EROTIC STORY PART I: The Unicorn and the Ritual I reread your messages like someone tasting a rare wine. The lit cigar still spreads the woody aroma of Dona Flor Pura Mata Fina in the air. The heavy glass holds a sip of Norma Ouro rum, precious as a liquid spell. And it is in this setting of luxurious silence that I begin to architect your body, measuring it with the eyes of my imagination: you, small, 1.65 m, ready to be looked at from above, surrendered, desiring command. In the swingers' club, you would no longer be just another one. You would be the myth, the rare animal, the unicorn. The trophy fought over not only by hungry men, but also by women who would recognize in you the brilliance of absolute surrender. And I, serene, would let the ritual unfold: submissives kneeling to ask permission before allowing themselves to be dominated by you. Because dominion is not only mine over you: it is also yours over the world. And your submissive condition doesn't limit you: it expands you, opens you, liberates you. And I don't feel jealous: I feel proud. Because I know that when surrender is true, there is no betrayal. There is worship. There is ritual. There is an altar of pleasure where only those chosen participate. But the peak won't be in the swingers' club, nor in public play. The peak will be in the secret temple of our bedroom. There, I will give you the gift I promised: a Dark Tantra session. I will lay your naked body on clean, heavy sheets. I will light low candles, let the soft sound of mantras fill the air. My hands will start with the obvious: your tense shoulders, your arched back. But soon they will migrate, awakening every nerve, every hidden pulse: pure bioelectricity coursing like liquid fire beneath your skin. Each touch is slow, but not gentle. I blend caress with command, caress with the invisible shackle. Your mind oscillates between meditation and vertigo, your body vibrates between relaxation and lust. Original Tantra blends with the light whip, the tightening of the collar, the blindfold that obscures your eyes. You are a temple and an offering. And then, when you have already surrendered to the trance, I lead you to the limit: A moan that is a mantra. An orgasm that is a prayer. A scream that is liberation. PART II: The Club and the Unicorn Night falls, heavy and seductive. The streets seem ordinary, but behind a discreet door pulses another universe: the club where few are allowed in, and even fewer are allowed to see. I enter with you by the hand, your collar gleaming in the low light, your eyes covered by a light blindfold. You are not taken as a prisoner, but as a relic: everyone stops to stare. There, you are the unicorn. The rare piece everyone desires, but which they can only touch with my permission. The atmosphere blends leather, velvet, and steel. Deep sounds, chains, and moans intertwine like ritualistic music. My friends, experienced dominators, approach, not to challenge me, but to bow: they know the prize is with me. The submissives, on their knees, beg with their eyes for the honor of serving you. And I smile, making it clear that the decision is not mine alone. I remove your blindfold. Your eyes shine, reflecting the darkness and the excitement of being desired by all. A heavy silence fills the room when I push aside your skirt and reveal your bare skin. The murmur grows: a chorus of hungry voices. "She is my sub," I declare. And everyone understands: your body is an altar, but the liturgy is shared. I lead you to the center, binding your hands to an iron structure. There is no pain, only reverence. Every touch that approaches you is authorized. A woman kneels to kiss your feet. A submissive rubs scented oil on your thighs. And you, with half-closed eyes, realize you are the focus of collective adoration. And when I finally give the order, two submissives stand behind you, awaiting instructions. Not to possess you, but to serve you. One holds your waist, the other kisses the back of your neck, while I, facing you, take your mouth with the strength of someone who remembers: "You are theirs, you are mine, you are the world's, but above all, you are free in your surrender." The room becomes a liturgy: moans, whispers, the sound of leather, and the smell of sex mixed with incense. And you, in the center, tremble and revel not only in the touch, but in the awareness of being revered, desired, adored like the unicorn you are. And when your body finally surrenders to multiple orgasms, everyone applauds, not like an audience, but like worshippers before a divinity. That night, you weren't just submissive. You were myth. You were legend. And everyone, one by one, bowed at your feet. ADAPTATION COPYRIGHT: Z1d4n3 #hot