EPISODE 2: The Broker’s Rules
Leah stood motionless in the center of the penthouse.
Naked.
Not even shoes. No jewelry or makeup was stripped down to his desired raw material—a blank slate.
The Broker’s eyes swept her with the chill of calculation, not lust. He wasn’t admiring. He was assessing. Cold. Methodical. Measuring flaws, envisioning correction. Planning how she would be reshaped into exactly what he wanted.
“Hands behind your back.”
Her body obeyed faster than her mind could even process the command. Instinct kicking in. Wrists crossed behind, shoulders squared, spine straight, breasts thrust forward. Exposed. Vulnerable.
Her nipples reacted instantly to the room’s cool air, puckering and darkening. The reaction did not escape his notice. Nothing did.
“You will speak only when I ask. Nod if you understand.”
She nodded, swallowing hard, throat suddenly desert-dry. Silence hung between them. The weight of expectation pressed against her skin was heavier than any collar.
“Good. Now,” he murmured, voice liquid steel as he began circling her like a predator. “Tonight, you will learn to receive, remain still, and beg.”
He moved closer, close enough that she felt his heat but not his touch. That was intentional. He starved her of touch to sharpen her senses, to make every brush of his fingers electric.
His fingers ghosted over her hip, light but claiming. Not tender — there was no tenderness in him yet. Only intent. A claim, not comfort.
Without ceremony, he produced a small remote from his pocket. He pressed it.
A low hum broke the silence, vibrating deep inside her.
Leah’s gasp tore free, unbidden. The plug nestled inside her — inserted immediately upon her arrival without explanation, without choice — had come alive—a gentle purr but devastating.
Her knees buckled slightly. She fought to stay upright, every muscle tightening, every nerve exposed. This was her first test. She understood instinctively now: remain still. Endure.
“Rule One,” he said softly, his eyes dark as they roamed her trembling body. You are a vessel. What is given, you take—without protest. without condition.”
He stepped closer. Close enough to whisper in her ear, his lips barely grazing the shell of it.
“Fail, and you will not enjoy the correction.”
The vibration intensified cruelly. Leah bit her lower lip hard, desperate to trap the moan bubbling inside her. Her toes curled painfully against the cold marble floor. Heat pooled between her legs, maddening in its intensity.
But she stayed still. Barely. Her thighs quivered, her core clenched desperately around the invading hum.
“Rule Two,” he continued, stepping back with deliberate slowness. His eyes drank in every tiny movement she couldn’t suppress. “Stillness is obedience. Movement is weakness.”
The vibrating plug pulsed harder. Her muscles betrayed her. Small tremors rippled through her, but she fought valiantly. It wasn’t enough.
A soft, pitiful whimper escaped her lips.
He heard it. He always heard.
His expression darkened with disappointment. “You made a sound.”
The vibration ceased instantly.
Relief flooded her system… quickly followed by shame. She had failed. And worse — she wanted it back. She wanted the torture because the emptiness now felt crueler.
“On your knees.”
The order came sharp and cold. Leah dropped immediately; head bowed low. No hesitation. She was too afraid to speak, too raw to question.
“Open your mouth, little thing.”
Her lips parted instantly, her tongue peeking out in invitation. She knew better than to delay.
He slid two fingers deep inside, pressing to her tongue. Slow. Possessive. Not seeking pleasure — seeking dominance. It was a claim. He owned her mouth now, too.
“Rule Three. You beg for release. Always.”
He withdrew, wiping his wet fingers across her cheek carelessly, painting her in humiliation and ownership.
“Show me,” he ordered.
Leah looked up, throat tight, eyes shining with unshed tears of submission.
“Please, Sir…” Her voice cracked, thick with desperation and shame.
“Please, what?”
“Please let me cum… please, I need it… please, Sir…”
“No.”
The rejection sliced through her like a blade. Her thighs clenched involuntarily, her body betraying her with raw need.
“You beg better than that,” he murmured, unzipping his slacks with casual cruelty as though this were just another lesson in posture or poise.
His cock emerged, thick and hard. It brushed her lips in silent command.
Instinct overtook thought. She leaned forward obediently, her lips sealing around the swollen head, tasting salt and sin. Their eyes fluttered shut as she surrendered to the act entirely.
“Like that,” he praised, voice velvet-wrapped iron. “Beg with your throat now.”
She obeyed, taking him deeper. Deeper still. Until he hit the back of her throat. Until breathing became secondary. Until she gagged softly around him but refused to pull back.
His fingers tangled in her hair, gripping tight as he began to use her mouth ruthlessly. Not rough — controlled. Intent on teaching. Every stroke was measured, and every withdrawal was a tease.
Her tears fell freely now, streaking her cheeks as her throat learned the rhythm of submission. She held on, desperate to please, desperate to be worthy.
Finally, he groaned low — pleased, satisfied — and spilled down her throat. Hot, thick, undeniable.
Leah swallowed greedily. Not for him — but because she knew. She must consistently take what was given.
As she finished cleaning him with her tongue, lips soft and reverent, he tapped the remote again.
The plug inside her roared back to life — vicious now. No teasing. No mercy.
Her orgasm slammed into her brutally, fast, and violently. She cried out despite herself, body shaking uncontrollably as pleasure tore her apart. She collapsed forward, unable to hold her weight anymore, panting and ruined at his feet.
“That,” he said coolly, staring down at her broken form, “is your first reward.”
He didn’t help her up or soothe her, leaving her crumpled, used, and dripping on the cold marble.
And as Leah lay there, legs trembling and mind spinning, only one thought burned through her exhaustion.
She didn’t hate it.
She craved the following rule.
