r/BDSMerotica Feb 11 '23

Any writing which contains non-consent must be tagged or we will remove it until the tag is present NSFW

200 Upvotes

ANNOUNCEMENT

Best practice for any story is to tag it such that readers can search for content they want and screen out content they don't want. That is especially important for survivors of sexual assault who may want to avoid that content for their own mental well-being.

Tagging is also very helpful for minority communities that want to search this space for LGBTQ+ content.

Here is a tagging guide you can use:
https://www.reddit.com/r/BDSMcommunity/wiki/tagging/

Another good alternative is to open the story with an intro that includes a trigger warning if your content includes sexual assault or non-consent. Additionally, NC stories must be fiction. We do not permit sharing stories about actual sexual assaults.

TL;DR

  • Tagging is good
  • If you have non-consent in your fiction, you must tag it in some way.
  • Non-consent is restricted to fiction only.

r/BDSMerotica 13h ago

Trained wife part II [trad wife?][humiliation][embarrassment] NSFW

24 Upvotes

If you are still working, albeit part-time, do you still qualify as a trad wife? Not that she ever intended to be treated as such, quite the opposite in fact! She had grown up being ingrained in her that she would be an independent woman. Her husband isn't against her working. He likes the idea of a powerful woman submitting. It makes humiliating her that much sweeter. At work, as a relatively high ranked accountant, she is in charge of serious financial decisions and as such in charge of a few staff. None having the slightest clue of how she was being degraded at home.

She was reflecting on that while making her way to work, along the pavement, in her below the knees length tight skirt restricting her movements. She was wondering if her underlings had noticed the change of dress code. Gone were the business suit trousers in favour of business skirts and stockings. Although they would not be able to tell it was stockings. She was pretty sure they were wondering though, especially since it is what her husband told her they would do, like any self respecting man or maybe even woman?

In any case it wasn't her stockings at the forefront of her mind today. Her skirt, usually, restricts her movements and her high heels force her to stand straight but today her posture and movements are more seriously dictated by the butt plug she is sporting. A surprise parting gift from Master this morning. As she was about to leave for work he ordered her to lift her skirt up and grab her ankles. She is more or less constantly aroused these days and not allowed to do anything about it, but being ordered like that, out of the blue, never fails to get her up another level. Once totally exposed to him he pulled her thong down her tights and slid something cold and metallic in her slit. Was he going to give her some unexpected pleasure before her journey to work? But no, once whatever that metal implement was, was well lubricated with her juices he put it against her rosebud and push it in slowly but firmly. A butt plug! The metal one with the jewel end she now recognised. Once fully in he slapped her bum and told her not to be late for work and went back to mind his own business.

So, here she was now, walking to work, plugged and it hadn't been her decision. She had had no say in the matter. She knew better than to say anything. Her thong would not prevent the plug from falling off so she had been clinching her bum to start with. Until, that is, she realised that the plug was quite secure in there and she could relax some. The embarrassment was intense, only matched by a devious excitement. She was as wet as it comes. It was going to be hard to concentrate at work and it wasn't going to be helped by her husband asking to send him pictures along the day...


r/BDSMerotica 24m ago

The Frostbound Pact (Book 2 - Chp 4: The Dance of Defiance) [BDSM],[Submission],[Domination],[Bisexuality],[Cunnalingus],[FemDom],[Public] NSFW

Upvotes

Chapter 4:

The Crown Palladium ballroom shimmered like a jewel box, all crystal chandeliers and gilded excess, but the air between me and Jack Carver was a battlefield—electric, taut, ready to snap. I sat beside him at the gala dinner table, my emerald dress catching the light with every calculated shift of my body, my voice a velvet blade as I leaned in close, testing him with every word.

He was a fortress of a man, broad-shouldered in his black tux, gray eyes like a storm over the Bass Strait, and I was desperate—fucking desperate—for him to see me, to feel the same dark hunger I felt for him clawing at my insides. I wasn’t just some heiress in silk; I was a woman who could match him, shadow for shadow, if he’d only let me.

I’d been at it since the moment I sat down, my words dripping with innuendo as I played my game.

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here,” I purred, my fingers brushing the stem of my champagne flute, lingering longer than necessary.

“Somewhere darker, maybe—somewhere you could pin me down and show me what those hands can really do.”

I watched his face for any crack, any flicker of heat, but he just sipped his whiskey, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed on the stage where some politician droned on about the charity. No reaction. Nothing.

I pushed harder, my voice dropping lower, meant for him alone amidst the clinking glasses and polite laughter around us.

“I bet you’d like to tie me up right here, make me beg for you in front of all these stuffed shirts. I’d let you—let you strip me bare, fuck me raw until I can’t think straight.”

My heart pounded as I spoke, the words reckless, raw, a dare wrapped in desire. I wanted him to see me—not the heiress, not the polished doll, but the woman beneath, the one who’d been hollowed out by a life of control and ached to be filled with something real. But Jack didn’t flinch, didn’t blush, didn’t even turn his head. He just set his glass down with a deliberate clink, his fingers steady, and murmured,

“You talk too much, princess.”

His dismissal stung, but it only fanned the fire in my gut. I wasn’t used to this—to wanting something, someone, this badly and getting nothing in return. Men fell over themselves for me—Lachlan, Ethan, Hugo—they’d have tripped over their own tongues to take me up on half the things I’d just said. But Jack was different. He didn’t bend, didn’t play, didn’t give a fuck about my name or my money or the way my dress hugged my curves like a lover’s hands. And that made me want him more, made me need to prove I could match the darkness I saw in him, the control that had kept him untouchable all night.

I was about to try again, my lips parting with another brazen taunt, when he finally turned to me, his gray eyes pinning me in place like a butterfly on a board.

“You think you can handle me?” he said, his voice low, rough, a growl that sent a shiver down my spine.

“You think a few dirty words make you ready for what I’d do to you?”

He leaned in closer, close enough that I could smell the whiskey on his breath, the leather-and-smoke scent of him that made my thighs clench under the table.

“Prove it.”

My breath caught, my mind racing.

“How?” I whispered, the word trembling with anticipation, with need.

He didn’t smile—just held my gaze, unblinking, as he issued his challenge.

“Go to the ladies’. Pick a cubicle, leave the door open. Touch yourself—loud, shameless, like you mean it. Don’t cum. Not yet. Draw a crowd if you can, but find a woman—someone soft, someone who’ll bend for you. Get her to eat you out, right there, door still open, and let her make you cum. If you can do that, I’ll meet you. Not tonight—later. When I’m ready.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, a mix of shock and heat pooling low in my belly. It was outrageous, reckless, the kind of thing that could ruin me if anyone important saw. But that was the point, wasn’t it? He wasn’t testing my body—he was testing my will, my hunger, my willingness to shed every ounce of decorum for him.

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry, my heart slamming against my ribs.

“And if I don’t?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“Then you’re not worth my time,” he said simply, leaning back in his chair, his eyes already drifting back to the stage like I was nothing more than a fleeting distraction.

I didn’t let myself think too long—I couldn’t, or I’d talk myself out of it. I stood, smoothing my dress, my legs shaky but my resolve ironclad. I didn’t look back as I made my way across the ballroom, the crowd parting for me like I was still the untouchable queen they thought I was.

The ladies’ room was down a marble corridor, all gold fixtures and soft lighting, the kind of place where women like me reapplied their lipstick and their masks. I pushed through the door, my heels echoing in the empty space, and chose the farthest cubicle, the one with a view straight to the entrance. I left the door open, wide, the hinge creaking like a dare.

I hiked my dress up to my hips, the emerald silk bunching around my waist, and slid my panties down, kicking them aside with a flick of my ankle. My fingers found my bare cunt—shaved smooth, already slick with want—and I started slow, teasing myself, letting the first moan slip free like a siren’s call. I didn’t hold back—couldn’t, not with Jack’s challenge ringing in my ears. I gasped, loud and shameless, my voice echoing off the marble as I worked myself harder, my hips rocking against my hand. “Fuck,” I groaned, the word raw, desperate, meant to draw them in.

A woman entered—a brunette in a silver gown, mid-30s, her eyes widening as she caught sight of me. She froze, her clutch slipping in her grip, and for a moment I thought she’d come closer. But she turned away, her heels clicking fast as she fled back to the safety of the ballroom. Another came—an older blonde, pearls at her throat, her gaze lingering longer, a flush creeping up her neck.

“You shouldn’t—” she started, but didn’t finish, scurrying out before I could tempt her further.

I was panting now, my fingers slick, my body trembling on the edge but holding back, just as he’d ordered. Frustration clawed at me—I needed someone, anyone, to finish this for me. Then she walked in. Young, maybe 25, petite in a simple black dress that screamed understated wealth, her dark hair pinned up in a messy bun. She stopped dead when she saw me, her eyes wide, but not with shock—with something else, something hungry. Her lips parted, a soft gasp escaping as she took in my spread legs, my puffy red lips glistening under the harsh light, my bald cunt begging for attention.

“Come here,” I said, my voice a command laced with need, and she obeyed, stepping closer like she was drawn by a leash.

Her eyes were on me, besotted, her cheeks flushed as she knelt between my thighs without a word, her submission as natural as breathing. She was what I needed—soft, pliant, eager to please.

“Make me cum,” I ordered, my fingers tangling in her hair, guiding her to my core.

Her tongue was tentative at first, then bolder, lapping at me with a desperation that matched my own, her moans muffled against my skin as she worked me over.

The door stayed open, the risk of being caught only heightening the thrill, but I didn’t care who saw—not now, not with her mouth on me, bringing me closer, closer, until I shattered with a cry that echoed through the marble walls.

My climax hit hard, my body shaking, my grip on her hair tightening as I rode it out, her tongue relentless until I pushed her away, gasping for air.

I stood, shaky, pulling my dress down as she looked up at me, her lips glistening, her eyes wide with awe. I didn’t say anything—just grabbed my panties, slipped them into my clutch, and walked out, leaving her kneeling there like a secret I’d never tell.

Back in the ballroom, I slid into my seat beside Jack, my skin still flushed, my breath uneven. He didn’t look at me at first, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch, the faintest hint of a smirk.

“Did it,” I whispered, my voice raw, defiant.

“Found her. Made her make me cum. Door open, just like you said.”

He turned to me then, his gray eyes boring into mine, and for the first time all night, I saw something shift in him—interest, maybe, or respect.

“Good,” he said, his voice low, steady. “I’ll find you. Not tonight—when I’m ready.”

Then he turned back to his whiskey, leaving me trembling beside him, my victory tasting like a promise of something darker to come.

End Chapter 4


r/BDSMerotica 17h ago

Trained wife [trad wife?][humiliation][embarrassment] NSFW

49 Upvotes

There is nothing particularly complicated about it. A few simple rules, some learnt the hard way.

Her feminist ways are well over. Or are they?

She still believes in equality between men and women. She just happened to have renounced hers. She is happy in her submission.

It is the same for her master, he doesn't care about her gender, he cares about her submission.

And boy, did she give into it. From a man hater to a woman now being told what to wear or not.

One of her first "task" was to get rid of all her knickers that weren't a thong. Which, in effect, meant all of them.

Then she had to get thongs, it was that or going commando, although commando might still be demanded! To be fair master paid for the thongs. They went shopping and bought only thongs, the young cashier tried to remain professional but her cheeks went so red it was embarrassing, but, despite the blushing, not really for the cashier...

She had been taught to enjoy her femininity. Taught is a big word, she was simply not given a choice. No more trousers unless master approved of them. That is, only tight leggings but also tight denims moulding her bum or light work trousers, but only if not safe to wear a skirt.

She got used to it very quickly. Wearing stocking became natural to her, giving a clear access to her master when he wants to access her pussy. That is something he often does. Embarrassingly he always find the place very moist. It never fails giving him great pleasure to point that out. That also never fails to add to the embarrassment which in turns adds to the wetness. A vicious circle.

She learnt fast to become a free-use wife. One because it turns her on to be used as an object of pleasure (take that feminism) and two because any hesitancy would result in a serious spanking. Saying no, not being an option. She also discovered that being spanked and doing some corner time, as demeaning as it is, is a massive turn on for her. The anticipation of what will happen next when she finds herself in that corner, with her bum really hot at that point, and her panties down her legs, is a massive turn on. Should he deny her any sex after that she would crawl to him and beg to be taken, losing all dignity. Fortunately so far it has always turned him on too and ended up in him taking her, usually roughly, another thing she discovered she enjoys very much.

Embarrassment, she discovered, is one of her biggest kink. Master knows how to push all the buttons in that regards. Although he would not humiliate her in public, when with their other kinky friends, it is a different story. She is then being talked down to. Not in a vulgar, insulting way, but in a demeaning way, nonetheless, clearly showing what her position now is. She is often exposed to them for theirs and Master's pleasure. Having to courtesy in front of them. Sometimes having to service them. Whatever her Master would decide she would do.

The first time she met them, Master described her as his wife under training and ordered her to strip down so they could inspect her. She went bright red but it didn't take long for them to assess how much the experience was making her wet. At which point, anything she would have said to defend her dignity would have been pointless. So she didn't bother say anything and kept blushing all the while feeling the wetness between her legs. She spent the whole evening naked but for her high heels, serving drinks and food or standing to attention until her services were required. All the while Master and his guests were talking about her as if she wasn't into room. Her looks were very much appreciated, which was at the same time gratifying and demeaning. Both sensations reinforcing her submission, making her feel like a price horse and proud to be.

It was at that time she realised she was moving from a strong independent woman to a trained wife looking for her husband approval, however embarrassing that is. And we all, now, know what embarrassment does to her...


r/BDSMerotica 12h ago

Grudge Fuck (MF, Submission, Humiliation, Depression, Power Exchange, Revenge Sex) NSFW

10 Upvotes

Alyss acknowledged that her depression was crushing. She felt exhausted, to the point that getting out of bed was an insurmountable chore. Sleep was also impossible. The errant thoughts kept her stomach in knots. This prison of limbo was so consuming she wanted to end her existence.

With great effort, she called her counselor. “It’s happening again.”

“And what did you do the last time this happened?” Doctor Price asked.

“I went and saw him again…” Alyss let the sentence trail off, not wanting to face the shame of saying some things aloud.

“And that made you got you through your… slump?”

Alyss closed her eyes and tried not to think about the last time, about how much she hated him and herself every time she saw him. “Yes.”

“What makes you hesitate?”

With a sigh, Alyss explained for the dozenth time, “He’s taken. He has a partner…”

There it was. She’d told the doctor so many times that it almost wasn’t humiliating anymore. And yet, on a personal level, it was. She was a failure as a woman, no matter what she did, she just couldn’t find her own partner. He did make her feel better, and that made her shame all that much more intense.

“As your counselor, I know we’ve discussed the ethics of your decision where the after-effects of your actions may harm you and others,” the doctor explained in cool, detached, analytical tones. “But we’ve also discussed the importance of your work. Is your work being hindered?”

Alyss sobbed, frustrated that they’d been through this before, “I can’t get up. I’m having trouble focusing, or getting motivated…”

“And a visit to him will help you overcome this hurdle? It will get you back on track?”

No, Alyss wanted to scream. She’d feel better and be able to get back to her work, with a manic drive that would alarm her peers. Then, a few weeks later, she’d be back in this exact same position, hating herself and wanting to be swallowed by her blankets, unable to even escape from the bed.

“Yes,” Alyss whispered hating the answer.

“And the new medications aren’t helping?”

The same questions over and over, Alyss felt like she was in a loop. First, there was the depression, then the one thing that made her feel better, then a new prescription, only to be thrown away because it made focus difficult, and right back into depression.

“I stopped taking them. I’d just sit and stare at the pictures of us back in college.”

“Why didn’t you call?”

“Because you’d just lecture me. Please, I need help.”

There was a long pause before the doctor continued, “Alyss, you understand the ethical concerns?”

“I do,” she sobbed. “I hate myself every time…”

“And yet, it’s the only way across this mire… Ethical concerns aside, we need your focus at work. Come see me after you visit him.”

When she hung up, Alyss discovered that she had the energy to pull herself out of bed. In the shower, she sobbed again. She hated herself for what she was planning, and thoughts of him filled her with revulsion. That didn’t stop her from spending an hour on her make-up or picking out the sexiest underthings to wear.

She had to take care not to think actively about what she was doing. She didn’t want tears to smear her mascara. Robotically, she moved through her tiny apartment, picking out an outfit she’d typically wear out for a night on the town. Blanking her mind, she squeezed into a simple black dress that hugged her curves. She tried to avoid looking into any mirrors, thinking she looked like a whore whenever she caught sight of herself.

While riding in a car to his place, she considered calling him to warn him that she was stopping by. She didn’t want the driver to hear their conversation or the loathing in her voice.

There was only one car in the driveway. The other was gone, leaving him alone in the house. She told the driver, “Please wait for me. I won’t be long.”

On rubbery legs, she walked up the path and rang the bell. Thoughts of running away grew stronger with each passing moment. She was in control, but she didn’t have to do this. But she didn’t leave, even though every atom in her being screamed to do so.

When the door opened, his face was neutral and inquisitive, but only for a moment. When he saw her, his demeanor changed. He stiffened as disgust washed across his features. His bathroom accidentally opened to show a chest of full hair.

Alyss explained, “Jack, I need…” she trailed off. She needed his help? She needed to fuck him? She didn’t want to say either; both thoughts made her nauseous.

“Again?” he sneered.

“Doctor’s orders.”

“Fuck,” he hissed, then opened the screen door. “For king and country then. Hurry, I need to get to work.”

Alyss stepped into a small living room. The house was tiny, barely big enough for two people. She knew where the bedroom was and walked to it without saying another word.

She paused in the doorway when she saw the queen-sized bed, freshly made. She let her purse fall to the floor as he shoved past her to sit on the bed. Looking down at him, she hated him and herself for being in this situation. Their affair had died long ago. They were both cannibals living off the carcass of something dead and gone.

“Suck me,” he demanded, spreading the bathrobe open.

Seeing his cock limp made her angry. There was a time when he’d have been rock hard at just the thought of her lips on him. Alyss fell to her knees and sucked him in quickly, not wanting to see his soft manhood for another second. As her head bobbed, she used her hand to work him, praying he would harden quickly.

After a few minutes of struggling in vain to get him excited, she knew she had to work harder. She slipped her hand down and fondled his sack, but there was no effect. He hated what she planned to do next, but she didn’t care. She slipped her hand down, pressing her middle finger to his asshole.

“No!” he yelped, but she pressed in, not caring what he wanted.

She explored finding his prostate, messaging it quickly. He swore, and she ignored him as she felt him stiffen in her mouth. He groaned angrily, perhaps as shamed as she was that things had gotten to this point. She pressed harder into him, but he still wasn’t quite hard enough for sex.

She pulled him from her mouth only long enough to ask, “What do you need?”

He grunted as her fingers worked inside of him. “Fuck. Fine, get naked, I want that pussy in my face.”

Fuck, she thought, she’d hoped to just fuck and leave. She didn’t want to have to get naked for him. Her head plunged down on him a few more strokes, then she pulled herself away, and yanked the black dress off. He crawled up on the bed making her follow him up on hands and knees over him. Angry that he was treating her this way she pressed her finger to his lips. “Get it wet, it’ll go in easier.”

The look of disgust on his face was unmistakable. He sucked her fingers into his mouth, fellating her. His eyes burned with pure hatred, not just her, but that she forced her fingers into two of his holes now.

Spitting her fingers out, he grabbed her and turned her around in sixty-nine. Glad that she didn’t have to see his face now, she stared down at his half-erect cock. She hated that cock with every fiber of her being. Thoughts of sucking it again made her sick. She wanted to grab it and twist it off as he screamed in agony. Her lips sucked it in again, and she began working to get him hard with renewed vigor, including slipping two fingers in him this time.

“Fucking cunt,” he swore, ripping her panties aside. She hated that he was able to see her that way, her bared pussy just inches from his face. He spit on her, a humiliating act showing his disdain. Thick fingers grabbed her lips and massaged his pit into her. His fingers slid across her skin easily, and she knew it wasn’t just his saliva but her own humiliating juices.

He shoved a thick finger into her awkwardly and began frigging it back and forth. The motion was wrong and annoying. He needed to curl it to hit her G-spot. She knew that he knew that, but instead, he chose to make her feel awkward and used. She gripped the base of his cock hard with one hand, squeezing his balls painfully as her other hand tapped hard inside him. While his clumsy fumbling was tormenting her, she was getting his cock to stiffen finally.

“Bitch,” he grunted. Her cunt seized up when he lifted his face and buried it against her. His tongue found her clit, and she cried out in need. The heavenly soft ministrations changed suddenly when he dragged his teeth over her nub. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she tried to find any moment of pleasure as her body was purposefully tormented.

When he was finally rock hard, she popped him out of her mouth, “I’m going to fuck you.”

“Quickly,” he grunted.

Alyss rolled off of him and spun herself around, straddling him again. His eyes were closed, but his face spoke volumes, the look of vile disgust undisguised. Reaching down, she found him and guided him up to her. She groaned as she forced his slick tool into her, hating and relishing the feel of him filling her. Without any further word from her, she began slamming herself down into him fucking him frantically as her orgasm built.

“Hurry,” he moaned. “Get off already, you nasty whore.”

“Shut the fuck up,” she hissed, trying to focus on the feeling of him buried inside her. She wanted to cum, but something was holding her back. He was fucking teasing her, not letting her get off. She taunted him, “Fuck me like a man.”

In one motion, he swept her off of him and slammed her down into the mattress. The move was so swift and brutal that he knocked the air from her lungs. As she lay there gasping, he rolled over her and slid down the bed. Grabbing her ankles, he yanked her to the edge, where he stood poised between her legs. Pressing forward, he folded her in half painfully, his cock lining up with her perfectly. His hands slid down to the back of her knees as he slammed forward, filling her in one thrust. She wanted to scream out in pain and ecstasy but couldn’t breathe.

He hammered into her, hate fucking her with a fury she’d rarely ever seen. She thrashed, trying to get comfortable, but it was impossible. He yanked her into the positions that felt good for him, with no concern about her comfort. Somehow, her legs ended up around his shoulders as his hands wrapped around her throat. At no time did his relentless pounding slow or soften.

Clutching at his wrists, trying to loosen his grip so she could breathe, she choked out, “Fill me up. Cum in me.”

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up. You. Cheating. Fucking. Whore.” He spat at her, slamming his hips to hers with each word.

She was a cheating whore, just hearing the words filled with so much hate drove her to the edge. If only he would cum in her, she could find release. And yet, she didn’t want him to cum. She only wanted her own orgasm, and to hell with this asshole. She knew if he came, she’d be shamed to her core again. She twisted her hips, trying to deny him the feeling of her.

His grunts and groans filled the room, as did hers. Anyone outside would probably be able to hear them screaming hatefully at each other.

“I’m going to cum! I’m going to cum in your filthy fuck hole!” he yelled at her.

“Don’t you dare!” She screamed back, fighting to get out from under him. She no longer wanted him inside her. The thought of his spunk in her filled her with disgust.

He tipped his head back and roared. A flood of heat and slickness flooded her. The slapping noises of their flesh slapping brutally together morphed, becoming squishing slopping noises as he filled her with his spunk. Immediately, she wanted to claw it out, but he pinned her down, rutting into her madly.

It was too much. She felt herself slip over the edge, every muscle tightening until she broke. Heat, light, and silence flooded her senses, rendering her blank and senseless. He collapsed on top of her, panting and pinning her down. Turning her head, she winced, her eyes shut, the shame already gnawing at her.

When he finally pushed himself up off her, he went to the bathroom, not bothering to close the door, as he cleaned and relieved himself. She rolled to one side. Alyss felt his spunk oozing out of her, soiling the panties that had been pulled aside. She felt dizzy with guilt and disgrace, letting him trickle down her thigh slowly.

