This was a first for me—not the private chef experience, but the couple. I had long avoided situations like this, where I was more than an observer. Men tend to grapple for dominance in the presence of their women, and while I enjoy putting them in their place, my patience for such displays is limited. I’m meticulous with the select few I choose to engage with; my process is designed to weed out those unworthy of my time.
This couple, however, intrigued me. They’d declined my suggestion of dining at one of New York City’s many Michelin-starred establishments—a surprise given that the city, rivaled only by Paris, is my favorite for fine dining. Instead, they wanted to "impress me," and when I arrived at their Hudson Yards penthouse, I understood why.
The building exuded luxury, complete with valet parking and a doorman who could easily pass as private security. Their residence had a private elevator, and after announcing myself, I was whisked upstairs without delay.
The penthouse was a masterpiece of indulgence: modern minimalism tempered with plush furnishings in muted tones of cream, gold, and charcoal. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered breathtaking views of the city, while a long, sleek dining table stood as the centerpiece, adorned with flickering candles, cascading orchids, and crystal glassware that shimmered like diamonds.
Lars, the male half of the couple, was as striking as the view—tall, Nordic, and commanding, his presence reminiscent of Alexander Skarsgård. Rita, his wife, was a picture of luminous beauty, with delicate features and a captivating allure that brought Margot Robbie to mind. We had agreed on black tie for the evening, and I arrived in a Carolina Herrera gown—a masterpiece of deep crimson, with a dramatic silhouette that hinted at my curves without revealing too much. My hair was swept into a sleek updo, and my Jimmy Choos gave me both elegance and comfort.
The evening began with a bespoke menu crafted by Chef Lila, a rising star in the culinary world. She moved with practiced elegance in the open kitchen, presenting each course like an artist unveiling a masterpiece. We savored amuse-bouches of bluefin tuna crudo with yuzu, truffle-infused quail egg, and caramelized shallot tarts, paired with Veuve Clicquot La Grande Dame. The conversation flowed effortlessly, as if we were old friends reunited after years apart.
As the final course was cleared, we lingered at the table, sipping rare Armagnac as the city lights sparkled below. Lars leaned back in his chair, his piercing blue eyes locking with mine.
“Come,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. He guided me to another wing of the penthouse, where a door opened to reveal a private playroom.
The space was sumptuous—a red velvet sanctuary adorned with black leather furnishings accented with gold hardware. The attention to detail was exquisite, from the sleek chains to the array of tools that hung like art on the walls.
“You weren’t exaggerating,” I said, running my gloved fingers over a polished leather crop. “This is… impressive.”
Rita entered quietly, her eyes fixed on me as she embraced Lars from behind. Her petite frame was almost fragile, her blonde hair cascading in soft waves.
“And you’ve never done this before?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
They shook their heads in unison, their expressions a mix of nervousness and excitement.
“It will be my pleasure to guide you tonight,” I said, a playful smile tugging at my lips. “Your safe word?”
“Ibiza,” they answered together, glancing at each other with a shared understanding.
“Perfect. If anything feels like too much, use ‘yellow,’ and I’ll adjust.”
They nodded, Rita’s eagerness evident in the flush that rose to her cheeks.
“Come here, sweetheart,” I beckoned, and she obeyed instantly. “Help me out of this dress.”
Her delicate hands worked at the hidden zipper, and the crimson fabric slid down, pooling at my feet. Beneath, I wore a black corset and thigh-high stockings, paired with opera-length gloves. The contrast of textures—satin, lace, and nylon—was deliberate, designed to tease and tantalize.
I turned to the wall, selecting a collar with a golden bell. It suited her perfectly. Her long hair swayed as I fastened it around her neck, and she let out a soft moan as my fingers lingered.
“You’re exquisite,” I murmured, my eyes shifting to Lars. “Hands behind your back, big boy.”
He obeyed, his gaze never leaving Rita.
“Show me your breasts, sweetheart,” I commanded, and she slid her strapless gown down to reveal her pert A-cups, her nipples stiffening in the cool air. Her lips parted, her breath coming in soft gasps, and in that moment, I claimed her lips with mine. The kiss was rough, deliberate, leaving her flushed and breathless.
“You’re a good girl, Rita,” I said, my voice low and silky. From the table, I retrieved a pair of nipple clamps and handed them to Lars.
“Put these on her,” I instructed, watching as his hands trembled slightly.
As he worked, I selected a whip, trailing it lightly over his back before snapping it against his skin. The sharp sound filled the room, mingling with their gasps of pleasure.
