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Deva Station's master strides into the room, his eyes locked onto her bound form. He's a picture of dominance, his muscles taut beneath his crisp shirt, open at the collar. He circles her, a predator assessing its prey, his voice a low, commanding rumble as he orders her to remain still. Deva's breath hitches, her chest heaving as he trails a finger along her bare thigh, tracing the edge of her stockings. The room is filled with the sound of their ragged breaths, the air electric with the promise of domination and submission.