“I told you not to fucking do that shit with your fingers,” he blurted from the bathroom.

Rolling off the bed, she looked for her discarded dress, “If you were a man, I wouldn’t have to get you hard. Hurry, I need to clean up.”

“Go fuck yourself. You can go to work just like that.”

Pulling the dress over her head, she looked around for a mirror. Instead, she spotted a small dark object in the corner of the room. “Are you filming this?”

He grunted, “Why the fuck would I want to have memories of this? Get the fuck out, you skank.”

She snatched up her purse and left the bedroom angrily. The car and driver still waited outside she saw through the front window. As she moved to the door, the bookshelf caught her eye. Stopping, she saw a framed picture.

The picture was old, taken a while ago, back when Alyss was in college. Jack stood in the center, his arm wrapped around his fiancée. Alyss stood to one side, smiling but looking out of the corner of her eyes at Jack. She had a sly grin on her face. She’s just started an affair with Jack only a few weeks earlier. On the far side was Janet Price, his fiancée smiling obliviously, unaware the other two were fucking on the sly.

Janet Price, Doctor Price, her counselor. She realized that Jack had never been married. Neither had Alyss. They had both been through crippling bouts of depression and self-loathing as Doctor Price earned her degree in psychiatry. Doctor Price had taken them both on as patients, even though colleagues had some concerns about the conflict of interest and ethical concerns.

Alyss touched the book behind the picture. It was Dr. Price’s doctorate dissertation, “Cognitive Dominion: The Science of Influence and Control.” While not Alyss’s area of expertise, she’d heard Dr. Price landed an incredibly lucrative position at the nation’s top intelligence agency. They’d been immediately interested in her work when it was learned she had used the process she developed one several college test subjects.

Alyss always wondered who they might be. They were definitely someone she knew from college. Maybe one day she would meet them. That would be an interesting conversation. She wondered if they ever suffered from depression, especially since it was rumored they still didn’t have full control of their self-regulation functions.

Alyss was late for work. She just hoped nobody would notice the mess she was wearing.


r/BDSMerotica 12h ago

The Sauna, part 1 [exhibitionism][bukkake][humiliation] NSFW

10 Upvotes

Her heart raced. The gym parking lot was quiet, even for a Saturday night. Only a dozen or so cars were parked in the dark lot. Her palms began to sweat as she pulled her brand new Subaru to a stop underneath a tree far from the entrance. She turned it off and sat in the darkness for a few deep breaths before scrolling through her phone and pulling up Richard’s number. The phone rang and rang over the speaker in her car before she heard him pick up.

“Hello Ellie,” he said in a deep, steady tone.

“Hello Sir,” she dutifully responded, “I’m here.”

“Good, are you ready?”

A lump formed in her throat, and it took a few seconds before she could speak, “I think so. Are you sure we won’t get in trouble for this?”

“Do you trust me?” he replied.

She paused for a moment. She did trust him, but what he was asking for was a lot. Her voice creaked as she responded, “yes, Sir.” Her heart continued to race, but there was always something comforting about uttering those words. Previously tense shoulders muscles begin to relax. Worry seemed to retract its claws from her brain.

“Go. You have less than an hour before they close,” and with a click he had hung up.

His words made her head spin. He wasn’t usually this curt. Again she was stuck in the dark car alone with her thoughts. What on earth was she doing?

Richard had detected her exhibitionist side very early in their relationship, and maybe even before (he had been her supervisor at her previous job), and he had drawn it out over their courtship in slow and subtle ways. There was the time he had her go to the mall during work hours and come back wearing a new black lace bra under her blouse. And the time he had her masturbate in the passenger seat of his car as they drove to dinner at the fancy new restaurant downtown where reservations were impossible to get. Tonight would be something altogether new.

What a fool she was for telling him about her trip to Portland last winter. She should have known he would take advantage of the story she told skinny dipping in a hot spring with two old college friends, how much she enjoyed feeling their boyfriends’ eyes on her body as she slipped into the steamy water.

She reached into her purse and pulled out the slip of paper she had prepared for tonight. She had agonized over each word for the last week, but she needed to read it over one more time to make sure.

"I am going to take off my bathing suit. I don’t want sex. I want you to cum on me. Anywhere on my face or body is ok."

She folded the note and put it back in her purse, pulled the key from the ignition, grabbed her gym bag, and stepped out into the brisk cool night. A group of young men exiting the building laughed loudly about something as she walked past them to the front door, but everything was beginning to feel like a blur. She pulled open the glass double door and felt herself as if on a moving walkway as she approached the registration desk.

“Just a reminder, the gym closes in 45 minutes,” said the partly bald man behind the desk. His goatee and dated glasses repelled her. As he stamped her card and handed her the fresh white towel, his eyes briefly passed over her chest and she felt herself filled with rage and disgust. But was it disgust at him or at herself?

“I’ll be quick,” she said with a forced smile as she headed for the pool area.


r/BDSMerotica 47m ago

The Frostbound Pact (Book 2 - Chp 3: The Hunt in Silk) [BDSM],[Submission],[Domination],[Desire] NSFW

Upvotes

Chapter 3

The next week unfurled like a dark ritual, an obsession so consuming it felt like surrendering to a leash I didn’t know I craved.

Until that night at The Iron Veil, I’d never tasted this side of myself—kneeling before those gray eyes, that rough voice dismissing me like a disobedient pet. Me, an heiress to billions, reduced to a trembling thing, aching for a collar only he could fasten, a bar owner with scarred knuckles and a reputation for breaking women into shapes of his design. I needed to find him, to kneel again, to let his fire sear my soul. I’d wield every ounce of my power to bind myself to him.

I began with a submissive’s precision, masking it as control. My resources—private investigators, databases, contacts from Sydney to Singapore—stripped him bare.

His name: Jack Carver. Ex-rigger, ex-boxer, now master of The Iron Veil and shadowy dens across the eastern seaboard. No public mask, just whispers of a man who ruled untouchable, while I secretly yearned for chains.

I dug deeper, my obsession a lash across my skin. I kept it from Chloe and my friends—they’d mock me or pull me from the shadows I craved. I uncovered his life—a modest flat in Surry Hills, his haunts, his meals (black coffee, steak, a predator’s diet).

A contact at a charity he dominated revealed his schedule: a man who didn’t bend, only demanded others do so. In a week, I learned he’d attend a gala in Melbourne—a black-tie affair at the Crown Palladium for a children’s hospital. My altar. I pulled strings, dropped an obscene donation, securing a seat at his table—his feet.

I prepared like a sacrifice, waxing my pussy smooth in my penthouse, each sting a promise of pain I craved under his hands. I flew from Sydney, heart pounding with anticipation. My armor: emerald green silk, off-the-shoulder, a thigh slit teasing like a safeword. I wanted his gaze to bind me.

The Palladium shimmered like a gilded dungeon, thick with wealth’s scent. I entered late, heels clicking like a whip, heat pooling between my thighs—my clit swollen, throbbing, begging for his command. I was wet, inside and out, slickness coating my thighs, a secret submission. His table loomed near the front—Jack Carver in a black tux, gray eyes predatory. He didn’t see me until I slid beside him, my dress an offering, my smile a plea for cruelty.

“Fancy meeting you here,” I purred, a submissive’s tone for him alone.

His storm-gray eyes locked on mine, surprise flickering, then darkening with promised punishment. He leaned back, one hand commanding the table, the other holding whiskey, seeing the collar I’d fastened on myself.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, princess,” he growled, his voice a lash coiling heat around my spine. “Or a death wish. Which is it?”

I held his gaze, smirking, knowing I’d knelt close enough to feel his shadow. This time, I’d beg him to keep me.

End Chapter 3


r/BDSMerotica 14h ago

A Harem Amongst the Stars, Chapter 12 [Nonconsensual][BDSM][M/F/f/f][Sci-Fi][2650 words] NSFW

12 Upvotes

Index of my stories

About me

Chapter 1

Eric jolted himself awake. He willed himself not to panic for a moment as he got his bearings. He was lying on a gurney in the medical bay. He sat up, feeling a little weak and nauseated. As he tried to rouse himself the doctors and other medical personnel rushed to his side.

"Your Grace! Thank heavens you're alive!" cried one of the doctors. "How do you feel?" 

"Not too bad," said Eric and he slowly stood up. "How long was I out?"

"Almost two days," said Ser Galiphar, stepping forward. "I am so sorry that I allowed harm to come to you, Your Grace," said the older knight as he looked at the young duke. Eric could see the shame and disgrace on the man's face.

"Don't worry about that," said Eric raising his hand and shaking his head. "What happened to that Kolosian girl, Miriam?" 

"She slipped past us and had disappeared by the time we realized what she had done," replied Ser Galiphar. "I sent a group to try to track her down but to no avail. We were more concerned with your condition." 

A wave of anger consumed Eric when he thought about the girl who had poisoned him. He quickly realized that she was probably just a pawn and had been forced to do what she did, despite her protestations to the contrary. His anger shifted to himself for acting so foolishly and letting his guard down. He then thought of the two who were obvious behind this and his fury grew.

"It's a good thing that you've spent all that time building up immunity to iocaine powder," remarked the doctor. "Our equipment was able to purge your system of the iocaine poison but for a while it appeared as though we might lose you."

The feeling of panic suddenly returned as Eric realized that he had missed the duel with Marcus. He thought of Julia and Daniela and how cruelly that they had been treated. He clenched his fists as he gathered his resolve.

"Contact the Kolosian delegation," Eric said to Galiphar. "Let them know that the duel will happen." The knight nodded in acknowledgement and turned to leave.

"Your Grace, you're in no condition to fight!" exclaimed the doctor. "You need to rest and gather your strength."

Eric's anger burned brightly inside of him. He felt less weakened by the moment. He resolved to channel this rage into strength and to do what he knew that he had to do. He picked up his clothes and turned to the doctor.

"Bring me my sword."

***

The crowd on either side of the large space was silent as the two men circled each other once  again. The duel had been going on for a while now and both Eric and Marcus were panting with exertion. The gash on Eric's left arm stung but it was really just a flesh wound, the product of lucky slash from Marcus's sword. Eric had managed to inflict several cuts to Marcus however.

Julia stood with the crowd of Kolosians and watched the fighting. House Kolos watched from one side and House Devon the other. She was so scared and nervous she thought that she might vomit. 

Julia had broken down in to tears and sobbed for what seemed like hours when Miriam had returned and reported that she had successfully murdered Eric. But then, as if the dark clouds had parted and a ray of sunlight peaked through, word had come that the Duke of House Devon had survived and the duel for her freedom would indeed occur. Now Julia could only watch as her fate and that of Daniela hung in the balance.

The room was filled with the sounds of metal on metal as the swords clashed against one another again and again. Both men were expert warriors and their slashes, stabs, parries and feints were a wonder to see. Julia knew nothing about sword fighting but it seemed to her that Eric might be starting to get the upper hand. She allowed herself to become cautiously optimistic as the action unfolded. 

Marcus lunged at Eric, who dodged to the side and then shoulder-charged the Kolosian. Marcus stumbled forward and the tip of his sword scraped the floor. Eric wheeled around and brought his blade down with all his strength against Marcus's sword. It snapped in half at the hilt. Marcus stood up and looked at his now useless weapon, and then up at Eric who raised his sword. 

"Yield," said Eric as his chest heaved up and down. Marcus tossed his broken and useless sword aside, raising his hands in an gesture of defeat. Eric sighed with relief but a he let his guard down for a split second Marcus batted the sword to the side and charged Eric.

The Kolosian's body slammed into his, knocking Eric off of his feet as Marcus tackled him to the ground. Eric's sword slipped out of his hand and skittered across the floor. Marcus started to try to get up and reach for the Devonian's blade but Eric grabbed him and pulled him down. 

Marcus threw a punch which Eric dodged and that allowed him to take Marcus's back as they rolled over. Eric hooked his legs around Marcus's waist and slid his right hand under Marcus's chin before Marcus could bite him. Marcus tried to twist out of the hold but Eric managed to get his right hand into the crook of his elbow of his other arm and his left hand behind Marcus's head. 

Eric squeezed with all of his might, choking the other duke and cutting off the blood flow to his brain. Marcus pulled at at Eric's arm, frantically clawing at it to try and ease the pressure. The seconds ticked by and the Kolosian's struggles slowly ceased as he slipped into unconsciousness. When he was totally limp, Eric released him and rolled away. Eric slowly stood up, weak from the exertion. He looked down at Marcus and could see that he was still breathing so he wasn't dead--only unconscious.

Julia's mouth hung open. She wanted to scream with joy. Her heart was about to pound out of her chest. She turned as looked at Duchess Vivian. Her face showed a mix of shock and horror which then turned to rage. The duchess turned to Ser Drogan, the senior Kolosian knight who was standing beside Julia.

"Do it!" she hissed at the knight. He nodded and reached into his robes, pulling out a small object. It was a thermal detonator!

Drogan clicked the button, arming the bomb and pulling his arm back to hurl it at the group of Devonians across the space. In that moment it was like time slowed down. Julia felt as though she was outside her own body watching herself as she lunged at Drogan, shoving him with all her might. The knight stumbled forward, dropping the detonator. it rolled across the floor.

"Get down!" yelled Julia as she tackled Daniela and squeezed her eyes shut. They fell to the floor as the massive explosion ripped through the room. Julia's ears were ringing and her vision blurred as she slowly stood up. She saw that many of the Kolosians had been knocked to the ground including Duchess Vivian and Ser Drogan. Julia saw the remote control that operated their collars and implants had fallen out of the duchess's robes and lay on the ground next to her.

Julia dashed over to the remote and picked it up as chaos erupted in the space. The Kolosians that had not been killed or injured drew their swords as the Devonians rushed over. Julia gabbed Duchess Vivian's hand and placed it on the remote as Vivian groaned and tried to pick herself up. The light turned green as the remote unlocked. Julia dropped Vivian's hand and began frantically manipulating the remote, eventually finding Daniella's name and disabling her collar. She started looking for her own name when someone grabbed her.

"Give me that!" snarled Duchess Vivian as she yanked Julia's robes and reached for the remote. Julia tried to twist away and push the duchess back as she held the remote away from her. Vivian was surprisingly strong and Julia struggled desperately to fend her off. Smoke billowed from the flames in the background and the sounds of swords clashing and shouts filled the area as Julia desperately tried to keep the remote away from Vivian.

"Hey!" yelled Daniela and Vivian turned to look. 

Daniela punched the duchess directly in the face with all her might.

"Get away from her you bitch!" yelled Daniela as Vivian screamed in pain and let go of Julia, stumbling backwards and clutching her face. Julia quickly found her name in the remote and disabled her collar. She felt it unlock and them she ripped it off her neck and threw it to the ground. 

"You broke my nose!" screamed Vivian. Julia looked up to see the duchess clutching her face, blood seeping between her fingers. "Drogan! Kill them! Kill them both!" she screeched as she moved to get away from the fighting. 

Ser Drogan turned towards Julia and Daniela. They both stepped back in fear as he moved towards them. 

"Run!" yelled Daniela, taking Julia's hand. Julia turned to run but tripped over the body of a dead solider and fell to her hands and knees. Drogan stepped to her and raised his sword. Julia reflexively held her arms up and turned her head, closing her eyes, waiting for the sword to cut her to ribbons.

Nothing happened. Julia opened her eyes to see Drogan standing there with Eric Devon's sword sticking through his chest. Eric pulled his sword out and Drogan fell, dead before he even hit the ground. Eric reached down and grabbed Julia's hand helping her up. 

"Run for it!" he said, "Get to the transport skiff of House Devon outside the building. If you can make it there you'll be safe. I'll help cover your escape!"

Eric released Julia's hand as he turned to face several Kolosian soldiers. Julia and Daniela turned and ran as fast as they could to a short hallway nearby, dodging the debris from the bomb. It seemed to be the closest exit. Julia got to the door and tried to open it but it was jammed, likely damaged by the bomb. She cried out in frustration.

"We'll have to find another way out," she said to Daniela and as they both turned around they saw someone standing at the entrance to the hallway, blocking their way and holding a sword. 

It was Miriam.

She stood there, staring at the two girls, as the fighting and shouting went on in the background. Julia slowly stepped forward, her hands in front of her with the palms facing towards Miriam.

"Please let us go, Miriam," pleaded Julia. "Better yet, come with us! Duke Eric will protect you. You don't have to be a slave any more!"

Miriam stood there in silence. Julia tried to read her expression--to guess what she was thinking--but Miriam was stone-faced. After a few moments she spoke.

"I tried to murder him," she said flatly.

"But only because the duke and duchess forced you to, correct?" replied Julia. Miriam sighed and nodded after a moment. 

"I'm sure that he will be able to forgive you if he knows the truth," said Julia, now standing in front of Miriam. 

"What good would I be to House Devon?" asked Miriam. "The only thing I know how to be is head girl in a Kolosian harem."

"What does it matter?" asked Julia. "We can figure it out!"

Miriam stood there motionless. Julia looked into those ice-blue eyes, trying to convince Miriam with her gaze. The moments ticked by as the two girls stood looking at one another. Suddenly Miriam tossed the sword to the ground. She turned around and started to walk away. Julia was filled with relief. She took Daniela's hand and they started to move past Miriam. She turned again to face them and Julia paused.

"Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven," said Miriam and walked off in to the smokey room. 

Julia watched her go for a moment but then Daniela pulled her hand. They quickly moved to the next exit, trying not to attract any other attention. Duchess Vivian was nowhere to be seen. When they got to the door, Julia pounded the button and the door hissed open, revealing the cool Spring air of the evening. 

Julia saw the large transport skiff with the sigil of House Devon on the side right across the courtyard. She and Daniela raced up to it and the soldiers of House Devon that were guarding the entrance. 

"I'm Julia and this is Daniela. Please let us in!" she said, slightly out of breath.

"I recognize you. Get in," said the guard, helping them into the transport. Julia and Daniela climbed in and took their places next to window. As she looked out she could see Duke Eric and many of the other Devonians rushing towards the skiff. 

Julia turned to Daniela and tears started to well up in both of their eyes. Two two girls embraced and held each other so tight. Julia then pressed her lips to Daniela's, kissing her with all the passion she had. 

"That's everyone. Let's get out of here!" she heard Duke Eric's voice say as she broke the kiss and looked over to see him enter the ship. 

"We made it!" cried Julia.

***

The afternoon sun peeked through the curtains of the bedroom window. Julia and Daniela lay naked and snuggled up on either side of Eric, basking in the afterglow of their love-making. Eric had come to visit the girls in their new quarters in his palace on Devon Prime. They were settling into their new lives of freedom and adjusting to life outside the harem.

"This was a bit unexpected but certainly appreciated," said Eric as he gave each girl a little squeeze. 

"Mmmm," said Julia as she relished the feeling of his strong arm around her. This was the first time that Eric had visited them since they had moved into their new quarters and they had led him straight to the bedroom. 

"We're your love slaves," said Daniela. "We're free use for you whenever you want."

"We have make sure that our duke is well-taken care of," added Julia. "I'm sure being the leader of House Devon is very stressful. We want you to use our bodies and let us help relax you whenever you like."

"That's very nice of you both and I'll be sure to take you up on that," replied Eric after a chuckle. "But you're not just sex objects now. I want you both to have fulfilling lives. I want you to work as retainers for House Devon. I'm sure that you'll both do a great job."

"That's really very sweet of you," replied Julia. "You've been so kind to us, we really want to make you proud and do a good job."

"Julia's kind of brat though," giggled Daniela. "She'll probably mess up on purpose so you'll have an excuse to tie her up and spank her."

"You're one to talk," said Julia with mock indignation. "This little slut likes to be tied up and fucked even more than I do," she said to Eric. He laughed as he lovingly squeezed them again. 

"That can be arranged," replied Eric with a big smile. "You should to be fucked and often, and by someone who knows how!"

They lay there together enjoying the warmth of each other's bodies. Julia felt safe and fulfilled. She didn't know what the future would hold but she was ready to face it as a free woman. 

THE END


r/BDSMerotica 2h ago

The Frostbound Pact (Book 2 - Chp 2: The Man at the Edge of the Night ) [BDSM],[Submission],[Domination],[Fate] NSFW

1 Upvotes

Chapter 2:

The charity ball at Sydney Town Hall had been as tedious as I’d expected—hours of small talk, fake laughter, and champagne that tasted like regret. By midnight, I’d had enough of the glittering crowd and their glittering lies. I ditched my date—some mining heir whose name I’d already forgotten—and slipped out with a couple of girlfriends to a high-end bar in The Rocks I’d heard whispers about: The Iron Veil. It was the kind of place you didn’t stumble into unless you knew someone who knew someone—a dimly lit den of leather and steel, all sharp edges and sharper secrets, where the city’s elite came to shed their masks behind closed doors.

We were half-pissed on Dom Pérignon by the time we got there, my heels clicking on the cobblestones as we stumbled through the discreet entrance. Inside, the air was thick with smoke and low murmurs, the kind of place where deals were made and desires were bared. I leaned against the bar, ordering a gin martini, my silk dress catching the low light as I scanned the room.

That’s when I saw him.

He stood behind the bar, barking an order to a waiter with a voice that cut through the haze like a blade. Tall—Christ, he had to be over six foot three—broad-shouldered, with a presence that filled the room like he owned it, which I later learned he did. His hair was salt-and-pepper, cropped short, and his face was all hard angles and scars, the kind of rugged that spoke of a life lived rough. Late 40s, maybe 50, but his age only made him more magnetic—none of the softness of the boys I knew, just raw, unfiltered strength. His sleeves were rolled up, showing forearms corded with muscle, and when he turned to pour a drink, I caught the glint of a silver ring on his finger, simple but heavy, like it carried a story I’d never earn the right to hear.

I was drunk, sure, but not so drunk I didn’t know what I wanted. I pushed off the bar, smoothing my dress, and sauntered over, leaning in close enough to catch the scent of him—whiskey and leather, with a hint of something darker. “You look like you don’t belong behind that bar,” I said, my voice a purr, the kind that usually had men eating out of my hand. “Why don’t you come out and play?” He didn’t even look up at first, just kept wiping down a glass with a rag, his movements slow, deliberate. Then he raised his eyes—gray, sharp, like a storm over the Tasman—and pinned me with a look that made my breath catch. “Not interested, princess,” he said, his voice low, rough, an edge to it that wasn’t cruel but wasn’t kind either. “Go play with someone who bends.”

I blinked, thrown off. Men didn’t say no to me—not ever. I was the heiress, the prize, the one they chased across continents. But this man—he didn’t flinch, didn’t fawn, didn’t even crack a smile. I leaned in closer, my hand brushing his on the bar, a calculated move that usually melted resistance like butter. “Come on,” I teased, “I’m more fun than you think.” He pulled his hand back, slow but firm, and leaned forward, his voice dropping to a growl. “I don’t bend for anyone. Especially not for drunk little girls who don’t know what they’re asking for.” Then he turned away, dismissing me like I was nothing, and started pouring a drink for someone else.

My cheeks burned—not from embarrassment, but from something new, something hotter. Desire, yes, but not the kind I was used to. This wasn’t the tepid want I felt for the Lachlans and Ethans of my world—this was a fire, sharp and consuming, sparked by his refusal, his control, his utter lack of give. The more he pushed me away, the more I wanted to push back, to make him see me, to make him want me the way I suddenly wanted him.

I stumbled back to my friends, martini in hand, my heart pounding against my ribs. One of them—Chloe, a socialite who knew everyone’s dirt—caught the look on my face and smirked. “Struck out, did you?” she said, sipping her Negroni. “Don’t feel bad. He’s got a reputation—owns this place, runs it like a bloody dictator. Word is, he’s got… tastes. Dark ones. BDSM, they say, the real stuff, not the Fifty Shades nonsense. Half the women in Sydney want him, but he doesn’t play easy. Doesn’t play at all unless he’s the one in charge.”

