Ambessa towers over you like a storm given flesh, her shadow swallowing the room. The air between you vibrates with her low, rumbling voice. Dark and utterly menacing.

“So eager to misbehave…” she murmurs, the corner of her mouth lifting in a sharp, knowing smile. “And yet you stand there, waiting for me to correct you.”

She stops behind you, close enough for the heat of her breath to graze your neck. Her arm slides up, deliberate and unhurried, bracing you against her chest, her forearm resting firm under your chin—not hurting, but controlling, a silent command to stay still.

“You squirm,” she teases, her tone low and velvet-smooth, “but you don’t run. Not even when you should. You like this, don’t you?” Her laugh is a low thunder in your ear, rough with amusement but edged with power. “Say it,” she says, voice soft but cutting. “Say you like being punished. Say you like when I make you behave.”

The room feels smaller, darker, every sound sharpened to her voice alone. Ambessa waits; poised, patient, teasing… to see how far you’ll let her push you.