He stood there, tall, his shoulders strong, tense, as if he could still maintain control. It always amuses me. Men who are used to command think that power is their nature. But they come here, to me, to learn what it is like to give it up.

I looked at him silently, my arms crossed over my chest. His gaze slid around the room, avoiding mine. Nervous. Excellent. My silence is the first step. It is harder than any words, because it makes them realize that they are here to break.

“On your knees,” I said quietly, but without a hint of the possibility of disobedience. He clenched his fists, as if trying to maintain the last of his will, but he obeyed. Slowly, awkwardly, he sank to the floor.

I came closer, my heels sounding like a heartbeat in this silence. I stood above him, letting him feel his place. My hand touched his chin, tilted his face up to look at me.

"Strong, huh?" I asked, a little mockingly, running my finger down his cheek. "But strength means nothing here. Here, you will be who I want you to be."

His eyes darkened, a mixture of irritation and desire flickering in them. They always react like that at first, not wanting to believe that they are no longer in control.

I ran the whip over his shoulders, gently, as if stroking, then a little harder. His body tensed, but he stayed where he was. Good. He was learning.

"Straighten your back," I commanded, and he did so instantly, as if the words were a command of his own will. Now he was sitting up straight, his breathing deepening, his face focused.

I stood in front of him, letting the pause stretch. Let him be aware of every second of his situation. His knees are on the floor, his hands behind his back, his pride somewhere far away, left at the threshold.

"You think it's weakness," I say, leaning closer. "But it's actually strength. To be able to give yourself to someone who knows what to do with you."

I straighten up, walk around him, watching his every move. Every muscle, every breath tells me more than he could ever say in words. He's beginning to understand that all he has left here is trust.

I run the whip down his back again, a little harder this time. He flinches, but doesn't pull away. Silence. He waits.

When I finally finish, I stand before him, looking down. He looks up at me, his eyes no longer challenging. Only calm. Resignation.

"You were good," I say, giving him rare praise. He nods, barely noticeable, and I know he won't go back to who he was before this moment.