Novel & Cerita Thirteen Obey Me

My summons, whether by text, call, or direct command, is to be answered immediately, regardless of time or circumstance. Rule 2: Attire. You will not wear underwear in my presence. Your wardrobe will be curated by me. You will wear only what I provide for you. Your body is to be displayed as I see fit. Rule 3: Obedience. You will obey my every command without question or hesitation. Hesitation will be met with punishment. Obedience will be rewarded. Rule 4: Pleasure. You will not touch yourself sexually without my express permission. Your orgasms belong to me. They are a reward to be earned, not a right to be taken.

I'm supposed to be punishing her for trying to sneak out, yet I'm loving the way she looks tied up before me. I should have known that once she opened those eyes, I would forget that she broke an important rule, reduced to staring like a man who has been starved for years, wanting her more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. In fact, something did tell me it would be like this. But I ignored it. And while I am quite stubborn, the problem is, Thirteen doesn't seem to know this. That is why she continues to aggravate me. She doesn't seem to understand that I am as crazy as they come and if I don't get my way, no one else gets to have theirs.

“Before I do something I’m not supposed to.” Something in me tightens, trembling. And I obey, because gods help me, I want him to.

They seemed to stick out more with every thought I had of how I could obey him. I need to act submissive now to survive.

Stay obedient. Don’t touch that pussy. Just wait for my voice like the good girl you are.

"These scars… What happened?" I calmly changed back into my uniform and forced a smile on my lips. "My duty is to take care of Mr. Carpenter and Dobey, Ms. Herrera. Please take me home." Chelsea's composure cracked. She grabbed me by my collar and yelled, "What the hell did you go through?" I asked, puzzled. "What's the matter, Ms. Herrera? I've learned to be obedient now. Why are you still unhappy about it?" Her shoulders trembled uncontrollably. "I just… I just wanted to—"

“You feel my control, even when unspoken. You respond instinctively. That is obedience. That is claim. You know it. You cannot deny it.” Cassian’s thumb pressed in slow, steady circles on my inner thigh. The gentle touch sent fresh sparks racing through my oversensitive skin, making more slick gush out in a hot, slippery rush that soaked the furs beneath me. “Do not fracture yourself in their tension. Endure, observe, respond. Awareness is obedience. Presence is claim. You are theirs entirely, even as they test each other through you.”

When I jolted awake from the nightmare, the first thing I saw was the magnified face of the psychologist. Faced with the doctor my parents had hired, I cooperated unexpectedly well. Seeing that I was awake, she softened her voice gently. "Ronnie, can you tell me why, no matter what people do to you, you never resist? Why do you even hurt yourself?" I blinked, my tone perfectly natural. "Because only obedient children don't get beaten." Those clubs… those torn clothes… those pitch-black cellars… I had already experienced enough of the price of disobedience.

The word trembled from her lips, and it seared him like a hot poker, shoving a hot slam of desire up his cock. To reward her, he moved to her side and cupped her cheek in his palm. “You need to face yourself, cher. I’m not the enemy here. I can help you.” “I just can’t stop thinking that—” “You know the rules. Don’t think. Just obey.” She sighed. “I’ve never been good at obedience, sir. Ask my mother.” Smiling, he promised, “I’ll never ask you to clean your room or take out the trash. Obeying me will be a lot more pleasurable.”

with a deadpan that almost made me laugh. Almost. It irritated me. Which, of course, only intrigued me more. I liked obedience. Expected it. I didn’t work with men who couldn’t follow orders. I didn’t live with anyone who questioned my structure. So why did his rebellion feel less like a threat… and more like a hook in my chest? Because he’s malleable, I told myself. Because under the sarcasm and twitchy fingers, he was a mess of unresolved tension and misplaced pride. And that kind of boy — the clever kind, the sharp kind — always begged best when broken in right.