Page 52 of Prince of Vice

As Primo leads me away from the office, I can't help but feel an anticipatory shiver run down my spine. My heart races with each step we take in tandem, and I begin to wonder where he plans to take me. The guest bedroom looms ahead, and I assume that's where he wants our illicit encounter to happen. But as we pass by the door, he doesn't hesitate, guiding me further down the hallway.

"Where are we going?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Somewhere more... intimate," he replies cryptically, his eyes never leaving mine.

He stops before a heavy oak door, adorned with an intricate brass handle. With a subtle flourish, he opens it, revealing a room I've never seen before – Primo's master bedroom.

The moment I step inside, I'm enveloped by the scent of him – a heady mix of sandalwood and something uniquely masculine. This is obviously a space he has curated with great care. Every detail, from the dark wood paneling to the plush carpet beneath my feet, speaks of luxury and refinement.

My gaze is immediately drawn to the massive four-poster bed at the center of the room. It's draped in rich, burgundy velvet, giving it a regal appearance. A sense of vulnerability fills me as I imagine what might transpire between us in that very spot.

"Like what you see?" he teases, enjoying the look of awe on my face.

"It's... beautiful," I breathe, unsure of how else to articulate the grandeur of the room.

"After you," he says, his voice low and seductive.

As I take in the rest of the space, I notice a seating area near a grand fireplace. Two high-backed chairs sit opposite one another, a chessboard positioned between them as if waiting to be used. I can't help but think of the strategic games Primo and I have played with one another, both in court and behind closed doors.

"Are you a good chess player?" I inquire, genuinely curious.

"Very," he replies smugly. "But I'm even better at other... games."

My cheeks flush with heat as I consider the implications of his words. My gaze drifts to a nearby bookshelf, filled with leather-bound volumes that exude an air of mystery. I long to run my fingers over their spines, to learn more about the man who has captivated me so thoroughly.

"Perhaps you'll teach me those games," I suggest coyly.

"Maybe," he says, drawing closer. "But first, let's focus on the game we're playing right now."

Primo gestures for me to sit on the plush, velvet sofa near the fireplace. I comply, my heart pounding in anticipation as I watch him glide across the room and disappear into his walk-in closet. When he reemerges, he holds a variety of items that send a shiver down my spine. He carefully lays out ropes, paddles, and other implements I've never seen before on a nearby table.

"Come," he commands, his voice firm but gentle.

I obey, rising from the sofa and stepping toward him. My eyes linger on each item, curiosity mingling with apprehension. As my hand reaches out to touch one of the mysterious objects, Primo's fingers close around my cheeks, forcing me to look into his dark eyes.

"Isabella," he says, his voice low and stern, "you are not to touch these without my permission. The only time you will be allowed to touch them is when they are being smacked against your skin or when you are given the honor of cleaning my tools for me under my watchful eye. Do you understand?"

"I understand," I reply, my voice trembling with excitement and nerves.

"From now on, when I ask you a question or give an order, you will respond with 'Yes, Sir' or 'No, Sir,' as appropriate. Can you do that?" Primo asks, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Yes, Sir," I murmur, a hint of a smile playing on my lips. He returns the smile, clearly pleased with my quick adaptation.

"Good girl," he praises, releasing my cheeks.

Primo then leads me back to the sofa and instructs me to sit once more. Slowly, he starts to undress me, his fingers lingering on each piece of clothing as it's removed. With every revealed inch of skin, his gaze seems to grow hungrier, devouring me in a way that makes me feel both vulnerable and cherished.

Finally, I am completely naked before him, a shiver of anticipation running down my spine. "This is how I enjoy you the most," he whispers, his breath warm against my ear. "Naked and submitting to me. Now, “get on your knees,” he orders.

Without hesitation, I drop to my knees before him. I remain silent, forgetting the protocol we've just established. Primo narrows his eyes at me, a dangerous glint flashing within them. He begins walking around me in slow circles, scrutinizing my every move. I can sense his thoughts - I defied him yesterday by coming without permission, and now I struggle to follow even the simplest instructions. Yet, this only serves to fuel my arousal, and I find myself falling deeper into the spell of Primo's domination.

As he continues to circle me, I wonder what he has planned for me. How will he push my boundaries, and how far am I willing to go under his control?

"Sit up straight, pet," he commands, his voice a velvety growl that makes my spine tingle. "You should always strive to be the very best version of yourself when you're around me."

I comply immediately, sitting up as tall and proud as possible. His words resonate with me – I am a reflection on him. The idea of him owning me, of being his possession, sends a shudder of pleasure coursing through me.

"Does the thought of being my little fuck pet excite you?" Primo asks, leaning down so close that I can feel the heat radiating off his body.

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