I couldn’t help but smile as I stood before them, two perfect creations of desire, waiting for my command. This night was ours, and the possibilities were endless.
“Master,” Lars said softly, his voice breaking the charged silence. “May I play some music for us?”
I nodded, watching as he retrieved a sleek remote and pressed a button. Moments later, the ambient strains of Imaginary Ambition filled the room, the track “Searing” weaving through the air like a velvet thread. I was surprised I recognized it and smiled faintly—it had always been a favorite of mine.
Turning my attention back to Rita, I guided her gently to her knees. Behind her, the leather sofa provided an elegant backdrop, its rich black hue complementing her delicate frame. I took my seat on the sofa, poised and deliberate, while Lars stood tall, his hands clasped behind his back like the obedient figure he was tonight.
Rita remained still as I began to braid her hair, the intimacy of the act drawing a small, contented sigh from her lips. She seemed to savor the gesture, and I took my time, letting the strands slip through my fingers before securing them. Finished, I leaned forward, my lips brushing against her neck as I let my tongue trace the curve of her soft skin.
I inhaled deeply, catching the faint but intoxicating scent of Valentino. “Mmm… Valentino,” I murmured, my breath hot against her ear.
She let out a soft chuckle, clearly pleased I had noticed. “Yes, Master Liz,” she replied, her voice laced with excitement.
I smiled against her skin, my chin nestled on her shoulder, and let a bead of saliva drip deliberately over one of her clamped nipples, then the other. Her reaction was delightful—she moaned softly, her head tilting back slightly, her body yielding to the sensation.
“Thank you, Master Liz,” she said, her voice trembling with pleasure.
I’d almost forgotten Lars’ towering presence behind me, but as I stood, my gaze flicked to him. His arousal was unmistakable, straining against the fine fabric of his tuxedo pants. I tilted my head, examining him like a piece of art.
“Enjoying the view?” I asked, my tone teasing.
He nodded quickly, a faint smile playing on his lips.
“You’re quite big. Use that big voice of yours,” I demanded.
“Yes, Master Liz,” he replied, his voice deep and resonant.
Satisfied, I turned my attention back to Rita, who was watching me intently. “Tell me, doll,” I asked, my lips curling into a smirk, “how’s this man’s mouth?”
“It’s great, Master Liz,” she answered, her tone breathless yet playful.
My smirk widened. “Let’s see about that.”
Walking toward the leather sofa, I stood next to Rita, positioning my body so my backside was facing Lars and my curves were just within reach of his line of sight. Slowly, deliberately, I slid the corset’s panties section aside and arched toward him.
“Keep your hands behind your back,” I commanded, glancing over my shoulder. “Show me those skills Rita seems to enjoy.”
In the blink of an eye, I felt his warm mouth against my intimate skin. The sensation was electric—skilled, deliberate, and eager. He was good, perhaps even better than Rita had implied. My hips moved instinctively toward him, encouraging him as soft gasps escaped my lips.
“Now,” I said, pulling away and turning toward Rita, “kiss her, Lars. Let her have a taste.”
What followed was one of the most passionate kisses I’d ever witnessed. Lars’ lips moved over Rita’s with unrestrained hunger, and her small frame melted into him as if she’d been waiting for this moment her entire life. It was raw, powerful, and mesmerizing.
I adjusted myself, now sitting with my legs crossed, whip in hand, watching the display like a queen surveying her kingdom. Raising my left foot, I used it to push Lars gently away from Rita.
“Down, boy,” I said firmly.
He obeyed, lowering himself to his knees, his head bowing slightly. Rita smiled, her lips still swollen from their kiss. I shifted my attention to her, letting the whip trail lazily across her exposed, swollen nipples. She gasped, her body trembling under the light touch of the leather.
Rising from my seat, I circled them slowly, letting the anticipation build. “Lars, keep your forehead against the floor,” I instructed.
He obeyed without hesitation, his muscular frame stretched in a perfect line. I placed my foot lightly on his broad back, asserting my dominance before walking toward a crimson rope displayed on the wall. Its luxurious texture practically begged to be used.
“Get Rita out of her dress,” I ordered.
Lars moved swiftly, his hands deftly removing the remaining fabric from Rita’s body. She stood there now completely bare, her bound arms accentuating the curve of her slender frame, the golden bell at her throat tinkling softly with every movement.
I approached her with the rope, running it through my hands before tying it tightly around her arms, securing them further. The red contrasted beautifully with her pale skin, creating an image that was both sensual and artistic.
