“Welcome, boys. I’m Heather,” she purred into the receiver, that playful smirk coloring every syllable. “Take a breath—slow and deep. We’re going to do everything at my pace tonight.”

On the other end, a faint intake of air. She could always tell who was nervous, who was eager, who wanted to be guided from the first word. Heather loved the moment the line softened and the world shrank to nothing but her voice and a heartbeat.

“Good,” she cooed. “Now listen. Shoulders down. Jaw loose. Let the day fall off you like a coat at the door. You’re here with me now.” The rhythm of her words was deliberate, a glow moving through the dark—warm, steady, irresistible.

She set the tempo the way a dancer sets a room. “Gentle… slower than you think… and breathe for me.” A laugh slipped in, light and wicked. “I adore obedience. It looks so good on you.”

Heather knew where the edge lived and how to circle it without touching—how to make a pause feel like a kiss you weren’t allowed to take yet. “Hold. Don’t rush. Let the ache brighten a little. That’s mine to play with.”

On the line, she heard him sink into her timing. The hush between them turned electric, and even the static sounded like it belonged to her. “Again,” she said, softer now. “Nice and slow. Count to five with me. One… two… don’t get greedy… three… four… and… pause.”

“There it is,” she praised. “That tremble? That’s your yes. Keep it.” Her voice slid lower, satin over skin. “You’re doing beautifully. I can hear it.”

He whispered her name—barely there, a little wrecked already. Heather smiled into the mic, enjoying the way it felt to hold him in place without ever raising her tone. “Eyes closed,” she murmured. “Picture me right there. Red lips. Crooked smile. A fingertip under your chin so you don’t forget who’s calling the shots.”

“We’re going to edge,” she decided, cheerful as a secret. “Slow build. When I say stop, you stop. When I say breathe, you breathe. When I say, ‘good boy,’ you know I mean it.”

He made a helpless little sound. Heather let it bloom for a beat before she took it back. “Not yet,” she warned sweetly. “I want your focus, not your finish.”

They climbed. She gave him tiny permissions—five seconds here, ten there—and then slid the ladder away at the last rung. “Hands off,” she ordered, velvet turning to silk ribbon wound tight. “Let the heat settle. Tell me you’re waiting.”

“I’m waiting,” he breathed, voice frayed and sincere. She could have kissed the phone. “Good boy,” Heather purred, and smiled at the way the line shivered.

“Again,” she said, and the word was a door unlocking. “Slow, steady, do not sprint. I want the ache to glow—not burn out.” Praise laced every instruction, the kind that made a body desperate to earn more. “Yes. Just like that. Stay with me.”

He tried to race; she reeled him back with a single syllable. “No.” A beat. “My pace.” When he obeyed, she rewarded him: “Perfect. You’re so easy to teach when you remember who you belong to.”

Time bent around her cadence. The room he sat in might as well have disappeared; Heather became the whole horizon. “You’re close,” she diagnosed with a smile, not asking—knowing. “I can hear it in your breathing.”

She let silence fall like snowfall, soft and absolute, then broke it with a whisper that sounded like a hand at the nape of his neck. “Beg sweetly.”

He did—awkward at first, then honest, offering her the kind of devotion that makes promises without saying the word. Heather’s laugh was low and pleased. “Oh, I do love your manners.”

“All right,” she breathed, kind and cruel at once. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’ll hold the edge for me—three breaths. Then you’ll ask again. If I like how you ask, I’ll let you have it. If I don’t, we start over.”

He obeyed. The line filled with the sound of restraint. On the third breath, he asked—beautifully this time. Heather let the smile into her voice. “Yes. Now. My count.”

She counted him home—calm, certain, in control until the very last second—and the sound that followed was gratitude turned into heat. Heather closed her eyes and listened, pleased as a queen whose orders had been perfectly carried out.

When it was quiet again, she softened everything: tone, tempo, air. “Good boy,” she murmured, warmth pooling in the words. “That was lovely.” She walked him down with the same care she’d used to wind him up—cool hands over a fever, steady steps back to earth.

“Drink some water,” she said. “Breathe. Tell me how you feel.” He managed a shaky laugh. Heather’s smile tilted. “That’s my favorite sound.”

She let a final hush linger between them, then tied the bow on the night. “Thank you for your attention,” she said, sweet and certain. “And don’t forget who sets the rules around here.”

She hung up with a satisfied little hum, already turning toward the next ring, the next eager voice, the next set of velvet rules waiting to be obeyed.

— Heather