Page 92 of Kotori
Like everything else I've done to her.
"Personal service agreement," I explain, watching her scan the terms with growing understanding. "Live-in companion. Exclusive availability. Compensation tied directly to performance and satisfaction."
Her hands shake as she reads, and I can see the exact moment she realizes what this document represents. Not employment but ownership wrapped in legal language sophisticated enough to withstand scrutiny. But she can't see the clauses that aren't written. The informal arrangements that will govern her breeding schedule, her medical care, her eventual isolation from anything resembling her former life.
"This says I can't leave the compound without written permission," she whispers, voice barely audible.
"Correct. Your movements, your communications, your activities—all subject to approval for security reasons." I lean closer, close enough that my breath ghosts across her ear. "Complete protection in exchange for complete compliance. But, that's nothing new is it?"
Complete compliance in all things. Including the children she'll bear me.
"And if I refuse to sign?"
The defiant words surprise me. One last flicker of the independence I thought I'd completely extinguished. How delicious. One final ember to crush under my heel.
The question hangs in the air for exactly three seconds before I move. My hand shoots out, gripping her throat with just enough pressure to make breathing deliberate. Not painful—possessive. A reminder of exactly how easily I could hurt her if I chose to.
And how much I enjoy having that choice.
"Refuse?" I let dark amusement color my tone while my thumb traces along her pulse point. "Kotori, hours ago you were sobbing for my cock while crawling across the dojo floor like a bitch in heat."
Her face flames crimson, but I feel her pulse racing under my palm: arousal, not fear. Her body knows what it wants even when her mind tries to pretend otherwise. Soon, her body will want exactly what I train it to crave.
"What exactly," I continue, applying slightly more pressure to her throat, "are you imagining you could refuse? When your cunt is already getting wet just from me holding you like this?"
To prove my point, my free hand slides beneath the loose yukata, fingers finding the evidence of her arousal without resistance. She's already slick, her body betraying every protest her mind might attempt.
Ideal for breeding, though she doesn't know it yet.
"See?" I work one finger inside her, feeling how she clenches around the intrusion despite herself. "Your body knows who it belongs to, even when your brain tries to pretend you have choices."
A broken moan escapes her throat, and she unconsciously spreads her thighs wider, giving me better access to what's already mine. To what will carry my children.
"That's it," I murmur, adding a second finger. "Show me how much you want to belong to me completely."
"Please," she gasps, hips moving against my hand despite her attempts to stay still.
"Please what? Please stop pretending you have options? Please admit you need this more than your next breath?" I increase the pressure at her throat while my fingers work inside her with ruthless precision. "Please sign the contract that makes you mine legally as well as physically?"
"I can't think," she sobs, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. "When you touch me like this, I can't."
"Then don't think. Just feel. Feel how perfectly your body responds to my dominance. Feel how wet you get when I control your breathing." I curl my fingers deeper, finding that spot that makes her cry out. "Feel how much you need me to own you completely."
Her inner walls clench around my fingers as pleasure builds, and I can tell she's approaching the edge. Instead of pushing her over, I withdraw completely, leaving her gasping and desperate.
The same way she'll be desperate for my seed when the time comes.
"No," she whimpers, trying to follow my retreating hand. "Please don't stop."
"Sign the contract," I command, releasing her throat and placing a traditional brush in her trembling hand. "Make it official. Show me you choose this."
She stares at the document through tears, her hand shaking so badly she can barely hold the brush. But she wants this: wants the surrender, wants the certainty of belonging to someone who will make every decision for her.
The characters she writes are shaky but legible—her name in English, binding her to terms that ensure she'll never be anything more than my willing captive. When she sets down the pen, the deed is done. Legal. Permanent. Inescapable.
"Good girl," I murmur, cupping her face with both hands and forcing her to meet my eyes. "Now you're mine in every way that matters. Legally, physically, completely."
"What happens now?" she whispers, and I can hear hope and terror warring in her voice.