As I stepped back to admire my work, my eyes caught something that made my pulse quicken—a strap-on, sleek and perfectly crafted, sitting on a lower shelf like a crown awaiting its queen.
I picked it up, turning it over in my hands, feeling its weight and promise. My lips curled into a wicked smile as I turned back to the two of them.
“Lars,” I said, holding the device out to him, “help me secure this.”
He rose to his feet, his movements careful and deliberate as he fastened the straps around my hips. His fingers brushed against my skin, sending a ripple of anticipation through me. Once it was in place, I ran my gloved hands along its length, testing its fit and ensuring it was secure.
I turned to Rita, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. “You’ve been such a good girl tonight,” I said softly, my voice dripping with affection. “Now let’s see how much you can take.”
The room seemed to hold its breath as I moved closer, the music swelling in the background, underscoring the charged silence. This was my moment, and I intended to savor every exquisite second of it.
Before fulfilling the anticipation that had visibly built within Rita, I turned my attention to Lars. “Stand up,” I commanded, my voice steady and deliberate, “hands behind your back.”
He rose immediately, his towering presence a mix of strength and submission. Slowly, teasingly, I began undoing his trousers, one button at a time, the metallic click of the zipper echoing faintly in the charged silence. When all that remained was to pull them down and free the obvious strain of his arousal, I paused and stepped aside.
The moment of hesitation was deliberate—a few torturous seconds that left them both on edge, their breaths uneven. The confusion in their eyes only heightened the intensity, and when I finally spoke, my words dripped with calculated dominance.
“Rita,” I said, my gaze locking on her, “come here. Since your hands are bound, darling, you’ll use your mouth to pull down Lars’ pants.” A slow smirk spread across my lips as I added, “I believe it would be easier on your knees.”
She obeyed instantly, her movements graceful as she sank to the floor. Her golden bell jingled softly with each shift, a delightful accent to the scene. With a few skillful tugs of her teeth, the fabric gave way, sliding down Lars’ powerful legs. The sight of her, kneeling and working so diligently, was enchanting. The light caught the gold of her collar, making it gleam as she finished her task.
“Good girl,” I murmured, trailing my nails lightly down Lars’ exposed back as I moved behind him. His skin shivered beneath my touch.
“Hands behind your neck,” I ordered.
He complied immediately, his biceps flexing slightly as he clasped his fingers behind his head. Stepping closer, I freed him from the confines of his boxers, revealing his impressive arousal. He stood there, vulnerable yet powerful, a perfect contradiction. I reached for another collar, this one equipped with a leash, and fastened it around his neck. The faint snap of the clasp seemed to echo, binding him more than just physically.
Taking the leash in hand, I guided him back to the leather couch and had him sit. His legs spread instinctively, mirroring the quiet confidence he always seemed to exude. I stroked his hair gently, offering a rare touch of softness. “Good boy,” I said, my voice low and soothing.
Without missing a beat, I settled next to him, mirroring his position—legs spread, back straight, completely in control. My eyes shifted to Rita, who was still on her knees, waiting patiently.
“Come here, Rita,” I beckoned, curling my finger toward her. “Crawl to us.”
She obeyed, the sound of her collar’s bell creating a sweet, rhythmic jingle as she moved closer. When she stopped before us, I leaned forward slightly and motioned for her to approach further. As she did, I guided her mouth to my length, watching as she took it in fully, her lips parting without hesitation.
Lars’ eyes widened, his lips slightly parted as he watched intently. His chest rose and fell, his breaths quickening as he observed Rita’s devotion. I couldn’t help but smile, savoring the effect this moment had on him. Though there was no physical sensation for me, the power of the visual, the way it unraveled Lars, was its own kind of pleasure.
Suddenly, I stood, leaving Rita momentarily confused but obediently waiting on her knees. I returned a moment later, holding a sleek plug in my hand. Its polished surface gleamed in the soft light.
“Rita, darling,” I said, my tone soft but commanding, “arch your back for me.”
She complied without hesitation, presenting herself perfectly. Her curves were accentuated in this position, her bound arms adding to the visual allure.
I turned to Lars, holding the plug before him. “Suck, big boy,” I said, my smirk returning as I offered it to him.
He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before leaning forward, taking the plug into his mouth. His blue eyes met mine, a flicker of something raw and unguarded flashing in them as he obeyed.
“Good,” I murmured, watching him work, his tongue gliding over the smooth surface. “You’re both doing so well.”
The anticipation in the room was palpable, every breath, every sound magnifying the tension. My control was absolute, and I intended to savor every second of it.
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