Nicole sat at her office desk, the white glow of the computer screen casting a harsh light on her tired features. She was weighed down by the anxieties of a high-pressure job, an overbearing mother who questioned every life decision she made, and the everyday struggle of dealing with lazy, ignorant coworkers. Her boss was the worst of them all, quick to criticize and slow to appreciate. The knot of stress in her stomach was a constant companion. The past six months had left Nicole with a distinct, gnawing sensation in the back of her mind. There was a restlessness, a constant itch that manifested itself in her jittery fingers and the odd twitch of her left eye. The irritability set in during the quietest moments; when she was alone in her apartment or when she was trying to focus on an important report at work. Like an unsatisfied craving, the thoughts snuck up on her at the most inopportune times. She missed the physical touch, the physical sensation of being ravaged well, hard and rough. Online dating wasn't making things easier either. The endless swiping, the unsolicited messages, the tiresome small talk—it all left Nicole feeling frustrated and exhausted. There were times when she wished for a man who'd simply make all the decisions, someone who'd see beyond her profile picture and understand her complexities. She longed for simplicity in a world of complex algorithms and superficial connections. A man who would not just approach her, but would command her attention and, in turn, provide her the freedom she didn't realize she was looking for. The office was no better. There were men—colleagues, really—who had a habit of standing a little too close, their glances lingering for a touch too long. They seemed to notice her body, and Nicole found herself arranging her morning routine in such a way that these men could get a good look at her, perhaps even entertain the idea of chatting her up or copping a feel. The thought both excited and scared her. It was as if her heart was trying to match the beat of some secret desire drumming inside her. As peculiar as it was, it felt…intriguing, and Nicole couldn't quite understand why. One evening, she stumbled upon a profile while browsing tinder. An anonymous user named Pollack caught her attention. His words were articulate, respectful, and insightful, exuding an aura of warmth, albeit with a hint of danger. Intrigued, she shot him a message, and to her surprise, he replied almost immediately. Over time, Nicole found herself drawn to the idea of submission, of being able to let go, to not have to make every decision, to be free from the constant pressure. She yearned for an escape from the monotony of her life but wondered how all that formal domination would fit into her life. She had strict boundaries about mixing business and pleasure normally, but if she didn't get laid soon, and well, then all bets were off. Her hormones were working overtime and her body screamed to be manhandled. Pollack was as enigmatic in person as he was online. No photos on social media, just a palpable presence that commanded the room. His eyes were warm, yet there was an edge to them that spoke of his dominant nature. Pollack had an uncanny ability to make her feel seen and heard, to understand her in ways she hadn't thought possible. She expressed her desire to keep things casual, and only in the bedroom. He listened, and suggested a comprimise, of a sort. Consensual-nonconsent. Still effectively submission, but safe enough to have everything negotiated in advance. Not so safe in execution - she felt she needed to build a substantial amount of trust with Pollack. They discussed several options, from a hotel, his place or her place. They set limits, and Pollack left her with an assignment - to pick a scenario where she felt she'd get the most out of the experience, and then explain in detail what exactly she wanted to "feel" before, during and after. The idea was scary, yet incredibly enticing. After careful consideration, she agreed, ready to step into this new realm of trust and vulnerability. Nicole described her desire to feel scared, aroused, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. At every step she wanted to feel a dichotomy splitting her psyche. Yet, she wanted assurance that the dynamic they shared was more than just about control and submission, it was about communication, trust, and mutual respect. It had been a couple days since she had messaged Pollack and gave him all the information he'd requested. Nicole had never felt this kind of anticipation before. She'd sent detailed informatio regarding her schedule for the week, as well as dates and times when she'd be home with the door unlocked. She'd described her favorite fantasy in detail, knowing he wasn't going to act on a script, but take a few hints and clues and use that as inspiration. Nicole found herself lying wide awake in the stillness of her bedroom, the sheets bunched up at her feet. Every creak and groan of the old building felt magnified in the quiet of the night, setting her heart pounding in her chest. The uncertainty of when someone might enter her apartment left her with a sense of lingering suspense that was both nerve-wracking and strangely exhilarating. Each sound— the slight hiss of the heating vent, the distant hum of traffic, even the rustling of leaves outside her window— made her heart leap in anticipation. Was it just the wind, or the sound of a careful footstep? The not knowing was maddening, but also compelling, as every moment seemed to teeter on the edge of a promise, of an event yet to unfold. This uncertainty, this continual expectancy, kept her locked in a state of high alert, tingling with a mix of apprehension and intrigue that turned even the act of trying to sleep into an exercise of heightened anticipation. Nicole awoke to the sun streaming in through the slats of her blinds, casting long shadows across her room. Glancing at the clock, she realized she'd slept in. Another night had passed, and yet, her coffee sat untouched on her kitchen counter, the anticipation of the previous night hanging heavy in the air. She reached for her phone, the screen lighting up with a flurry of new messages from various men on her dating apps. Each ping, however, brought a pang of disappointment as she sifted through them, only to find none from Pollack. The other men's attempts at flirtation and intrigue only seemed to annoy her, their words falling flat against her singular desire. Nicole's thoughts kept circling back to Pollack, the prospect of him taking her coffee. This was an anticipation that consumed her, creating an emotional undercurrent that both perplexed and fascinated her in its intensity. She sighed and got up to start her day, heading for a shower. As she stepped