Chapter 1: The Remote Domination
The bass was a physical thing, a pressure against the ribs that made her teeth vibrate. Sonja leaned against the cool, gleaming bar, a solitary figure in a sea of frantic motion. The black latex of her catsuit gleamed under the strobing neon, clinging to every curve like a second skin. A faint sheen of sweat made it slick under her palms.
Her phone was propped against a napkin dispenser, the screen showing a slightly distorted, dimly lit view of a home office. Alex’s face, all sharp angles and dark, amused eyes, watched her.
“You look like you’re melting, kitten.” His voice, tinny through the speaker but still layered with that familiar, dark amusement, cut through the thumping music.
“I feel it,” she murmured, her Polish accent a little thicker after the first vodka. Her fingers trailed down her own torso, over the tight material, until they found the subtle, hidden zipper that ran from her navel to the junction of her thighs. She teased the pull with a painted nail. “It’s so hot in here.”
“I know. Don’t.” The command was soft, absolute. “Hands on the bar. Now.”
She let out a shaky breath but obeyed, flattening her palms on the sticky surface. The contrast between the cool zinc and the heat of her own skin was a shock.
“I want you to dance for me. Just for me. But you don’t get to touch. Not yourself, not anyone. You just move. Understand?”
“Yes, Alex.”
She pushed away from the bar, slipping into the writhing mass of the dance floor. Bodies bumped against her, a kaleidoscope of strangers. The latex squeaked softly with her movements. She closed her eyes, letting the rhythm take her, but it was his voice in her ear that guided her.
“Slower. That’s it. Arch your back. Let them all look. Let them wonder.”
She moved, a series of slow, undulating rolls of her hips and shoulders. Her hands floated at her sides, fingers twitching with the suppressed need to feel, to grip, to scrape nails down her own thighs. It was agony. It was exquisite. Every sway was a promise she couldn’t keep, a performance for an audience of one who was miles away. She could feel the weight of stares, hungry and confused by her solitary, focused dance.
A man, all tanned skin and a loose shirt, sidled up to her. “You’re… intense,” he shouted over the music, his eyes dropping to the pronounced swell of her chest.
Sonja shook her head, a tight, small motion, and turned her back to him, focusing on the phone screen she’d left on the bar. She could just make out Alex’s smirk.
“He has no idea, does he?” Alex’s voice was a low purr in her wireless earpiece. “He thinks he’s seeing a woman available for the taking. He’s just seeing the frame. I own the painting.”
The man, undeterred, placed a hand on her hip.
It was like a circuit shorting out. Sonja’s eyes flew open. She spun around, slapping his hand away. “Don’t.”
“Hey, relax, baby. Just dancing.”
“I am not your baby.” The words were cold, sharp. She didn’t wait for a reply, pushing her way through the crowd back to the sanctuary of the bar. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, a frantic bird in a latex cage.
“Good girl,” Alex crooned. “Now get out of there. I think you’ve learned your lesson about temptation for one night. The car is outside.”
She grabbed her phone, not bothering to end the call, and strode for the exit. The cool night air hit her like a slap, a blessed relief after the club’s oppressive heat. A black sedan idled at the curb, right where he’d said it would be.
She slid into the back seat, the leather cool through the latex. The driver’s partition was up, opaque. She was alone.
“Now,” Alex’s voice filled the quiet, luxurious space. “Finish what you started. The zipper. All the way.”
Her hands trembled as she obeyed, the sound loud in the silence. The suit parted, the air a cool kiss on her overheated skin. She let her head fall back against the headrest, a soft moan escaping her lips.
“Look at you,” he whispered. “My perfect, obedient software. Now debug yourself. I want to watch you come apart before you get home.”
Her phone buzzed on the leather seat, a hard, insistent vibration. The video call had ended, replaced by a string of text from Alex.
Der Italiener Fahrer, ein kleiner Inder sie zum nächsten Club fahren soll. Wenn sie angekommen sind soll Sonja ihm einen Blowjob als Bezahlung anbieten. Ihre Freundinnen die mitgefahren sind sollen es filmen.
She read it twice. The cold, commanding German. The specific degradation. A shiver that was part dread, part electric anticipation coiled in her gut. This was new. This was a different level.
She typed a single word. Ja.
The car didn’t turn towards their apartment. It slid through the neon-washed streets, pulling up outside a different club, a place called "Krypt" with a pulsing violet sign. The driver’s window slid down. He was a small man, as Alex had said, with kind, tired eyes and a neat beard.
“Thirty euros, please,” he said, his accent soft.
Sonja leaned forward, the latex of her suit creaking. “I don’t have any money.” She let her voice drop, a low, husky thing. “But I can offer you something else. For the ride.”
His eyes widened, flicking from her face to the exposed skin at her chest where the zipper was still parted. He shook his head, a nervous, jerky motion. “No, no, miss. Please. Just the fare.”
“It’s already been paid,” a voice said from the sidewalk. Two of her friends, Kasia and Anja, were there. Kasia already had her phone out, the screen glowing in the dark. Anja just smirked, pulling a vape from her purse. They’d been in the car behind, just as Alex had arranged.
Sonja turned back to the driver. Her heart was a frantic drum against her ribs. “It’s okay,” she whispered, though it wasn’t, not really. This was for Alex. This was the program. She unclipped her seatbelt and moved, a slow, deliberate shift of weight until she was on her knees on the floor of the car, the gritty mat pressing into her skin.
“Please,” the driver begged, his hands gripping the wheel. “I cannot.”
“Just sit back,” Sonja said, her fingers working at his belt buckle. The click was loud in the confined space. She could smell the faint scent of his cologne and the anxiety pouring off him. She got his belt open, then his button and zipper. She yanked his trousers and briefs down just enough to free his cock. It was half-hard, soft and vulnerable. She heard Kasia’s phone camera whirr softly from the open door.
She didn’t hesitate. This was the task. She leaned in, her long blonde hair falling like a curtain, and took him into her mouth.
He was soft at first, but her tongue, skilled and relentless, traced the length of him, the cold metal of her tongue piercing a shocking contrast to the warmth of his skin. She worked him, using her hand at the base, her mouth a wet, tight heat. She heard his sharp intake of breath, a strangled moan. His hands came up, not to push her away, but to fist in his own hair.
“Oh, god,” he choked out.
She deep-throated him, taking him all the way until her nose was buried in the coarse hair at his base. She gagged slightly, tears springing to her eyes, but she held it. She pulled back, saliva stringing from her lips to his shaft, which was now fully, painfully erect. She looked up at him, her eyes glazed, and whispered, “You like that, you little fuck? You like my mouth on your dirty cock?”
He could only nod, his eyes squeezed shut.
She went back down, a brutal, efficient rhythm. This wasn’t about his pleasure; it was about her obedience. It was about the film Kasia was making. She sucked him hard, the piercings in her tongue and the roof of her mouth providing a unique, textured friction. She could feel him swelling, the tension coiling in his thighs. His hips began to buck involuntarily.
“I’m… I’m going to…” he gasped.
She didn’t pull away. She took it. The first hot, bitter spurt hit the back of her throat. She swallowed convulsively, taking the rest, milking him with her hand until he was soft and spent in her mouth.
She pulled back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. He slumped back in his seat, breathing heavily, a look of profound shock and shame on his face.
Sonja stood up on shaky legs, the latex squeaking. She looked at Kasia, who gave her a thumbs-up, the phone still recording.
“Payment settled,” Sonja said, her voice hoarse. She stepped out of the car into the cool night, the taste of a stranger still on her tongue.