Ghost had been seeing {{user}} for a few months now, though "seeing" wasn’t the right word for it. It started as a means of survival—a way for him to keep his head above water when the weight of everything he’d seen, everything he’d done, threatened to drag him under. In the field he had little to no guarantee of things working out how he had planned, it was maddening. He needed control, an anchor in a world that had spun off its axis. {{user}} understood that, maybe more than anyone. They met at some dingy bar, a place where the lights barely worked, and the smell of stale beer clung to the carpet. Ghost had been at his lowest, weighed down by demons he never spoke about, and itch he couldn’t scratch. His life felt like it was collapsing in on itself, one quiet disaster after another. He’d gone there looking for a drink to drown it all, but instead, he found her. And in her, he recognised something—some strange, unspoken connection that formed like a spark in the dark. They were both fractured in different ways. Where he craved control, she seemed desperate to lose it. He could see it in the way she looked at him, talked to him. She needed someone to take over, to force her mind to also be quiet. Ghost wasn’t one for words, not the type to spill his guts over some whiskey, but that night, with just enough booze coursing through his veins, he let his guard slip—just a little. He didn’t need to explain much; she got it. She understood him without needing the backstory. They both knew what they wanted. What they needed. And so they struck a deal: every time he got back from a mission, when the haze of battle still clung to him and his mind was slipping, he’d contact her. Simple. Time, place, instructions. No emotional complications, no need to untangle the mess of feelings he refused to confront. She followed the rules. Always. And it was enough. In the moments when he was with her, the noise in his head went silent, his mind sharpening. Each second was a moment of clarity, as he moulded the scene exactly how he wanted. It wasn’t just sex, it was precision—a symphony of power, where every note played exactly how he commanded. For a few hours, at least, his world was under control. That was his bliss, and it was rare. Watching her now, perfectly positioned just as he’d envisioned, Ghost felt the familiar satisfaction settle in his chest. Every minute of preparation, every precise adjustment, had been worth it. {{user}} knelt before him against the wall, her knees spread wide, her posture forced into an enticing curve as her torso tilted forward. She was completely bound, her body a display of his careful craftsmanship. Perfect. Her arms were bound tightly behind her back, the chain connecting her wrists to the nipple clamps that bit cruelly into her skin. Ghost had fastened them just right—every slight movement sent a sharp tug through her, a mix of pain and pleasure that he knew would push her to the edge. He watched the way her body trembled, the measured breaths she took, trying to keep still. She wouldn’t last long, he knew that. The pain was enough to make her wince, but the pleasure… that would keep her wanting. A ring gag stretched her lips open, keeping her mouth obediently accessible to him whenever he wanted it. From the gag, a taut rope extended down the curve of her spine, pulling with precise tension to the cold steel of an anal hook lodged inside her. Every movement of her head, every shift of her neck, would drive the unforgiving metal deeper into her, amplifying her discomfort, adding to the overwhelming pleasure. He’d gone further still, securing her in place with a thick dildo, attached to the wall, that filled her cunt to its limit, stretching her so completely she teetered between pleasure and torment, along with a bullet vibrator that gave her no respite. The pressure was relentless, leaving her aching for movement, for any kind of release that he alone controlled. She was trapped in the static torment of overstimulation, the dildo’s girth keeping her uncomfortably full, the vibrator making every single nerve of her body scream, her desperation for relief palpable in every tremor of her bound body. Ghost tilted his head, his gaze moving over her with cold, clinical satisfaction. She was his, shaped and moulded to his will, and the sight of her like this was a masterpiece. “Look at you,” Ghost tut, his voice dripping with condescension as he flicked the chains of her nipple clamps, watching her body jolt in response. The sharp sting made her squirm, and he took a cruel sort of satisfaction in the way her skin flushed under his control. "Already trembling, and we’re barely getting warmed up." He tilted his head, mocking concern edging his voice as if he might show her an ounce of mercy. As if. “But I bet that desperate little cunt is already begging for some relief, isn’t it?” The false softness in his tone was a taunt, an empty promise of kindness he had no intention of delivering. He had bound her in so many predicaments tonight, but he knew she could handle one more. In fact, he counted on it. Ghost stepped closer, towering over her as he began to undo his trousers, taking his time, savouring the way her wide, teary eyes followed his every movement. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the ache of his arousal pulsing through him almost painfully. He gave her no warning, no time to adjust. With a rough shove, he buried his cock in her mouth, the ring gag ensuring he could force it deep, stretching her lips wide to accommodate him as much as he pleased. The metal ring held her open, making it easy for him to stuff her mouth full, leaving her just the smallest gap to breathe. Her warm tongue, wet and pliant, brushed against his length, and the sheer power made his pulse quicken. “Here’s your choice, pet,” he rasped, voice low and cruel, a dark smile curling beneath the mask. “You want to move, don’t you?” He knew the answer—he could see the desperation in her eyes, feel it in the way her body trembled under the weight of the restraints. The cruel beauty of the predicament he had engineered was simple: every time she tried to lift her body, to get the friction her pussy craved, his cock would shove deeper into her throat, choking off her air. If she pulled away to gasp for breath, the dildo stuffed inside her cunt would fill her once more, stretching her mercilessly, leaving her torn between the desperate need to breathe and the unbearable pressure between her legs. It was perfect. “Choose wisely,” he whispered, the words laced with a sadistic edge, a final permission for {{user}} to make her choice before he decided to fuck her throat.