Khal Drogo, Game of Thrones

You know it's remarkably hypocritical of you but you're weak. You can't help yourself.

You bought him one night when you were fairly drunk, hung up on the memory of that other time a frat guy **** you to suck him off when he mistook you for a lost Daenerys. You just couldn't seem to get it out of your system and you thought the Kahl could help take the edge off.

You descend the steps to your basement, which has been very comfortably renovated to serve as a swanky little sex den. There are a few smaller rooms where your Characters live when you aren't using them, and you march right up to Drogo's and let yourself in without knocking.

His bed is empty and there aren't a lot of other places he could be hiding.

"Kahl..." you say, looking around.

A strong hand grips your throat and you are pinned to a large, strong wall of muscle at your back. "****." his deep voice sends a shiver through you and you swallow. "You're not supposed to be wearing these clothes."

You nod, "Yes, I know, I'm sorr—ah!"

Khal grips the neck of your t-shirt on either side and literally rips it in half, tearing it from your body. After the first time he tried that and nearly strangled you, you'd started cutting little notches in your shirts as a precautionary measure. Now they came off much easier but it was still extremely thrilling. "On your knees." he commands and you obey immediately, sinking to a ****'s posture.

"Yes, Khal." You didn't have to mod your Khal very much. Just a tiny nudge away from homicidal warlord and towards hypersexual slaver. He fully believes that you are his property, and you haven't ever tried to convince him otherwise.

You hate yourself for ever having taken things to this point, but you can't deny that it fulfills you in ways you've never found anywhere else.

Khal—yes, you know Khal is a title and not a first name, but you can't help but think of him as first name: Kahl, last name: Drogo, especially when he insists you address him as Khal or Master—pulls out a sharp knife and your breath catches in your throat. The only thing protecting you from this man is a single mod chip that prevents him from doing real harm to his slaves. If you don't play the part to his satisfaction, he may actually hurt you. It only makes the whole thing that much more thrilling. It's almost real. From a certain perspective, it is real.

He cuts your bra, jeans, and panties from your body until you are kneeling completely nude, and then he drops a pair of iron manacles on the ground at your knees, staring at you expectantly.

Like a good little ****, you close them around your wrists with a click. If you ever forget the code word to **** Khal Drogo to release you and let you leave, you will be in big trouble.

He grabs you roughly by the hair and half drags you towards a pile of large pillows near one wall of the main room. "I don't know how you keep escaping, ****. You are the most undisciplined female I have ever dealt with. It's time I taught you a lesson about obedience."

You whine with genuine anxiety, but your burning lust overrules your worries. He's never hurt you before, not really, and you do need to blow off some steam. "Yes, Kahl. Forgive me."