into the shower, the cascade of warm water rushing over her skin amplified her senses. In the midst of the water's noise and the enveloping steam, she realized that she'd forgotten to lock her front door. It was an oversight that filled her with both anxiety and a sense of exhilarating vulnerability. The thought of someone entering her apartment, discovering her naked, wet and vulnerable was simultaneously alarming and strangely thrilling. The echo of the water, the steam clouding the bathroom, and her pounding heartbeat created an atmosphere of intense expectancy, bordering on fear, yet she couldn't ignore the electric undercurrent of excitement that pulsed within her. Nicole stood under the shower, the steady stream of hot water cascading down her back, soothing her nerves. In an attempt to prolong her time in the shower, she decided to shave, the rhythmic process providing a simple distraction from the anticipation that filled her thoughts. The hum of the water and the concentrated task kept her grounded, at least for the moment. Finishing, she turned off the water and reached for a fluffy towel. Wrapping it around her hair, she savored the comforting weight and warmth of it, a small act that lent her a sense of calm amidst the whirl of thoughts and emotions that consumed her. For a few precious minutes, Nicole was able to just exist, allowing herself to bask in the simple, familiar ritual that gave her a respite from the electrifying anticipation of the unknown. In the quiet sanctuary of her bathroom, Nicole suddenly felt a hand clamp around her mouth. A deep, unfamiliar voice hissed in her ear through clenched teeth, "Don't make a sound, or else." A jolt of terror raced through her body, causing her to tense up and squeal in surprise. The intruder's grip tightened on her hair, sending a burst of sharp pain through her scalp that coursed down her body, making her wince. "I said, no sound," the voice reiterated, its tone steady, commanding. Nicole quickly sought to compose herself, drawing in deep, calming breaths through her nose, her heart pounding in her chest. As she leaned back, she felt the hard lines of the man's body press against hers, the contours fitting together in a way that sparked a recognition within her. As the realization dawned, a wave of warmth surged through her— it was Pollack. This was what she had planned, what she had desired, and yet the reality of it was more intense than she had ever imagined. Her fear clashed with a growing sense of pleasure, creating an exhilarating whirlwind of emotions that left her breathless. As she stood there, pressed against Pollack, she felt a rush of relief mingled with anticipation, her heart pounding a rhythm of exhilarating fear and incredible excitement. Pollack's hand, warm and unyielding, remained firmly clamped over her mouth, his other hand finding her bare breasts. She felt a pang of shock as he touched them, the contact causing a spark of sensation that was incredibly intense. Nicole's breath hitched, her thoughts a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She wanted his hands on her, yearned for him to take her, yet a part of her recoiled at the idea, the anticipation making her stomach knot in a mix of fear and desire. She was caught between the unknown and the familiar, an electrifying tension strung between the two. The sensation of Pollack's warm hand against her bare skin sent waves of anticipation through her, and despite the fear, she found herself leaning into the contact, craving the unique blend of anxiety and excitement it brought. As if on cue, Pollack's hand shifted from her mouth, clamping onto her hair and giving him leverage to drag her out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Nicole found herself struggling to keep up to prevent her hair from being painfully yanked. Pollack was firm and unyielding, strong and stoic as they reached her bed and he shoved her down on her knees. The tension in the room was palpable, his movements calculated and firm. Nicole found herself swept up in the act, her heart pounding as he maneuvered her face towards his bulging crotch. With a sudden movement, he freed himself from his pants and he pushed her mouth down onto it, effecting a forcefulness that sent a shiver of fear and anticipation down her spine. She engulfed him with her warm wet mouth, feeling him force his cock very slowly down her throat. She struggled to take him all, being out of practice for so long. He acted as if he were holding her down, his grip firm yet mindful. Nicole, in turn, struggled to breathe and resisted, her body seemingly limp and helpless beneath his. She could feel her pulse quicken, the adrenaline mingling with the thrill of the events unfolding. As she knelt there, a strange sense of fulfillment washed over her, her mind a whirl of conflicting emotions that somehow all made sense in the heat of the moment. She felt herself slipping away from her troubles, fixating on the heightened emotions and sensations in the here and now. Pollack continued slowly fucking her face, his hard cock sliding between her lips. She savored his taste, his girth, and the sounds of pleasure he made as he felt her lips, her tounge, her warm wet mouth slide up and down his shaft. Pollack held her face down, making her deepthroat and causing her to gag. She fought back a gag as he laughed and slammed his cock back down her throat, unable to resist or fight back. He told her "you're just a dirty little whore, getting what she deserves" as he thrust in her mouth again and again. Her head was backed up to the mattress, each thrust hard and deep, her head pinned. His words would normally have insulted her, but for some odd reason she relished them. He was right, she was a whore. She had chosed to be his whore, and she wanted to be good at it. The best even - and she strived to please him. The more he moaned, the harder she worked. She wanted to show that she was capable of giving him any pleasure she desired, no matter how he got it, or took it. She existed there in that moment only to serve. She relished the sensation of just being, with no external stresses and worries. She felt him pulse and shudder, and knew he was close. She opened her mouth a little more and forced her mouth down further, fighting the urge to gag and ensuring he felt all of her throat and came. He did not dissapoint, filling her mouth with his salty gift and forcing it to remain in her mouth until she swallowed every drop. He slowly slid his cock out of her mouth, pausing to make sure she paid special attention to the tip, cleaning it with her lips and tongue. He then said two little words that flushed her body with sensations of pride and desire. He looked down on her, the taste of his cock still on her lips, and said "good girl"