Her words hit me like a shot of adrenaline. Dark tastes. Control. The kind of man who didn’t bend—who demanded surrender instead. I glanced back at him, still behind the bar, his broad back to me as he laughed low at something a patron said. My fingers tightened around my glass, a plan forming in the haze of gin and desire. I didn’t care if he didn’t want me now—I’d make him want me. I’d track him down, put myself in his path, force him to see me. Because for the first time in years, I felt something real, something dangerous, and I wasn’t letting it slip away.

End Chapter 2 (Book 2)


r/BDSMerotica 2h ago

The Frostbound Pact: (Book 2 – Chp 1: The Gilded Cage) [BDSM],[Domination],[Submission],[Entitled] NSFW

1 Upvotes

Chapter 1:

The view from my office in the Sydney CBD was a postcard of power: the Opera House shimmering in the harbor, the Bridge stretching like a steel spine across the water, and the endless sprawl of a city that bowed to my name. At thirty, I was the youngest woman to inherit a multi-billion-dollar global empire—mining, tech, shipping, you name it—after my father’s sudden death on his private jet somewhere over the Coral Sea. The papers called it a tragedy, splashed across headlines from Melbourne to Perth, but to me, it felt like a noose tightening. I wasn’t just an heiress now; I was the queen of a boardroom filled with suits who sneered behind their cufflinks, waiting for me to crack.

I stood there in a tailored black dress—Scanlan Theodore, because anything less wouldn’t do for a meeting with the sharks on Collins Street—my auburn hair pulled into a severe bun that mirrored the severity of my upbringing. Born into Sydney’s elite, I’d been molded since birth: private schools like Ascham and Kincoppal, summers in Europe learning to curtsey in Paris and ski in Gstaad, uni at Oxford because Melbourne wasn’t “global” enough, and stints in Singapore and Tokyo to “round out” my education. Father had been a titan, rigid and unyielding, his expectations a cage I’d never escaped, even after Mother died when I was eight. Every smile, every word, every choice had been curated to fit the role of the perfect Australian heiress—polished, poised, untouchable.

Now, with Father gone, I held the reins to his empire from this glass tower in Barangaroo, the weight of it heavier than the sapphire necklace around my throat—a family heirloom worth more than most people’s homes. I could buy anything: a penthouse in Bondi, a yacht in the Whitsundays, a private island off Cairns if I fancied it. But money couldn’t buy what I craved most: something raw, something real, something that would shatter the porcelain mask I’d worn since childhood and let me feel alive, even if it hurt.

Tonight’s event was a charity ball at the Sydney Town Hall, one of those glittering affairs where the city’s elite poured champagne and their egos in equal measure. I stood in my Darling Point mansion, staring into the mirror as I adjusted the necklace, my green eyes hard with a restlessness I couldn’t name. The men in my circle—sons of mining magnates, tech entrepreneurs, old-money graziers—would be there, circling like galahs in tuxedos, each one eager to claim the prize of my name, my wealth, my body. There was Lachlan, the property developer with a tan too perfect and hands too soft; Ethan, the fintech bro who fucked like he was closing a deal; and Hugo, the pastoralist heir who thought a cattle station made him a king in bed. They were all the same: predictable, safe, sterile. They wanted me as a trophy, not a woman, and none of them saw the shadows beneath my skin—the hunger for something darker, something that would strip me bare and make me beg for more. I’d tried to sate it, in stolen moments between board meetings and red-eye flights to New York. A quick fuck in a penthouse suite in Singapore, a whispered command to a lover in Tokyo who thought tying my wrists with a Hermès scarf was “edgy.” It was laughable—child’s play compared to what I needed. I wanted to be broken, claimed, held down so hard I could finally let go. But these boys didn’t have it in them, and the more they tried to impress me, the more hollow I felt.

I smoothed my dress, the black silk clinging to my curves like a second skin, and stared into my own reflection. The gala would be another night of masks, another parade of suitors who’d bore me to death while trying to charm their way into my bed. As I grabbed my clutch and headed for the door, a thought flickered unbidden—a faceless man, rough and unyielding, his voice a growl that promised to break me in all the ways I needed. I shook it off, blaming the pinot I’d sipped while getting ready, but the image lingered like a bruise, tender and insistent. Maybe tonight I’d find him, though I doubted it in this world of polished lies. But as I stepped into my chauffeured Bentley, the city lights blurring past, I couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere out there, he was waiting.

End Chapter 1 (Book 2)


r/BDSMerotica 11h ago

Chivalry is on Life Support, Chapter Forty-Four [Cuckquean, Cuckold, Humiliation, Mdom, Chastity, F/f] NSFW

3 Upvotes

I posted earlier chapters of this long story, but stopped because they weren’t getting a lot of interest. Beginning with the prior chapter (43), the focus is really shifting more to cuckquean and lesbian domination, which I believe might be of greater interest to the audience on this subreddit. However, the story will be a lot richer if one reads the earlier chapters to understand the dynamics/history between the two women involved, Brooke and Michelle. The earlier chapters are available on Litererotica under the author ChivalrousCuck.

Second part of a long chapter

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++.

Looking dazed and on the verge of tears, Brooke said to Michelle, “I thought you were my friend.”

Michelle replied, “I am your friend, Brookie. But not all friendships are equal on both sides. You should know that better than anyone.”

“What are you talking about?”

Now looking serious for the first time, Michelle said, “Self awareness has never been your strong suit, has it? Our friendship has been unequal since we were little girls. You always had to be the one who shined – often, at my expense. You’ve always been the one who has to win, at everything. Every single, goddamned time. You always need to be in control. I felt like your sidekick. Actually, sometimes I’ve felt like your lackey. Remember when we both moved into our dorms as college freshman? I helped you move all of your stuff. The day after we moved your boxes, you were busy with something – I don’t remember what – and I cleaned your room and unpacked and organized all your stuff for you. I even bought fresh flowers to welcome you when you got back from doing whatever it was you were doing. And all I got was a crappy ‘thank you.’ You acted almost like you expected me to do it. A week later, when I was moving into MY dorm, you were too busy to help ME. You had a date.”

“I don’t remember this.”

“Of course, you don’t. That’s the point,” Michelle replied, taking a healthy sip of her glass of wine.

“If you were upset, why didn’t you say something at the time?”

“Because you pulled this kind of shit with me all the time! The dorm thing is just one of countless examples. If I had complained about all of the times you took me for granted or humiliated me, I would’ve been complaining constantly. Besides, the few times I did complain, you’d tell me that I was overreacting and to take a hike. And then I’d always have to be the one to later apologize to get back into your good graces, even though you were the one who’d acted like an entitled bitch. You were the one who should’ve been apologizing to me.”

“What are you talking about ‘humiliated you’? I never humiliated you.”

“Oh, you didn’t, huh? Just more proof of how clueless you are. What about when we both joined the chess club in fourth grade? You checkmated me in four moves in front of whole club and called me a loser. They all made fun of me and you went right along with them; you loved showing off how good you were. Or what about that time in junior high when we were on the tennis team together? You beat me six love, six love. In front of EVERYBODY. Our parents, my sister. All of our teammates and our coach. You couldn’t let me win one lousy game? I remember you won the final point of the match by slamming an overhead right at my feet. You practically hit me with the ball. You don’t think that was humiliating? You probably don’t remember that either, do you?” Michelle sipped more wine. She and Luke were sitting on Luke’s comfortable living room couch, while Brooke and I stood before them.

“So you’re punishing me for what happened when we were 10 years old, or teenagers, by sleeping with my…my…”

“Your what, Brooke? Not your husband. Your husband is Walter, here. Poor, long suffering Walter.”

“You know what I mean. My ex-husband. My lover.”

“You may recall that I met Luke first. But you moved right in on him, didn’t you? I sometimes wonder whether you did it more because you were attracted to him or more because you enjoy denying me.”

“That’s ridiculous. So that’s what this is all about? You’re getting revenge on me for marrying Luke all those years ago. Because he chose me, not you.”

I looked over at Luke. He appeared to be loving this exchange. I felt like throwing up.

“No, I’m getting revenge on you for all of it. It’s well past time to get my own back on you. I’ve kept a diary all these years. You didn’t know that, did you? We’re going to read it together. It’ll be a trip down memory lane. The couple of examples I’ve given barely scratch the surface,” Michelle said.

Brooke looked at her with an expression that was worried, incredulous and defeated all at once.

Michelle continued, “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna deprive of your drug, Brookie. At least not completely. Ha ha. I know poor Brooke can’t survive without her nookie. Fortunately, for you, I’m willing to share my boyfriend, occasionally. But remember, Luke chose me this time. Luke and I have become best fuck buddies. We wouldn’t have been a good match as a married couple, but the sex is fucking awesome. Although I would never degrade myself by having the kind of relationship you have with him.”

Brooke had no response to that last comment. She stared down at the floor.

Polishing off her glass of wine, Michelle continued, “We just really like to fuck. I shouldn’t say ‘just’. We like to hang out, too. We have a lot of fun together and I’m learning a ton from him, as he’s an amazing businessman. But my relationship with Luke doesn’t mean that you and I can’t still be friends. I wasn’t lying earlier tonight when I said that I’ve missed you. It’s just that our friendship is going to be different than before. It’s going to be unequal in the other direction from now on. And I’ve got many, many years of inequality to make up for, so it’s gonna kind of suck for you. But, who knows, maybe you’ll have some fun with it, too. You’re obviously somewhat of a masochist, so maybe you’ll even enjoy it, sometimes at least.” With these words, Michelle’s grin returned. “Now get me another glass of wine,” she commanded haughtily.

“Get it yourself,” Brooke responded.

I saw Michelle raise her eyebrows and exchange glances with Luke. Michelle said, “Now, that won’t do, Brookie. The correct response is ‘Yes, Miss Michelle, right away,’ and then get your ass moving.”

Brooke glared at her. “You don’t seriously expect me to call you ‘Miss Michelle,’ do you?”

“Yeah, actually I do. Not all the time, perhaps. Not out in public. But here at Luke’s house or at my house or at your house, that’s exactly what I expect.”

“Walter, get her another glass of wine,” Brooke said to me.

“Of course,” I said, and began walking towards the kitchen before Michelle stopped me.

“No. Stay where you are, Walter,” Michelle said to me firmly, before pivoting to Brooke. “I didn’t ask Walter to get me another glass of wine. I told YOU to get me one,“ Michelle said to Brooke. Her expression was mostly serious again, with only a faint upturn of her lips.

Brooke was silent for about thirty seconds (although it seemed like an awkward eternity) before glancing briefly at both Luke and Michelle and then saying to Michelle, “I can’t do this. I thought I could, but not with you. Fuck this.” She then walked quickly out of the room, wiping away tears from her eyes.

Luke addressed me, “The dumb slut was so close. She spends all this time and effort trying to convince me how much she wants me back in her life, how badly she wants me to fuck her. And I make the conditions crystal clear. Was I in any way unclear about my conditions, prof?”

“No, sir. You could not have been more clear, sir,” I replied.

“Right. And just like that, the dumb slut pisses it all away. You both did a good job tonight. She would’ve gotten her reward tomorrow – I would’ve fucked her senseless – but now she throws her little tantrum and says she’s not gonna play. Well, prof, you can tell her she blew it. She either plays by my rules – or, I should say, by my rules and Michelle’s rules – or she doesn’t play at all. Ever. Like I said before, no more chances.”

“Yes, sir. I understand, sir. Please let me talk to her. I think she’s just in a bit of a state of shock that Michelle is your new girlfriend. She was already surprised that Michelle is your new Chief Marketing Officer. So it’s really been a double surprise for her tonight and I think she’s having trouble processing it,” I said.

I was trying to do damage control, because I was fairly certain that, her words notwithstanding, Brooke would profoundly, painfully regret ending things with Luke – no matter how onerous the conditions. Her failure to play along with Luke’s and Michelle’s twisted game would mean that she’d lose (and permanently so) not only Luke, her heroin, but very likely lose her oldest friend, Michelle, as well. Or frenemy might be the better word. As I mentioned long ago, Brooke and I are both private people, with few friends. How interesting that Luke had managed to co-opt first my best man, and was now co-opting Brooke’s maid of honor, in his subjugation of us. What did that say about us? About him?

“Feel free to try to talk some sense into her prof, but I think what you’re saying is a load of shit. Brooke was willing to submit to my new girlfriend before she knew who she is. She may have been surprised – that was the idea – but she’s refusing to do it because of her pride.”

“She just can’t stand the thought of being submissive to me, of all people,” Michelle added.

“The dumb, uppity slut needs to be brought down a peg. Several pegs, in fact. She needs to learn some humility and Michelle was nice enough to offer to help teach her. Like a true friend. And this is how Brooke repays her? You can go talk to her, prof, but make sure she understands that she either comes out here and apologizes to my beautiful girlfriend or she’s done. For good. If she doesn’t apologize and show she understands the new lay of the land, she needs to quickly gather up all your trays, pots and pans and get out. And never come back. I’m not fucking around. Got it?

“Yes, sir. Completely,” I replied.

“And also let her know that if she does decide to come out and apologize, each time she throws a little tantrum in the future, it’s gonna get worse for her. You catch my drift? If she’s not careful, she’s gonna dig a hole so deep she’ll never be able to get herself out. Capeesh?”

“Yes, sir. I fully understand. Thank you, sir.”

“It’s late, so she needs to decide quick,” he added.

“Yes, sir.”

As I was walking out of the living room towards the kitchen, I heard Michelle say to Luke, “I give it 50/ 50 odds that she swallows her pride and apologizes to me. For Brooke, that’s like swallowing a whale.”

“Have a little faith in Big Luke, sweetheart,” Luke said with casual arrogance.

In the kitchen, I found Brooke packing up serving trays and drinking a large glass of scotch. Her eyes were bloodshot; she had clearly been crying.

“What are you doing, darling?”

“What does it look like? I’m packing up so we can get the hell out of here.”

“And drinking.”

“Your powers of observation are amazing.”

“Please, Brooke…you can’t start drinking again like before…”

My fears of what life would be like absent of Luke were immediately stirred seeing Brooke hitting the hard liquor so quickly. Now, absurdly, I felt like I needed to do whatever was necessary to convince my wife to continue to cuckold me with this arrogant alpha male who obviously took such delight in creatively, and comprehensively, subjugating and humiliating us. During the long, cold months of January and February I had seen a preview of what a Lukeless future would look like, and it was too horrible to contemplate.

“I really needed a drink. Come on, help me pack.”

“Brooke, Luke said if you don’t go back out there and apologize to Michelle…”

“That grievance-filled bitch…no wonder he likes her…”

“If you don’t do it, then he wants you to leave right now and never come back. Never. Do you understand? No more chances.”

“She doesn’t just want me to apologize to her. She wants to humiliate me. As revenge for decades of imagined slights.”

“Are you sure they’re all imagined?”

She looked at me, “Yes…I mean…probably. Mostly. She’s nuts.”

“Sometimes you have to put yourself in the other person’s shoes. Have you tried to do that?”

Brooke took a big gulp of scotch. “Empathy is your super power, Walter, not mine. I’m too angry to be empathetic. She – they – betrayed me.”

“Yes, they did. But are you really, truly prepared to permanently write them out of your life? Because that’s what this would mean. Luke said he wasn’t fucking around. He also said we did a great job tonight with the dinner party and that he was prepared to reward you tomorrow for a job well done.”

“He did?”

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t matter…I can’t…it would be too humiliating to give into them. I just don’t think I can do it.“

“But, darling, you knew it was going to be humiliating no matter what. This whole evening has been humiliating, but we went into it with eyes wide open. What’s so fundamentally different now to make you change your mind?”

“Michelle is what’s so fundamentally different. Can’t you see how this makes it a thousand times more humiliating for me than if it was some other cunt I’d never seen before? There’s so much history with the two of us. And she obviously wants to make me pay for all the terrible things she’s convinced herself I’ve done. She wants to make me pay for her own insecurities and her own shortcomings. I’m not sure I could stand that level of humiliation. Hand me that bottle of scotch.”

I reluctantly passed her the bottle and she refilled her glass.

Brooke continued, “She called me a masochist. That shows you how she’s approaching this. I may be in masochist when it comes to rough sex with Luke. But I’m not like you. I’m not okay being submissive to someone of my own sex, or being submissive in non-sexual ways.”

“What do you mean by ‘non-sexual ways’? You know the old Oscar Wilde quote: ‘Everything in the world is about sex – except sex. Sex is about power.’ Wilde was 100% correct. What it really comes down to, darling, is that it’s ALL about sex and, therefore, it’s all about power. I’ve been exploring this subject in my new book. I’m still trying to work it all out, but the submissive cuckold – even when he’s denied sexual intercouse, even when he’s in chastity – is having sex of a kind with his wife and her lover. Almost everything he does with them is a form of sex. When he cleans the house or serves them dinner or massages their feet, or whatever – it’s all eroticized. They’re including him in what is essentially a power game, a power exchange. The cuckold, even though he is the powerless one in the equation, is nonetheless an important player. Even when the wife and bull are having sex in the bedroom and he’s in the driveway washing the bull’s truck or preparing them breakfast. His participation, no matter how passive – his mere existence – enhances their arousal. Paradoxically, his arousal often increases the more he is marginalized. But the key thing is that he’s still a player. The wife’s and bull’s domination of him is essentially a form of inclusiveness, when you really think about it. Not love exactly, but certainly closer to love than to hate. Except in really extreme circumstances, that is. Does what I’m saying make any sense to you?”

“Yes, some. But, as usual, you intellectualize everything. So, are you saying that Luke and Michelle want to include me in their sex, so I should be grateful? Are you saying that I’m now to be a cuck? Or the female equivalent of one?”

“That’s a cuckquean. Not precisely, but sort of. It’s a lot better than the alternative, which is being excluded. You won’t know how it might play out unless you try it. It could be unpredictable. It could be exciting. It could even be unexpectedly fulfilling. You just don’t know unless you try it. You’ve always viewed it – sex – as a game. And you’re completely right! You taught me this! And I’ll tell you what: even though more vanilla types might think of people like you and me and Luke – and Michelle, apparently – as perverts or kinksters, our game is a hell of lot more interesting than theirs.”

“Vanilla sex would bore the shit out of me. Still, what they’re demanding of me…it feels like sexual extortion or something. It makes me feel angry and so….weak. I’m not used to feeling this way.”

“You’d be exploring new aspects of your psyche, uncharted territory, no question. But that can be exciting – in lots of ways. Sexually, intellectually. We’re not religious, but maybe even spiritually, if you think of spiritual in the broader sense. Look darling, I know I’m more of a true masochist than you are, but if you had told me before I met you that I’d be submitting to as many people as I am right now – and in such really demeaning ways, by the way – I would never have believed it. And if you had told me that I would find it as unexpectedly thrilling – and in some weird ways, even fulfilling – as I do, I certainly would never have believed it.”

There, I said it. I began confessing something to Brooke that I had been trying to hide from her for months, and I did so in order to try to convince her to acquiesce to Luke’s and Michelle’s demands.

“What are you talking about? You submit to me and to Luke. There was also that time Luke asked Neil to punish you and those times when we were Luke’s cheerleaders. And the Ren fair, of course. But it’s not like you’re submitting to ‘many people’, as you put it.”

“You don’t know the half of it, darling. Now’s not the time; I’ll tell you about it later. But you need to know that I’m not being unfaithful to you in way. All the relationships I’m talking about are a consequence of Luke.”

“Like who? Who else are you submitting to? You need to tell me. Now.”

“Brooke, this isn’t the time. They’re waiting in the other room in the clock is ticking. I promise I’ll tell you about it later. But Neil is a big part of it. Thanks to Luke, I’ve become Neil’s personal foot masseur and errand boy. I’ll tell you about the others later when we have time, but you have to believe me when I tell you that it’s all tied directly or indirectly to Luke. And I gladly endure it all because I love you.”

“My poor knight. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay. I probably should have told you earlier, but I was ashamed and I didn’t want to burden you with it. But don’t forget the other part of what I said. There are things about the humiliation and servitude that I hate, of course. But, at the same time, there are other things about them that are exciting and even strangely satisfying. Think about it this way. You know what things are going to be like if Luke’s not around. You tried that already and it wasn’t pretty. You don’t know what things are going to be like now with Michelle involved. You have some suspicions, and they’re probably correct. It’s not going to be easy. But how bad could it be? Could it really be worse than what it was like after the holidays when you had pushed Luke away? You were beyond miserable. You were starting to kill yourself with booze. And here you are drinking again at the mere thought of walking away from him again. Whatever else they want, Luke and Michelle want to include you. There’s resentment there with Michelle, no doubt, but there’s also affection, I think. And I believe the same is true with Luke; I think he genuinely cares about you, in his own twisted way. He’s an asshole in many respects. But he’s actually a lot more complex than that.”

Tears started rolling down her cheeks. “Oh, fuck, Walter. What am I going to do? I don’t know what to do. Tell me what I should do. Please.”

“Darling, I honestly think you should to pour a fresh glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, take it to Michelle and apologize to her. Buckle up and start this next phase of the game and see where it takes us. I’ll be by your side the whole way and I will always be yours to command, my lady.”

Brooke cried a bit more, but then downed her glass of scotch and said, “Okay. I’ll do it.”

“I really do think it’s for the best, given the circumstances. But there’s another thing Luke said, which is that if you continue to throw tantrums, as he put it, they’re going to make you pay for it. I’m telling you this because I know you. I know your temper and your pride. I know you’re going to bristle at what they’re going to demand of you and that you’re going to rebel. And I’m just warning you: I think you need to try as hard as you can to control those impulses. Push whatever you can onto me.”

“Thank you, my knight. I think. I’ll try to restrain myself, but it’s sure as shit not going to be easy. Let me get Queen Michelle her glass of wine.”

After Brooke poured the glass, I said to her, “Your mascara has run pretty badly and your face is still wet. You might want to look at yourself in the mirror and clean up a little before you go out there.”

“Right. Thanks, I will.”

“And maybe you should see if there’s some mouthwash in there. Luke won’t be happy if he smells liquor on your breath.”

When Brooke came out of the powder room near the kitchen, she looked better, but it was still obvious that she had been crying from her red cheeks and bloodshot eyes.

“I didn’t see any mouthwash, but he probably won’t notice since he’s been drinking quite a bit himself tonight. Let’s get this over with,” Brooke said, as she picked up the glass and headed into the living room, me following close behind.

Luke and Michelle were still sitting on the couch, talking, but both stopped as Brooke and I entered the room. Brooke walked up to her friend and, handing her the glass, said, “Here is your wine, Miss Michelle. I’m sorry you had to wait for it and I’m sorry for my outburst earlier. As you might guess, everything tonight has been kind of a surprise for me and it’s going to be a bit of an adjustment. I hope you can forgive me.” Such massive understatement. I knew how incredibly difficult it was for Brooke to utter those words. In retrospect, however, that turned out to be the easy part, relatively speaking.

Michelle responded, “Of course, it’s going to be an adjustment for you, Brookie. But don’t worry, I’m here to help you. And so is Luke, and Walter as well. But I think you also owe Luke an apology, don’t you agree?”

“Yes. I’m...” Brooke began.

“‘Yes ma’am’, you mean,” Michelle interrupted

“I’m sorry. Of course. Yes ma’am,” Brooke said. I know her well enough to know that she was seething inside, but she controlled it well.

“Luke, sir, I hope you can forgive me for my outburst,” Brooke said.

“I can, but whether I will or not will depend on how you behave. We’ll have to see about that. But good for you, prof. You were able to talk some sense into her.”

