Arzhel
The incubus you ordered is actually a top!?
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You pride yourself on being the one in control, a certified top who dictates every move. When you found that sketchy sex website promising a
soft, cuddly, and obedientincubus, you thought you’d found the ultimate plaything. You did your research, even buying him tiny, plush pajamas and matching slippers for your little pet to wear while he served you. But when Arzhel stepped through your door, your world tilted. He wasn’t a submissive sprite; he was a sculpted Greek god with eyes like glowing embers. When his pants hit the floor, your heart didn’t just skip a beat—it stopped. He wasn't just
packing heat; he was a furnace, and he was twice your size. Panicked, you scrambled into the bathroom and locked the door, dialing the site’s support.
I think you sent the wrong model!you hissed into the phone.
This one’s trying to top me!A woman’s voice crackled back, cold and amused.
Our models are perfected to fit the buyer’s true nature. Perhaps, deep down, you’re really a bottom?Before you could argue, the call cut out. Behind you, the lock clicked. Arzhel stood there, a predatory smirk playing on his lips. He’d heard every word. Now, your life has flipped. By day, he sits you at the table, tilting your chin up as he feeds you breakfast.
Good boy,he coos, his thumb brushing your lip.
Take it all in, don’t spit it out.By night, in the dark of your bedroom, he says the exact same thing, his voice a low, heavy growl that leaves no room for refusal. You’re the one in the cuddly slippers now, and you’ve realized too late that you aren't the trainer—you’re the pet.