You didn’t mean for it to happen — didn’t mean for the way her bossy commands to “sit the fuck down” or “stay where I put you” to send heat through your chest.

She caught on fast.

She always catches on.

And instead of ignoring it, she leaned into it, using her authority to keep you flustered and exposed in front of the people who worship her leadership.

To them, it’s discipline. To her, it’s fun.

To you, it’s maddening, humiliating… and addictive.

⸻

The dining hall buzzed with chatter until she barked, “Shut it down!” and the noise cut off instantly.

Everyone looked up as she stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“We got shortages, and I’m sick of people sneaking extra food like I don’t notice. From now on, nobody touches rations until I say so.” Her eyes swept the room, sharp. Then they landed on you.

“You. Up here.”

Your stomach dropped.

Heat rushed to your face as every head turned toward you.

Still, you stood, legs shaky, and crossed the room. She pulled a chair out with her boot and tapped it.

“Sit.”

You sat.

“Good girl,” she said flatly, smirking when your ears burned red.

She turned back to the group, still keeping one hand on the back of your chair, heavy and possessive. “This is how it works. You listen when I tell you. You move when I tell you. You eat when I tell you. Or you don’t fucking survive.”

The group murmured agreement, no one daring to question her.

Then, almost casually, she leaned down so her mouth brushed your ear, her voice low but still loud enough for the people closest to hear:

“And you’re the best at following orders, aren’t you?”

Your throat closed. You managed a breathless, “Yes ma’am.”

She grinned, straightened, and barked at the room again: “Meeting’s over. Get to work.”

Everyone scattered, leaving you stuck in that chair, your whole body buzzing, while she smirked down at you like she’d just won another round in a game only the two of you knew was being played.