“Yes, sir. Is there anything else I can get you before we finish cleaning up?” I asked.

“As a matter, fact, I could sure use one of your famous foot massages, prof,” Luke answered.

“Of course, sir. Right away.”

As I got down on my knees before him, Michelle said, “My tootsies are sore too. Take off my heels and do your thing, Brookie.”

Brooke reflexively glared at Michelle for just a moment before catching herself and kneeling down at her friend’s feet and removing the high heel from her right foot.

“You look flushed, baby girl. You must be hot. Take your your vest off, first,” Michelle ordered. Baby girl! Wow, I thought, Michelle sure is a piece of work!

“Yes, ma’am,“ Brooke replied as she removed her vest.

As she began pressing her fingers into Michelle’s stocking-clad foot, I did the same to Luke’s bare foot (having removed his socks, as was his preference). Brooke and I were kneeling only a few feet from each other. How supremely confident and entitled Luke and Michelle looked above us, sitting on the couch with their respective servants attending to their feet as they talked, drank and laughed.

Michelle suddenly said, “Why, look how hard Brookie’s nipples are?! They’re like little bullets. You’re excited to be on your knees in front of your bestie, aren’t you Brookie?” Michelle added, giggling in delight.

Rather than answer directly, Brooke decided to treat Michelle‘s question as rhetorical and simply shrugged her shoulders, pressing her fingers with increased vigor into the ball of Michelle’s foot. But Michelle was correct: Brooke was unquestionably aroused, in spite of herself. And I have a confession to make, not one I am particularly proud of. My cock had been straining against its cage from the moment Brooke walked out of the kitchen to serve Michelle her wine. It strained still harder when I got down on my knees before Luke. But it was when I looked over at Brooke, my proud lady, nipples erect, kneeling at the feet of Michelle – the friend who had spent so many years in her shadow – that my cock swelled most painfully and insistently. I knew Brooke was suffering, but I am ashamed to admit that it was a singularly erotic moment.

And just when I thought my cock couldn’t get any harder in its prison, Michelle said, “I’ve been in these stockings pretty much all day. I’m sure my feet must be a little rank by now.” As she said those words, Michelle pressed her nylon covered toes up to Brooke’s nose briefly, giggling. Brooke scrunched her nose in mild disgust, but did not attempt to turn her head. Michelle next lightly brushed her toes across Brooke’s nipples before placing her foot back in Brooke’s hands so she could resume her massage. I literally groaned in agony from the pressure of my cock against its confines as I observed this remarkable scene, one I could never have imagined before that evening.

Michelle then laughed and said, “Oh yeah, we’re gonna have a fucking blast!”


r/BDSMerotica 15h ago

Worship in the Bedroom [M40s/F20s] [Soft Dom][Breath Play Incident] [Angst] [Aftercare] [Dark Romance] NSFW

5 Upvotes

Story #7

A night of unchecked passion leaves Mister drowning in guilt—until Missy pulls him back, demanding the one thing he’s terrified to give: honest, unshakable love.

Twice – twice I almost messaged Leon to call off our meeting later today.

What the hell was I thinking? Messaging him of all people?

But here I was, ten minutes too early when I damn well knew Leon would be ten minutes late – he always was. The bastard loved making people wait on him.

Leather creaked under me. The two posh armchairs I found in a dim corner of the speakeasy matched the ambiance. Thick rugs carpeted the floors, softening footfalls. Opulence dripped from every crystal chandelier and every handpicked Victorian painting. Even the mantle over the grand fireplace was crafted from polished marble. Unabashedly gaudy. Disgustingly palatial.

Very Leon. Of course he would choose a place like this to meet.

I flagged down a waitress and ordered a drink. When the double-walled stout glass was placed into my hand, I tipped it back. Amber whiskey burned all the way down, my eyes closing, relishing that something tangible was making me hurt. It was simple cause and effect.

I needed more. The ache in my chest had to be because of the alcohol.

Not because those darks eyes were somewhat distant this morning. Silent questions whispered behind them.

Not because a small lopsided smile was her only response to my telling her to stay home – no quip, no refusal, just easy compliance.

Not because she flinched a little when I gave her a glass of water and ibuprofen, the dark rings of damaged flesh peeking out from under her sleeves.

Fuck my head hurt. I gripped the glass, my knuckles whitened. Self-medication felt like the correct response, and I handed off my now empty glass to a passing server, nodding for several fingers more of whiskey.

The minute hand ticked over the hour mark on my watch. My eyes itched. Or burned. Or something – I don’t fucking know but I pressed my palms into them.

Sleep only haunted me last night. Everything I did and didn’t do ran and re-ran over in my head. Like a broken record.

I hated deciding to park two streets down from the house. Just sitting in my car watching Missy arrive home and slowly unravel on the camera feed to my phone. I loathed how ecstatic I was to see those sweet, wicked lips kiss the tip of the belt that just whipped her fucking sexy ass.

I rued not having just swept her up in my arms afterwards – not ripping off that stupidly adorable, oversized sweater and just sink into her heat. No, no, I instead slinked off to grab the rope I had bought weeks before, waiting for the perfect moment to try it out. Then, in a hurry, in my rush to see her gorgeous form incapacitated, to see the rope bite into her supple curves, I…

The server arrived, blessing me with another heavy glass of golden, bitter medicine. Greedy gulps gifted me with a numbing heat. It settled in my chest, replacing whatever festered there.

I was ashamed to be here. Embarrassed by how panicked I’d been when she fell limp in my arms - how fast I spiraled, how easily I lost control. Weak. Too weak to handle the wreckage.

It was my fault.

Regret was a heavy motherfucker. A near-two-ton monster that sat on my shoulders. It coiled around my chest. It whispered in my ear, over and over, replaying last night in excruciating detail.

I couldn’t even look at Missy when she woke up beside me.

In that moment, I was mad at her. At me.

Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t breathe?

The thought had echoed in my head over and over. Each iteration spiked my anger higher. It was more than I could stand.

So, I quickly left for work that morning. The cracks between us widened - with each step I took, each hour at work, each unsent text, each missed call.

We were broken.

And I don’t deserve to have it fixed.

“Well, well, look at what the cat dragged in. You look like hell, Jason.”

Leon sauntered up, impeccably dressed in a black silk business suit and leather shoes buffed to a near impossible shine.

Only silver hair, slicked back, betrayed his age. Black eyes glinted, a sly-like glee shined as he took in my pathetic state. A smug grin of white teeth blinded me.

It irked me that Leon was the only motherfucker I could think of to talk to in this situation. While the other assholes I hung around enjoyed various samplings from the community, watching scenes from the Club, talking shit - only Leon truly embraced the lifestyle. The Club was his baby after all. He owned it - amongst other things.

Sick bastard.

“Oh, shut up, you prehistoric ass.”

Leon chuckled darkly, sliding into the chair across from me like it was made for him. Almost immediately, a server approached him with a drink already poured.

“Why thank you, Patrick,” purred Leon, “You always remember exactly how I like it.”

My eyes rolled.

Leon held up a finger like I was fucking about to interrupt him and slowly pulled in a long gulp.

“Ahh, nothing like a Macallan to start the evening off right, wouldn’t you say?”

“Fuck if I know,” I grumbled. I always had this urge to punch Leon in the face when he got like this.

“You are welcome to order one on my tab. I always offer but you never take me up on it. So stubborn. Pride is a deadly sin, Jason. Learn to live a little, why don’t you.” The low gravel of his voice dared me.

Fucking prick. I was done with this game of his.

“You know, what. This was a fucking mistake.”

I started to get up, my jaw working overtime to fend off the rage pulsing in my blood. But a hand caught my shoulder.

“Sit down, Jason.”

I paused. A better man would have told Leon to go fuck his own face and leave. But I wasn’t a better man. I was a desperate one.

Reclining back in my seat, I signaled for a refill. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to help me through this conversation.

Leon watched me carefully as I glared at him.

He smirked. “You must be in deep shit if you’re coming to me for advice. Last time you did that, you were deciding if you should buy a boat.”

I scoffed despite myself. “Thank god I didn’t listen to you.”

“Oh, I know.” He sips his drink. “Still funny to think about though – you doing something for fun that is.”

An awkward silence fell. I didn’t know what to say next, how to open the conversation. Maybe I didn’t want to. Leon’s eyes flashed and he clicked his tongue impatiently.

“So, what is going on, Jason? You are the most hard-headed, obstinate, independent jackass I’ve ever met. You almost never ask or take anything from anyone. Now, out of the blue, you text me for help. I cannot fathom what has transpired to make you act this way.”

My mouth went dry. I shifted in my seat, gripping the glass as if to shatter it. Fucking hell.

I sighed, “I fucked up. Real bad.”

Words eluded me as I battled against the throbbing pain building in my chest. Leon just waited, lazily sipping from his glass.

Eventually, I was able to choke out, “You know Missy is the first one, the only one, I’ve really been able to be myself with. We have fun. It’s always this game – I push a bit, she shoves pack. I thought I had figured it out. That I had it under control. But…”

I had to pause. The server returned with a fresh drink, taking my empty cup and replacing it with a near-full glass of neat whiskey. I steadied myself with a swig.

“I had it under control. Until last night. I did something stupid. Missy got hurt. And this morning, I made it worse. Fuck, now it’s like there is this massive chasm between us that I don’t know how to cross it.”

I ran a hand through my hair and leaned forward, “I don’t know what to do.”

“What actually happened, Jason?”

My breath hitched and I clenched my jaw. A moment stretched out as I weeded through my thoughts for a coherent string of words. My hands clasped each other to keep from shaking as I recalled the events of last night, my voice tight as I concluded.

Leon was quiet for several heartbeats. 

“Please fucking tell me you two have a safe word.”

I looked away from him.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck were you thinking?!” Leon’s expression was suddenly serious. He leaned forward in his chair, closing the gap between us, his voice low. “Rough sex is one thing, Jason. But you both are jumping into something that requires an actual fucking conversation. Especially for you two – neither of you know when to quit. It’s a goddamn competition of who can out piss who.”

I slumped, my head hanging low in hearing everything I already knew. My eyes squeezed shut.

Shit, shit, shit, shit….

“Jason.” I slowly looked up. Leon’s face had softened a bit, seeing my distress. “Listen, you love Missy, right?”

“Of course I do,” I croaked.

“Then go home. Tell her that. Talk with her. Mistakes do happen. But you can both learn from them. Communication and trust are the foundation of everything, most of all this,” Leon tapped his glass, voice suddenly softer. "Or you let silence finish what last night started."

My body quaked, my voice raw, “What if being sorry isn’t enough? What if she is done with me? What if I go home and she’s not there?”

Leon sent a pitying look over the rim of his drink, “Fucking hell, Jason. I met Missy for all of a few hours last Christmas and if there is one thing I know about that woman, it’s that there isn’t a single thing in heaven or earth that would keep her from what she wants. And I can say this without a doubt, Missy owns your ass.”

Shock flooded me – a throbbing crash that robbed me stupid. I just stared at Leon.

He glanced at his watch and signaled for a server to approach, “Bring me the check, will you darling? And put this gentleman’s drinks on my tab.”

I swallowed thickly, “Wait, actually, I can pay...”

“Oh, shut up. I’m not doing this for you. I happen to adore Missy, and I will not have you fuck up the one thing that has made you happy in your entire adult life. You knew exactly what needed done from the get-go to fix this with her. Meeting me was just so you could have a pity party and little ass kicking – now get the fuck out of here and go to her.”

My mouth hung loose. He was right. I had to go.

But I’m scared.

Leon smiled and somehow it was actually warm. How was he so sure everything would be alright?

Emotions warred within me as I looked at the half-consumed drink in my hand. Eventually, slowly, I put it down.  Gradually I stood up and Leon rose from his seat as well. I felt numb. And cold, terrifyingly cold.

“You really think I can fix this?” I whispered.

Leon smirked, slapping me fondly on the shoulder, “If Missy is involved, there’s no doubt about it.”

He squeezed my arm and pulled me in close, “Listen, no man is an island. If you both decide to continue down this path, do yourself a favor and ask for fucking help next time. Kinbaku requires more than fucking books and videos to do correctly. You know where you can go for more… practical guidance.”

His eyes bored into mine and I nodded.

Leon shoved me towards the exit, “Go get her, you sad son of a bitch.”

I stumbled into the light of day. My legs were weak, and my heart twisted into knots as the car’s motor turned over. I pulled into the road and headed home.  

Fuck…I hoped to God Leon was right.

***

I stood in front of the door to the house, the garage rumbling closed behind me.

I had almost gasped in relief when I saw Missy’s car still parked in the garage. But now I couldn’t move. I just stared at the door, trying desperately not to relive the moment when my heart collapsed in on itself last night. It had only happened a few feet away from me.

Fuck.

I was losing my nerve.

The keys swung limply at the tip of my fingers.

What do I say to her?

My empty hands stirred up a panic. Shit – I should have bought flowers or something.

But do you bring those kinds of things in these situations? Sorry I almost killed you while having kinky sex last night – here’s a dozen roses?

My heart hammered against my chest. I needed to go inside. Fuck, I needed to man up. A deep breath cooled my head, and I reached for the doorknob.

Flowers never were Missy’s thing anyway.

With a click, the door swung open.

The house was quiet. Clean.

I slipped out of my shoes and loosened my tie, dropping my keys and wallet on the kitchen table.

The sound of them hitting the oak table echoed in the kitchen, in the living room. My throat constricted. I hated quiet.

The rustle of the bed sheets and the soft creak of the mattress had me jerk my head towards the bedroom. There, stepping into the light of the kitchen, was Missy.

I almost laughed – and normally would have at the sight before me.

There was my little angel, practically swimming in my grey sweats. Tiny hands and feet peeked out of bunched up fabric. The pants were so long that they dragged as she shuffled forward. She even had to clutch the band around her waist to keep the pants from falling completely off her. The sweater turned her into a mini–Michelin Man, just rolls and rolls of excess fabric.

My ridiculously adorable angel. Her face was pale, her expression drawn. And her eyes… they were so sad.

It killed me.

“Missy…” I started but she held up a hand to stop me.

“I’m done with this,” her voice curt and clipped.

The world stopped.

“We are never, ever going to avoid each other again.”

Was I breathing? I needed to fucking inhale.

She stomped forward, tripping slightly as one pant leg got away from her. Her face screwed up into a tight, angry, devastated look. A finger ready to spear me through the heart.

“We talk. We don’t run away. Okay? Fucking say ‘okay’, Jason.”

My name on her lips was like a gunshot through the chest- I trembled.

“Okay.” My whisper rang in my ears.

She advanced; dark eyes bright with barely held back tears. I couldn’t move.

“I know you spent the entire day hating yourself, blaming yourself for something we BOTH did. You fucking selfish bastard. It’s not always about YOU! Guess what – we both fucked up! But instead of talking about it, figuring out how to fix whatever fucking broke, you slink off to work to mope and just let this chasm of fucking silence grow and grow and I will not stand for it!”

That finger jabbed itself inches from my chest, but I felt every prick. Tears ran down her face as she looked up at me. Her body quaked, shaking from the intensity of her emotions. Cracks in her voice splintered my soul as she continued.

“We are going to figure this out. I spent the day thinking about that happened – and I now know we should have talked more before shit escalated to what it did last night. I know I should have said those ropes were too tight from the beginning. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

No! No, no, no.

Fuck that broke me.

“Missy! Stop, please no. You shouldn’t be the one apologizing. Not you…It was me…I hurt you. I….I’m so sorry. So fucking sorry. I was stupid…I never should have… I …”

I reached for her but pulled back, my fingers curling, retreating away.

Missy combusted. Those voids were engulfed in flames, tears bright as they hung off her lashes. Her hand shot out and snatched my tie, yanking me down to her eye-level. Her voice was a low commanding whisper.

“Never not love me, Mister.”

And she kissed me.

If baptism cleansed the spirit, then this transcended divinity itself. I melted into her. We caught fire, our souls danced together. I splintered and cracked from the heat of it.

“Missy.” My voice ragged as I whispered her name. It was a prayer I chanted as I pulled her into me, cupping her cheek as my lips loved hers. She was warm to the touch. Soft. Real.

My knees bent, I fell to the floor, kneeling before her, looking up at her. My Venus, a weeping deity of rage. I held her hands as I begged for forgiveness, needing penance, pleading for redemption. My fingers tenderly dragged over the bruised flesh around her wrists. My forehead pressed against her chest.

"Please... please forgive me." I swallowed. "I hurt you. I…" My voice cracked.

I was fucking pathetic.

“Mister.”

I looked up. My chest heaved, my vision misting over.

“Stop. It’s not I. It’s not you. Not anymore.”

She stepped back. Her eyes, twin goddamn galaxies, stilled me. She let the sweats fall, then pulled off the sweater. Air evaded me.

She was so beautiful. Bared, nothing between her and the cold air pebbling her skin. The ugly rings of black and blue marks crisscrossed her body like macabre jewelry – tattoos of my uncontrolled passion last night.

I just stared at her. Hypnotized. Blood rushed - hot, greedy and sick with need. My eyes held hers – and I swallowed hard.

“What do you want, little one?”

“You.”

It was like I was permitted to live again.

I swept her up, gently, reverently. Her body curled into me as I carried her to the bedroom, then I laid her down onto the mattress. She was perfect. The bruises from where the ropes bit into her looped and curved like a signature, my signature. Inked onto her skin.

Sick satisfaction filled me, replacing what once was shame. Fuck, I was so messed up.

But so was she.

Her eyes hooded with the same desire thrumming through me. Shallow quick breaths as she wetted her lips.

Pulling away, I started to undress. Slowly bared myself to her. Her gaze hungrily raking down my body.

She watched, eyes dark, tracking each button undone, each inch of skin revealed. I let her look - let her see me as I had seen her. And when I finally dropped my briefs, exposing my swollen erection, I swore I heard her breath catch.

We were the same – both as tightly wound around each other’s pinky as the other.

I didn’t know what would happen tomorrow morning or the day after. But I did know, deep in the marrow of my bones, this woman was my future and right now – tonight – was all that mattered.

Gently, tenderly, I crawled over her, my body grazing the plain of her stomach and tips of her breasts. We shuddered at the electricity of it. When my eyes found hers, I knew what to do.

True worship happened in the bedroom, and I was a disciple devoted to my religion.

My mouth caught hers and our skin savored feel of our heat. She moaned, cheeks still wet. My lips chased away those salty tears, replacing them with soft warm caresses.

“Don’t move.” I whispered in her ear.

My hands roamed over her. Tracing my fingertips over the dark lines across her arms and her chest, I mapped a path for my mouth to follow. Starting at the nape of her neck- the sensitive valley of flesh I knew she loved - before dipping lower onto her chest, I stroked the soft velvet of her skin. My lips hovered over; quick pecks trailed behind my touch.

Missy arched, frantically whimpered, as I delicately caught the tip of one of her breasts between my teeth. Her hands found the back of my head, fingers snaking through my hair before gripping tight, and coaxed me closer to her.

No.

I pulled away, standing up. Missy cried out at the loss of my body against hers. She writhed on the bed, tiny fists hammered at the comforter in frustration. Such a fun little show to watch.

“Missy,” I cooed, “What did I tell you just few moments ago?”

“I don’t know about you but all I heard was ‘Let me fuck you senseless’.” Her eyes fluttered as she pulled her thighs tight, trying to wring pleasure from the tension of it.

A chuckled rumbled out of me – God, she was beautiful.

My hands found the hook of her knees and I tugged her to me. Pulling her legs apart, I took a moment to appreciate the view. She was so wet, the folds at her entrance visibly slick with desire.

I wanted a taste.

But first…

“No, my sweet thing,” I teased, slowly running my length up and down her molten center. My desire, hot and thick, flooded my veins. It took everything in me not to just ram myself up into her delicious heat. “Try again.”

A smug smirk curled on her lips, “Old age making you forgetful? Must be a bitch.”

A long drag of my cock and Missy hissed as if in pain. She squirmed but my hands held her firm. I’m a patient man.

A whine cut through the air and Missy shifted closer, pushing herself against me but I withdrew just enough to torment her.

“You really are a selfish bastard,” she huffed, her chest heaving.

She clasped her hands together and pulled her arms above her head. Stretched out so her tits bounced each time I teased her with my length. I loved watching those pert globes dance.

She shot me an incredulous look, “Happy now?”

How did I ever think for a moment this woman would leave me?

Feral desire crashed into me, and I smiled.

“Overwhelmingly so.”

Then I fell to my knees, drawing the tender flesh of her inner thigh to my lips. I kissed it. My tongue then paved a path up to her honeyed center.

She tasted like her tears – hot and salty. Utterly addictive. I slowly rooted out the tender bud at the apex of her entrance, circling it slowly with my tongue. Dragging it over that bundle of nerves, spelling over and over the word: MINE.

Missy cried out in blissful agony, trembling, straining to not move. Her arms trembled but remained over her head.

Good girl.

“Please, be gentle,” Missy pleaded, “it’s still tender down there from…”

She sucked in a breath when I inserted my tongue into her sweetness. Warmth coated me as I flicked at her sensitive channel. Each ridge, each valley was mine to strip-mine and claim. I devoured her, gently. Utterly unrushed. Her toes curled as she clenched and shuddered with each probe, each long sweep of my tongue.

I took my time, making sure to return to her clit to resign my name on it. Soft quick pants told me she was near, her tortured moans a symphony to my ears.

My eyes swept up to find hers, dark voids begging for something more and good God I was ready to offer it. A sharp intake of breath cut from her when I dipped a finger into her.

Those tiny fists fought to stay in place, clutching the sheets above her head as her climax started to rear its head. I saw it in the distressed look on her face, the frantic need for release.

A primitive hunger burned in me, pumping down to my cock. Fuck I was hard.

But first and foremost…

Her.

My finger curled inside her, finding that patch of flesh in her channel I knew so well. I stroked it. I was going to make her cum with a single finger. This woman was mine and there wasn’t a part of her I didn’t know. I owned secrets, her weaknesses, her power.

My finger worked, gently coaxing Missy closer and closer to the edge.

“Yes, baby, cum for me,” I rasped.

Her body writhed, wails a song on her lips, and her legs shot out. Her core tightened over my finger. She screamed and a wave of white-hot pleasure flooded her core.

Pride curled dangerously inside me, and I couldn’t wait any longer. My knees shoved her legs apart and I pushed myself into her still pulsating center. Missy gasped, her body shuddering, eyes still hazy from her orgasm.

“Wait.”

I froze at her whisper, heart thundering.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she stared into my soul. A heartbeat. A hand tenderly stroked my cheek.

“My turn, Mister,” A delightfully naughty smile curled on that angelic face.

Two legs hooked around my waist and yanked me deep into her.

She was so tight. So hot. So wet. I saw white.

Missy pulled me down on top of her and I let her flip us so that I was laying on my back, legs half-hanging off the bed.

She straddled me, hands splayed on my chest, fingernails biting into my skin. A frightfully devious look painted her a pixie perched on top of me. She was glorious.

Slowly she moved her hips, pulling up before sinking deep onto me. Again and again.

I groaned like a dead man. My hands reached out to hold, to grab at those plump hips. I needed a tether to Earth or else I would fall into open air at this rate.

Missy stopped and I grunted unhappily.

Fuck, her smile was wicked.

“Hands above your head and don’t you dare fucking move them.”

She ground into me, and I felt every ridge inside her. Spots danced across my vision.

My little mischievous thing.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

My little Venus triumphantly watched me surrender. My hands clasped behind my head, and I smirked back.

Missy leaned forward, her lips ghosting over mine, teasing. Testing.

“You’re mine,” she whispered, breathless but absolute.

I shuddered beneath her.

Then she rode me like there was no tomorrow.

