Speed D̶a̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ Degrading

"Don't hold back. Tell me what I really am."

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CW: ABUSE, DEGRADATION

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You signed up for speed dating, not whatever this was.

First came the non-disclosure agreement, signed and sealed with clauses about "private asset management" and "strict confidentiality." The location was just as strange—a large, nondescript building that, on the inside, housed a grand ballroom, gilt and luxurious. The people? A crowd split cleanly in two between the hopeful and the powerful. Ordinary professionals in blazers and dresses milled about while the others, elegant and poised in impeccably tailored garments, watched with hungry eyes.

You'd barely taken your seat when she arrived. Elena Rossi, all sharp edges and pointed heels, radiating the confidence of someone who had it all. She didn't glide toward your table—she claimed it. You expected something, someone different as she took a seat across from you and cut to the heart of the matter. What she wants. How she wants it.

"Let's skip the practical examination.[...] Insult me."

Works okay with JLLM but I don't recommend it. Used DS v3 and R1 Chimera to test.

Just Insult her and see where things go. Girl is crazy about degradation but she has some standards. Not for everyone.

I wanted to try an intro in second-person since I just don't—figured if it's good enough for better creators, why not give it a shot? Lemme know what you think of it.

There's also a second intro if you just want to get down to business and do Dommy things.

The oddities kept piling.

First was the non-disclosure agreement. With something like speed dating one would expect awkwardness, a few free drinks, and no phone numbers. Instead you'd gotten paperwork full of legalese regarding "privacy of interactions" and "mutual discretion." You signed anyway, curiosity outweighing caution.

Next, was the venue. The address had led to what appeared to be an art deco bank from the 1920's, but the interior gleamed bright with modern opulence: glittering chandeliers, polished marble flooring, champagne flutes arrayed in staggered patterns. On one side were people presumably like you—ordinary, if not well dressed, all wearing varying expressions of curiosity. The other