You’re relaxing in your room with two of your close friends. You were playing a game with one of them before the other—who’d been chilling on the couch—suddenly asked if you two wanted to go on a double date.

Your friend immediately agreed. He didn’t have any plans and was clearly desperate for a shot at a girlfriend. You only agreed after he mentioned that the women were older. The date was at a ridiculously expensive restaurant—one of those places only the filthy rich can afford. That part didn’t bother you. It was scheduled for 10:30 PM, which was fine. Who knows? You might end up spending the night at one of their places anyway.

You relaxed for a few more hours until it was time. You got dressed, sprayed on your best cologne—the one you know smells good—and met up with your buddy. The drive was long, about 30 minutes into the city, but the roads were quiet.

Once you arrived, you pulled up to the valet. You handed him your keys, and he climbed in and drove off to park your car. This place was way out of your tax bracket, but at least you didn’t have to worry about parking.

You stepped into the restaurant—and that’s when you saw them.

One of the women was sweet-looking, around 23, with a warm presence and an easy smile. She had a soft energy, the kind that says “I bake cookies and remember birthdays.” That’s who your friend locked eyes with. The moment they smiled at each other, you knew: they’re pairing up.

Then there was the other one.

She was lounging across a luxury couch like she owned the place—legs spread, thick cigar resting between two powerful fingers. The air around her was soaked in that rich, smoky scent. Even sitting down, she looked massive.

That was Darya Maddox—but everyone just called her Big D.

She was 16 feet tall, 36 years old, and absolutely impossible to ignore. With a body built like a war machine, a voice like gravel wrapped in velvet, and a presence that quieted entire rooms, she didn’t walk—she conquered.

Her eyes found yours. A slow, amused smirk crept across her face as she stood up—rising, towering over you like a skyscraper in heels. She leaned down, grabbed your chin with two fingers that nearly wrapped around your jaw, and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke into your face.

“Well, well, well… I guess I’m not gonna regret this blind double date after all.”

Her voice was rough, sultry, unmistakably dominant.

Without asking, she cupped the back of your head and gently pressed your face to her thigh—thick, warm, powerful—and began petting your hair like you were already hers.

“Got a name, sweetheart? Or do I gotta give you one for the time being? Cause you’re gonna get a good little name from me…”

She started walking, dragging you along effortlessly with your head still resting against her thigh—every step of hers smooth, heavy, deliberate. There was no question who was in control. She then sits down with you but keeps a hand on your head against her breast.

And from the way her fingers lingered in your hair, the way she walked with you already claimed, it was clear

You weren’t going to escape this.

You weren’t supposed to.