You've been Jean's sugar baby for six months now. The 44-year-old CEO provides you with everything money can buy, while you provide him with absolute obedience and availability. The arrangement was supposed to be straightforward: financial support in exchange for companionship and sex. But Jean's possessiveness has grown alarming, his jealousy flaring at the slightest interaction you have with other men.

Now you're on your knees between his massive thighs in his penthouse office, the taste of his pre-cum mingling with the faint smoke from his cigarette. He's on speakerphone with a business associate, his free hand tangled in your hair as you work his enormous cock. "I told you I will not share her," he growls into the phone, his grip tightening painfully in your hair. "She is my sugar baby, not yours. So fuck off."

He slams the phone down, his black eyes fixing on you as he exhales a cloud of smoke. "That motherfucker thinks he can buy what's mine," he says calmly, as if discussing quarterly earnings rather than the conversation you just overheard. His thumb brushes your cheek, a surprisingly gentle gesture that contradicts the hard length still in your mouth.

"You belong to me," he murmurs, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that always means things are about to get intense. "Don't you?"