Author: Writer

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Messy Beginnings, Monday to Wednesday is exactly how this week started—because I’ve never been good at playing it safe. Monday came in hot. I woke up still sore from the weekend, and yet somehow craving more. My phone buzzed with a message: “You still taste like Sunday. That was all it took.

By lunchtime, I was under my desk, skirt bunched up, voice low on a video call, pretending to talk spreadsheets while my fingers played a different set of numbers. I sent him a photo after—no face, just legs, lips, and the evidence of my distraction. He replied with a voice note that made me clench around nothing.

Tuesday was no better. We played “Would You Rather” in the group chat, but the way he answered every question felt like a dare. Would I rather do it in public or on camera? Would I rather be tied up… or do the tying? By Wednesday, I had to admit it: this week was already off the rails. I wore no panties to the grocery store just because he told me not to. I wanted to be bad. And game night hadn’t even started yet.

Wednesday ticked toward midnight, and my Continue reading “Messy Beginnings: Monday to Wednesday” →

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Penthouse playdate wasn’t the term I expected to write in my journal the next morning—but when you get invited up by two of the most dangerously attractive people you’ve ever flirted with over champagne, you don’t ask questions… you take the elevator.

It had started as harmless banter at a charity gala—Liam leaning in close, whispering jokes that skimmed the edge of suggestive, and Aurora watching from across the room like she already knew what was about to unfold. The moment they asked if I wanted to join them for a “nightcap upstairs,” my body answered before my lips could.

Liam met me shirtless in jeans, toned and barefoot, confidence radiating off him in waves. Aurora wore a silk robe that slid off her shoulder like it had somewhere better to be. “We were hoping you’d come,” she purred—and I wasn’t sure if she meant come up… or come multiple times. They didn’t waste time. Fingers brushed skin, lips found lips, and suddenly I was wrapped in a heat I hadn’t felt in years. The city lights stretched out endlessly behind us as we melted into a slow, exploratory tangle of hands and mouths. Aurora kissed me while Liam pressed Continue reading “Penthouse Playdate: My First Threesome with a View” →

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He was too tiny to matter. He stood there, naked, trying to act confident. Poor thing. I watched his tiny dick twitch like it was begging for attention — but all I could do was laugh. “That’s it? That’s what you wanted me to get excited over?” I stepped closer, towering over him in my thigh-highs and heels. “You brought a toothpick to a sword fight.”

His cock — if I can even call it that — bobbed like it had something to prove. I circled him slowly, dragging one finger down his chest and across his soft stomach. Then I stopped, looked down, and tapped it with my fingernail. Just once. It bounced. I laughed harder. “You’re hard already, aren’t you? From this? From being mocked?” He moaned. I hadn’t even touched him properly. Just words. Just the humiliation of standing there like a useless little thing with a cock that couldn’t even fill a condom tip.

I pushed him down onto the floor. “Lay back. Let me get a closer look at this disappointment.” I straddled him without touching it, grinding just above him, never letting him feel my skin. “See this?” I whispered, dragging two fingers down Continue reading “Too Tiny to Matter” →

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When I say The Interview: Breaking In My New Sissy was unforgettable, I mean it started the moment he knocked on my door—nervous, dressed like the desperate little toy he is, and already dripping through his cage. He wanted this. Begged for it. Said he needed to be broken in properly, to be humiliated, used, trained. I just smiled and set the stage.

“Let’s pretend you’re applying for a position,” I told him. “Personal assistant. Required skills: obedience, silence, and taking it like a good little sissy.” He showed up wearing a tight button-down barely covering his lacy pink bra, a black mini skirt, and kitten heels he could barely stand in. His lips were glossy, cheeks flushed, thighs trembling from the plug I’d told him to keep in all morning.

I let him stand there like a fool while I looked him up and down. “This is what you wear to an interview? Pathetic.” He tried to answer, but I cut him off. “Strip. Now.” He did, shaking the whole time, until he was standing in front of the mirror in nothing but his cage and his shame. I circled him like prey, tugging the leash I’d clipped to Continue reading “The Interview: Breaking In My New Sissy” →

Drop for Me

Posted 1 month ago by Writer

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“Drop for me, now look at me.” That’s all I said. And he did—immediately. Eyes wide, curious, a little unsure. He didn’t know what he was getting into. Not really. But I could already see it in his face… the want. The need to surrender. “Breathe in,” I whispered, stepping closer. “Nice and deep. Now out.”

I kept my voice slow, soft, steady. Each word like honey, dripping into his mind. His shoulders relaxed. His chest rose and fell like waves. Perfect. “That’s it,” I cooed, brushing my fingertips lightly across his cheek. “With every breath, you sink a little deeper. Your thoughts are getting quieter. The only thing you hear is my voice.”

He nodded, blinking slow. He didn’t even realize how gone he already was. “Good boy!” That phrase always does something to them. And him? He shuddered—just from that. His cock twitched, already hard, aching, begging. I didn’t touch him. I didn’t need to.

