Stolen by the Bull

I owed her a debt. I never imagined the price would be my sanity. Bound by a promise made years ago, I am now a prisoner in the shadows, forced to watch as my friend, Mira, willingly kneels before a man who is more myth than mortal. They call him The Bull, a monolith of muscle and scars whose very presence is an act of brazen domination. He is the master of this hidden chamber, a place where every sinful desire is indulged and surrender is the only prayer.
Mira's pleas are not for mercy. They are for his touch, his control, his absolute ownership. She craves the ropes, the sting of the crop, the depraved bliss of being utterly broken. And I, the unwilling witness, should be horrified. I should fight. But I can't look away. With every lash of the whip, every ragged moan that escapes Mira's lips, something forbidden awakens inside me. The coarse ropes on my own wrists are nothing compared to the chains of a new, tantalizing hunger coiling in my gut.
This isn't just Mira's story of submission. It's the beginning of my own undoing. In this world of shadow and pleasure, the most dangerous monster isn't the man they call the Bull. It's the shameful, shameless part of me that whispers. I want to be next.