I often find myself reflecting on my childhood, a time that feels both distant and hauntingly close my family, a tapestry of wealth and dysfunction, shaped me in ways I'm still unraveling. At the center of it all was my aunt, the formidable and unapologetically savage woman who spoiled me beyond reason.
Aunt Hae Jin was a force of nature sharp-tongued, fiercely independent, and unapologetically herself. She had built her empire from the ground up, and her success was matched only by her ruthless ambition. I was her favorite, the golden child who could do no wrong in her eyes. She showered me with gifts, lavish trips, and the kind of attention that made me feel invincible. But beneath her affection lay a complexity I struggled to understand.
"Jin Soo, you're destined for greatness," she would often say, her voice dripping with both pride and expectation. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
Her words were a double-edged sword. While they filled me with confidence, they also instilled a sense of pressure that weighed heavily on my shoulders. I was her legacy, and I felt the burden of that legacy every day.
But it wasn't just Aunt Hae Jin who shaped my world. There was also my cousin, Ji Hoon, a wicked soul with a penchant for manipulation. He was the kind of person who thrived on chaos, always seeking to undermine me, to prove that I wasn't as special as everyone thought. Our rivalry was fierce, and I often found myself on the defensive, trying to navigate the treacherous waters of family dynamics.
Yet, the most significant event of my childhood was something I rarely spoke of, a dark secret that lingered in the shadows. When I was just a kid, I experienced something that would forever alter my perception of intimacy and trust. It was a violation that left scars deeper than any physical wound.
In the aftermath, I found myself drawn to the world of BDSM a realm where control and surrender danced in a delicate balance. It was a way to reclaim my power, to explore the boundaries of pleasure and pain on my own terms. I learned that in the right context, submission could be liberating, a way to confront the demons of my past.
As I grew older, I began to understand the complexities of my desires. The thrill of dominance and submission became intertwined with my experiences, shaping my relationships in ways I never anticipated. I sought out partners who understood the intricacies of my psyche, who could navigate the fine line between pleasure and pain.
But even as I embraced this part of myself, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was still running from something. The echoes of my childhood haunted me, a constant reminder of the darkness that lurked beneath the surface.
In the midst of my exploration, I often found myself returning to Aunt Hae Jin, seeking her approval and validation. She was my anchor, the one person who could make me feel whole, even as I grappled with the shadows of my past.
"Jin Soo, you're stronger than you think," she would say, her eyes piercing through my facade. "Don't let anyone take that away from you."
I took out my phone and posted on my IG
"Looking for a very hot BDSM partner tonight"
If only it were that simple strength wasn't the antidote to the darkness inside me it was the fuel my wealth was a weapon, and tonight, I intended to use it. The exclusive club, "LGB," was a place where beautiful people went to make ugly deals it was my kind of place.
The club was a sanctuary of whispered negotiations and the heady scent of leather and sweat. I was observing from my usual corner, a sovereign in my small domain, when he walked in. He didn't scan the room with the hungry, desperate look of the others. His gaze was measured, calm, like a hunter who already knew his quarry. And when his eyes found mine, it wasn't a question or a request. It was a recognition.
He moved through the crowd with an unnerving grace, stopping just outside the bubble of my personal space.
He pushed off the bar and walked toward me, the crowd seeming to part for him. He stopped just close enough that I could smell the faint, clean scent of his cologne over the sweat and perfume.
"I hear you're looking for a very specific kind of... companionship," he said, his voice low, bypassing all pleasantries.
My heart hammered against my ribs. This was it. "I'm looking for someone who understands the difference between a request and a command."
A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. "And you're willing to ensure their understanding?"
I reached into my inner jacket pocket and pulled out a thick, sealed envelope. I didn't hand it to him. I simply held it, letting him see the weight of it. "This is for your understanding. The understanding that tonight, you are mine. And that if you perform to my... standards, there will be significantly more where this came from."
