Elena’s hands trembled as she signed the final consent form at the heavy mahogany desk in Blackthorn Manor’s private antechamber. The air smelled of leather, polished wood, and something darker—sandalwood and raw anticipation. She had spent weeks fantasizing about this exact moment, touching herself late at night to the thought of total surrender, but nothing prepared her for the reality.

The woman processing her applications—tall, severe, and impeccably dressed—clicked her pen. “Once you cross that door, Elena, there is no ‘yellow.’ Only ‘red.’ You will be naked, collared, and available. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Elena whispered, voice already breathy.

She was led down a long hallway. Her sundress felt...