CHAPTER IV: The Fall of Power

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He was a man feared in boardrooms across Europe.
CEO. Master of mergers, destroyer of empires.
Elegant, vicious, and always in control.
But even wolves kneel.
And tonight, he would kneel for her.

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54, Italian-French lineage, with a jaw carved by God and a wardrobe worth more than most people’s homes.
But beneath the silk, beneath the steel… was a craving.
A hunger.

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One that only Mistress Kanisha could feed.
And she knew it.

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He entered her dungeon — not as a CEO, not as a man.
But as a thing, stripped of his title, his watch, his dignity.
He wore only a collar.
His trembling hands offered her the contract. Not a business deal — a submission pact.

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“Tonight, I am yours. No control. No limits. No escape.”

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She didn’t smile. She didn’t need to.

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With a flick of her glove, he was shackled — not just physically, but mentally.
Every word she spoke rewired his pride.
Every slap of her riding crop erased a conquest from his memory.

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And then came the torture.
Deliberate. Precisioned.
She tied his cock with brutal tightness, the cord digging deeper with every pulse of his blood.
She watched him gasp.
Watched his eyes flutter in pleasure-soaked pain.

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“You break boardrooms,” she whispered, her breath cold in his ear.
“But you break so easily for me.”

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Then came the heat.
Not metaphorical — wax. real. hot. savage.
She poured it over his chest in slow motion, her rhythm steady as a metronome of agony.
He screamed, but she silenced him — not with mercy, but with a gag, pushed deep enough to drown his pride.

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By the time she was done, he couldn’t move.
His balls swollen, cock stretched and bound, chest marked in crimson welts.
She leaned in close, her voice velvet and venom:

“You begged for release in the boardroom. You begged for control over men.
Now beg for mine. And mean it.”

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He sobbed. Not from pain. From revelation.

He had never been freer.

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