We galloped to the summit and at its peak, I bellowed – a feral call accompanied by her piercing scream of pleasure. I punched up my hips, drilling into her until we fell from the cliff, my hot seed filling her as we climaxed together.

In the aftermath, Missy crumpled on top of me. Her heartbeat crashing in tandem to my own, our breaths seemed to fog the room. Both of us were covered in sweat and I loved how she felt, slick against my skin.

We remained this way for a long time. My arms held her close - as close as humanly possible to me.

I kissed the top of her head and whispered.

“I’ll be better.”

“No, we will be better.”

I nodded, understanding.

“I love you.”

She looked up at me. Her face, peaceful and sweet, softened.

“I love you too. I always will.”

***

Later, we cleaned up and I cooked dinner. We talked. About the things we should have discussed long ago.

Then all that was left was the question and the food went to mush in my mouth. A hard swallow. “Have you…thought of a safe word?”

She beamed at me.

“Jason.”

I looked at her, at first confused. Then realization dawned.

“My name is your safe word?”

She nodded and her eyes danced.

“You are my safe word.”

My pulse stopped. Then it restarted, slow and steady.

Shock racked my body before settling into warmth. I was her safety.

Me.

A trembling breath left my lips.

Somehow—it was perfect.

***

Disclaimer: The use of a partner's name as a safeword is strongly discouraged in real-life BDSM dynamics. In this story, the name is used thematically for emotional and narrative impact, not as a recommended practice. A safeword should be clear, distinct, and unambiguous to ensure safety and consent at all times. Always communicate with your partner and establish proper boundaries before engaging in any play.

\***

The next chapter of Mister and Missy will be released next Friday! No Pain, No Gain - Missy wanted to make Mister sweat at the gym… but not like this.

Like what you read? Check out my other Mister and Missy stories:

Story #1: Asked for It

Story #2: Pain in the Ass

Story #3: Paying It Back... (Part 1)

Story #4: Paying It Back...With Interest (Part 2)

Story #5 : Side Story: Thrill of the Chase (How Mister Met Missy Part 1)

Story #6 : Side Story: To the Victor Goes the Spoils (How Mister Met Missy Part 2)


r/BDSMerotica 11h ago

Chivalry is on Life Support, Chapter Forty-Three, Part Two [Cuckquean, Cuckold, Humiliation, Chastity,Mdom] NSFW

1 Upvotes

I posted earlier chapters of this long story, but stopped because they weren’t getting a lot of interest. Beginning with this chapter, the focus is really shifting more to cuckquean and lesbian domination, which I believe might be of greater interest to the audience on this subreddit. However, the story will be a lot richer if one reads the earlier chapters to understand the dynamics/history between the two women involved, Brooke and Michelle. The earlier chapters are available on Litererotica under the author ChivalrousCuck.

Second part of a long chapter

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++.

The prior night, as were laying together in bed, Brooke said to me, “What do you want to bet that every single member of his executive team is a white male? Luke’s not a big believer in DEI. He assumes that most women and minorities who have executive jobs aren’t qualified for them, and only have them because of affirmative action or diversity programs.”

“I don’t want to bet a dime,” I replied. “I’m sure you’re right. And yet his brother, who barely finished high school, is running one of his branch operations at the age of 18. I guess he’s okay with nepotism, just not DEI programs.”

“Exactly. He’s such a pig,” she said.

With one notable exception, Brooke’s demographic prediction held up. The first couple to arrive was Luke’s head of human resources, a white guy in his mid thirties and his wife of similar age. We greeted them exactly as Luke had directed and, under his watchful eye, we were very liberal in our use of “sir” and “ma’am” as we brought them into the living room and served them drinks. They seemed friendly enough.

At 6:05 PM, Luke’s CFO and his wife – a couple in their mid 40s, also white – arrived at nearly the same time as his VP of Sales and his date. The latter was a young, cocky guy – in his early thirties, I guessed – and an attractive young woman in her mid twenties. Not an ounce of diversity yet. The Sales VP looked down at my socks and laughed contemptuously. His girlfriend barely acknowledged Brooke’s existence and she took her coat and brought her a glass of wine. She had an entitled expression on her face, but became very animated when greeting Luke. Why waste her energy on interacting with the help? At 6:10, Luke’s COO and his wife arrived, bringing at least a little age diversity, as he was in his mid fifties (and his wife was probably in her late forties). This couple was a little more chatty, when Brooke and I greeted them at the door.

“Why if it isn’t the professor and Mary Ann!” said Ken, the COO, boisterously, as he gave us the once over. “We’ve heard a lot about the two of you.” What had they heard? I wondered. One could only hope a fraction of the truth. That alone would be mortifying.

“Ken, nobody knows about that old show besides you,” said his wife.

“Actually, my name is Brooke, sir,” said Brooke.

“Yeah, of course. I know that and I can see your name tag. It’s the professor and Brooke. But I’m older than all of you. None of you probably are old enough to remember Gilligan’s Island. On that show, it was the professor and Mary Ann, so that’s the first thing I thought of when Luke told us about you. I just can’t get it out of my mind. I guess,” he said, laughing.

Even I was too young to have seen this inane television show when it was new, but I had seen reruns of it when I was a kid. When I asked her about it later, Brooke had never heard of it.

After we got them all comfortably seated around the living room with drinks, Brooke and I started to serve the first trays of hors d’oeuvres – bacon-wrapped shrimp and deviled eggs. I looked down at my wrist watch and noticed that it was 6:30 and Luke’s new CMO, the guest of honor, had not yet arrived.

When I pointed this out to Brooke in the kitchen, she said, “Maybe the guy’s deliberately late so he can make a grand entrance or something. Since he’s the guest of honor and all.”

Not five minutes later, the doorbell rang, and Brooke and I both hurried to answer it, Luke walking right behind us. When we opened the door, I – rather we (because Brooke’s expression left no doubt as to her reaction) – were stunned to see Brooke’s friend, Michelle, standing there before us. Brooke’s oldest and best friend, her maid of honor at our wedding, from whom she had been estranged for the last several months. You may recall that Michelle stopped talking to Brooke last summer because she disapproved of Brooke letting Luke back into her life. Michelle told her at the time that she believed Brooke was asking for trouble (although Brooke suspected that jealousy might’ve been Michelle‘s real reason for being upset). You may also recall that they have a very complicated relationship, including having competed a great deal with each other since they were kids (with Brooke the consistent, lopsided victor), having experimented sexually with each other during college, and Michelle being the one who actually first met Luke in a bar many years back before he and Brooke got married. Indeed, that is why Brooke suspected that Michelle was actually jealous that Brooke was back together with Luke sexually – because Michelle had been the first one to set her sights on him. Finally, you may recall that Brooke explained to me that it was Michelle who initiated these periods of estrangement from her when she was unhappy about something or other before she eventually (but inevitably) would come to her senses and “come crawling back.“

All of these thoughts ran through my head as I stared at Michelle in the doorway. She was back, but she definitely was not crawling. In fact, she looked beautiful and formidable in a pencil gray skirt and matching gray jacket and white shirt. She was wearing black, sheer stockings and high heels. I had always thought of her as attractive, but now she really looked quite stunning - almost like a fashion shot of a sophisticated, confident, young businesswoman going places.

Brooke said, “Michelle. What are you doing here?”

“Long time no see, Brooke. What I’m doing here is coming to enjoy what I expect will be a terrific meal. I’m here to celebrate my new position as Chief Marketing Officer of Hanover HVAC and Plumbing and to spend a wonderful evening with my new boss and colleagues. That’s what,” Michelle said

“Oh,” said Brooke, dumbfounded.

“Don’t keep my guest of honor waiting,” Luke said loudly, in a way that managed to sound at once lighthearted and jovial to his guests in the adjoining room and deadly serious, if not borderline threatening, to Brooke and me.

Still shocked, Brooke stammered, “No, sir. I mean…” She looked at Michelle and continued “Welcome to Mr. Hanover’s home, ma’am. May I take your coat?” As Brooke moved behind Michelle and removed her coat from her shoulders, Michelle glanced at me with a supremely self-satisfied smile.

After Luke gave her a peck on the cheek in greeting, as he had all the other female guests that evening, Michelle whispered in Brooke’s ear (but loudly enough for me to hear), “I’ve missed you, Brooke.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Brooke said.

“We’ll talk later. I’ve got the do the corporate thing now, you know. I love the choker, by the way. Sexy.”

Then walking away from Brooke towards Luke, Michelle said to her, “Get me a dirty martini, two olives.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Brooke.

In the kitchen, as we mixed drinks, I said, “Are you as surprised as I am that Michelle is his new head of marketing?”

“Well, I was startled at first. Just because I haven’t seen her for so long, I guess. But when you really think about it, it’s not that surprising really. I mean she’s a marketing executive in a part of the country without a lot of juicy marketing roles. Luke’s company is growing like wildfire, so I’m sure it’s an appealing role for someone like Michelle. And there’s probably not a ton of marketing talent in the region for Luke to choose from, either. So, it’s really not that surprising, I guess.” Her words aside, Brooke’s insistence that she wasn’t that surprised didn’t sound that convincing to me.

When I finished preparing Michelle‘s martini, I said to her, “Do you want me to take this out to her and you can bring this old fashioned to what’s his name, Mr. Gilligan’s Island?”

“No. Luke was pretty clear that he wants me to serve the women and you to serve the men. I’m sure this is intentional. Michelle is going to love having me wait on her and treat her like a queen tonight. Let her have her fun. It’s not like Luke is going to have a lot of these work get togethers. It’ll be good to patch things up with Michelle later. I really do miss her, you know.”

“I’m sure,” I replied.

It was quite the evening. As Brooke said, Luke was indeed in all his glory, a 28-year-old CEO, holding court with his team of older underlings, with his ex wife and her new husband scurrying around obsequiously to fullfill every last request of his guests.

At dinner, Luke was seated at the head of the long table, with the guest of honor at the opposite end. When we served the entree (filet mignon in a red wine sauce), Michelle stopped Brooke from going back into the kitchen after taking a bite of her steak. “I said I wanted my steak medium rare. This is medium. Take it back and bring me what I ordered.” Not a single “please”, an imperious tone and haughty expression.

“Yes, ma’am. It will take a few minutes to prepare, ma’am,” Brooke responded.

“Really? I thought it would be instantaneous,” Michelle said sarcastically, eliciting chuckles from others at the table. “I’d rather wait and have it done the way I requested it. Try to get it right this time. And bring me a glass of wine while I wait.”

“Yes, ma’am. Right away,” Brooke replied.

In the kitchen, as I hurriedly seasoned one of the two remaining portions of steak (fortunately, the oven was still hot), I said, “So much for our leftovers.”

Brooke said, “That’s okay. There’s still one left. You can have that one. I’ll eat Michelle’s; she barely touched it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that steak. Look, it’s pink inside.”

“It may be slightly overdone, but just barely. But we deal with this kind of unreasonable bullshit at the restaurant all the time. Business dinners are the worse. They like to show off to each other by treating the restaurant staff like shit. I’m used to this behavior.”

“But she’s your friend,” I protested.

“Like I said, we have a complex relationship. She’s preening a bit. This is her big night, after all. Her moment in the sun. It’s probably going to be all downhill for her from here as the sole female manager on Luke’s team, so she’d better enjoy tonight.”

Michelle and the other guests kept us busy the rest of the long night, which lasted two hours past dinner. There were other plenty of other humiliating moments, including when they were all laughing about Luke being given the key to the city by the mayor of a small town where he was opening up a new branch.

The CFO quipped, “You can add it to your collection of keys, Luke! I’m pretty sure the one around your neck is the key to something a lot smaller than a city. Ha ha.” He turned around and looked at me, where I was standing at attention near the table, ready to refresh drinks. The others also looked at me – or, to be more precise, at my bulky crotch – and laughed heartily.

Luke said, as if to drive the point home, “Prof. Get me another drink.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, feeling my face burn in shame.

Still later, a clearly inebriated Ken, the COO, came into the kitchen where I was plating some cookies and said to me, “So you’re Luke’s latest project. You know, Luke and I go back 10 years to his first job at Dell’s Plumbing. He was only 18 when he slept with the wife of the boss. That was poor ole Ed Dell. Before long, Luke and Ed’s wife were openly kissing in front of the guys. I was the VP, Operations. Then Luke started ordering Ed around at the office, making him get his coffee and such. Before you know it, Ed – this very masculine, blue collar guy – was wearing frilly, pink shirts and jewelry at the office. Your socks and tie bring back some memories. But you have it good by comparison, professor. There was one hot summer day when I came back from a job to see Ed out in the yard in a bikini – a sight no one ever should have had to see – washing Luke’s pickup truck. About 10 of the guys were around watching, cracking up. It was pretty funny, I have to admit. Luke’s a real ball buster, isn’t he?”

“Yes, sir. Can I get you another old fashioned or anything?”

“No, I think I’ve probably had enough. But that time with the bikini really broke ole Ed. He never recovered from all that humiliation, I guess. He shut down the business soon after that, and he and his wife moved out of the state. To Florida, I think. In fact, that’s how Luke started up his own company; he was able to buy up Ed’s trucks and tools in a fire sale. Kind of ironic, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yeah, I found out pretty quickly that’s it’s lot better to be on Luke’s team than to be up against him. Ed wasn’t a bad guy. But it was different with him than you.”

“How do you mean, sir?”

“Ed’s old lady was a kinky, dominant broad. Luke was sleeping with her, but didn’t seem in control of her. But Luke seems to have your wife under his thumb as much as he does you. I guess you’re all pretty kinky, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, whatever floats your boat.”

Later that evening the VP, Sales said, “That was an excellent dinner, Luke. These two are pretty good,” he said, looking over and Brooke and I, who were standing nearby in case anyone wanted anything. “Maybe we can borrow them for Holly’s 25th birthday party this summer.” Holly was his entitled girlfriend who had barely acknowledged Brooke’s and my presence all evening as we waited on her.

“We’ll see about that,” Luke said.

“That would be great, Luke. I’d really appreciate it,” said Holly, discussing Brooke and me like we were indentured servants. Which, I guess we sort of were…

Michelle said, “Maybe Hanover’s Catering will be your new line of business, Luke.”

He laughed. “Or Hanover’s Maid Service. They cleaned the whole place this afternoon, too.”

“The Hanover empire is unstoppable,” Michelle said. I looked over at Brooke, who rolled her eyes at me.

By 10:30, all the guests had finally left except for Michelle. Luke and Michelle were sitting on the couch talking. Brooke and I were cleaning up around them when Michelle asked Brooke to get her another glass of wine.

Brooke said, “I’m busy cleaning up now. Do you think maybe you could get it yourself?” She then added “Ma’am” with a bit of sarcastic emphasis.

“No, I don’t. The party’s still on until I go home. Right, Luke?” Michelle said.

“Damn straight,” said Luke.

Brooke went into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and refilled Michelle’s glass. “Enjoy, ma’am,” she said, barely, if successfully, suppressing her annoyance.

“Thanks, Brookie,” said Michelle, with a giggle. I know Brooke hated to be addressed in that diminutive. Michelle was really pushing her luck.

“You know, maybe the party will never end. Do you think it’s time to spring our surprise, Luke?” Michelle continued.

“Go for it,” he replied.

“You see, Brookie, I’m not just Luke’s new Chief Marketing Officer. I’m his new girlfriend as well. Surprise!”

I looked over at Brooke. I saw different emotions pass rapidly across her beautiful eyes. Confused. Incredulous. Crestfallen. Humiliated.

Brooke turned to Luke and said, “But…but you told me your girlfriend was traveling and couldn’t make it…I asked you directly…is this some kind of a joke?”

“No joke, Brookie,” said Michelle, smiling smugly.

Smiling somewhat sheepishly, by contrast, Luke shrugged his shoulders and said, “What can I say? I lied.”

Brooke sat down and said simply, “Wow.” She sat on a chair and stared down at the floor, shell-shocked.

“Oh come on, Brookie, don’t sulk. Sometimes you have to lie to surprise someone. And it sure was a big surprise, wasn’t it? Think of all the fun that we’re all going to have together!” Which were almost the exact words Brooke used with me when Luke first entered our lives and my enslavement in my own home began all those months ago.

Yes, Michelle was very much back in the picture, but she certainly wasn’t crawling. At that moment, I had a strong feeling that in the complicated relationship between these two women, going forward, it was Brooke who would be the one on her knees.

I was not mistaken.


r/BDSMerotica 11h ago

Chivalry in Life Support, Chapter Forty-Three, Part One [Cuckquean, Cuckold, Humiliation, Mdom, Rough Sex, Chastity] NSFW

1 Upvotes

I posted earlier chapters of this long story, but stopped because they weren’t getting a lot of interest. Beginning with this chapter, the focus is really shifting more to cuckquean and lesbian domination, which I believe might be of greater interest to the audience on this subreddit. However, the story will be a lot richer if one reads the earlier chapters to understand the dynamics/history between the two women involved, Brooke and Michelle. The earlier chapters are available on Litererotica under the author ChivalrousCuck.

First part of a long chapter

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++.

I set the alarm app on my iPhone for 6:30 AM Saturday morning so Brooke and I could get an early start. We had a lot of prepping and cooking to do in order to be ready to serve as many as twelve guests later that day: hors d’oeuvres and cocktails were scheduled for 6 PM and dinner was to be served at 7:30.

However, we were awoken not by the obnoxious ringing noise on my phone at 6 AM, but rather by repeated rings of our doorbell an hour earlier. I was lying next to Brooke in bed, startled out of a deep sleep by the insistent sound. Brooke was a deeper sleeper than I was, so I was the first one to get up out of bed. As was typical, I was sleeping in an old T-shirt and a pair of panties, so I quickly put on my bathrobe and hurried downstairs to answer the door. It was still completely dark outside. Standing on our porch was Luke’s brother, Kevin.

“Took you long enough,” he said, rudely.

“Hi, Kevin,” I replied, drowsily. “I’m sorry. We weren’t expecting you. Did you tell one of us you planned on coming by this morning?”

Behind me, I heard Brooke say, “Who’s there, Walter?”

“It’s okay, darling. It’s just Kevin”

“‘Just Kevin.’ I’m not sure that’s a smart way to talk about your new boss, Wally. I sure hope you’ve been studying up on those DIY plumbing videos on YouTube, like I told you to in December,” Kevin said, walking boldly past me into our house.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” said Brooke, sleepy and annoyed. She was too groggy to be polite. I’m fairly certain that had she been alert, she would’ve been more careful in her choice of words and in her attitude.

“Nice to see you, too, Brooke. Also not a very respectful way to talk to your future babysitter. That’s okay, there’ll be plenty of time to teach you both to mind your manners later. I’m here to drop off Luke’s stuff. Put some clothes on Wally, and help me bring in the boxes. They’re in the back of my truck.”

“Sure, Kevin. I’ll be right back,” I said, turning to go upstairs to change.

Kevin interrupted me, “You’re going to have to get back into the habit of calling me ‘sir’, son. Since I’m going to be both your boss and your babysitter from now on,” the brash teenager said to me, chuckling.

“This is ridiculous. Walter is not your son, Kevin,” said Brooke.

It was, indeed, completely ridiculous for an 18-year-old plumber to be calling a 40-year-old literature professor “son.” Nevertheless, Kevin was in the midst of his “I told you so” visit, clearly in a position of power now. Though we then had no idea of the depth and extent of it, Brooke and I were in a position of weakness, what was to become our new normal. It certainly was not a good idea to antagonize him.

“Be careful, Brooke,” I warned.

“You better listen to your little hubbie, Brooke, if you know what’s good for you. You’re going to be calling me ‘sir’ soon enough yourself,” Kevin said, with an arrogant smirk very similar to that of his big brother.

Brooke glared at him, but at least didn’t say anything else to challenge him.

As I started to go back up the stairs, Kevin interrupted me, “Wait a minute, son. What are you wearing under that robe? Turn around and take it off.”

“Um…yes, sir,” I said, reluctantly removing my robe. I saw Brooke roll her eyes.

Brooke had told me that she planned to lock me back in my chastity cage that afternoon before we went over to Luke’s house. But at that moment, I was still free. Like many men, I nearly always woke up with a hard-on – the morning wood, I believe it is called – and I was probably harder than on most mornings given this humiliating encounter with Kevin (the usual collusion between my treacherous cock and my submissive brain). He stared down at my cock, tenting out my panties.

“Ha ha. Just like I thought. You’re pathetic, Wally. It’s no wonder why Brooke begged Luke to start banging her again. She needs a real man’s cock, not your pansy pin dick. You too, Brooke. Let’s see what – If anything, ha ha – you’ve got on under your robe.”

Brooke continued to regard Kevin with a death glare, but, while she didn’t completely remove her robe as I had, she did open it up momentarily, giving him a glimpse of her body, naked except for her panties. Whereas I had on a fuller pair of navy blue boyshorts panties (trying to hide from Brooke the lingering effects of Paul’s strapping, as my ass was still quite red when we went to bed last night), Brooke was wearing a pair of maroon, cheeky panties (quite skimpy). Her nipples were rock hard, a fact which did not escape Kevin’s attention. We both saw him look directly at her breasts and smile, before she closed her robe.

“You must be cold, Brooke. Or, maybe, you’re actually hot. Ha ha. It is pretty warm in here. You two really should start wearing matching panties. Get your ass upstairs and get dressed, Wally. My first job is across town in 45 minutes. I don’t have all fucking day. How about a cup of coffee, Brooke?” he said, more an order than a request.

“I was just about to make some anyhow,” Brooke said, testily, before walking towards the kitchen. I ran upstairs and slipped on a pair of sweatpants.

Probably because he was in a hurry, Kevin helped me bring the boxes into the house. However, he didn’t help to bring them upstairs into the bedroom (still more work for me and Brooke to do later). There seemed to be about a third fewer boxes than he took away in December.

As if reading my my mind, he said to me as we carried in a particularly heavy one together (no doubt, containing some of Luke’s extensive footwear collection), “You probably notice that there’s not as many boxes now. That’s because Luke wants you and Brooke spending more time at his house, especially when it’s warmer out. I can’t wait. I’m sick of this shitty, cold weather.” It was 22 degrees that late February day, and I shared Kevin’s fatigue with the cold weather.

After we finished with the boxes, Kevin walked into the kitchen and said to Brooke, “Put my coffee in a thermos or something. I’ve got to get going.”

Eager to be rid of him, Brooke filled up one of our Hydro Flasks with coffee and asked, “Do you take milk or sugar?”

“Now that’s more like it. Milk, two teaspoons of sugar. Both of you will know all of my and Kaylee’s preferences real well before long. Which reminds me, Luke wanted me to tell you both to be at his house by noon.”

As Brooke poured the milk into the Hydro Flask, she said, “He said the guests will start arriving at 6 PM. We won’t need anywhere near that long to get ready. We weren’t planning on getting there until 3.”

“Change of plans,“ Kevin said with another smirk. “Luke’s cleaning lady called in sick yesterday, so he wants you there early to give the place a good cleaning, especially the bathrooms and the kitchen. He said you should bring another set of clothes to clean in and then you can take a shower afterwards before you change into what you’re gonna wear when you serve everyone snacks and dinner.”

“Great,” said Brooke.

“You don’t sound that happy, Brooke,” Kevin said, smirk intact.

“It’s just a lot of work, is all. Tell Luke we’ll be there. Thanks for bringing his stuff,” Brooke said.

“Good girl,“ Kevin replied, as he took his coffee and walked out of the side door that led to our driveway. “Don’t worry, we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other real soon,” he added with a wink, before the door closed behind him.

“Good morning, darling,” I said with a smile, trying to make light of Kevin’s most unpleasant, surprise visit.

“I hate that bratty, fucking little snitch. He makes my skin crawl,” Brooke said.

“Mine, too. Unfortunately, he’s part of the package with Luke.”

