Are You Sure Youre Dominant?

“Are you sure you’re dominant?”

Had that asked once. 

It was a sub. I wasn’t actively telling them what to do/automatically making the first move, and they just… asked it. “You sure you’re dominant?” It took me aback. 

Yes, I am dominant. 

But I’m also shy, and full of doubt. How do I know the other person really wants this? What if they want to back out? How can I order someone around - I don’t even really want to just tell someone to “sit down, shut up, and jerk off,” you know? That’s not my style. That’s not me. 

I am vulnerable. I need the sub to make themself more appealing than retreating into my shyness is. I need to be tempted into dominance. I need to have the sub want me enough that I can’t doubt it. I need them to know I don’t want a sub who remains silent - I want active participation, I want them talking and talking and talking. I want a partner, a friend, before I want a sub. 

Yes, I’m sure I’m dominant. But I’m not sure I’m the dominant for you. 

Swinging it

Does anyone have a copy of this file on their computer or Google Drive? I’d like to use it for a scene and the links I had broke.

Mindmelter

Here’s the hour long version of Mindmelter.

lets go on a date to a nice movie where we get tied to the seats and watch a pretty spiral make us into mindless slaves then dine together on cum and get drunk on obedience until we just fucking pass out 

The Kitty Subject

“Do you want to cuddle again, kitty? I swear you’re becoming more docile by the day…” he said, opening his legs a little to let his kitty subject settle down on his lap. She jumped up into his arms without hesitation, purring a little, nuzzling her mouth against his chest, wriggling her butt against his thighs. He smirked and ran his fingers through her deep black hair. “To think that you wanted to claw my eyes out just a few weeks ago…” He leaned further back into the sofa, sinking into the cushions while she let more of her weight fall on him, planting quick kisses on his throat. “But my training- ohh,” he said, stopping himself in mid-sentence when her claws scratched across his neck. “My training worked,” he continued, his eyes closed. “It always works.”

For the next few minutes, the kitty subject wriggles in her master’s lap, teasing her crotch against his growing bulge, scratching her nails up and down the sides of his neck, under his ears, down under his shirt towards his shoulder blades and up again. She built up a rhythm, always the same speed, always the same path, until his upper body swayed along with the motion, his eyes still closed. Pushing her lower body hard against his bulge, she grinned widely, barely restraining herself when he failed to suppress the moan. This is the moment. If he realizes what’s happening then he might still resist…

Her master did no such thing. Instead he moaned again, louder, when she drove her short fangs into his throat, scratching her teeth across his sensitive and exposed skin. He threw his head back against the pillows, his hips rocking against her lower body. She couldn’t help herself any longer. She laughed, a low, feline laughter that filled the room. He opened his eye slowly, dazed, looking past her, trying to focus on her. Instead she pulled up his shirt, shredding it to pieces, until his chest lay bare in front of her.

“What-” he asked, but his protest was quickly drowned out by his own moans. Her claws drew lazy circles around his nipples, closing in, moving further away, always circling.

“Look into my eyes,” she said, pushing herself forward against him, pushing his torso back into the pillows until he had to stare up at her. Again he tried to focus on her, his eyes glazed over, not seeing. “Look deep into your kitty’s eyes,” she said again, her claws pouncing on his nipples, teasing them, scratching. He gasped, but couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“What-” he asked again, but once more his resistance crumbled in the face of his kitty subject bearing down on him. His mind lost herself in her smile, his muscles slackening the longer he stared into her eyes.

“That’s good,” she said, purring the words. “So good. It feels good to be empty, doesn’t it? And you are empty.” She leaned down, planting a kiss on his forehead. “You’re my good, empty boy.”

He mumbled something, his hands gripping her wrists, trying to pry them away. In response she wriggled against his lower body a bit harder, drove her claws just a little deeper into his skin. His arms fell to his sides, weak and defeated. “You thought I was becoming more docile?” she asked, rubbing his lips with her thumb, while her other hand scratched across his torso, leaving long, red streaks in its wake. “You thought you had me under control?”

He offered no resistance when she pushed her finger inside his mouth. She rubbed his tongue a little, massaging it, enjoying his squirming under her body. “Suck on my finger,” she said, sweet steel in her voice.

She reveled in his whimpering, closing her eyes, grinding her lower body against his, enjoyed his tongue caressing her finger, loved the moment when he eagerly took her second finger into his mouth. This was the height of any infiltration. The glorious ten minutes of utter bliss, of control and reversal. Her hand made its slow, patient way down his stomach toward his pants, undoing the belt, removing it until she had it in her hands. Her grin widened. “You remember this part?” she said, reaching around him, tying his hands together with his own belt. He followed her movements with dull eyes, not reacting, not putting up any sort of defense. When she settled on top of him again, he was back to staring into her eyes. “Yes,” she said, lowering herself on top of him, grinding her body against his, relishing in the feeling the heat of his body against hers. “Yes you’re so docile.” Her face was inches away from his, and his eyes got bigger and bigger, his mouth slightly open, panting. “Such a good boy,” she said before kissing him, before sealing his fate.

Submitted by @lecai-writing