reached out. picked up a chain, letting it slide through my fingers. The weight was satisfying, honest. Tools like these didn’t lie. You knew exactly what they were made for.Setting it back, I shifted to the glass shelves. That’s when I allowed my brow to rise slightly, a private gesture of acknowledgment. Nickolai had curated not just weapons, but temptations. Rows of dildos, sleek and unapologetic. Glass, silicone, chrome. Different sizes and colors, each crafted with intent. Every piece is chosen carefully not just for use, but for the effect it left on the mind.A small chuckle escaped me, low and appr
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