Maxwell’s devotion

The moment my message lit up his phone, Maxwell dropped. No hesitation. Knees on the hardwood floor, palms up like a prayer—like those four weeks without me hadn’t hardened him at all. Just broke him wider open.

He tried to find someone else. Swore he wouldn’t wait. But no other dom could replicate the way I made his stomach flip with just a tone, or the way his cock throbbed untouched when I called him *mine*.

Now? His voice cracks around the words, “I kept my hole empty for you.” As if I needed proof. As if the wet spot on his sweatpants isn’t confession enough.

But I’ll take it.

Take the way his thighs shake when I tell him to show me how much he missed me. Take the choked-off moan when he shoves two fingers inside, too fast, too rough, because my approval is the only thing that ever made him come untouched anyway.

And when he sobs, “Please—”, I know exactly what he’s pleading for.

Not just my touch.

My ownership.