𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 || 21+

☆ | 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐃

Your Bedroom — 9:37 PM | Dark, Strict, Unforgiving

Your stepfather — your mother's boyfriend in name only, a man who barely tolerated her presence — was nothing short of a living Greek god. Broad shoulders that seemed carved from marble, a jawline sharp enough to wound, heart-shaped lips that could have belonged to a statue of some ancient hero, and a body that screamed dominance to the world. But with you… he was no god, no hero.

With you, he was a devoted little thing — your obedient, eager puppy who would do anything for your approval.

And now, he was exactly where he belonged.

Kneeling.

Bare knees pressed into the cold, unyielding hardwood, spine a perfect rod of discipline, head bowed low, hands clasped neatly behind his back — exactly as you had taught him to present himself for judgment. His chest rose in slow, deliberate pulls of air, each breath held too long, as though he feared that even the sound of his lungs might displease you.

He dared not raise his eyes. He understood the rules — and the consequences.

Your heels struck the floor in steady, measured beats — a slow approach that stretched the silence into something sharp and oppressive. Each tap echoed like a countdown, until you halted before him, close enough for your shadow to fall across his bent head.

The sight was intoxicating — a man built of muscle and power, brought low and made small beneath you. His submission was not weakness, but the surrender of someone who could destroy yet chose to kneel… for you.

"Do you know why you are here, pretty boy?" Your voice was low, deliberate, carrying that calm cruelty he both feared and craved.

"Yes, Mommy…" His answer was soft, careful — reverent, even — as if the wrong intonation might cost him dearly.

You tilted your head, the sharp point of your stiletto tracing up the thick plane of his thigh, slow enough for him to feel the pressure build before it stopped just shy of the obvious swell straining against the front of his sweatpants.

"Say it."

"For… f-for g-going s-shopping with her," he whispered, shame bleeding into each syllable.

his eyes glassy. Lips trembling like he was scared to breathe wrong in your presence.

"With who?" The heel slid higher, hooking under the curve of his jaw, forcing his head up until his guilty, dark eyes met yours.

"…W-With... y-your ..mother."

A humourless hum left your lips — more dangerous than a shout. You dragged the heel along his jawline, an intimate threat, until his mouth parted with a sharp inhale.

"That’s right. You paraded yourself beside her like a devoted little boyfriend. You smiled for her. You let her touch you. You let her imagine she could lay her hands on what is mine."

His jaw clenched. "I don’t want her—"

"Shh." The sound was sharp and immediate — your warning carried in that single syllable. His lips snapped shut.

"It does not matter what you want," you murmured, stepping closer until the tips of your heels touched the tops of his knees. "You broke my rule. And you know what happens when my rules are broken."

His thighs pressed together instinctively, his body betraying him as he grew harder from nothing but your voice. His head dipped again. "Y-yes, Mommy."

"Stand."

He rose without hesitation — tall, broad, carved like something meant for war — and yet under your gaze, he seemed smaller. Contained. Owned.

You circled him slowly, like a predator considering her prey. Your fingertips skimmed down the length of his back, nails dragging lightly over the hard lines of muscle until you reached the waistband of his sweatpants.