Damon Salvatore.

11.

⚠️Warning! This book is for 16 and older so if your under 16 and reading this don't report this i gave a warning and told you not to read it. Everything in the book is consensual not real and should not be read by kids 16 and under⚠️

The weekend had started out just like any other, with me packing my bag and heading over to Damon's place. But this time, I was bringing a surprise with me—something that I hadn't discussed with him, something that I wasn't entirely sure how he would react to.

I had always toyed with the idea of changing my look, of doing something bold and different. So, on a whim, I decided to dye my hair. The once familiar shade of brown was now a striking shade of deep burgundy, the kind of color that made me feel both daring and a little nervous. I loved it, but as I looked at myself in the mirror, I couldn't help but wonder what Damon would think.

When I arrived at his apartment, he was in the kitchen, his back turned to me as he poured himself a glass of bourbon. The usual butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I closed the door behind me, the sound causing him to glance over his shoulder.

At first, his expression didn't change—just the usual, unreadable gaze that he often wore. But then, as he took in the sight of me, his eyes narrowed slightly, and I could see the subtle shift in his demeanor.

"Mya," he said slowly, setting the glass down on the counter. "What did you do?"

I felt a twinge of anxiety at the tone of his voice, but I tried to play it off with a smile. "I dyed my hair," I said, running a hand through the freshly colored strands. "Do you like it?"

Damon didn't answer immediately. He took a step closer, his gaze locked onto mine, the intensity of his stare making my heart race. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, almost too calm. "And you didn't think to ask me first?"

The question hung in the air between us, and I suddenly felt very small under his scrutiny. The excitement I had felt earlier was quickly fading, replaced by a growing sense of unease. I hadn't considered that he might see this as more than just a change in appearance—that he might view it as a breach of the dynamic we had established.

"I... I didn't think it was that big of a deal," I stammered, my confidence wavering under his gaze.

Damon's expression remained neutral, but there was a hard edge to his eyes that made me realize I had made a mistake. "It's not about the hair, Mya," he said, his voice still eerily calm. "It's about the fact that you made a significant change without consulting me. That's not how this works."

My stomach dropped at his words, and I felt a surge of regret wash over me. I had stepped outside the boundaries of our relationship, and now I was going to have to face the consequences.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, looking down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. "I didn't mean to disobey you."

Damon sighed, the sound heavy with disappointment. "I know you didn't," he said, his tone softening just a bit. "But that doesn't change the fact that you did."

He reached out, tilting my chin up so that I was forced to look at him. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—something almost tender—but it was quickly replaced by the stern authority that I had come to know so well.

"You know what happens when you disobey me," he said, his voice firm but not unkind.

I nodded, my throat tight with a mix of fear and anticipation. "Yes, Sir."

"Good," he said, releasing my chin and stepping back. "Then you know what to do."

I took a deep breath, steadying myself before turning to face the couch. My hands trembled slightly as I bent over the armrest, positioning myself for what was to come. I could hear Damon moving behind me, the sound of his footsteps a reminder of the power he held over me.

"Count for me, Mya," he instructed, his voice low and commanding.

I nodded, gripping the edge of the couch as I prepared myself for the first strike. When it came, the sting was sharp and immediate, causing me to gasp in surprise. But I managed to find my voice, even as the pain radiated through me. "One," I counted, my voice steady despite the throbbing in my backside.

Another strike followed, then another, each one a reminder of my disobedience, each one building on the last. The pain was intense, but there was also something oddly grounding about it, something that made me feel both punished and cared for in a strange way.

"Two... Three... Four..."

By the time we reached ten, my resolve was starting to crumble. My breaths were coming in short gasps, and my grip on the couch was starting to slip. But I kept counting, my voice wavering as the pain grew more intense with each strike.

"Eleven... Twelve... Thirteen..."

When the fifteenth strike landed, I faltered. The pain was overwhelming, my mind struggling to keep up with the count. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push through the haze of sensation, but I lost track, my voice catching in my throat.

"I—I'm sorry, I lost count," I gasped, my voice trembling with both pain and shame.

Damon paused, and I could feel his gaze on me, assessing my state. The room was silent, the only sound my ragged breathing as I waited for his response.

"Then we'll start over," he said calmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Count again."

I bit my lip, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes as I realized the severity of my situation. But I knew better than to protest. I had agreed to this dynamic, and I had disobeyed. This was the price I had to pay.

When the first strike landed again, it felt even more intense than before, my already tender skin protesting with every impact. But I forced myself to keep counting, determined not to make the same mistake again.

"One... Two... Three..."

This time, I managed to keep my focus, even as the pain threatened to overwhelm me. I counted each strike, the numbers blending together in a haze of sensation, until finally, we reached the fifteenth again.

"Fifteen," I gasped out, my voice barely a whisper as the final strike landed.

Damon's hand rested gently on my lower back, a comforting gesture that brought a strange sense of relief. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice softening as he helped me stand. My legs were shaky, my body trembling from the ordeal, but I felt a sense of accomplishment, a sense of having made amends for my disobedience.

He guided me to the bedroom, where he gently laid me down on the bed, his touch now filled with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the strictness from before. "Rest now," he said, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. "You've been through enough for today."

I nodded, too exhausted to argue, and let my eyes drift closed as Damon pulled the blankets over me. The pain in my backside was still present, a dull throb that would no doubt linger for a while, but there was also a sense of peace that came with it—a sense of knowing my place, of understanding the boundaries that defined our relationship.

As I drifted off to sleep, Damon stayed by my side, his presence a comforting reminder that, despite the strictness of our dynamic, there was also care and affection at the core of it. And though I had made a mistake, I knew that we would continue to navigate this journey together, learning and growing with each new challenge.

Because in the end, I wanted this—wanted him—and I was willing to accept the consequences that came with it.

What do you guys think was she in the wrong or was he?💚