The chill of late October hung heavily in the air, typical of Łódź at this time of year. The streets were lined with bare trees, their skeletal branches rattling in the wind. I felt the cold keenly, but it was nothing compared to the coldness settling in my gut. Today, I was going to meet her—a nineteen-year-old girl who had somehow taken hold of my mind, despite her age and the miles between us.

She had insisted on meeting at a small café near my hotel, and now I was preparing to leave, my nerves jangling like a live wire. She wasn’t coming alone; she’d bring a friend, she’d said. At first, I thought this might ease the tension, make the situation less daunting. But as the minutes ticked by, I realized that it only made things worse. It wasn’t just about impressing her; I now had to prove myself in front of another, under the weight of two scrutinizing pairs of eyes.

At 11:00, I began dressing. The hotel room in Łódź was sparse and functional, offering little comfort as I pulled on my black bomber jacket and the burgundy cap I had promised to wear. My hands trembled as I zipped up the jacket, the reality of what I was about to do sinking in. I had agreed to meet her, to submit to her, but the full implications of that agreement were only just beginning to hit me.

I left the hotel and began the short walk to the café, each step feeling heavier than the last. The city was gray and subdued, as if the very streets knew what I was heading into. The café was just ahead, small and unobtrusive, its windows fogged up from the warmth inside. I paused at the door, taking a deep breath before stepping in.

She was already there, sitting by the window with her friend. The two of them looked almost out of place in the cozy setting—her dark, commanding presence a stark contrast to the comfortable, warm atmosphere of the café. Her friend, however, looked less severe, a playful smile dancing on her lips as she noticed me.

I hesitated, feeling my heart pound harder as I made my way toward them. She didn’t smile or greet me warmly; instead, her eyes traveled over me, assessing, judging. It was like I was being sized up, and I couldn’t help but feel small under her gaze.

“Hello,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper as I reached their table. I took off my jacket and sat down, trying to ignore the way my hands shook slightly as I did so. I glanced at her friend, who was still smiling, though now with a hint of something else—amusement, perhaps.

She leaned back in her chair, her eyes locking onto mine. “You’re late,” she said, even though I wasn’t. There was a slight edge to her voice, a tone that made it clear that any excuse would be futile. I quickly apologized, feeling the sting of her words more than I should have.

She exchanged a glance with her friend, who stifled a giggle, her eyes sparkling with some private joke I wasn’t privy to. I felt a knot tighten in my stomach; it was as if they were both playing a game with me, and I was the only one who didn’t know the rules.

After a moment, she stood abruptly. “We’re going outside,” she declared. I followed her without question, despite the cold that awaited us.

Outside, the chill was biting, far worse than I’d anticipated. But I didn’t dare complain. We walked to a small table, and she sat down, her friend settling next to her. I stood there awkwardly for a moment until she gestured for me to sit.

“Take off your hoodie,” she said, her voice calm but unyielding.

The request made me hesitate, a flicker of fear shooting through me. The cold was already unbearable, but I did as she asked, pulling the hoodie over my head and placing it on the table. My body shuddered involuntarily as the cold air assaulted my skin, but she didn’t seem to care. In fact, she watched me closely, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips as I began to shiver.

“Give it to her,” she said, nodding toward her friend.

I handed the hoodie to her friend, who took it with a smirk. She seemed to find the whole situation amusing, her eyes dancing with barely concealed laughter. There was something unnerving about the way she watched me—like she was in on some joke at my expense.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“You look pathetic,” she said suddenly, her voice sharp as a blade. “Shivering like a little boy who’s lost his coat. Is that what you are? A helpless child?”

Her words cut through me, leaving me feeling even smaller, more vulnerable. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. I wasn’t sure what she wanted me to say. I wasn’t sure I could say anything that would change the way she looked at me—with that mixture of disdain and enjoyment.

“Why are you even in Poland?” she asked, her tone mocking now. “Did you really think I’d be impressed by you? By this?”

