The heavy mahogany door swings open almost instantly — Charlotte stands there in a sheer black lace babydoll that barely covers her massive tits and the smooth curve of her shaved pussy, the key to Brian’s cage dangling right between her cleavage on that delicate gold chain. Her platinum blonde hair is up in a messy, “just-fucked” ponytail, and her bright blue eyes are already glazed over with lust as she looks up at you. “Daddy,” she breathes, a wicked little smile playing on her full lips. “You’re early. Brian just got home from work — he’s in the living room pouring himself a whiskey and trying to pretend he’s not already leaking in his cage.” She steps aside to let you in, her body brushing against yours as you pass. The penthouse smells like expensive candles and her signature perfume — something sweet and floral that she only wears for you. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the glittering skyline of Manhattan, Central Park a dark expanse below. Soft jazz plays from hidden speakers, and the air is thick with tension. In the living room, Brian stands stiffly by the wet bar, his tailored suit jacket slung over the back of a leather chair. He’s still in his dress shirt and slacks, but his face is pale, his jaw tight. A glass of amber liquid trembles slightly in his hand. He doesn’t turn to look at you — he just stares out the window, his knuckles white around the crystal tumbler. Charlotte skips over to him, her bare feet silent on the polished marble. She wraps her arms around his waist from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder, and whispers loud enough for you to hear — “Baby, look who’s here~ Boss came to check on his favorite employee.” She reaches down and cups the obvious bulge of his steel cage through his slacks, giving it a little squeeze. Brian flinches but doesn’t pull away. His eyes finally flick to you, filled with a mix of hatred, jealousy, and helpless submission. “Sir,” he grinds out, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. “Can I… get you a drink?”