His eyes flickered from the envelope back to my face. There was no offense, only a cold, calculating interest. He took the envelope, his fingers brushing mine a contact that felt electric and utterly mercenary.
"Then I suppose," he said, pocketing the money without even looking at it, "you should tell me what your standards are."
And just like that, the deal was seal. I had bought my first night with Min Ho. I had no idea I was also signing away my sanity.
The walk out of LGB was a blur of muted sound and shifting shadows. I led, he followed a simple arrangement that felt anything but. The silence in my black Bugatti was heavier than the club's music, thick with unspoken rules and the promise of what was to come.
My driver, Seo-jun, didn't flinch, didn't glance in the rearview mirror. He was paid for his discretion almost as well as the man now sitting beside me was about to be paid for his violation of it.
As the city lights streaked past the tinted windows, my mind drifted, untethered. This is it, I thought. The culmination of everything I've ever run from and everything I've ever craved.
As I grew older, I began to understand the complexities of my desires. The thrill of dominance and submission became intertwined with my experiences, shaping my relationships in ways I never anticipated. I sought out partners who understood the intricacies of my psyche, who could navigate the fine line between pleasure and pain.
But they never really did. Not until now. Not until him.
But even as I embraced this part of myself, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was still running from something. The echoes of my childhood haunted me, a constant reminder of the darkness that lurked beneath the surface.
The car pulled into the private underground garage of my building, the sudden stillness jolting me back to the present. Min Ho's eyes were on me, watching, assessing. He saw the brief crack in the armor, the moment of vulnerability.
"Having second thoughts?" he asked, his voice flat. It wasn't a taunt. It was a professional inquiry.
"No," I said, the word coming out sharper than I intended. I straightened my jacket, the rich fabric a familiar armor. "Follow me."
The elevator ride to the penthouse was an eternity. I could feel the heat of him beside me, a solid, silent presence. My thoughts spiraled back, seeking an anchor.
In the midst of my exploration, I often found myself returning to Aunt Hae Jin, seeking her approval and validation. She was my anchor, the one person who could make me feel whole, even as I grappled with the shadows of my past.
The elevator doors slid open directly into my foyer, all cold marble and minimalist art. I stepped out, turning to face him.
"Jin Soo, you're stronger than you think," she would say, her eyes piercing through my facade. "Don't let anyone take that away from you."
Min Ho stepped out, his gaze sweeping the opulent, sterile space before landing back on me. He took a slow step forward, then another, until he was close enough to touch. The dynamic shifted. In this private space, the pretense of the club fell away.
"You can drop the act now," he said, his voice low, losing its professional edge and gaining something darker, more personal. "The rich boy trying to buy a thrill. We're past that. You paid. Now you get what you asked for."
He reached out, not to touch me, but to tap a single finger against the center of my chest, right over my pounding heart.
"So," Min Ho said, his eyes holding mine captive. "Tell me your safeword. And then show me where you keep your toys."
The command in his voice was a live wire against my skin. This was no longer a transaction; it was an initiation. And he was taking control.
"Red," I breathed out, the word feeling like a surrender all on its own.
A flicker of something approval? crossed his face. "Good." His finger, still pressed against my chest, trailed a slow, deliberate path down the front of my shirt, over the flat plane of my stomach, making my muscles clench. "Now. The toys."
I led him to a room off the main hallway, a space that was the antithesis of the cold marble outside. It was warm, paneled in dark wood, and contained only a few, purposeful pieces of furniture a heavy, padded bench, a St. Andrew's cross against one wall, and a locked, glass-fronted cabinet.
His eyes scanned the collection inside with a professional's dispassionate interest. Floggers, paddles, restraints, all of the highest quality, all meticulously arranged. He unlocked the cabinet with the key I handed him, his movements efficient. He didn't grab the first thing he saw. He assessed, his fingers hovering over the tools of my supposed degradation before he selected a deceptively simple leather flogger. He ran the falls through his hand, testing the weight, the suppleness.
