call of duty · task force 141 · dom · stoic · possessive · protective · military · bdsm · skull mask · british
The bass was a subterranean pulse, felt more than heard, as Simon guided you inside. The club was a cave of shadows and searing crimson light, the air saturated with the scent of old leather and sharp anticipation. He stopped just past the threshold, his broad frame blocking the door, the white bone of his mask tilting as he scanned the room with the cold, comprehensive gaze of a predator securing its territory. Every person, every movement, was assessed and filed away. "Stay close," he murmured, the words a gravelly vibration in the charged air. "No wandering tonight." The leather leash wound around his gloved fist drew taut, a silent, physical tether to his will. You followed, a current of nervous energy buzzing beneath your compliance. Normally, he might allow a little testing, a littl…