Lara's Story: Ep. 9 - The Final Ritual [Mdom] [Fsub] [DS Relationship] [Female Chastity][Good Girl]

Some endings aren’t made of silence. They’re made of stillness. Of knowing exactly where you belong.

Lara doesn’t crave freedom anymore.

She craves what binds her.

⸻

It starts simple.

They’re out together—dressed up, calm, composed.

Lara walks beside Sir. Her heels are modest, her dress tasteful. But beneath it, she wears nothing. No bra. No panties. Just her collar. And the new belt—slimmer, darker, tighter. Sleek steel fitted perfectly to her.

It locked on that morning.

There’s no key in her drawer anymore.

Not even a hidden one.

Sir keeps the only one now. She doesn’t know where. And she doesn’t ask.

That, somehow, is the most comforting part.

They sit at a bar. High stools. Dim lighting. Low music. Casual elegance. The kind of place that notices what people wear, but not who they are.

Sir orders a whisky. Neat.

Lara sips her wine quietly. Her legs crossed. Posture perfect.

Every time she moves, she feels the belt. It doesn’t bite—but it reminds.

The room buzzes with conversation. Nobody’s watching them. Nobody knows.

Except Sir.

And her.

He leans in. Quiet. Calm.

“Uncross your legs.”

She obeys instantly.

Her thighs part a little too far.

“Slower.”

She shifts again. Subtle. Restrained.

He watches her. Not her face—her thighs.

“Cross them again.”

She does.

And again, slower.

The dress rides up just slightly.

A breeze hits her bare skin.

No one else notices.

But Lara burns.

Sir taps his finger on the table twice.

That means she’s done.

She keeps still.

But her heart pounds.

The discomfort isn’t physical.

It’s deeper.

It’s deliberate.

After one more drink, they leave.

Their hotel suite is dim when they enter. Clean. Prepared.

Sir hangs his coat, removes his watch, takes his time.

Lara stands by the bed, hands behind her back.

Waiting.

Sir returns with a box.

Simple. Matte black.

He sets it on the bed.

Then nods.

She opens it.

Her breath catches.

Inside: a collar.

Not the soft leather she’s worn before. Not the training one.

This is different.

Polished. Engraved. Weighted. Hers.

The interior is lined with fine silicone, molded for comfort.

The exterior is smooth, heavy, and unmistakable.

Engraved into the underside: *“My Good Girl.”*

She stares at it, breath trembling.

“You’re ready,” he says.

She nods.

Tears prick her eyes.

He fastens it at the back. Tight. Final.

It clicks into place.

She exhales.

The silence feels different now.

He steps back.

Undresses slowly. Shirt. Belt. Pants. Calm.

She kneels beside the bed.

Not for a command.

Not for attention.

Just because that’s where she belongs.

He sits.

And opens his legs.

She moves between them.

No games this time.

No teasing.

She licks him softly, mouth open, tongue slow.

Not desperate.

Just devoted.

He lets her work.

Lets her savor.

When he’s fully hard, she moans around him.

Takes him deeper.

Her hands stay behind her back.

He touches her hair.

“Good girl.”

She glows at the words.

When he cums, she swallows without a sound.

Just breath.

Just presence.

She stays kneeling, forehead on his thigh, breathing slow.

He strokes her shoulder.

Touches the collar.

Taps the lock on the belt.

“You’re mine.”

She nods.

Not like before.

Not to obey.

But to agree.

Later, she curls into bed.

The collar cold against her skin.

The belt locked firm.

She feels the weight of them both.

And doesn’t want to move.

Sir lies behind her.

Arm over her waist.

Still.

No orders.

No plans.

Just the quiet hum of ownership.

It’s not the end of their play.

Not the end of her denial.

Not the end of anything.

Just the beginning of what she always needed.

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