The Safeword—and Everything Beyond

When Nina first met Aleksander, she knew this wouldn’t be an ordinary session.

There was something about him — a gaze full of calm, but also inner fire.

Submission wasn’t weakness to him. It was a choice. A desire. A form of devotion.

They met in her private space.

The room was large and dimly lit, scented with leather, rose oil, and anticipation.

At its center stood a St. Andrew’s cross, and around it — cabinets, their contents known only to the Domina.

— “Safeword?” - she asked calmly, fastening the cuffs around his wrists.

— “Emerald,” - he answered without hesitation.

— “Good. If I hear it, everything stops immediately. Understood?”

— “Yes, Mistress.”

There was more than respect in his eyes.

There was longing — not just to obey, but to be tested, pushed to the edge.

Maybe even beyond it. She bound him.

Spread his arms wide and stood behind him, letting her hand glide over the tension in his back.

— “Tonight, I’ll take you where you haven’t been.

Where pain and pleasure blend. Where every ‘no’ really means ‘more.’”

She began with light strikes.

The leather riding crop sang through the air, leaving red streaks across his skin.

Aleksander breathed heavily but didn’t resist. With each strike, he became more hers.

At one point, she leaned in close to his ear.

— “You know that everything you feel right now is happening only because you let me?”

— “Yes, Mistress.”

— “And what if tonight… I go deeper?

To the place where you no longer have control?”

He didn’t answer. But his body trembled — and that was enough.

Nina reached for a candle of black wax.

Drops began to drip — across his neck, down his shoulder blades, along his spine.

With every drop, his body jolted, but the word didn’t come.

Next came the cool metal plug. Inserted slowly, with teasing precision.

At the same time, she slid a cock ring around him — tight, unforgiving.

His breath quickened.

— “Tell me you like it.”

— “I do, Mistress… very much.”

She smiled. He was ready for more.

She knelt before him and began to stroke him — slowly, almost cruelly.

But she wouldn’t let him come. She stopped just before the edge, whispering:

— “Not yet.

I haven’t broken you… yet.”

When his body trembled, his forehead slick with sweat, she released him from the cross —

only to bind him again on the bench. This time, wrists to ankles — wide, tight.

She spread his legs and straddled him. Slowly. Dominantly.

She didn’t move fast. She played with his stillness.

His surrender. When he was on the verge of bursting, she leaned in and whispered:

— “Safeword?”

— “No,” he gasped through clenched teeth.

— “Not yet.”

And then, she allowed it. No mercy.

With an intensity that twisted his face, stole his voice, and left him trembling in her arms.

She collapsed onto him, breathing hard. Freed his hands.

Stroked his cheek.

— “You didn’t say the word… But you were close.”

— “And it was worth it, Mistress.”