Chapter 5 Obey Me In Room 406 - 5

• Chapter 5 - Break Me Again
• I cum before I even touch the door.
• One breath of the hallway outside Room 406, and my thighs clench. The memory of the crop, his voice, the humiliation, the begging—it floods me. I’m soaked and shaking.
• And I haven’t even knocked.
• I don’t have to. He already told me the rules.
• When he wants me, the door will be open.
• It is.
• Just slightly ajar. Just enough for me to slip in, naked beneath a trench coat, my collar snug around my throat like a key.
• I step inside.
• Room 406 is dim, lit only by the flickering of a single candle in the corner. A note waits on the bed, written in thick black ink.
• Kneel. Wait. Don’t speak.
• I obey.
• My knees find the floor, my hands rest on my thighs, and my head bows.
• I feel exposed. Vulnerable. Like a raw nerve dressed in nothing but anticipation and need.
• Time passes. I don’t know how long.
• When the door closes softly behind me, my breath catches.
• He’s here.
• The heat in the room changes. I feel it the way you feel lightning before it strikes.
• “I didn’t say you could breathe like that,” he murmurs.
• I flinch, just barely, but he notices.
• “Did you touch yourself this week?”
• “No.”
• “Did you ache?”
• “Yes.”
• “Did you miss the way I break you?”
• “I’m still broken, sir.”
• His breath is against my neck now.
• Then his hand, sliding slowly down my back.
• He circles me.
• Once. Twice.
• Predator around prey.
• Then he steps in front of me.
• Unbuttons his shirt slowly and it to the floor. His pants follow. He’s already hard.
• “Open your mouth.”
• I do.
• And he fucks my throat the way he’s fucked every part of me—possessive, merciless, like I belong to him, and he intends to prove it.
• My gag reflex disappears for him. My shame doesn’t exist here.
• Only obedience, heat and him.
• Later, I’m on the bed, wrists and ankles bound in soft black leather. Spread wide. Blindfolded.
• Dripping. Begging.
• He circles again, teasing me with touches—feathers, ice, his fingers, his words.
• “Your cunt is so greedy,” he mutters. “So desperate.”
• “Yes,” I gasp.
• “You think I’m going to give it to you?”
• “Yes, sir.”
• He chuckles low.
• “You don’t get what you want. You get what you earn.”
• He doesn’t enter me.
• He slides the head of his cock along my slit. Slaps it against my clit. Circles the entrance, pulling away when I try to push down.
• I whimper.
• He slaps my pussy once. Hard.
• I cry out, arching, shivering from the sting.
• “You’ll take what I give you, when I give it.”
• “Yes, sir.”
• He starts again. This time with fingers.
• Two at first. Then three.
• Curled. Deep.
• My hips rock, chasing his hand like a drug I can’t quit.
• “I want to cum.”
• “Not yet.”
• “I need to.”
• “I said not yet.”
• He adds his thumb on my clit.
• Flicks. Slow. Torturous. My toes curl.
• The orgasm builds so tight I’m shaking. Ready to burst, but he pulls away and slaps my pussy again.
• I scream. Frustrated. Wild.
• “Please.”
• “You’ll come,” he says, “but not from fingers.”
• He grabs my hips. Pulls me to the edge of the bed and slams into me in one thrust.
• Deep. Thick and Ruthless.
• I scream and come instantly.
• It’s not gentle. It’s not soft.
• He fucks me like I’m not a woman but a possession. Like I’m something to be conquered and taken. Something raw and writhing beneath his power.
• “Good girl,” he growls.
• The words are a gift.
• I cry again. This time not from pain—but from the way it feels to be truly seen. Completely claimed.
• He flips me over. Hands and knees, my yanked back, body trembling.
• He spanks me as he fucks me—marking me, molding me, wrecking me.
• I fall apart.
• Again. And again.
• He finishes deep inside me, not pulling out or letting go. And when he’s done, he wraps me in the softest blanket and lays me on his chest like a child.
• “You were perfect tonight,” he murmurs.
• “Thank you, sir.”
• “Are you scared of what you’re becoming with me?”
• I pause.
• Then whisper, “No.”
• “Good.”
• He kisses my forehead.
• “You’re going to be even more beautiful when I ruin you properly.”
• The next morning, I wake up to an envelope on the pillow.
• No name.
• No note.
• Just a single item inside: A key.
• I stare at it, unsure if I’m supposed to use it. Unsure if it’s meant for a literal lock…
• Or the metaphorical one inside my chest.
• When I check my phone, there’s a message from a blocked number.
• Room 406 won’t always be enough. You’re going to crave something deeper. And when you do—bring the key.
• No name. No goodbye.
• Just him.