EPISODE 2: The Broker’s Rules
Leah stood motionless in the center of the penthouse.
Naked.
Not even shoes. No jewelry or makeup was stripped down to his desired raw material—a blank slate.
The Broker’s eyes swept her with the chill of calculation, not lust. He wasn’t admiring. He was assessing. Cold. Methodical. Measuring flaws, envisioning correction. Planning how she would be reshaped into exactly what he wanted.
“Hands behind your back.”
Her body obeyed faster than her mind could even process the command. Instinct kicking in. Wrists crossed behind, shoulders squared, spine straight, breasts thrust forward. Exposed. Vulnerable.
Her nipples reacted instantly to the room’s cool air, puckering and darkening. The reaction did not escape his notice. Nothing did.
“You will speak only when I ask. Nod if you understand.”
She nodded, swallowing hard, throat suddenly desert-dry. Silence hung between them. The weight of expectation pressed against her skin was heavier than any collar.
“Good. Now,” he murmured, voice liquid steel as he began circling her like a predator. “Tonight, you will learn to receive, remain still, and beg.”
He moved closer, close enough that she felt his heat but not his touch. That was intentional. He starved her of touch to sharpen her senses, to make every brush of his fingers electric.
His fingers ghosted over her hip, light but claiming. Not tender — there was no tenderness in him yet. Only intent. A claim, not comfort.
Without ceremony, he produced a small remote from his pocket. He pressed it.
A low hum broke the silence, vibrating deep inside her.
Leah’s gasp tore free, unbidden. The plug nestled inside her — inserted immediately upon her arrival without explanation, without choice — had come alive—a gentle purr but devastating.
Her knees buckled slightly. She fought to stay upright, every muscle tightening, every nerve exposed. This was her first test. She understood instinctively now: remain still. Endure.
“Rule One,” he said softly, his eyes dark as they roamed her trembling body. You are a vessel. What is given, you take—without protest. without condition.”
He stepped closer. Close enough to whisper in her ear, his lips barely grazing the shell of it.
“Fail, and you will not enjoy the correction.”
The vibration intensified cruelly. Leah bit her lower lip hard, desperate to trap the moan bubbling inside her. Her toes curled painfully against the cold marble floor. Heat pooled between her legs, maddening in its intensity.
But she stayed still. Barely. Her thighs quivered, her core clenched desperately around the invading hum.
“Rule Two,” he continued, stepping back with deliberate slowness. His eyes drank in every tiny movement she couldn’t suppress. “Stillness is obedience. Movement is weakness.”
The vibrating plug pulsed harder. Her muscles betrayed her. Small tremors rippled through her, but she fought valiantly. It wasn’t enough.
A soft, pitiful whimper escaped her lips.
He heard it. He always heard.
His expression darkened with disappointment. “You made a sound.”
The vibration ceased instantly.
Relief flooded her system… quickly followed by shame. She had failed. And worse — she wanted it back. She wanted the torture because the emptiness now felt crueler.
“On your knees.”
The order came sharp and cold. Leah dropped immediately; head bowed low. No hesitation. She was too afraid to speak, too raw to question.
“Open your mouth, little thing.”
Her lips parted instantly, her tongue peeking out in invitation. She knew better than to delay.
He slid two fingers deep inside, pressing to her tongue. Slow. Possessive. Not seeking pleasure — seeking dominance. It was a claim. He owned her mouth now, too.
“Rule Three. You beg for release. Always.”
He withdrew, wiping his wet fingers across her cheek carelessly, painting her in humiliation and ownership.
“Show me,” he ordered.
Leah looked up, throat tight, eyes shining with unshed tears of submission.
“Please, Sir…” Her voice cracked, thick with desperation and shame.
“Please, what?”
“Please let me cum… please, I need it… please, Sir…”
“No.”
The rejection sliced through her like a blade. Her thighs clenched involuntarily, her body betraying her with raw need.
“You beg better than that,” he murmured, unzipping his slacks with casual cruelty as though this were just another lesson in posture or poise.
His cock emerged, thick and hard. It brushed her lips in silent command.
Instinct overtook thought. She leaned forward obediently, her lips sealing around the swollen head, tasting salt and sin. Their eyes fluttered shut as she surrendered to the act entirely.
“Like that,” he praised, voice velvet-wrapped iron. “Beg with your throat now.”
She obeyed, taking him deeper. Deeper still. Until he hit the back of her throat. Until breathing became secondary. Until she gagged softly around him but refused to pull back.
His fingers tangled in her hair, gripping tight as he began to use her mouth ruthlessly. Not rough — controlled. Intent on teaching. Every stroke was measured, and every withdrawal was a tease.
Her tears fell freely now, streaking her cheeks as her throat learned the rhythm of submission. She held on, desperate to please, desperate to be worthy.
Finally, he groaned low — pleased, satisfied — and spilled down her throat. Hot, thick, undeniable.
Leah swallowed greedily. Not for him — but because she knew. She must consistently take what was given.
As she finished cleaning him with her tongue, lips soft and reverent, he tapped the remote again.
The plug inside her roared back to life — vicious now. No teasing. No mercy.
Her orgasm slammed into her brutally, fast, and violently. She cried out despite herself, body shaking uncontrollably as pleasure tore her apart. She collapsed forward, unable to hold her weight anymore, panting and ruined at his feet.
“That,” he said coolly, staring down at her broken form, “is your first reward.”
He didn’t help her up or soothe her, leaving her crumpled, used, and dripping on the cold marble.
And as Leah lay there, legs trembling and mind spinning, only one thought burned through her exhaustion.
She didn’t hate it.
She craved the following rule.