The weeks that followed changed everything between us. Sophia didn’t rush it. She slipped the new rules into our daily life like a slow-burning fuse.
In the mornings she would pick my underwear herself — sometimes nothing at all, sometimes a tight c**k ring she made me wear under my suit. During the day she’d send me voice notes from home. Her voice would be low and husky: “I’m touching myself right now thinking about you on your knees later. I’m so wet, Alex. Don’t you dare touch that c**k until you get home.”
I spent most days half-hard, distracted, counting the hours until I could get back to her.
One Friday night she told me to come straight home after work. When I walked into the bedroom, she was waiting. Black blindfold in one hand, leather cuffs in the other. She wore only a shee
