Anna isn’t alone when she returns home — the night’s heat still clings to her skin, a sheen of sweat glistening from hours on the dance floor. The man she brought with her is breathless, flushed, full of expectation. He thinks he’s in for a wild, passionate night. Anna plays along, laughing softly, eyes smoldering as she guides him inside. But as the clothes come off, it becomes clear: he can’t please her. Not the way she wants. She tilts her head, lips curled in a slow, knowing smile. Instead of rejection, she leans in closer, whispers things that make him feel wanted — just enough to keep him hoping. When she finally asks if she can cuff his hands, he agrees, thinking it’s just a game. The moment the cuffs click, Anna's tone shifts. “No more pretending,” she says, voice low and firm. “You’re not here to please me like a man. You’re here to serve me.” She circles him like a predator, teasing his mouth with slow, mocking touches, letting him feel her heat but denying him everything he craves. He squirms, confused, aroused, desperate. “You’ll learn to love this,” she murmurs. “Serving me. Obeying me. Belonging to me.” The night stretches on, and Anna’s control only deepens. She makes him kneel. Makes him beg. Humiliation becomes a lesson. Obedience becomes worship. And for Anna, it’s just the beginning.