Obey Me Through the Glass...

Everyone thought she was independent and bold—but that was only because they didn’t know him.  

He didn’t just hold her hand or kiss her goodnight. He owned her. Mind, body, every gasp and whimper that left her lips belonged to him. A single glance could melt her resolve; a single word could make her drop to her knees without thought.

It wasn’t just the collar around her neck that marked her—it was the way she moved through the world knowing she was his. She carried his rules in her head, his commands under her skin. Even when he wasn’t in the room, his presence wrapped around her like invisible chains she never wanted to escape.

That’s why, when 1 am came and she felt that electric pull toward the window, her body already reacted. She didn’t wonder if it was him. She knew. She always knew when her Sir came home to watch what was already his.

The drapes were pulled enough for her to see him—leaning against the pillar, shadowed and calm, hands in his pockets like a man who had nothing to prove. The glint of his eyes in the moon light told her he knew she wanted to be there, perched on the velvet stool, bare beneath the thin slip of her dress, fingers delicately plucking the strings of her harp.

Her phone buzzed.
“Go over to the harp and play me a song.”

She stands up, knees weak.  Pretending she has it together, walks over to the stool, and sits down as she is told.

Each note she played was for him, a soft melody of submission. She shifted on the stool just enough for him to see the proof of her obedience—no panties, just flushed skin and parted thighs that glistened under the warm light of the room.

Her phone buzzed.
“Look at me.”

She turned her head toward the window, meeting his gaze through the glass while her fingers never faltered on the strings. His expression darkened, possessive pride etched in every line of his face.

Another message:
“Spread your legs wider. Play for me.”

Her breath hitched, cheeks burning, but she obeyed. The music turned trembling and sweet, every sound another offering to the man who owned her completely.

Finally, a third message came:
“Very good. Keep playing until you're told to stop.”

Through the glass, his wicked grin grew, knowing she’d stay right there—exposed, playing, aching—until he decided to make her come to him and take what was his.

 The air shifted as her phone buzzed again, sharp and insistent:

“Come outside.... Now.”

Her heart thundered, heat pooling low and deep. She didn’t hesitate. Sliding off the stool, she crossed the room barefoot, each step deliberate, every breath a mix of nerves and hunger.

She pulled back the curtain just enough, meeting his eyes through the glass—dark, commanding, unyielding. Without breaking his gaze, she opened the door and slipped out into the night air.

His hand caught her wrist the moment she stepped onto the porch and pulled her on top of his lap, strong and sure. No words—just that look that made her knees weak and her breath catch.

He pulled her close, his voice low and rough.

“You’ve been teasing me all night, Love. Now you’ll learn what happens when you act like a little slut.”

Before she could answer, his palm came down hard on her bare bottom, the sharp sting spreading heat and need through her. She gasped, biting her lip, already craving more.

Spank after spank landed, rhythmic and demanding, until she was trembling beneath his hands—exposed, owned, and utterly his.

When he finally cupped her aching skin, his voice softened, almost tender.
“That's my good girl. You belong to me. Always.”