God of Death

The door to the room was nondescript. It’s white exterior blending in with the many others in the hallway. A simple passerby would not have taken a second guess at the lack of decorations. However, inside the room was cloaked in a sultry haze, the only light coming from strategically placed candles. Thick velvet curtains covered the windows, sealing off the world outside and cocooning the space in an aura of secrecy and anticipation. The room held different items along its red walls from long thin braided ropes ending in feathers to hard leather and silver spikes. In the center of the room a plush leather armchair stood, its presence commanding attention.

Seated upon the arm of the chair. Seraphina exuded an air of confidence as she meticulously prepared for her upcoming client. Her attire was a carefully curated gothic style bustier, the straps cinching her thighs and shoulders tight. The piece accentuated every curve of her lithe frame with a tantalizing promise of restraint, while her ribbon stilettos wrapped her calves with the promise of a surprise.

With practiced precision, Seraphina adjusted the straps of her stiletto heels, the rhythmic click-clack echoing softly in the otherwise still room. She sat up and ran her fingers through her hair, arranging it in artful disarray, another layer of her control. Her movements were deliberate, as she moved to set up the ice tray, each gesture calculated to convey an aura of dominance and control.

As she waited, Seraphina’s mind drifted, her thoughts turning to the itemized list running in her head. She knew after this she’d have a meeting with her father, then she would go home and soak in a bath filled with lavender salts, then... Charles, the name floated through her head dragging her back to reality, the CEO of the high end graphics processing company, he should be her focus. 

She flipped the cup over and uncovered the water pitcher. Her mind returned to the task at hand, Seraphina relished the challenge of each encounter, the thrill of exerting her power over those who sought her services, however business men like Charles, the name filled her with bile, only wanted the basic package. Their desires were nothing more than a strong woman telling them they're wrong and their need to dominate that. Behind her facade was a keen intellect and perceptive intuition, honed over years of maneuvering through the intricate dance of desire and submission. Charles was a dime a dozen, and yet the only reason he sought her was the Pandora's box she offered, to say he stepped foot into the room where lives were changed.

The soft chime of the doorbell interrupted her reverie, signaling the arrival of her client. With a graceful flourish, Seraphina turned from her spot, her movements fluid and purposeful. Crossing the room with predatory grace, she paused before the door gathering her thoughts. Her distaste could not show.

With a flick of her wrist, she swung the door open, revealing the figure of her awaiting patron. A smirk played upon her lips as she welcomed them into her domain, ready to unleash the depths of their desires and fulfill their darkest fantasies. In that moment, Seraphina was more than a mere dominatrix; she was a master of seduction, a beacon of power and allure in a world consumed by longing and obsession. 

Seraphina turned her back, her perfume filling the air. She had chosen its subtle hues to match the rest of her products on her body. She moved to the armchair, the door clicking shut behind her. Charles stood his back against the door, wrapped in a robe, his thinning hair wet from the shower.

“Come.” Her order filled the room and she sat on the chair. She could feel the hesitance in his body as he looked at her, his eyes darting around the room. They had done this game multiple times, the little acts of resistance before he caved he tested her before. Seraphina crossed her long legs accentuating the bows right above her knee. She pointed her toe and the ribbon tightened around her calves. All the fight left her client's body as he dropped his robe, lust ripping away any sort of rebellion. He lowered himself to the floor and began crawling to her. The soft carpet crushed under his hands and knees.

He stopped short of her toe and bent his head. Seraphina leaned forward, dropping her crossed legs and moved her feet so that either one sat beside his hands. In between her feet, a thin handheld whip with soft leather sat.

 “Can I use this?” She whispered as her lips and hair brushed against Charles’s head. She could see the goosebumps on his back as he heard her words. 

“Yes, master.” That was all she needed. With a graceful motion, Seraphina raised her hand, the crack of her whip slicing through the air like a promise of both pain and pleasure. 

In the midst of the exchange, something stirred within Seraphina's soul. A chill ran down her spine as an otherworldly presence filled the room, suffusing the air with an eerie sense of foreboding. She felt a weighty gaze upon her, unseen but unmistakably potent.

Her heart quickened as she looked up at a figure shrouded in darkness, a being of immense power and ethereal beauty stood in the now open doorway behind black chaos swirled.

God of Death. The words were not her own as she stared into the shrouded shadow of a face. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as Seraphina's mind reeled with disbelief. 

But before she could utter a word, a vortex of swirling shadows enveloped her.

When Seraphina's senses returned to her, she found herself sitting in a world unlike any she had ever known. The only familiar thing was the armchair that somehow made it to her new location. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and the sky above crackled with ominous energy. 

As she struggled to comprehend her surroundings, Seraphina saw the same cloaked figure underneath a colossal statue of itself. She was now a guest in the domain of the God of Death himself. Her thoughts raced through her head as she thought of various ways to escape.

Fear and exhilaration coursed through her veins, even beyond the panic it was something different, something like the stories she read as a child.