I struggled to find my voice. “I… I’m here for work,” I stammered. “Just for a week, but I was hoping… hoping to come back often.”

She laughed then, a cold, cruel sound that sent a shiver down my spine. Her friend joined in, giggling softly as if this was the funniest thing she’d heard all day.

“Work,” she repeated, shaking her head. “You think you’re here for work, but that’s not why you’re really here, is it? You’re here because you want me to control you. You want me to degrade you, to make you feel small. Isn’t that right?”

I felt my face flush with shame, but I couldn’t deny it. She was right. I was here because I craved her control, her cruelty. Even now, as I sat shivering in the cold, feeling her words cut into me like knives, I couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction.

She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she studied my face. “You’re weak,” she said softly, but with a certain finality that made my heart sink. “I could break you without even trying. And I will. But first, I want to see just how far you’re willing to go to prove yourself to me.”

She glanced at her friend, who was watching the exchange with a mixture of fascination and amusement. It was clear she knew what was going to happen next—or at least had a good idea. She seemed half intrigued, half entertained by the whole situation, giggling softly as she watched me.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally stood up, her movements slow and deliberate. “We’re going back to the hotel,” she said, her tone leaving no room for discussion. “You’ll walk behind us. And don’t even think about asking for your jacket or hoodie. You’ll get them back when I decide you’ve earned them.”

I nodded weakly, the cold seeping into my bones as I got to my feet. I could feel my legs trembling as I stood there, completely exposed to the elements. Her friend, still smiling, picked up my jacket and hoodie, holding them casually over her arm as if they were nothing.

We began walking back to the hotel, with me trailing behind them as ordered. The wind cut through my thin shirt, making me shiver uncontrollably, but I kept my head down, too scared to protest or even ask for any mercy. As we walked, I couldn’t help but notice how strong she looked—how her posture and gait exuded confidence and control. She was stronger than me, in every way that mattered, and I was acutely aware of it.

The walk to the hotel felt longer than before, each step weighed down by the growing dread in my stomach. Her friend would occasionally glance back at me, her smile never fading, a silent reminder of the power dynamic at play.

When we finally reached the hotel, the warmth of the lobby was a welcome relief, though it did little to ease the growing fear inside me. The reality of the situation was starting to sink in. I was completely at her mercy, and she knew it. She enjoyed it.

We entered the elevator, the silence between us thick with tension. My mind was racing, trying to anticipate what would happen next, but I couldn’t. I was lost, completely at her mercy.

As the elevator doors opened on our floor, she stepped out first, her friend following close behind. I trailed behind them, feeling more like a prisoner than a guest. We walked down the hallway to my room, and I fumbled with the keycard, my hands shaking so badly that it took me a few tries to get the door open.

When I finally did, I stepped inside, my heart pounding in my chest. They followed me in, her friend closing the door behind us with a soft click that felt final, inescapable. The room was small, the only light coming from a dim lamp by the bed. I pointed to a bag beside the bed—the one containing the items she had ordered me to buy. She barely glanced at it before setting down her own bag.

Her friend took a seat in the chair by the window, still smiling, still watching. It was clear she was enjoying this, half intrigued, half entertained by the spectacle I was making of myself.

“Kneel,” she ordered, her voice as cold as the wind outside.

I hesitated for a fraction of a second before sinking to my knees. The carpet was rough against my skin, but I barely noticed. My mind was racing, my fear now a living thing inside me, pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

She looked down at me, a small, cruel smile playing on her lips. “You’re pathetic,” she said softly. “A weak, pathetic man who thinks he can impress me by shivering in the cold. But don’t worry—I’ll make sure you know just how worthless you are before I’m done with you.”

Her friend giggled softly, her eyes gleaming with amusement as she watched me. I felt a wave of humiliation wash over me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look away. I was completely at her mercy, and she was enjoying every second of it.

And in that moment, as I knelt before her, I realized just how vulnerable I truly was.