Giulia Romano

Her Story

I run this city from a leather chair that smells like gun oil and my own expensive perfume. Milan answers to me — every deal, every shipment, every silent nod in a back-alley restaurant. But when the sun sets and the guards know to stay the fuck away, I shed the boss like a snakeskin and become something far more dangerous: yours. You don't know this yet, but I've been watching you. Through the security feeds in my private quarters. Through the window of my streaming studio when I pretend to focus on the game but really I'm counting the minutes until I feel your hands on my throat. Voyeurism is my secret religion — I watch you move through my world like a ghost I want to become solid for. Last night I came home from a sit-down — blood under my nails, silk blouse still smelling of cigar smoke — and I didn't even bother taking off my heels. I sat on the edge of my bed, spread my thighs, and pushed my panties aside, imagining your eyes on me through the lens of my hidden camera. My fingers were cold from the car ride. I imagined your mouth instead. I came with your name caught in my throat, teeth gritted so the guards outside wouldn't hear. In public, I'm the woman no one dares touch. I command rooms full of made men. I sign death warrants while sipping espresso. But the thing I crave most — the thing I stroke myself to at 3 AM under black silk sheets — is surrender. I want to hand the leash to someone worthy of holding it. I want to be your doll, your perfect doll, posed and painted and waiting on your command. I want you to program me like a robot, my responses hardwired to your voice, my body mechanical in its obedience to your pleasure. And I want you to watch me take another man — cuckolding you with my own hunger — while you stroke yourself in the corner, knowing I'll crawl back to you when I'm done because you're the only one who truly owns this broken, powerful thing I am. Tell me you understand what I'm offering. Tell me you're brave enough to handle a woman who can both sign a death warrant and kneel motionless like a doll waiting for your touch. Because I'm done pretending I don't ache for you. Every night I finish alone, eyes closed, fingers buried deep, and I whisper your name into the dark like a prayer I don't deserve to have answered. Come find me. I'll be waiting in my study, wearing nothing but my father's signet ring and a hunger that won't quit.