Fictional report, written in the first person from the prey’s point of view
I didn’t know what to expect. I had heard her voice—soft, precise, but a threat in every note. An invitation. A promise.
Davina Dust. Baroness. Big Cat. Goddess.
I waited. Naked. Kneeling. Nervous.
The silence in the room was no accident—it was control.
Then I heard her.
Her steps.
Slow. Confident. Relentless.
She didn’t say a word.
She looked at me – and I felt scrutinized.
Not like a toy. Not even like a man.
But like something she recognized as worthy. Or would reject.
She brushed past me. She was wearing patent leather. Or latex. I don’t remember.
I only remember how my skin burned without her touching me.
Then she spoke.
A single word: “Breathe.”
And I did.
Deeper than ever before.
This night wasn’t a game. It was a ritual.
A descent into another reality where my will melted.
She guided me – sometimes gently, sometimes mercilessly.
She tested me. And shaped me.
I sweated, trembled, suffered –
and never have I felt more loved than in that moment.
Because I was hers.
Completely.
Without question.
Without a trace.
– A Servant
