I NEED THIS JOB. I JUST DIDN’T EXPECT IT TO OWN ME.
His home runs on schedules and surveillance, like a luxury bunker in a designer suit. The contract is sharp, modern, and terrifying, and the discipline clause reads like a dare I should never take. He says consent is mandatory, refusal is respected, and the door is always open. Then he looks at me like he already knows I will stay, and my first impression is pure, filthy certainty: he wants to control me, and my body wants to let him.
I BUILD SYSTEMS. SHE IS THE ONE I WANT TO REPROGRAM.
I hire for competence, not temptation, but she walks in with defiance in her eyes and arrogance in her mouth. She tests the rules, then pretends she is shocked when I enforce them. I do it privately, precisely, with boundaries she cannot wiggle around and consequences she cannot stop thinking about. Every correction makes her softer, wetter, more honest, and every reward makes her come apart like she was built for my hands.
