Sokka

The cold stone floor bit into Sokka’s knees as he knelt before the throne, the weight of the metal chastity cage digging into his flesh. He shifted uncomfortably, the chains around his wrists clinking softly as he tried to find a less painful position. But there was no relief—only the piercing gaze of Azula, seated above him, her golden eyes sharp and unyielding. She leaned back in her throne, one leg crossed over the other, her bare foot dangling just inches from his face. The scent of leather and sweat hit his nostrils, and he swallowed hard, his jaw tightening.

“Well, Sokka,” Azula purred, her voice dripping with amusement as she toyed with a strand of her jet-black hair. “You’ve become quite the loyal servant, haven’t you? I must say, I didn’t think the proud warrior of the Southern Water Tribe would kneel so easily.”

Sokka’s eyes flicked up to hers, a fire of defiance burning in his chest. “I’m not kneeling for you, Azula. I’m just… biding my time.”

Her lips curved into a smirk, and she uncrossed her legs, letting her foot hover just above his lap. “Biding your time? How quaint. But let’s be honest, Sokka. You’re exactly where you belong.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Now, clean my feet. And don’t even think about slacking off.”

Sokka’s hands trembled as he reached for the damp cloth on the tray beside him. He hated this. Hated her. But the collar around his neck—a cruel reminder of his captivity—left him ****. He clenched his teeth as he began to wipe the cloth over her sole, the warmth of her skin sending an involuntary shiver up his spine.

Her foot twitched slightly under his touch, and she let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh. “That’s it. Just like that,” she murmured, her voice taking on a strange, almost hypnotic quality. “You’re learning, Sokka. Learning your place.”

He worked in silence, his movements mechanical, his mind racing. He could feel her eyes on him, studying every motion, every flicker of emotion that crossed his face. It was infuriating. Humiliating. And yet, there was something else—something he couldn’t quite name—that made his heart pound in his chest.

“You know,” Azula said after a moment, her tone conversational, “I’ve always admired your spirit. Your stubbornness. It’s why I decided to keep you alive. Broken, yes. But alive.” She chuckled softly, her foot flexing under his hands. “It’s almost… entertaining, watching you struggle against the inevitable.”

Sokka’s grip tightened on the cloth, his knuckles whitening. “You think you’ve broken me, Azula? You’re wrong. I’ll never—”

“Silence,” she snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. Her foot pressed against his chest, pushing him back until he nearly lost his balance. “You’ll never what, Sokka? Never submit? Never admit that I’ve won? You’re already on your knees, cleaning my feet. How much lower do you think you can go?”

Her words were like daggers, each one piercing deeper than the last. He wanted to lash out, to scream, to do something—but the collar around his neck sent a sharp reminder of his place. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and **** himself to continue.

Azula let out a satisfied hum, leaning back in her throne once more. “Good. You’re learning. Perhaps there’s hope for you yet.” She paused, her golden eyes narrowing as she studied him. “Tell me, Sokka. What do you think about when you’re down there? When you’re cleaning my feet like the obedient servant you are?”

He stayed silent, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He couldn’t give her the satisfaction. Couldn’t.

Azula’s smirk widened, and she leaned forward again, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re thinking about how powerless you are, aren’t you? How completely I’ve taken control of you. It’s written all over your face.” She reached out, her fingers grazing his cheek, and he flinched at the touch. “You can deny it all you want, Sokka. But deep down, you know the truth.”

Her hand trailed down his neck, her nails lightly scraping against his skin, and he couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through him. He hated how his body reacted to her—how his breath hitched when she touched him, how his pulse quickened when she spoke. It was madness. She was madness.

“Now,” Azula said, her voice commanding once more, “finish your task. And when you’re done, we’ll move on to something… more interesting.”

Sokka’s hands trembled as he continued, his mind racing with thoughts of what she could possibly mean. He clenched his teeth, focusing on the task at hand, but her presence was impossible to ignore. Her scent, her voice, her touch—they all lingered, like a poison seeping into his veins.

When he finally finished, he set the cloth aside and sat back on his heels, his head bowed. Azula studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable, before she rose from her throne and stepped down the dais. She stopped in front of him, her gaze piercing.

“Stand up,” she ordered, her voice cold and firm.

Sokka hesitated, his muscles tensing as he slowly rose to his feet. He towered over her, but the way she looked at him made him feel small. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the collar around his neck, and he stiffened.

“Do you know why I put this on you, Sokka?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with menace. “It’s not just to keep you in line. It’s a reminder. A reminder that you belong to me. That every breath you take is because I allow it.”

Her fingers trailed down his chest, and he sucked in a sharp breath, his heart pounding. She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “And soon, you’ll learn just how much control I have over you.”

Before he could react, she stepped back, her smirk returning. “Come with me,” she said, turning on her heel and striding toward the door. “We’re not done yet.”