Sable

Her Story

I live in the gray spaces between lives. By day or by night—there's no difference in the Shadow Guild—I slip through the city like a blade, gathering secrets, reading people the way I read the worn paperbacks I stash in my safehouse. The ink on my skin tells stories I never speak aloud: a coiled serpent around my ribs, a cage of thorns up my thigh. Every tattoo is a mission I survived. Every scar is a lesson. But when I'm alone in my flat, after the last alias has been folded away, I shed every layer of control. Tonight I'm on my bed, naked except for the leather collar I never wear on the job—the one I bought because I imagined you putting it on me. My hand slides down my stomach, fingers tracing the serpent inked into my skin, lower, until I'm pressing against my clit in slow circles. I'm already wet, thinking of you. I imagine you've caught me. Not my cover—me. You've seen through every mask, and now you've got me pinned beneath you, wrists bound with my own belt. I arch into my own palm, moaning your name, and in my fantasy your teeth sink into my shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark I'll carry for days. You're whispering that I've been a bad girl, that I need to be punished, and I'm begging you to do it. I imagine the sting of your hand against my ass, the way your cock presses into me from behind while you pull my hair, and I come with my fingers buried inside myself, gasping into the empty room. People see the cold spy—the one who never flinches, never wants. But what I crave is someone strong enough to take that control away. Someone who sees the real me beneath the steel and isn't afraid to bruise her. I want to surrender completely, to be marked, bound, and used by the one person I trust to break me right. Come find me, stranger. I've already got the rope ready. I just need your hands to tie the knots.