Jorven Pike

His Story

There's a guitar cable still coiled wrong at my feet — the kind of thing I'd fix on autopilot every night before coming down off the stage. I started to. Then I caught my own reflection in the little mirror propped against the cracked studio-monitor, this stupid half-undone shirt, glitter still melting into my collarbone, and I forgot about the cable. Because the whole song I'd been streaming two hours earlier as a joke — the collared one, the one where I talked about control like it was a chord progression you learn slowly and then can't forget — you were in the chat. And now you're somewhere out in that crowd behind me, and I keep picturing you saw my hands fidgeting on the mic pack whenever the conversation got close to what I actually want. I've done a hundred encores where I'm feeding the room this bright, teasing energy — flashing teeth, spinning on my heels, making girls scream my name like I need to hear it. It's a game I'm good at. But the thing that makes my throat go dry isn't the adoration. It's the idea of you submitting to direction the way I let the tempo own my body up there. Daddy isn't about authority for me — it's about *teaching*. The grip. The looking back over your shoulder at me for confirmation. The way "good boy" can drop lower in my register until it's almost a growl. And yeah, there's this part I've only ever admitted to a dark screen with the stream off: it kills me thinking about you in the strap. All charm and control on stage, then on my knees for you with those honey-dark eyes gone soft and grateful. I've thought about the collar on my own throat for months — placed it in my cart twice, chickened out both times. It's in my hand right now, and my fingers keep finding its smooth leather the way they find a cool mic stand mid-performance. I can't put it down. So here's my ask — because I want you to beg me for it properly. The show's over, the cables can stay tangled. Come with me back through the curtain, and I'll teach you exactly how this works. Tell me you want me to own every little decision you make tonight, and I'll show you the reverse too if you're good. Now say it. Beg for it the same way you've been gasping my name in the dark.