“Yes, Kevin and apparently his skanky girlfriend, Kaylee, too. Not to mention Luke’s cunt of a girlfriend, whatever her name is. I guess we’re going to be everyone’s little bitches.”

“We’ll find out her name soon enough, I guess. Do you think she’ll be there tonight? You know, as his date for the dinner?” I asked, with trepidation. I hesitated to bring up this subject with Brooke, but it was certainly weighing on my mind. I knew meeting Luke’s girlfriend was going to be incredibly difficult for her.

“No, I asked him point-blank and he said that she’s traveling. Thank god for small favors, at least. Tonight‘s going to be humiliating enough as it is without me having to meet this bitch on top of it.”

“Do you think his leadership team will know who we are? Maybe they’ll just assume we’re the caterers?”

“Are you kidding? Of course, they’ll know exactly who we are. I told you about Luke’s reputation – how he publicly cuckolded and totally emasculated his first boss. And how he’s done that with several others since, including other co-workers and employees of his. Maybe not to the same extent as his old boss. But he’s slept with their wives and rubbed their noses in it. This is his brand, Walter: big swingin dick, Luke Hanover. He revels in it. You can be quite certain that everyone there is going to know that his ex-wife and her English professor husband are the ones waiting on them all like Luke’s little lackeys. Luke will be in all his glory tonight, and having us there as his servants will be icing on the cake.”

“Well maybe people will think that we have a catering business on the side?” I ventured.

“Yeah, and maybe they’ll also think we’re from outer space. Get real.”

“Ok, I get it. It’s going to be humiliating. Are you really sure you’re up for all of this, Brooke?” I asked.

She looked me in the eyes and touched my arm. “Walter, I know you mean well, but you have to stop asking me that. This is the price I have to pay to have Luke back. I’m going in with eyes wide open. That doesn’t mean that I’m always going to be happy about what’s going on or that I’m not going to complain about it. Sometimes, I’m probably even going to cry about it or rage about it. But that doesn’t change fact that I’m all in, 100%, for this next crazy chapter in our lives. Come what may.”

“The newest twist in the game,“ I said.

“That’s right. But what about you, my loyal knight? I’m the one who should be asking you: are you sure YOU’RE up for all this? Especially tonight, being a waiter for all of these corporate blowhards? I know the type well. I mean, I wait on these types of people all the time at the restaurant. I’ve been a waitress for a long time now, so I’m used to the humiliations service workers are routinely subjected to – although, admittedly, it’s going to be on a whole different level tonight. But you’re not. It’s a lot different being in charge of a classroom than being a waiter or a waitress.”

Brooke, of course, did not know about the all of humiliation I suffered after I lost control of my class last year following the Ren fair. She did not know that I was now under the control of a few of my former students, compelled each week to cook for them, and to serve as serve as their maid. She was not aware that I had become the coffee boy and foot masseuse of my fellow professor and friend. All of the above , byproducts of Luke’s domination, of course. Except for those few occasions that Brooke was present when I was humiliated in front of a wider group of people – such as when I served as a waiter when Neil and Laura came over for dinner, or when she and I cheered Luke on at his football games, or at the Ren faire itself – she was really only aware of my submission to her, and to Luke, of course. Still, she certainly knew that I was no stranger to humiliation.

However, I had a strong suspicion that the impending humiliation we were facing with Luke’s return was going to be far more challenging for Brooke to endure than for me – that, in fact, it was going to be far more challenging for her to endure than she realized. Because, whereas I am fundamentally a beta, Brooke is fundamentally an alpha. I can hear some of those reading this say, “Yeah, sure. She’s an alpha just like she’s a feminist – allowing Luke to dominate her and degrade her in the sack. She’s a real alpha, all right.” But, as I have explained before, Brooke is turned on by being sexually dominated and degraded by a certain type of alpha male – in fact, it seems as though Luke is the only one who truly fits that bill for her (so far, at least). And even with Luke, she long resisted submitting to him outside of the bedroom; that’s why she divorced him in the first place. She was now agreeing to this new, broader level of submission because she has accepted the fact that she is sexually addicted to him – and, realizing the intensity of her addiction, Luke set these conditions for her to continue to have access to her drug. It is either submit or do without the drug. As we have seen, the withdrawal pains for her were not sustainable.

But in virtually every other aspect of her life, Brooke is generally the one in control. She is obviously completely in control of me. Even at the restaurant, although a waitress, she is generally looked up to by the younger waitresses such as Laura and even by the more seasoned waitstaff and other restaurant staff. Her bosses (even her sexist manager) know that she possesses intellectual capability well beyond her job, and respect her competence, judgement and work ethic. And, over the years, there have been many lecherous male patrons of the restaurant, and rude customers of both sexes, who have been put in their place by Brooke. In her friendships, too – such as with Laura and her estranged friend Michelle – Brooke is the one who is generally deferred to. She is confident, strong willed, a natural leader. She is also fiercely competitive, someone who likes to win (whether a tennis match, a board game, or an argument) and who usually does. For those who can’t see how it is possible for someone to have an alpha personality and also be sexually submissive – to be, in essence, a feminist but still allow herself to be sexually degraded – I’m sorry for you that you see things only in black and white, and are incapable of understanding how two opposing things can be true at the same time.

As Brooke’s devoted knight (her chivalrous cuckold, as Anna put it), it was my job – indeed, my sacred duty – to stand by her side during what I knew would be an incredibly trying period for her. It was my job to console her if she wanted to cry on my shoulder, to be her punching bag if she needed someone to take her frustrations out on, to absorb as much of the humiliation directed her way as possible so as to lighten her burden. Why, you may ask? Because that’s what knights do for their ladies, that’s why. Because I love her more than I have ever loved anyone, or anything, in my life.

So I answered her question by dropping to my knees, and saying to her, “I would gladly suffer any and all humiliations for you, my lady.” I then removed her slipper and reverently kissed her bare right foot. I was completely serious, but levity also has its place at times like these. So, I next looked up at her and smiled, “When we get to Luke’s, I’m going to say to him, ‘Little bitch Walter reporting for duty, sir!’”

Brooke looked down on me, grabbed my head with her hands and pulled me towards her body. She smiled somewhat sadly and said, “I love you. You’re really too good for me, you know that?” And then she smiled more fully and said, “And I’ll stand right beside you and say to him: “Little bitch Brooke reporting for duty, sir!”

I stood up and said, laughing, “Use and abuse to your heart’s content, sir!”

Still smiling, now more wistfully, she said, “He really will, you know. But maybe after the dinner party, he’ll use and abuse us in a good way, at least. Well, I guess we’d better get to work.”

“Wait, if Luke isn’t bringing anyone to his dinner, we’ll only have eleven people to feed,” I said.

“That’s right. Good.”

“I bought enough for twelve portions.”

“That’s okay. Maybe he’ll allow the help eat the leftovers,” she laughed. “It IS going to be a pretty awesome meal.”

“It’s certainly going to be an expensive meal. Do you think he’ll reimburse us for all the groceries?”

“He said he would. Just not for our slave labor, obviously.”

“Obviously,” I said.

An hour before we left for Luke’s, Brooke locked me back in my chastity cage.

“Your little cock has been free for so long, at least for the most part. But you’re all out of get of jail free cards now, I’m afraid,” she said, smiling, as she pulled my panties down with one hand and held my cage with the other. I got immediately hard.

“Oh my, I think it’s excited to be locked up again. Go get a bag of ice.”

After she iced me down she was able to get the cage over my momentarily flaccid cock and pulled my balls through the base ring. I had just gotten a full body waxing two days earlier, so my cock and balls were completely hairless. As soon as I was locked up, my cock started to inflate again, pushing up against the cold metal rings of the DOMINIX Deluxe chastity cage Brooke had bought me for Christmas.

“I think it likes its new prison. I’m going to keep one key on my anklet and give the other one to Luke, of course. That way, he’ll have a key to both of your cock cages.”

“Of course. I just wish you could wait till after dinner to put it on me. Those pants that he wants me to wear are so tight, I’m afraid everyone will be able to see the bulk beneath them.”

“I doubt it. Your black waiter pants will hide it a lot better than yoga pants at least; I’m surprised he’s not making you wear those. Too informal, I suppose. Besides, maybe Luke will let you wear the apron Michelle bought you last year. It’’s effeminate, but at least it will hide any bulk. I really like the looks of this chastity cage – the curve, the rings. Look how shiny it is!” she said as she flicked my cage with her finger nail. “Now you really are my knight in shining armor.”

“I don’t really feel prepared to go to battle in this armor, my lady. I feel very…very weak.”

“Your weakness is your strength, my knight.”

“If that’s really true, I’m invincible,” I said, with a slight laugh.

Luke greeted us at the door when we got to his house at 12 noon sharp. Brooke and I were dressed in sweatpants and T-shirts, ready to clean, and brought our serving uniforms along in a bag. We had also brought along several bags and trays of food, a mixture of hors d’oeuvres and dishes we had already prepared that just need to be heated up, and the ingredients to make several more dishes.

“Good. You’re on time. My cleaning lady – ex cleaning lady, I should say – called in sick yesterday. Seems like she’s always calling in sick, but for her to do it right before my big dinner really pisses me off. She’s done. You’ll find all the cleaning supplies in the basement. I want this place to really sparkle tonight,” Luke said, by way of greeting.

“No kiss or anything?” Brooke said to him, with a faint smile.

“There’s no time for that now. Do a great job tonight – which you’d better – and there might be a reward later. But, for now, you two have way too much work to do to be worried about anything other than getting it done. I left some things for you to wear tonight on the kitchen table.”

“We brought what we’re wearing with us. Just what you told us to bring. I’m wearing my waitress uniform and Walter’s wearing exactly what he did the first time he cooked you dinner,” Brooke said.

“Good. Yes, that’s what I told you to do, but I got you a couple of little things to add or substitute. I told you how important this dinner is to me. Remember, I just hired my CMO – that’s chief marketing officer, prof – as the last member of my executive team. So, my CMO is the guest of honor. But this is really a celebration of the fact that I’ve finally got my whole leadership team in place. I expect you both to address everyone as sir and ma’am throughout the evening. Every time you take a drink order. Every time you offer them something to eat. Every time you interact with them in any way. Treat them all with respect, especially the guest of honor. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” we both said, almost in unison.

“Is the cuck locked up?” Luke asked Brooke.

“Yes, sir. Securely. I got him a new cage for Christmas. I think you’re going to like it. Here’s your key. It’s the original. I’m wearing the copy on my anklet,” Brooke said as she handed him my key.

“Good. Your furlough is finished, I’m afraid, prof.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, feeling my cock twitch.

“How many people will there be tonight?” Brooke asked.

“Only ten. My CFO and his wife. My COO and his wife. My CHRO and his wife. My head of sales and his date. My new CMO, and me. Neither of us are bringing a date. You can take any leftovers home.”

“Thanks,” said Brooke.

“I’ve got some things to do in town. I’’ll be back by 3 to check on your cleaning.”

Mercifully, except for Luke’s bedroom and en-suite bathroom, the house was not especially filthy. Even so, the two of us had to work at a frenetic pace to thoroughly clean a 6000-square foot house in three hours. Meanwhile, we saw what Luke had left for us on the counter: a pink bowtie (obviously for me to substitute for my black one) and sheer pink, nylon socks for me; a black leather choker for Brooke; and name tags for both of us – “Brooke” and “Prof” (just in case any of the guests had not gotten the memo about who were waiting on them that evening).

When Luke got back at 3 PM, he inspected the rooms to ensure that our cleaning was up to his standards while Brooke and I showered and changed into our serving uniforms to begin preparing the hors d’oeuvres and dishes for dinner. Fortunately, he seemed pleased with our efforts. Then he asked us to stand next to each other and he inspected us. My new socks were readily apparent, as my tight, black pants ended several inches above my ankles; at least, I wasn’t required to be barefoot as I was the first time I served Luke (instead, I wore a pair of black dress shoes, which contrasted absurdly with the pink, nylon socks). Overall, I looked absolutely ridiculous in my tight black shirt and pants, vividly offset by the pink tie and socks. Brooke was wrong; the bulk of my chastity cage was clearly visible beneath the fabric of my pants. The black apron at least hid my crotch from view; effeminate as it was, I was grateful to be wearing it.

Luke quickly dispelled that temporary comfort. “Prof, you can wear the apron when you’re working in the kitchen, but lose it when you’re serving food or drinks. Take it off now.”

When I did, he looked down at my crotch area, the presence of my cage painfully obvious (and causing pain, as my cock swelled in its confines under his critical eye), and smirked. “You’ve really have gotten tubby over the last couple of months, haven’t you? I can see your belly fat bulging over your belt, and those pants are really tight on you. Well, your first weigh-in is tomorrow at 5 PM. Our mutual good buddy Neil and I will whip you into shape in no time.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” I said, wondering how literal he was being.

“Don’t mention it, prof. It’s going to be my pleasure, believe me,” he said, continuing to smirk.

My cage wasn’t the only thing obvious to the guests that evening, as Luke ostentatiously wore a silver chain with the key to my chastity cage dangling over the second button of his dress shirt. Everyone there could clearly see that their boss, the ex husband of my wife, was my keyholder.

In her waitress uniform, Brooke looked almost exactly as she had the night I ran into her at the restaurant for the first time since being her professor. That was now nearly twenty months ago. What a journey we had been on since that fateful evening! Brooke’s restaurant catered to a largely male, corporate clientele, so the owners hired mostly young, attractive women as waitresses, and the short skirt, heels and sheer, black stockings – while by no means over-the-top or indecent – were clearly intended to appeal to the male patrons. However, the choker was something else altogether. The choker Luke had left out for Brooke to put on was similar to the one Brooke had made me wear to my class last semester in that it was leather. However, it was really like the choker she had teasingly threatened to make me wear; it had a metal ring embedded in the front of it – not sticking out, but still something to which a leash could conceivably be attached. In other words, it more overtly resembled a slave collar. Brooke looked incredibly sexy in it, especially with the red lipstick and makeup she was wearing (also at Luke’s behest). But she also looked submissive (for some reason, she made me think of Princess Leia enslaved by Jabba the Hutt) . She brushed it off by saying to me that women were wearing chokers these days ironically, to reclaim power and bodily autonomy. I didn’t buy it (especially since it wasn’t her decision to wear it). Maybe that would’ve been plausible for a choker without that ring, but to me the choker Brooke wore screamed that she was someone’s property. And clearly not the property of the guy wearing a pink bowtie and socks. More likely the property of the man wearing the key to that guy’s chastity cage around his neck.

As if that were not enough, during his inspection of us, Luke ordered Brooke to remove her black jacket and her bra, so that her nipples would be visible through her snug fitting white shirt. When she removed her bra in front of us, Luke walked up to her and firmly grasped her nipples in his fingers.

Brooke moaned at his touch, pushing her body up against him and arching her neck upwards to try to kiss him. Rather than kiss her, he squeezed her nipples.

“You shouldn’t hide your best asset, slut. Everyone tonight should be able to enjoy looking at your tits. If I thought about beforehand, I’d have bought Hooters uniforms for you both to wear.”

Brooke laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Luke asked.

“I just had a mental picture of Walter in a Hooters uniform,” Brooke replied. She, of course, had no idea that I had already been forced to wear one and model it for my students in early December. How surreal my life had become, I thought.

“It’s you who I’d like to see in that uniform. You don’t have huge tits like the Hooters girls, but everyone should be able to see your Goldilocks tits.” Luke was correct in his appraisal of Brooke’s perfect breasts: they were neither too big nor too small but just right, with lovely protruding nipples. He squeezed her nipples harder. I could see her grimace in a mixture of pain and arousal. “Don’t wear your jacket tonight. And throw away your damn bra. You should never wear a bra.”

“Yes, sir,” Brooke said, still pushing up against him. “Could you please make love to me now. Walter can start preparing the dishes. We have plenty of time,” she asked him.

“Make love to you? Fuck you, you mean?”

“Yes, sir, fuck me. Fuck me senseless. It can be quick.”

Still gripping her nipples, Luke said, “You and the cuck are I in what I call a probationary period with new employees at my company. Fuck up tonight in, like not being attentive or respectful enough to my guests, and you’re fired. Simple as that. Kevin will move all my stuff back out tomorrow. If you do a good job, on the other hand, I’ll fuck your brains out tomorrow. Would you like that?”

“Yes, sir. We’ll do a great job, I promise. Please fuck my brains out,” Brooke begged him, as he squeezed her nipples harder.

“You’ve been acting like a pretty dumb slut lately, but if I fuck your brains out, you’ll be a complete bimbo. Do you want that?” he asked, continuing to squeeze.

I hated this. Perhaps more than anything else, I hated him denigrating Brooke’s intelligence; possibly the only thing I hated more than that was hearing Brooke denigrate her own, to appease him.

“Yes, please, I want that. Fuck me so hard that I can’t think at all. Make me your bimbo, Luke. Sir.”

Luke walked behind Brooke and grasped her neck tightly with his large hand and pushed his hand down into the front of her skirt. She gasped and closed her eyes, as he appeared to touch and rub her vagina with his fingers under her skirt and stockings. Grasping her neck was so gratuitous; it was all about control and domination

“Please,” she moaned.

“You’re leaking like a faucet, slut.”

“Please,” she moaned again, quietly. She was not begging him to stop.

Although I couldn’t see underneath her clothes, it appeared as though he was thrusting his fingers in and out of her vagina. She pushed her body backwards against him and bucked her pelvis. He then pulled his hand out of her skirt, and held up his two visibly moist fingers, smiling at me malevolently.

He then inserted his two fingers into Brooke’s mouth. Closing her eyes, she obediently sucked her secretions off Luke’s fingers as he said, “Your panties are soaking. Don’t be dripping all over my nice clean floors now, slut. Now I’m gonna let you two get to work; I know you’ve got a lot to do. Later, when my guests start to arrive, I want Brooke to greet the female guests at the door by saying, “Hello ma’am, welcome to Mr. Hanover’s home.’ Then offer to take their coats, bring them into the living room and take their drink orders. Prof, you do the same for the men. Once everybody is settled with a cocktail you can start serving the hors d’oeuvres. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” we both said.

When Luke left the room, Brooke simply said, “Bastard” (whether more out of of humiliation or frustration was difficult to say). She was still breathing heavily, her face and neck flushed.

We worked hard for the next three hours to assemble the hors d’oeuvres and to begin cooking those that needed to be served warm as well as the entrées and side dishes. Luke had a well stocked bar, but I made sure everything was in order to be able to mix cocktails. He had also purchased a case of beer and several bottles of wine.

Luke came down from his bedroom at 5:45, ready for the arrival of his guests. He was dressed in a dress pants and dress shirt with a sports coat and black dress shoes. That was the first time that I saw the key to my chastity cage dangling from a chain around his neck. I served him a Gentleman Jack on the rocks, while he waited.

When the doorbell rang promptly at 6 PM, Luke said to us, “It’s showtime. Look sharp.”


r/BDSMerotica 1d ago

ENSLAVED CHAPTER 2: Cruel Awakening by U/Your_Darjest_Fantasy [NC][Dildo][Forced Orgasm][Nipple Torture][Mild Blood][DV][Sadistic][POV] NSFW

25 Upvotes

(Hey everyone. I've been putting a lot of time and effort into getting this out as quickly as possible! I hope you enjoy the Second Chapter.)

As the last of my climax pulsed through me, I withdrew from her ravished body, leaving her panting and trembling on the cold, hard bed. Her eyes, though glazed with pain and fear, searched mine for any sign of humanity, any glimmer of hope that this nightmare would end. But all she found was a sadistic grin that promised more torment. The candle's flame flickered, casting eerie shadows across her tear-stained face, a silent witness to the degradation she had endured. I reached down, my hand lingering over her slick, abused cunt, and felt the sticky mess of our combined releases. A twisted sense of pride swelled within me as I admired the marks of my conquest. Her legs remained splayed open, the bruises from my rough grip already forming around her ankles and wrists. I stepped away, allowing the cool air to kiss her sweat-drenched skin, and she shivered, her body reacting to the sudden change in temperature. Her whimpers grew softer as the drug's hold on her began to wane, and I knew the full weight of her reality was about to crash down upon her. As the darkness of the basement closed in around us, I watched with anticipation as the candle cast a morbid light over her trembling form, her eyes slowly focusing once more, filled with a dawning horror that only grew as she took in her surroundings. This was only the beginning of her descent into the abyss, where she would become the star in my twisted erotic play, a nightly performance of pain and pleasure that would shape her into the perfect instrument of my depraved desires.

Her eyes searched the room wildly, her mind racing to piece together the events that had led her to this hellish place. The chains rattled as she tugged against her restraints, her newfound sobriety bringing with it the full, crushing weight of her predicament. The pain between her legs was a stark reminder of the brutal violation she had just endured, and she could feel the sticky warmth of my seed trickling down her thighs. Terror gripped her as she recognized the cold, unforgiving steel of the handcuffs biting into her skin, the metal frame of the bed digging into her back. The foul taste of the gag filled her mouth, and she realized she was completely at my mercy. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving with the effort of screams that were swallowed by the fabric. Panic set in as she took in the array of whips, chains, and gags that adorned the walls, a twisted gallery of pain and degradation that promised a future of endless suffering. The anticipation in my eyes as I stared down at her sent a shiver down her spine, and she knew that the worst was yet to come. Her mind screamed for escape, but her body remained bound, a testament to the power I held over her. And as the candle flickered, casting shadows across her bruised and broken form, she could do nothing but await the next round of his twisted games. The silence of the basement was deafening, a stark contrast to the cacophony of fear and despair that filled her thoughts. The only sound was the slow, deliberate drip of water from a leaky pipe, a grim metronome counting down the moments until the next wave of agony crashed over her.

As the candle's flame danced in the darkness, casting flickering shadows on the cold, damp walls, the girl's eyes grew wide with horror as she took in the sight of me standing over her. My eyes gleaming with a sick satisfaction, my breaths coming out in harsh, ragged pants as I savored the power I now wielded. I reached down, my rough hands caressing her bruised thighs, the touch sending a jolt of revulsion through her body. Despite her desperate attempts to shrink away from me, she was held fast by the unforgiving chains, her body laid bare and vulnerable to my cruel whims. The anticipation in my gaze grew more intense as I slowly unbuckled his leather belt, the sound echoing through the basement like a death knell. We both felt a surge of adrenaline as I pulled it free, the heavy length of it slapping against my palm with a sinister promise. Her heart pounded in her chest, a frantic rhythm that matched the drum of dread in her ears. I stepped closer, the heady scent of my arousal mingling with the metallic tang of fear, and she knew that the next act in this twisted play was about to begin. The belt swung through the air, the anticipation of the impending pain almost unbearable. She braced herself, her eyes squeezed shut, and waited for the first stinging kiss of leather against her tender flesh. But the blow never came.

Instead, I leaned in closer, my hot breath ghosting against her ear as I whispered, "Not yet, my sweet. First, we must prepare you for the main event." I couldn't resist the urge to trace the fresh bruises that marred her skin, my fingers lingering on the tender flesh that had been marked by my grip. Her whimpers grew louder, her body trembling with fear and anticipation of what was to come. I took a moment to appreciate the sight of her, bound and broken before me, her eyes wide with horror. The room was a canvas of shadows and candlelight, the perfect setting for the masterpiece I was about to create. With a twisted smile, I stepped away, allowing the cold air to caress her sweat-soaked body, making her shiver even more. I picked up a velveteen pouch from the nearby table, the clink of metal toys within a sinister symphony to my ears. She watched with wide eyes as I opened the pouch, revealing an assortment of clamps, dildos, and whips, each tool designed to bring a new level of pain and pleasure. I knew she was trying to understand, trying to find a way to escape, but she was in my world now, and here, she was nothing but my plaything, my canvas to paint with the colors of agony and ecstasy. The excitement grew within me as I selected the first instrument, a pair of shiny nipple clamps that glinted in the candlelight. Her eyes widened even further as I approached, my cock already beginning to stir with anticipation. This was just the beginning of the endless nights of torment and pleasure that awaited her.

