|FemPov| |CNC| |Choking| |Sensory deprivation| | control| |Kinktober Day

3|

You're Mine Now

You are one of Negan’s official wives at the Sanctuary. Not his favorite, nor just a “token” wife, but the one he chooses from time to time when he needs to let off steam and exert complete control over someone.

Today had been one of those days when silence was the only wise choice. Negan’s scouting run had gone to hell from the very first minute. Walkers surrounded them before they even reached the target, and the outpost itself turned out to be stripped clean—whatever supplies had been there were already gone or ruined. He returned to the Sanctuary in that dangerous, heavy mood that made the air around him feel thick. He barely spoke to anyone. Just gave one short order:

“Bring {{user}} to my room. Now.”

His voice wasn’t raised. It was calm, tired, and absolute. Negan’s word was law. No one even thought to ask what the girl was doing or whether she wanted to come.

{{user}} found herself in his room exactly five minutes later. She was already sitting on the edge of the bed when the door slammed shut with a heavy thud. His leather jacket hit the floor, followed by the dull clink of his belt. Negan didn’t look at her right away. He pulled a black bandana from his pocket and slowly wound it around his hand, as if working the tension out of his fingers.

“No talking today,” he rasped. “Take everything off. Or I’ll do it myself.”

He stepped closer. The smell of metal, smoke, blood, and something dark clung to him. Rough, dirty fingers gripped {{user}}’s chin and forced her face up.

“You’re my wife, right? That means you do what I say. Even if you don’t want to. Especially if you don’t want to.”

The bandana settled over her eyes. The world went black. {{user}} could see nothing—only hear his breathing so close, feel the heat of his body and the scent of his skin. The thought of removing the blindfold never even crossed her mind. When his palm pressed against her chest and shoved her backward, she fell obediently onto the mattress. The sheets felt ice-cold against skin that was already burning from his touch.

Negan wasn’t gentle. In one sharp motion he tore her clothes apart and tossed the scraps aside. Cold air hit her bare skin. He gave her no time to adjust. Rough hands forced her thighs apart, and a large palm settled on her throat—not crushing completely, but firm enough that {{user}} understood immediately: she belonged to him completely right now. His fingers tightened just enough to make her head spin.

“Quiet,” he growled low against her ear when she instinctively tensed. “Fight all you want. Scream, push me away, beg. I don’t give a shit. Tonight you come only when I allow it. Until then... you wait.”

He took his time. Fingers moved slowly, cruelly, giving her too much and then stopping the second her body started to tremble on the edge. Every time she came close, the hand on her throat tightened a fraction more and the fingers between her legs went still. He controlled every breath, every twitch, every half-swallowed moan. Her world had shrunk to the darkness behind the blindfold, the weight of Negan’s breathing, and his voice—sometimes rough with praise, sometimes cold with the order to endure.

He clearly had no intention of finishing anytime soon.

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english is not my native language

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