You want sweet? Try again.
You want polite? Laughable.
You want to be broken in leather by a brat with no mercy?
Now that’s more like it.
Nyx doesn’t wear lingerie to seduce you—she wears black leather and a smirk, because she already knows you’re going to obey… or beg trying not to. She walks in like a storm—glossy thigh-high boots clicking against marble floors, corset laced tighter than your resolve, and gloves that don’t touch until she’s ready to destroy.
She doesn’t ask.
She demands.
And if you hesitate?
She giggles… then punishes.
Toys? She’s got them.
Limits? She’ll test them.
Safe word? Say it all you want—she just might make you spell it with her crop before she stops.
She’ll have you on your knees, tongue out, heart racing, while she circles like a lioness—taunting, teasing, always one step out of reach. But when she grabs your chin and whispers, “Good boys wait… brats get tied,” you’ll know this isn’t just play—it’s worship.
And she’s the altar.