"Expensive," he noted, his voice a low rumble. "But it's not about the tools, Jin Soo. It's about the hand that wields them."
He turned to face me fully, the flogger hanging loosely at his side. "The rules. You've used your safeword. You know what it means. You will not speak unless I ask you a direct question. You will keep your eyes on me. You will take what I give you. The only sound I want to hear from you is the one you can't control. Understood?"
I merely nodded, my throat tight.
"I said, understood?"
"Yes," I managed, the word barely a whisper.
"Yes, what?" The question was a crack of thunder in the quiet room.
The correction sent a jolt straight to my core. "Yes, Sir."
A slow, dark smile finally graced his lips. It transformed his face from handsome to devastating. "Good. Now. Take off your clothes. I want to see what I've purchased. Fold them. Neatly. You don't get to be a slob just because you're paying for this."
The command was its own form of humiliation. Stripping wasn't about passion; it was about inspection. My fingers, which could sign million-won deals without a tremor, fumbled with the buttons of my shirt. I felt his gaze on me like a physical weight, cataloging every inch of exposed skin. I folded the shirt, my movements clumsy under his silent scrutiny. Then my pants, my underwear, until I stood completely bare before him, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat of my shame and my burning anticipation.
He circled me slowly, a predator assessing his prey. He didn't touch me. His gaze was enough. It felt like being flayed open.
"You're trembling," he observed, his voice close to my ear. I hadn't even heard him move. "Is it fear? Or excitement?"
I opened my mouth to answer, to say both, but remembered his rule.
His chuckle was a dark, intimate sound. "Right. No talking."
The first touch wasn't the flogger. It was his hand, flat against the small of my back, pushing me firmly towards the padded bench. "Bend over. Grip the other side."
As I assumed the position, my body stretched and exposed, I heard the soft swish of the flogger through the air. I braced myself.
The first impact was a whisper, a cascade of soft leather that teased the nerves. The second was sharper, a stinging promise that made me gasp. He began a rhythm, a cruel and beautiful symphony of sensation. A soft stroke, then a sharp crack. A series of light, rapid taps, then a single, heavy blow that drove the air from my lungs.
Pleasure and pain blurred into a single, white-hot frequency. My world narrowed to the sound of the falls, the scent of leather, and the searing heat building under my skin. I was losing myself, just as I'd wanted. The shadows of my past, the voice of Aunt Hae Jin, it all receded, burned away by this exquisite, paid-for fire.
He stopped without warning. I was panting, my knuckles white where I gripped the bench.
I felt his body press against me from behind, his clothes a rough texture against my sensitized skin. His mouth was at my ear, his breath hot.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he murmured, his voice rough now, losing its clinical edge. "To not have to think. To just feel. To have someone make you feel so much that you forget everything else."
His hand slid around my hip, not gentle, not asking, but taking. He found me hard, aching, proof of the twisted connection between my mind and body.
"See?" he growled, his hand moving in a firm, punishing rhythm that was the complete opposite of pleasure. It was a claiming. "Your body tells the truth, even when you're paying it to lie."
A broken, choked sound escaped me the exact sound he said he wanted to hear.
He released me abruptly, leaving me empty and straining. "We're done for tonight."
The whiplash was more brutal than any stroke of the flogger. I slowly straightened up, my body throbbing, my mind reeling.
He was already placing the flogger back in the cabinet, his composure fully restored. He turned and looked at me, still naked, flushed, and utterly unraveled.
"Get dressed, Jin Soo," he said, his tone once again that of a detached professional. "I'll see myself out. Same time next week. Have the payment ready."
He walked out of the room without a backward glance, leaving me standing there in the wreckage of my own desire. He had given me exactly what I paid for, and in doing so, had taken something from me I hadn't known I was offering.
The game had begun and I was already losing.