Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Emmaleen attempts to follow his instructions, but her body betrays her. Her legs shake, making her knees drift apart. Her core aches, making her shoulders hunch forward. Her fingers curl in on themselves.
Chaos in human form.
My little plan worked. The banana split exhausted her. She will fail for the rest of the day.
"Breathe through the discomfort," Jino coaches, tapping her shoulder with his crop. Not a strike—a reminder. "Count your breaths. Ten in, ten out. Focus on a point on the wall."
He's giving her shortcuts. Little tricks to help her endure what should be an ordeal.
Again, not how I’d do it. Submission isn't a skill to be learned. It's a surrender to be extracted.
Jino treats it like craft when it's supposed to be a conquest.
The minutes drag on. Five, then fifteen, then twenty-five. Emmaleen's breathing grows labored. Her muscles begin to tremble violently from holding the same position. Sweat runs down the curve of her spine.
"Straighten your back," Jino instructs, tapping between her shoulder blades.
She tries, overcorrects, then slumps again.
"Eyes forward, not down."
Another tap, another adjustment.
"Hands flat, not gripping."
Tap. Adjust. Fail. Repeat.
She’s hiccupping sobs by the time Jino releases her. He tells her to lie back on the mat, and she whimpers. Muttering something about no more…
But, oh, Miss Take, we’re just getting started. You have hours and hours of training ahead of you before you’ll be allowed to truly rest.
This respite, just a ploy.
To flatten your defenses.
To trick you into thinking relief is coming.
Only to force you into another position.
"Position Two,” Jino says, his voice echoing through the dungeon. “Kneel.”
Emmaleen isn’t even trying to hide her tears now.
“Open." His voice carries the same measured cadence as before. "This posture represents vulnerability through obedience."
I roll my eyes. Always with the fucking poetry.
"Keeping your back straight, widen your knees to shoulder width. Hands remain on thighs, eyes downcast."
Emmaleen shifts, tears flowing, legs shaking.
"I said open," Jino repeats, tapping the inside of her knee with the crop.
She hesitates, her discomfort palpable even through the surveillance feed. The conflict plays across her face like a silent film—vulnerability warring with dignity. She opens her knees perhaps two inches.
"Wider," Jino says. His tone is calm, but there's steel beneath it now. "Shoulder width."
Another inch. Maybe.
"That's not shoulder width." Jino places both hands on the inside of her knees and presses outward, exposing her pussy. "Here. This is shoulder width."
She exhales sharply, her jaw tightening as her body assumes the new position. The resistance in her eyes is delicious. There's something so satisfying about watching a woman with her intelligence, her education, reduced to such basic commands.
Open your knees.
Straighten your back.
Eyes down.
Each one represents another piece of her former self being systematically dismantled.
Jino circles her like a shark, examining her form from every angle. "Hold this position. Keep your breathing steady."
Minutes pass. Three. Ten. Twenty. She’s been gasping for breath for almost all of those minutes, despite Jino’s constant coaching. She looked over to the key hanging on the wall sixteen times.
“Go on, Miss Take,” I murmur, watching. “Get up. Take the key. Walk out and all of this torture will end.”
"Still," Jino commands. "Find the stillness."
I check my watch. Seventeen minutes in Position Two. On screen, Emmaleen blinks rapidly. She's holding on by a thread.
“Excellent, Emmaleen,” Jino soothes. “Lie back on the mat. You’ll have a two-minute break before we move on to Position Three."
Her whole body is shaking. She sobs. Eyes closed. But the tears pour out of her like penance.
When the time is up, Jino steps directly in front of her. "On your knees. Position One.”
And once again, the simple act of pulling her body off the mat is a struggle. She has no core strength left. In order to right herself, she must roll over and push up with her arms. This puts her on all fours, her ass facing the camera I’m currently looking through. Her pussy—hell the entire area between her legs—is glistening with wetness.
She pauses here for too long. Jino starts to berate her, tapping her hanging breasts with the crop. She moves into kneeling position, but slowly.
“This is a kneeling bow from Position One,” Jino explains. “You always begin the bow in Position One. Even if you're standing up at the time of command, you will drop to Position One first, then fold at the waist, extend your arms, and press your forehead to the mat. This is full submission to your king."
Emmaleen attempts to comply. She starts from Position One, knees together, then bends forward. Her forehead hovers several inches above the ground, her arms trembling with the effort to keep herself from collapsing completely.
"Lower," Jino instructs. "All the way down."
She tries again, straining. Her spine curves unnaturally, resistance evident in every line of her body. Her back shakes from her sobs.
"Forehead to the floor," Jino repeats. "Complete surrender."