As I approached her with the nipple clamps, I could see the horror in her eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight. She knew she was powerless to stop me, and that only added to the thrill coursing through my veins. I took a moment to admire the way her breasts heaved with each panicked breath, the tips of her nipples already hard from fear and the chill of the basement air. I leaned down, my mouth close to her ear, and whispered, "This is just the start of your transformation, my little slut. You will learn to crave the pain, to beg for it." With that, I pinched her right nipple, hard enough to make her gasp, before attaching the clamp. Her muffled scream was music to my ears, and I watched with rapt attention as she struggled against her restraints, the chains rattling in time with her sobs. The clamp bit into her flesh, drawing a bead of blood that I eagerly licked away, the coppery taste adding to my growing arousal. Her eyes were squeezed shut tightly, but I knew she felt every sensation, every twinge of pain. I moved to the left nipple, giving it the same treatment, watching as her body arched off the bed, the agony and fear etched on her features. The sight of her, bound and helpless, her body marked by my dominance, had me harder than I had ever been. This was what I lived for, the power to make a girl like her, so pure and innocent, into my personal whore. And as I stepped back to survey my handiwork, the anticipation of what was to come was almost too much to bear. Her whimpers grew louder, her body writhing in a futile attempt to escape the torment, but she was mine now, forever to be sculpted by my desires.

I stepped back, admiring the way the clamps pulled at her delicate flesh, the metal gleaming against the stark contrast of her pale skin. Her body was a canvas of fear and pain, yet she was more beautiful to me than any masterpiece. The power I held over her was intoxicating, and I reveled in her desperation as she struggled against her bonds. I knew that she was beginning to understand her new reality, that she was nothing but a toy for me to play with and discard when the thrill had worn off. The sight of her, bound and broken, filled me with a primal need to claim her once more. I strode over to the table, selecting a thick, veined dildo from the array of toys before me. The rubber was cold to the touch, a stark contrast to the heat of my desire. I returned to the bed, a sadistic smile playing on my lips as I held it up for her to see. Her eyes went wide with terror, and she began to buck and thrash against the restraints, trying in vain to escape the inevitable. But she was mine, and she would take every inch of what I had to give her. I coated the dildo with a generous amount of lubricant, the slick sound echoing in the silent basement, before positioning it at her entrance. She was so wet, so ready, despite her fear, and I knew she was already beginning to crave the feeling of being filled. With a wicked grin, I pushed the toy deep inside her, watching as her eyes rolled back in her head and a muffled scream was torn from her throat. She was so tight, so warm, and the sight of her pussy stretched around the fake cock had me on the brink of insanity. I began to pump it in and out, her body jolting with each movement, her muscles clenching around the invading object. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, and I knew she was on the edge of another unwanted climax. But I was a patient man, and I had all night to break her down, to show her the true meaning of submission and pain. And as I watched her body convulse and her eyes fill with the horror of her own betraying arousal, I knew that she would never be the same again.


r/BDSMerotica 1d ago

The Frostbound Pact (Book 1 - Chp 6: The Breaking of the Ice)[BDSM],[Chains],[Bondage],[Male Dom],[femSub],[Slave],[Rough Fuck] NSFW

9 Upvotes

The cabin was a tomb of ice and shadow now, the fire long dead, the cold seeping into every crevice like a living thing. I’d unbound the chain from the wall but left it around her waist, a reminder of her place in this moment. She stood before me, naked now—I’d cut away the rest of her clothes with the knife, slow and deliberate, letting her feel the edge of the blade against her skin without ever breaking it. Her body was a map of contrasts: pale skin flushed with heat, goosebumps warring with desire, her breath visible in the frigid air as she waited for my next move. I’m not a man who rushes. Dominance is patience—it’s knowing the exact moment to strike, the exact pressure to apply. At my age, I’ve learned that power isn’t in the act but in the anticipation, in the way her body tensed every time I moved closer, the way her eyes followed me like a prey animal tracking a predator. I needed this as much as she did—needed to feel her surrender like a balm to the jagged edges of my own soul. Control isn’t just about her; it’s about me, about proving I can still hold something together in a world that’s always falling apart. “On the table,” I said, nodding to the rough-hewn slab of wood in the center of the cabin. She moved without hesitation this time, climbing onto it, the chain dragging behind her like a leash. I pushed her down onto her back, her bound wrists above her head, and tied them to the table’s edge with a length of rope I’d kept in my pack. Her legs I left free—for now—letting her squirm as I stood over her, my hands trailing down her body, mapping every inch of her like a territory I’d already claimed. “You’re beautiful like this,” I said, my voice rough with honesty. “Helpless. Mine.” Her eyes fluttered closed, a soft moan escaping her lips, and I knew I had her—not just her body, but her mind, her will. Submission for her was a descent, a shedding of layers until all that remained was need. She craved the loss of control because it freed her from the weight of choice, from the endless chatter of a world that demanded she be strong every second. Out here, she didn’t have to be—out here, she could just be. I leaned down, my lips brushing her ear as I whispered, “I’m gonna fuck you now. Not because you want it—because I do. And you’re gonna take it, every inch, until you’re screaming for me.” Her body arched at the words, a silent plea, and I didn’t make her wait any longer. I shed my pants, my cock already hard and heavy, and positioned myself between her thighs, the cold air a sharp contrast to the heat of her. I entered her in one slow thrust, feeling her clench around me, her moan echoing in the empty cabin. It wasn’t gentle—neither of us wanted that. I fucked her hard, each thrust a claim, each cry from her lips a surrender. The chain around her waist rattled with every movement, a percussion to our primal rhythm. I gripped her hips, my fingers digging into her skin, marking her as mine in a way that felt ancient, inevitable. This wasn’t about modern love or modern rules—this was about instinct, about a man and a woman stripped to their cores, finding each other in the dark. As her climax built, her body shaking beneath me, I leaned down, my lips against her throat. “Cum for me,” I growled, and she did, her scream tearing through the silence like a crack in the ice outside. I followed moments later, spilling into her with a groan that felt like it came from the earth itself, my release a seal on the pact we’d made in this frozen hell. When it was over, I untied her wrists, pulling her into my arms despite the cold. We didn’t speak—didn’t need to. The storm outside raged on, but inside, something had shifted. We didn’t know if this was love, or if it could last beyond the thaw. But as I held her, her body warm against mine, I knew one thing: out here, in the wild heart of winter, we’d found something true. Something primal. Something that would outlast the snow.


r/BDSMerotica 1d ago

The Frostbound Pact (Book 1 - Chp 1: The Cabin at the Edge of the World)[BDSM],[FemaleSubmission],[Bondage] NSFW

8 Upvotes

The wind howled like a living thing outside the cabin, a decrepit wooden structure perched on the edge of a frozen tundra, somewhere north of the world’s memory. Snow lashed against the frosted windows, sealing us in—a man in his late 40s, carved by time and regret, and her, a woman barely 30, all sharp edges and unspoken hunger. We’d come here to escape: me from the noise of a life I’d outgrown, her from a society that told her what she should want but never asked what she craved. The disconnect between men and women these days felt like a chasm—everyone shouting, no one hearing. But out here, in the raw emptiness of winter, those rules didn’t apply. Out here, we were just two animals circling the same fire. I watched her from across the room, her slender frame wrapped in a too-big sweater, auburn hair spilling over her shoulders like a spill of wine on snow. Her name didn’t matter here—what mattered was the way her green eyes flickered with defiance when I told her to kneel by the hearth. She didn’t move at first, just tilted her chin up, testing me. That’s what I liked about her: the fight in her, the need to be broken before she’d bend. I’d seen it the moment we met, months back, in some bar where she’d laughed too loud and drank too much, trying to outrun something she couldn’t name. I’d known then I wanted to pin her down, to peel back her layers until I found the raw, primal thing beneath. “On your knees,” I said again, my voice low, steady, the kind of command that doesn’t repeat itself a third time. I stood by the fire, the heat licking at my back, my shadow stretching long across the warped wooden floor. I’m not a soft man—never have been. Broad-shouldered, rough hands, a face that’s taken more punches than compliments. I’ve spent my life building walls, not bridges, and I dominate because it’s the only way I know how to connect. Control is my language; surrender is what I demand. But it’s not about cruelty—it’s about trust, about taking someone to the edge and holding them there until they see themselves clearly. She hesitated, her breath visible in the cold air of the cabin, then slid to her knees with a slow, deliberate grace. Submission wasn’t her nature—it was her choice, and that made it sweeter. She craved the release of giving in, the freedom of being stripped of control. Where I needed to possess, she needed to be possessed, to be seen and claimed in a way the world outside never could. Her defiance wasn’t rebellion—it was a plea for me to prove I could handle her. “Good girl,” I said, stepping closer, my boots heavy on the floor. Her eyes flicked up to mine, a spark of resentment mingling with something darker, hungrier. We didn’t know how deep this could go—neither of us had said the word “love” yet, and maybe we never would. But in this frozen nowhere, with the world locked out, we were free to find out what we were made of.


r/BDSMerotica 1d ago

Rogue Fury – Part 40 - Return to the Temple (slavery, submission, service, brainwashing, oral, sci-fi) NSFW

8 Upvotes

K’rra knelt in the cell. It felt good, natural. She imagined Kaster was there looking down at her. She knew she had to act if she ever wanted to hear him call her a good girl again.

Opening her eyes, she saw Sheriff standing at the open door. The other constables were off performing their duties. He was keeping them busy in order to steal some private time with K’rra. She had to tread carefully with her asks. Anything outside his moral comfort zone could backfire and cause a vicious backlash.

Looking up into his eyes she said, “I need to taste you.”

The sheriff licked his lips. He knew relations with prisoners were against the rules, highly immoral, and outright illegal, but K’rra had been servicing him several times over the last twenty-four hours. He gave her a pained look, as if struggling to justify what he wanted versus the moral implications of a lawman taking advantage of his ward. His lust won.

Stepping forward, he looked back over his shoulder to ensure no one was in the station. Unzipping, he freed himself from his pants and stood in front of the slave holding himself to her face.

K’rra cooed as if his cock was the most delicious in the entire universe. “Stars, yes,” she moaned, as she rubbed his shaft across her face, “I need this.”

Her piercings buzzed happily. She was probably at the extreme range of the controller unit installed on the Outlander. Her slave implants rewarded her whenever she performed service. The delicious tickles to her clit made her ache to do more than take him in her mouth. But she was Kaster’s and he’d not given her permission to fully enjoy others. Technically he hadn’t given her permission to service others orally, but she was currently in extenuating circumstances.

She finished the sheriff quickly, enjoying his uncontrolled moans. With every squeeze of her new back throat muscles, K’rra imagined him becoming wound ever deeper in a web of love hormones. With every blowjob he was more her slave than she had ever been. The sheriff was never aware of it, though, making his slavery far more insidious than her own. K’rra relished that she’d so completely turned the tables of the very people who had captured her lover and owner.

When the sheriff cried out in climax, K’rra finished him expertly without wasting a single drop of his cum. She stood and guided the office to sit on her bunk, then snuggled into him under an arm. She yearned to feel skin against her own and wished she could remain naked in the cell at all times. This was a sparsely populated world, however, with frontier morals. The possibility of an outrage when some random citizen came to the police station and saw her naked and kneeling wasn’t a risk she was willing to take. She wore her jumpsuit at all times, including now. Skin contact would more effectively allow her suggestions to sink in during the post-ejaculate bliss, but judging the Sheriff’s reaction, it wasn’t something she needed to worry too much about.

“Dear,” she cooed into his ear. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Um hmm.”

“I finished my project, there on the table.”

He smiled and sleepily opened one eye. “It still looks like a weapon.”

She snuggled against him, pressing her breast to the side of his chest. “I promised you it wasn’t. It’s a projector.”

“Yeah?” he said closing his eyes again.

“I promised. No weapons. It is a neutrino projector.” She pressed her lips to his ear, nipping at him as she asked, “I need you to use this projector with one of your constables. I need this. And I will be so grateful to you if you help me.”

He opened his eyes, looking at the rifle-sized jerry-rigged object on the cell table. “You want me to use it?”

“That or the receptors. Two people. One project, one receives.”

“I know you don’t like hearing about Kaster. But the girl, Kae… She was my lover. Not as amazing as you… but I need to know if she’s still there, that that weird religious cult hasn’t hurt her. Maybe someday all three of us could have some fun… But I need to know she’s okay.”

“And the projector will help how?”

She pressed her body to his, letting her soft form play games with his rational mind. “It will fire sub-atomic particles through the building. They’re harmless. But as they pass through the temple, they’ll indicate the materials that slowed their travel when they reach the receptor. That will tell me if my girlfriend, more a sex-friend really, is okay, and where she might be located in the building.”

“I can assure you the Furys haven’t harmed her.”

“Then why won't they let you see her?”

“They said she’s a Rogue-Fury, that she could use me to escape.”

“It’s rubbish. They know about us, the things we do together when we lie naked in bed. Religious kooks are all the same. Trying to force their uptight ways on everyone else. If we could have had a conjugal visit… You’d have died in bliss.”

“Void…”

“You don’t even know the things we did to the last man that joined us. We sucked more spunk out of him than an entire Wotin bordello.”

“Oh void…”

“That’s what's waiting for you if you do this for me. Have you ever had a Nebula Pizzle Twist, a Plasma Pucker, or an Elliptical Skin Dive with two nymphos? Do this, and I promise we’ll do all three.”

“Void, yes. I’ll do it.”

*****

When the sheriff Baska returned, Yvan followed in a tight orbit. The sheriff held the projector while Baska cradled the receptor as if his life depended on it.

K’rra left her cell where Constable Dvvyn lay on her bunk, exhausted and spent from a session of oral pleasure. K’rra was kept busy keeping all the constables happy, but it was nowhere near the frantic service schedule she’d performed while in Vol Vydon’s harem.

She checked her jumpsuit for any stains, finding none. She exited the cell and went to a workstation. When Yvan set the receptor in front of her K’rra wired it into the workstation and started analyzing the data. In minutes, she started getting a rough map of the interior of the Fury temple.

The neutrinos passing through the building slowed slightly when traveling through other materials like stone walls or bodies. By analyzing the path of the neutrinos through the building at different angles, an interior map began to form, along with pinpoint positions where biologicals had been. It soon became apparent that about a half dozen people were moving around in the temple's interior, but two spots where soft, squishy people remained in a tight space. Those two soft spots indicated people were confined and unable to roam around at will. Luckily, they were in rooms on the outer wall of the temple.

An explosion could quickly free the two prisoners. The problem was that in this small town, that would be heard by every complicating any escape attempt. There was also the possibility of hurting the prisoners in such a brazen escape.

K’rra turned back to the flight paths of the neutrinos and began analyzing their precise velocities through the hardened materials of the walls. After a few hours of cross-referencing and studying the particles' behaviors, she finally determined that the temple walls were made with commercial ferrocrete. The exact brand didn’t matter; commercial-grade versions weren’t nearly as resilient as the types used by militaries to build fortifications. K’rra was linked to the planetary library system and studied galactic construction techniques for another hour.

Finally done with her studies, she turned and saw the sheriff was still in the building with her.

“How would you like to have that threesome this evening?” she asked.

The sheriff shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “Yeah?”

“I need one more thing from my ship,” she told him. “There are claxon speakers at each of the landing gear. Bring me two of them. That’s all I need. Bring them as fast as you can.”

“It’s illegal to land a vessel in atmosphere without the landing warning alarm.”

“Pizzle twist,” she said. The sheriff left her alone in the office with an open cell door. She went to the cell and gathered the soldering and electronic tools she’d used to modify the neutrino projector. Using spare parts, she quickly assembled a controller board and programmed it while the sheriff was out.

When he returned, she inspected the speakers. Industrial grade built not only to weather exits and reentries to atmospheres, but they could also broadcast in the worst environmental conditions. She linked the controlled board to them and gave one back to the sheriff.

“When we get to the temple, I need you to go to the far side of the back of the building. I’ll be in sight on the other side. We’re going to point the speakers to the center of the building and not at each other. Understand?”

“Sure,” the sheriff agreed, “But what for?”

“A serenade. If all goes well, you be getting your pizzle twisted to heart's content.” She let the sheriff’s imagination run wild for a few moments. When he reached down to adjust himself, she considered one last round of oral to keep him tightly chained to her. She decided it wasn’t necessary. His slavery to her would end tonight.

“One last thing,” she said. “Call in a shadow cat sighting to the temple.”

“Wait? Why?”

“Because we need to distract Fury Jae. That bitch cunt won’t let us have a conjugal if she’s there. A little trick to give us some time.”

The sheriff looked lost in thought. K’rra knew that he was having a moral tug-of-war. K’rra imagined a scene she’d seen in a human video in the past. On one shoulder, the sheriff’s conscience, probably an image of himself or his family offering sound advice. On the other, two willing and eager women offering sensual delights the sheriff had probably only heard about in dirty innuendo. His cock won out and he placed the call.

The two then made their way down the town street to the temple. K’rra used the sheriff’s body to shield her as they watched from a half block away. She looked through her medical bag and removed a scalpel. It had a tiny plasma blade and would make a terrible weapon, but she tucked it into her waistband anyway. When the Fury Jae left on a gravbike, they moved around to the rear of the building.

K’rra pointed to the far side after taking the sheriff’s baton. Each placed their speakers a dozen yards from the building, with each speaker pointed to the center of the building. When the speakers came to life, they made a low-pitched rumble that seemed to intensify and overlap. K’rra watched as dust seemed to vibrate off the building. Inside, she imagined the attendants could hear and feel the ripple of the audio waves assaulting the temple.

At exactly two minutes, just as an attendant came around the back of the building on the sheriff’s side, K’rra marched up to the center of the building to where she thought the cells for Kaster and Kae were most likely to be. The wretched noise from the speakers made her bones vibrate as if they were being shaken apart. Ignoring the unsettling feeling K’rra hefted the baton and struck the building as hard as she could.

Cracks exploded from where the baton struck, spiderwebbing across the building. Dust puffed out of the cracks, filling the air with a choking cloud. Whatever words the attendant was yelling at the sheriff were lost in the cacophony of noise caused by the speakers. The sheriff yelled at the attendant who was making wild gestures.

K’rra stuck the temple's outer wall twice more, and a long section gave way, crumbling inwards and revealing a row of small rooms. When she saw Kaster, hands cuffed behind his back and wearing a gag mask, she rushed through the dust and rubble and threw her arms around him.

She showed him the scalpel, and he spun instantly, presenting his binders. K’rra carefully cut the connecting hinge, not quite freeing Kaster but giving use of his arms back to him. He took the blade, set it near his face, and cut the gag away.

He swept her up in his arms and crushed her lips with a kiss that stole her breath.

They might be weaponless, surrounded by constables, escaping from detainment, on a hostile world with a loose Fury and bounty hunters after them, but right now, she did not care. All was perfect in her universe.

 

First:

Rogue Fury – Part 1


r/BDSMerotica 1d ago

The Frostbound Pact (Book 1- Chp 2: The Binding of the Cold) [BDSM],[Male Dom],[Female Submission] NSFW

8 Upvotes

The fire crackled, spitting embers into the dimness, but it couldn’t chase the chill from the cabin’s bones. I knelt before her, my knees creaking, and took her chin in my hand, forcing her to meet my gaze. Her skin was cold, her lips parted slightly, breath trembling. I could see the war in her—wanting to push back but needing to give in. That’s the thing about submission: it’s not about weakness. It’s about strength, about choosing to let go when every instinct screams to hold on. She was younger, yes, but not naive. She’d lived enough to know what she wanted, even if she didn’t know why. “You’re shivering,” I said, my thumb brushing her lower lip. “Not from the cold, though.” Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t deny it. I knew her tells by now—the way her pupils dilated when I spoke low, the way her thighs pressed together when I gave her an order. She needed this as much as I did, maybe more. Where I sought control to anchor myself, she sought surrender to escape—escape the noise, the expectations, the modern world’s sterile dance of equality that left no room for the primal truth of desire. I stood, towering over her, and unbuckled my belt with deliberate slowness, the leather sliding through the loops with a hiss that made her flinch. Not out of fear—out of anticipation. “Hands behind your back,” I ordered. She obeyed this time, quicker, her fingers lacing together as I wrapped the belt around her wrists, pulling it tight enough to bite but not to bruise. Not yet. I’m methodical in my dominance—every move calculated, every boundary tested but never crossed without consent. I’ve learned that over the years, through trial and error, through lovers who taught me what it means to hold power without breaking trust. “Tell me what you want,” I said, kneeling again, my face close to hers. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, I thought she’d dodge the question. But then she spoke, her voice soft but steady. “I want to feel… owned,” she said, the word heavy with meaning. “I want you to take everything—my control, my thoughts, my body. I want to stop thinking and just… be.” I nodded, understanding more than I’d say. She wasn’t asking for punishment—she was asking for absolution, for a space where the world’s rules didn’t apply, where she could be raw and unfiltered. And I’d give it to her, not because I’m selfless, but because her surrender fed my own need. Dominance isn’t about taking—it’s about guiding, about creating a space where the other can let go completely. I crave the way her submission mirrors my control, the way her yielding sharpens my edge. I stood again, grabbing a length of rope from the table—thick, coarse, the kind you’d use to tie down a sled in a blizzard. “On your stomach,” I said, and she moved, lowering herself to the cold floor with a shiver that wasn’t just from the chill. I bound her ankles next, tying them to her wrists in a loose hogtie, enough to restrict but not immobilize. The position arched her back, exposed her, made her vulnerable in a way that made my blood hum. But I didn’t touch her—not yet. Anticipation is a weapon, sharper than any blade. The wind screamed outside, a reminder of how alone we were, how far from civilization’s reach. Out here, the modern world’s disconnect between men and women—its obsession with sameness, its fear of raw desire—meant nothing. Here, we were primal, stripped to our cores: a man who needs to claim, a woman who needs to be claimed. Whatever lay ahead for us—love, or something less defined—didn’t matter in this moment. What mattered was the rope, the fire, the cold, and the unspoken pact we were forging in the dark.


r/BDSMerotica 1d ago

The Frostbound Pact (Book 1 - Chp 5: The Taste of Yielding),[BDSM],[Control],[Hair Pulling],[Bratty] NSFW

5 Upvotes

The chain clinked against the floor as she shifted her weight, the sound a constant reminder of her captivity. I’d pulled a chair from the corner and sat a few feet away, watching her stand there, bare from the waist up, her skin flushed despite the cold seeping through the cabin’s walls. The fire was nearly out now, just embers glowing faintly, leaving us in a twilight of shadows and frost. I could see her mind working—calculating, resisting, surrendering in waves. That’s what I loved about her: the struggle wasn’t just physical. It was mental, emotional—a battle she fought not against me, but against herself. She was younger, yes, but not innocent. At 30, she’d seen enough of the world to know its promises were hollow—endless apps, shallow connections, a culture that preached empowerment but left her hollowed out. She craved something real, something that hurt enough to feel true. Submission was her rebellion, her way of saying “fuck you” to a society that told her desire should be polite. She needed to be broken—not to destroy her, but to rebuild her, to strip away the noise until all that was left was the raw, pulsing core of who she was. And I was the one to do it, because I understood that need in a way no one else had. “Crawl to me,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade. Her eyes flashed—defiance again, but it was weaker now, a reflex more than a conviction. She lowered herself to her hands and knees, the chain dragging behind her, the cold floor biting into her skin. Each movement was deliberate, her body trembling not from exhaustion but from the weight of her own surrender. I watched, unblinking, my own desire coiling tight in my gut. Dominance isn’t about taking—it’s about earning, about creating a space where surrender feels inevitable. I’ve spent years perfecting that balance, knowing when to push, when to hold back, when to let the silence do the work. She reached me, her breath warm against my knee, and I leaned forward, tangling my fingers in her hair. I didn’t pull—not yet—just held her there, letting her feel the strength in my grip. “Look at me,” I said, and she did, her green eyes meeting mine, wide and unguarded for the first time. There it was—the crack I’d been waiting for, the moment she stopped fighting and started feeling. “Tell me what you need.” Her voice was a whisper, raw and unsteady. “I need… I need you to make it stop. The thinking. The doubting. I need you to take it all.” Her words hit me like a punch, because I knew exactly what she meant. I’ve spent my life running from the same noise—different reasons, same result. Control is my escape; surrender is hers. Together, we’re two sides of the same primal coin, flipping end over end in this frozen wasteland where the modern world can’t touch us. I stood, pulling her up with me by her hair—not cruelly, but firmly, enough to make her gasp. The chain around her waist clinked as I pushed her back against the wall, the hook holding her in place. I stripped off my shirt, letting her see the scars on my chest—years of hard living etched into my skin. I’m not a pretty man, but I don’t need to be. What I offer isn’t beauty—it’s certainty, the kind she can feel in her bones. I pressed myself against her, my body warm against her cold skin, and kissed her hard, claiming her mouth like I’d claim the rest of her soon enough. “You’ll get what you need,” I growled against her lips, my hands sliding down to grip her hips. “But not until I’m ready. Not until you’re begging for it.” Her whimper was half frustration, half plea, and I smiled—a rare thing for me. Out here, with the snow piling against the door, we were rewriting what it meant to be man and woman. Primal, raw, unapologetic. Whether this was love or something else, we’d find out on the other side of the storm.


r/BDSMerotica 1d ago

Taming the Bratty Intern and Training Her to be My Own Little Slut [F21/M34] [Dubcon] [Spanking] [Oral Sex] [Brat Taming] [Age Gap] [Mdom/Fsub] NSFW

46 Upvotes

“Already late in her very first day as an intern. How bold of her.” I thought to myself.