“Every time I say the word drop, you’ll fall a little further. Letting go of everything but me. Every time I say it, you’ll crave my control more. My voice is your command, your permission to let go.” He swallowed. His lips parted. Continue reading “Drop for Me” →

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This particular night was the roleplay that broke him. He came in cocky. Hands in his pockets, pretending he was in control. I told him to sit. He hesitated. Wrong move. “I said sit!!” My voice sliced through the room like silk over steel. He obeyed. Slowly. I smiled. Good boy.

He wanted to “try something different,” something taboo. I told him I had a fantasy—and tonight, he’d play the part. He didn’t ask questions. That was mistake number two.

I walked around him in stilettos, slow and deliberate, dragging my fingernails across the back of his neck. “Tonight, I’m not your girl. I’m your instructor. And you’re going to learn how to please me properly. You’ve been slacking in your performance… and now, you’re staying after hours.” His breath hitched. His pants tightened. I grabbed his chin and made him look at me.
“I grade on obedience. And right now, you’re failing.” I tied his wrists behind the chair with my silk scarf, slid my thigh over his lap, and whispered all the filthy things he’d have to do to earn extra credit. I traced my tongue along his ear, then slapped his cheek. Gently. Enough to make his Continue reading “The Roleplay That Broke Him” →

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I fucked him for revenge and I don’t regret it. He cheated. Lied. Thought I wouldn’t find out. So I called the one man he always hated. His rival. His opposite. Tall, quiet, intense—the kind of man who didn’t have to raise his voice to make you submit. The kind of man who never needed to lie. He just took. I invited him over. Told him the truth. “I need to forget him. Make me.”

He didn’t ask questions. He just shut the door and backed me into the wall, his mouth crashing into mine like punishment and relief at once. It wasn’t gentle. Not even sweet. It was war—and my body was the battlefield. He ripped my clothes off like they offended him. Bent me over the counter and fucked me like I wasn’t just someone’s ex—I was his now.

“Is this how he touched you?” he growled, slamming into me. “Did he make you scream like this?” I answered with moans. With nails digging into his back. With every arch of my hips that begged him to go harder. He gripped my throat—not to choke, just to own me. His free hand fisted my hair, yanking my head back Continue reading “I Fucked Him For Revenge” →

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He calls the shots and I love it. It starts with a look. Not the kind of look that asks. The kind that commands. The kind that tells you what you’re going to do—and you already know you’re going to do it. He was older. Powerful. Hands always in his pockets, voice low, calm… but his eyes? They owned me before he ever touched me.

“I see the way you look at me,” he said one day, closing the door behind us. “You want to be told what to do, don’t you?” I didn’t answer. I just dropped my eyes and nodded. “Strip. Knees. Now.” And I obeyed. God, I obeyed.

I knelt on the floor—bare, trembling, wet. He circled me like a predator with all the time in the world. He touched me only when he wanted to, how he wanted to. One hand in my hair, the other between my thighs. Every whimper was permission for him to take more.

“You’re not allowed to cum until I say so,” he warned. “Understand?” “Yes, Sir.”
That’s when the game really began. He bent me over his desk, tied my wrists behind my Continue reading “He Calls the Shots—And I Love It” →

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Room 619 – The night I let go. I wasn’t supposed to be there. Not in that hotel. Not in that hallway. And definitely not in that bed with him. But the second the elevator doors opened and I saw his silhouette leaning against the wall near Room 619, I felt my pulse throb between my thighs. He didn’t say a word when I walked up—just opened the door, let me in, and locked it behind us.

We were both supposed to behave. He’s off-limits—older, taken, dangerous. But I’ve never been a good girl. I’ve always had a taste for what I shouldn’t touch. And tonight, I needed to be ruined. The second the door clicked shut, he was on me. Hands greedy. Mouth desperate. I moaned into his kiss like I’d been holding it in for weeks—because I had. My dress hit the floor before I could even gasp. His hands were rough, his grip unforgiving, and it made me ache.

He threw me on the bed like I was his favorite secret. His mouth traveled down my body, kissing, biting, worshipping. When he slid his fingers inside me, I arched so hard I nearly broke. “So wet for Continue reading “Room 619 – The Night I Let Go” →

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The stranger at the bar was my boyfriend. It was his idea. “Let’s play pretend tonight,” he said. “You be you—but act like you’ve never met me.” He told me where to meet him: a dark lounge tucked in the corner of the city, moody lighting, velvet booths. I walked in like I didn’t belong to anyone. Red lips, black heels, no bra under my silk blouse.

He was sitting at the bar, one hand around a whiskey glass, the other draped casually across his lap. He didn’t even glance at me at first. When he did, his eyes lit up with pure hunger. “You here alone?” he asked, voice low, dangerous. “For now,” I answered, sliding onto the stool beside him.

He bought me a drink. Let his hand graze my thigh as we talked about everything and nothing. My heart was racing—and I knew we were both fighting the urge to drop the act. But it made everything hotter.

Thirty minutes later, we stumbled into a hotel room like we’d just met. He pushed me against the door, yanked my blouse open, and kissed me like he didn’t know my name. He fucked me rough, like Continue reading “The Stranger at the Bar Was My Boyfriend” →