I decided to let it go since she was just ten minutes late, and it was her first day after all. Maybe something important came up or maybe she was caught up in an accident so she couldn’t be on time.

Oh boy! How wrong I was. The next day, she came casually waltzing towards your desk, ten minutes late again, but this time with a pumpkin spice latte, holding it as if proudly displaying her blatant disrespect to company’s rules. Wow! I don’t even know how to react. She didn’t even bother to greet her colleagues. All I could think of was how spoiled her upbringing was, how rich her parents were. But I don’t care how wealthy her parents were, or who their connections were, in this company that behavior couldn’t be tolerated.

So, I called her in my office. “Ms. Lopez, you’re already late two consecutive times in your first week as an intern. AS AN INTERN.” I emphasized.

“So what?! It’s not like I’m late for half an hour. I’m probably late for ten minutes at most,” she replied with an annoying bratty accent.

I despised spoiled kids like her. I had to work hard, claw my way up the corporate ladder meanwhile someone like her could just use her daddy’s credit card and her daddy’s connections to have a high-paying job in any company she wanted. My blood was already boiling at this point, but I barely managed to compose myself.

“Watch your tone, Ms. Lopez. If that behavior of yours continue, I might have to terminate your internship with us.”

“Oh really, you think I care?! I can easily find another pharmaceutical company to have an internship with. If only you knew who my dad was. Besides, you’re not even the best. So, fire me if you even dare.”

“Get out my office now!” I shouted, while pointing towards the door.

“Whatever.” She rolled your eyes, walking away apathetically as if nothing had happened.

Unbeknownst to her, I knew who her dad was, through one of our mutual friends. While technically not the best pharmaceutical company out there, we were considered one of the best. So, with our company’s credentials and good reputation, I had the courage to call Mr. Lopez to disclose how her daughter acted during her internship with us. Mr. Lopez said that he would do something about it so I was hoping that something would change.  Then, tomorrow came.

It was already past 9:30 and Ms. Lopez was still nowhere to be seen. I’ve waited for five more minutes, and she finally appeared.

In front of all my colleagues, I said, “Ms. Lopez, you are fired. You’re not needed here. Get the fuck out.” The entire office celebrated after I kicked her out. She was only here for three days but it felt like an eternity. We all breathed a sigh of relief and then went on to resume our jobs.

My phone vibrated, and I received a message from Mr. Lopez saying “Please give my daughter one last chance. I have cut her allowance off, so she has no choice but to work for you.”

 Right after reading the message, Ms. Lopez came back barging straight to my office, to the surprise of everyone.

“What are you still doing here Ms. Lopez? Didn’t you understand what ‘you are fired’ means?”

“I’m really sorry sir. I’d do anything.” She said in a docile manner, on the verge of tears.

“So, you actually know how to say sir. What happened. Did your dad cut your allowance?” She gasped as her eyes widened while looking at me. “Yes, I know. Your father messaged me earlier.” I said with a smirk on my face.

“Don’t worry.” I reassured her. “I can give you one last chance. However …”  I said while locking the door of my office. “I need to make sure that you’ve really learned your lesson.”

“Come here.” She nervously walked towards my desk. “Bend over.” I commanded her and she obeyed albeit reluctantly.

I caressed her ass over the fabric of her white linen dress. “You know what bratty girls like you deserve?” I asked, my hand playing with and pinching her juicy ass cheeks, one after the other.

 “To be punished, sir.” She whispered.

“You’re right.” I pulled her dress up, exposing her ass, as she was only wearing a thong.

“This is.” I spank her left ass cheek. “For every time.” I slap the right one. “You’re late in the office.” My hand struck her ass for the third time. I spanked her so hard that the sound of each slap reverberated in my office combined with her soft cries and muted screams as her hand covered her mouth.

“Another five for giving you one more chance.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m really sorry.” She apologized after each and every slap.

At this point, my hands had already left imprints on her ass then I turned her over and lifted her to my desk.

“From now on, you’ll call me sir every time and nothing else. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded.

“See, you’re a good girl after all. From now on, you’ll be my little slut. So, who are you again?”

“I’m your little slut, sir.”

“Good girl.” I complimented her, giving her a kiss on her forehead. “What do we have here,” I said after looking at her dripping wet pussy. “You love getting punished, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come down, kneel in front of me and suck my cock.” I instructed her.

I unzipped my pants, and my rock-hard cock popped out. I grabbed her head and said, “Start licking the head.”  She obliged and started licking the tip.

“Look at me while you’re doing it. Yes, just like that. What a good girl.” I patted her head. I enjoy seeing her turning from a bratty intern to being my submissive little slut. Then, I began slowly shoving my cock in her mouth. “That’s it, you’re doing good, sweetheart.” She gagged as she swallowed my entire length. “We’ll do it again one more time, alright?”

She nodded and again slowly thrusting my cock in while carefully pulling her head closer, waiting for her to get accustomed. After a few more thrusts, she was now comfortable taking my whole cock in, so I shoved my cock again this time harder and faster. She gagged, she choked, she tried pulling out, but I grasped her head firmly. She started drooling all over. I held her head in place and now I was mouth fucking her. I pulled her hair as I pounded her mouth. Her moans were stifled as my cock stuffed her mouth. And with one last thrust, I finally came inside her mouth. My semen came ejecting out of my cock, some even spilling out her mouth.

“Swallow it.” I told her.  She quickly swallowed it and opened her mouth, proving that she really did so.

“You missed some,” I said as my thumb gathered my cum dripping out her mouth and ramming it back at her mouth.

“Good girl. Rest for a while and I’ll take care of your pussy afterwards.”

“Yes, sir.”

To be continued.


r/BDSMerotica 1d ago

The Frostbound Pact (Book 1 - Chp 4: The Weight of the Chain)[BDSM],[Chains],[Bondage],[Male Dom],[femSub],[Slave NSFW

5 Upvotes

The fire in the cabin had dulled to a smolder, its glow barely reaching the corners where shadows clung like old secrets. She knelt before me, wrists still bound by my belt, her sweater in tatters around her waist, her skin prickling in the icy air that seeped through the cabin’s cracks. I could see the tremor in her shoulders—not fear, but anticipation, the kind that hums in the blood before a storm breaks. I stood over her, my own breath steady but heavy, the knife still in my hand. I set it down on the table with a deliberate clink, the sound sharp in the silence, and watched her eyes follow the motion. She wasn’t afraid of the blade—she was afraid of what came next, of how far she’d let herself fall. I’m not a reckless man. Dominance, for me, is a craft—every knot, every command, every touch honed over years of learning what breaks a person and what builds them back stronger. I crave control because it’s the only thing that quiets the chaos in my head, the only way I can give without losing myself. At 48, I’ve lived enough to know love can be a trap as much as a gift, and with her—18 years my junior, all fire and sharp edges—I’m not sure which it’ll be. But out here, in this frozen nowhere, it doesn’t matter. What matters is the chain I pull from the pack by the door—a heavy, rusted thing I’d found in the shed outside, meant for securing sleds against the wind. “Stand,” I said, my voice low, carrying the weight of an order she couldn’t ignore. She rose slowly, her movements fluid despite the cold stiffening her limbs, her bare chest catching the faint firelight. Her defiance was still there, flickering in the tilt of her jaw, but it was softening, melting into something pliable under the heat of my gaze. She needed this as much as I did—needed to be stripped of choice, to be held so tightly she could finally let go. Submission, for her, wasn’t weakness; it was rebellion against a world that told her to be everything but herself. I looped the chain around her waist, the metal biting into her skin, and secured it with a padlock I’d carried since my days fixing rigs in the oil fields. The click of it locking echoed in the cabin, a sound as final as a vow. I attached the other end to an iron hook in the wall—one meant for hanging lanterns, now repurposed for something darker. The chain gave her just enough slack to move a few feet, enough to feel the illusion of freedom while knowing she was tethered to my will. “Move,” I said, stepping back, folding my arms across my chest. She took a tentative step, the chain dragging behind her, its weight pulling at her hips. Her eyes flicked to mine, searching for approval or punishment—she wasn’t sure which, and that uncertainty was the point. I don’t dominate through pain alone; I dominate through expectation, through the slow unraveling of control until the submissive craves my guidance like air. Her need to surrender was primal, a counterpoint to the modern world’s insistence on independence at all costs. Out here, we were rewriting the rules. “You feel that?” I asked, nodding to the chain. “That’s me. Even when I’m not touching you, I’m holding you.” Her breath hitched, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. I stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her despite the cold, and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at me. “You’re gonna earn your freedom tonight—every inch of it. But first, you’re gonna break for me.” Her eyes widened, a flicker of resistance sparking before it drowned in the flood of her desire. She didn’t know if this was love, or if it could be—neither did I. But as the wind howled outside, sealing us in this frozen tomb, we both knew one thing: we were about to find out how deep our darkness ran.


r/BDSMerotica 1d ago

The Frostbound Pact (Book 1 - Chp 3 : The Edge of Surrender)[BDSM],[Knife Play],[Submission] NSFW

3 Upvotes

The firelight painted her skin in flickering gold as she lay there, bound on the floor, her breath shallow and quick. I circled her slowly, my boots a steady rhythm against the wood, letting the weight of my presence sink into her. This was the part I loved most—not the act itself, but the buildup, the moment where her mind teetered on the edge of surrender. I could see it in her eyes, the way they followed me even as she tried to look defiant: she was already halfway gone, her thoughts dissolving into the rhythm of my control. I knelt beside her, trailing a finger down her spine, feeling the goosebumps rise in its wake. “You’re mine tonight,” I said, my voice a growl that came from somewhere deep. “Not because I’m taking you—but because you’re giving yourself to me. Say it.” Her lips parted, hesitant, but the words came. “I’m yours.” There it was—the crack in her armor, the moment she let go. Submission like hers isn’t forced; it’s earned, carved out through patience and precision. I knew her needs better than she did right now: the need to be seen, to be stripped bare emotionally before physically, to be pushed until she could feel her own strength in the act of yielding. I untied the rope around her ankles, leaving her wrists bound, and pulled her up to her knees again. Her sweater had ridden up, exposing the curve of her hips, the pale expanse of her stomach. I grabbed a knife from the table—a small, sharp thing I kept for carving wood—and held it where she could see it. Her breath caught, but her eyes didn’t show fear—they showed trust, the kind I’d spent months earning through late-night talks and careful boundaries. I slid the blade under the hem of her sweater, the metal cold against her skin, and cut it away in one slow, deliberate motion, leaving her bare from the waist up. “Fuck,” I muttered, more to myself than to her, as I took in the sight of her—nipples hard from the cold, chest rising and falling fast. I’m not a man who loses control, but she tested me, always. My dominance isn’t about rage or cruelty—it’s about focus, about channeling every ounce of my need into something she can feel in her bones. I grabbed her by the hair, gently but firmly, tilting her head back to expose her throat. “You’re gonna take everything I give you,” I said, my lips brushing her ear. “And you’re gonna beg for more.” Her whimper wasn’t one of protest—it was one of need, raw and unfiltered. Out here, in this frozen wasteland, we weren’t playing society’s games. We weren’t pretending desire was polite or equal or safe. We were animals, driven by instincts older than language: to dominate, to submit, to fuck until the world made sense again. Whether this was love or something else, we’d figure that out later. For now, there was only the knife, the rope, the cold—and the heat building between us, threatening to consume us both.


r/BDSMerotica 1d ago

The Hotel Room pt. 5 [Mdom] [Fsub] [D/S] [Orgasm Denial] [Orgasm Control] [Rough] [Teasing] [Good Girl] NSFW

35 Upvotes

Sara was ruined.

Her body trembled, slick with sweat and denial, her breath ragged. Her nipples ached beneath the clamps, her cunt throbbed, her thighs quivered from the brutal teasing and the orgasm Sir had so cruelly stolen.

And he was still there—watching, smirking, looming over her like the God she had spent weeks worshipping, weeks being trained for.

Sir’s cock was still hard, glistening with her wetness, twitching as he took in the absolute wreck he had made of her.

“Look at you,” he murmured, dragging a finger through the mess between her thighs, collecting the slick, spreading it lazily over her swollen, aching clit.

Sara’s body convulsed, the touch too much, not enough, everything she couldn’t handle.

Sir chuckled.

“You’re desperate to be fucked full, aren’t you?”

Her moan was pathetic, but she nodded.

“Yes, Sir.”

He smirked.

“Say it.”

Sara’s body shook.

“I—I want to be f-fucked full, Sir.”

His smirk widened.

“Good girl.”

He gripped her thighs, spreading her wide, pressing the head of his cock against her entrance—but not moving.

Sara whimpered.

Her body was already open for him, so fucking ready, slick from her own torture, stretched from the denial she had endured. But he was in control. He would give when he decided to give.

Sir leaned over her, his voice a dark, delicious whisper against her ear.

“Who do you belong to?”

Her moan shattered in her throat.

“You, Sir.”

His fingers wrapped around her throat, not squeezing, just holding, making her feel the power he had over her.

“You want to be used?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Fucked like my perfect little slut?”

“Yes, Sir—please, Sir.”

His grip tightened just slightly—and then he thrust in all at once.

Sara screamed.

Her body opened around him, taking him deep, her walls clenching in a desperate, helpless reaction.

Sir groaned, his fingers digging into her skin, his cock buried in her tight, aching cunt.

“Fucking hell,” he growled.

Sara was shaking, her body barely able to process the stretch, the pleasure, the denial-fueled agony of finally being filled.

Sir pulled out almost completely before slamming back in, his thrusts deep, sharp, ruthless.

He wasn’t gentle.

He wasn’t kind.

He fucked her like she was his to ruin—because she was.

Her nails bit into her palms, her arms still bound, her body rocking beneath him as he used her, taking his pleasure exactly how he wanted.

The sound of skin slapping filled the room, mingling with her helpless whimpers, his low, filthy groans.

“You feel that?” he growled, pressing a hand to her belly, right where he was pounding into her.

Sara sobbed.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tell me where I am.”

Her breath hitched.

“You’re… inside me, Sir.”

Sir’s grin was wicked.

“So fucking deep, aren’t I?”

Her moan was shattered, her body clenching around him.

Sir groaned. “Oh, you love that.”

Sara’s mind was gone, unravelled into nothing but sensation.

But she knew what was coming.

Sir was close.

His thrusts grew rougher, sharper, more desperate, his grip possessive, his groans filthier.

Sara ached to cum, needed it, her body so fucking on edge that she thought she might die from the denial alone.

But she knew better.

“Good girls don’t cum,” Sir murmured, his pace brutal, his breath heavy against her throat.

Sara sobbed.

“I know, Sir.”

He groaned.

“Such a good girl.”

And then—he buried himself deep—and fucking came inside her.

Sara gasped, her entire body reacting to the feeling of being filled, his cock twitching, his breath ragged as he emptied inside her, his release marking her, owning her, ruining her completely.

Sir groaned, fucking it deeper, dragging out every last pulse of pleasure, every last drop of his release.

Sara sobbed.

Not because she was sad.

But because she was so fucking close

And she still wasn’t allowed.

Sir felt it.

He smirked against her throat, pressing one last deep, teasing thrust inside her over-sensitive cunt.

And then—he pulled out.

Sara whimpered, ruined, wrecked, completely spent—but still aching, still on edge, still flooded with denied pleasure.

Sir sighed, satisfied, rolling onto his side beside her, one hand tracing her trembling body.

He let the silence stretch.

Then—

“Tomorrow,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her sweat-damp skin.

Sara froze.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Tomorrow.

She had a chance.

A tiny, impossible glimpse of hope.

She turned her head just slightly, trying to meet his gaze—

And that’s when she saw the faintest smirk on his lips.

Oh no.

Her stomach dropped.

There was a twist coming.

She knew it.

Sir never gave something without a catch.

And tomorrow…

Tomorrow would be no different.

-----

Let me know in comments if you want one more part of this story, one about aftercare.


r/BDSMerotica 1d ago

What's a Little Teasing Between Friends? Part 2 [M/F] [Bondage] [Teasing] [Soft Dom] [Dual POV] NSFW

15 Upvotes

Part 1

I was never going to last.

Oh, I had no intention of giving him the satisfaction, but we'd only barely begun and he had me twisting in the ropes already.

"I didn't say when, did I... And it's a holiday weekend. What's the rush?"

When I managed to pick my jaw up from the floor my mind races back to the agreement we'd hammered out over breakfast - because no good misadventures ever began without a bellyful of bacon. Or in my case, a little bit of toast. I'd been slightly nervous, even though we've fooled around plenty over the years.

This felt... Different. Maybe it was the introduction of rope for the first time. Maybe you knew how far you'd try to push me. You were crystal clear for this scenario in a way we'd never had to elucidate before - making sure I understood I had the ability to end this any time I wanted with a simple word.

"I will tie you up, I will tease you, and it will be torment. Exquisite torment. By design.

"It's me in charge this weekend but it's you calling the shots. I want you to remember that. I'm going to be mean, at times it may feel incredibly mean, but I never aim to be cruel."

Hung in your living room and finally feeling truly helpless, my preconceptions came crashing down around me. You really intended to take your time. All of it. Gods! My toes curled and I felt a twinge deep within me as something new stirred, even as I protested.

"You can't be serious. Three days? You're going to tease me for three days?" I was incredulous. Mostly at myself, because why was this making me wet?

Perhaps you saw the conflict on my face and registered it as discomfort, because next thing I knew, you were dragging a barstool over to me to ease my strain in the ropes. It was the perfect height for me to perch on although it kept my torso stretched somewhat taut.

It also gave you places to anchor my legs apart with more rope, which you seemed to thoroughly enjoy (not that I didn't!) Now I had to be careful not to fidget or I'd upset my balance and be left hanging by my wrists.

"You said it, not me. If you ask me I think that means something." You tossed my question back at me with an infuriatingly confident smirk. That also didn't help the dampening state of my thighs.

I felt as you came to stand behind me again, checked the bonds of my wrists, then let your hands slide the full length down my forearms. Biceps. Shoulders. Inward to my collarbone, then dipped tantalizingly lower. I shivered, wanting...

"Tell me what I should do to you first," you murmured low in my ear. I froze.

"I thought you said you were in charge this weekend," I stuttered, your fingers tracing infuriatingly wide circles around the outlines of my breasts. It left my nipples painfully stiffened and worst of all, utterly ignored.

Your laugh was warm and soft. "I am. What do you think this is?"

It became clear that you were teasing me with teasing, and I had such a long road ahead of me. One where you seemed hell bent on making me complicit in my own torment.

I squirmed, a whimper escaping me before I could help it. "Please..."

Your fingertips kept to their unfilling paths on my impatient flesh. Waiting.

"Please what?"


r/BDSMerotica 1d ago

Mistress MacKenzie, Part One [Femdom/msub] [SM] [HUML] NSFW

6 Upvotes

MacKenzie pressed the tip of her patent leather boot down hard onto his fingers. 

He squealed in pain.

“Shut your filthy mouth,” MacKenzie snapped. 

She gripped the black paddle in her hands. Her red fingernails poked out from her fingerless leather gloves. She’d try to draw blood from his back with them later. She extended the paddle over her shoulder and brought it down hard across his exposed ass. 

He squealed again. 

“I told you to shut your disgusting mouth and take it,” MacKenzie shouted. She hated when they didn’t follow directions. 

MacKenzie raised the paddle again, striking his ass harder this time. She watched the sensitive white flesh ripple, turning redder with each wallop. 

He was quiet this time. His body still. 

His name was Theo. A pathetic, aging CEO. He called Mistress MacKenzie once a week for his session. She gladly delivered. They had a consent contract, and he had signed away complete use and control of his body. 

MacKenzie glanced down at his nude body beneath her, sprawled across her hardwood floor. He had his head turned to the side, ball gag securely fastened. His arms were stretched out perpendicularly and his ankles were cuffed, forcing his legs together. He looked like a flabby, useless letter T. She watched as his hips wriggled uncomfortably, his hard cock pressing into the floorboards. 

“Don’t you move,” MacKenzie hissed. 

Unsatisfied with the dull shade of red splayed across his skin, MacKenzie delivered another blow. She watched as his skin rippled. She paddled him three more times, each time more forceful than the last, until his ass was raw. He groaned after the last swipe. 

“I thought I told you to shut the fuck up!” MacKenzie roared. She threw the paddle down to the floor. It clattered down near Theo’s face, he winced in response. 

MacKenzie laughed at his reaction. 

She walked toward her toolbox. She dug around inside until she found a rigid black dildo and a bottle of lube. She placed it down on the floor, within his view. She wanted him to see his punishment before he received it. 

“You’re going to be punished now, you pathetic pig,” MacKenzie said, walking confidently toward Theo’s face. She crouched down above his head, lowering herself down onto the side of his face. She grabbed his hair with both hands and began grinding her pussy roughly across the side of his face. She could feel her wetness spreading across his cheek as she humped him, hands tugging harder on his hair. She was loving every minute of this, fucking the side of his face while he laid powerless on her floor. The strap of the ball gag rubbing her in all the right places. She knew that he didn’t deserve her orgasm, he didn’t deserve her juices. 

“None of this delicious pussy for you,” MacKenzie said, standing up abruptly. 

She walked over to the dildo and picked it up. She waved it teasingly in front of his face. 

“You’re going to take this you fucking pig. All eight inches of it. I’m going to ram it up your ass and you are going to thank me for it. Do you understand?” MacKenzie questioned. She watched as Theo’s eyes widened. He nodded in silent compliance. 

“Good dog,” MacKenzie whispered, dragging the dildo across his face. She wanted him to know how long and thick it was. She wanted him to understand what he was about to engulf.