ally-rambles

[ally-rambles]

Ways control shows up quietly:

You don’t remind me twice. You just wait, and I remember.

You notice when I make adjustments to align myself better with your will. Even when you never asked me to.

You pause before answering, like your attention is something I earn.

You tell me what you expect and then let me decide if I’ll meet it—knowing I will.

You say, “I trust you to handle this,” and I feel the weight of it like a command.

You ask, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”—and of course you did.

You send a rule without explanation—just: “You’ll understand when it’s time.”

You say “mine” like it’s a fact, not a feeling.

You remember details I forgot I shared and use them like tools.

You never rush. Control doesn’t need to.

It’s not loud. It’s not cruel. It’s not even always deliberate.

But it’s there.

[ally-rambles]

Ways to make me feel owned without ever raising your voice:

Say, “I’ve been thinking about how to train you,” like it’s logistics, not fantasy.

Ask, “Who do you belong to?” and wait for my inevitable answer.

Send me to dinner with a plug in and act like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Tell me, “You don’t have to understand. You just have to obey.”

Call me good girl over something mundane, and watch me light up like it’s praise from God.

Enforce a rule I begged for, then raise an eyebrow when I hesitate.

Make eye contact when I squirm. Smirk like you knew I would.

Not harsh. Just held…in rules, in rhythm, in that quiet pull of power that never really lets go.

[ally-rambles]

The most dangerous thing you can do to me is treat my obedience like intimacy.

Don’t just command me—learn me.

Don’t just punish me—witness me.

Don’t just use me—cherish me while you do.

Because I don’t crave pain for the pain. I crave the moment your hand lands and I still feel safe.

I don’t crave control for its own sake. I crave the ache of giving it up to someone who understands the weight of it.

Take me apart gently. That’s how you’ll ruin me best.

[ally-rambles]

Good Girls Cum When They’re Told

————

His book was open in one hand, the other idly resting in my hair. I was curled across the couch with my head in his lap, legs tucked under me, quiet and content in that kind of soft silence that doesn’t need to be filled.

He was reading. I was thinking.

Thinking about something we’d talked about days ago. Something that hadn’t left me since.

I didn’t mean to break the silence. But I think he could feel it—how still I’d gone. How quiet my breathing was when I was turning something over in my head.

“Tell me,” he said, eyes still on the page.

I hesitated. “It’s dumb.”

“Mmm. Try me.”

So I did.

“I’ve just… been thinking about what I said the other day. About denial. About how it makes me feel like I’m a bad sub for wanting too much. It’s still sitting heavy.”

He closed the book—not abruptly, just with intention—and looked down at me, fingers threading deeper into my hair.

“It’s not dumb,” he said, and there was nothing casual in his voice anymore. “You were honest.”

I swallowed, heart suddenly thudding harder against my ribs. “It’s just—when denial is the default, it makes me feel broken. Like I have to apologize for needing to cum. Like I’m greedy. Messy. Wrong.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just kept looking at me with that steady, thoughtful focus that always makes me feel like I’ve just been read.

Then, quietly but firmly, he said: “‘Good girls don’t cum’ is a load of crap.” His fingers tightened slightly in my hair. “Good girls cum when they’re told.”

My breath caught—half shock, half relief, half arousal. (Yes, I know that’s too many halves, but that’s how it felt.) He set the book aside completely now, both hands on me, grounded and deliberate.

“Your orgasms live inside you,” he continued, voice low and sure, “but they don’t belong to you anymore. You gave them to me.”

I shifted, sat up, legs folding under me as I faced him fully now. Eye to eye. He didn’t let go of my hair.

“They’re yours to command,” I said, voice barely above a whisper.

“And yours to surrender,” he replied. “You don’t have to want it. You don’t even have to understand it in the moment. If I tell you to cum, you do.”

I nodded, already feeling that ache start to bloom between my legs. The one that came not from being denied, but from being claimed.

“I don’t cum for me anymore,” I said quietly.

His lips curled in the barest smile.

“No, pet. You cum for me. Because I say so. Because it pleases me. Because you’re a good girl.”

[ally-rambles]

Just Like This

A quiet evening, a full mouth, a soft sort of belonging.

————

You’re curled up on the couch, blanket draped loosely over your legs, the gentle hum of the television casting flickering light across the room. One of those shows neither of you are really watching—just background noise to the kind of evening that doesn’t need a plan.

Your head is in his lap. Exactly where it should be. One of his hands strokes absentmindedly through your hair, fingertips brushing your temple, your jaw, the soft corners of your cheek. The other hand holds the remote, flipping channels with little interest.

You’re not speaking. You haven’t in a while. You’ve just…been here. Pressed close. Content. But there’s this quiet ache blooming behind your lips—something slow and patient and familiar.

You nuzzle against his thigh, turning your face slightly. You can feel the shape of him beneath his sweatpants. Warm. Heavy. Waiting.

You press a small kiss there. Then another. You don’t beg. You don’t even ask. You just keep kissing.

And he lets you.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just tilts the remote slightly, pauses the screen, and shifts his hips so your mouth has better access. His fingers tighten in your hair—not demanding. Just present.

You feel the waistband slide down. He brings himself out slowly, letting his cock rest thick and warm against your cheek.

“Go on, then,” he murmurs. “You’ve been waiting.”

And you have.

You start slow. No urgency. No pattern. Just little puppy licks to the head, your tongue flicking out lazily. Soft kisses down the shaft. You press your nose to the base and inhale—content, grounded.

His hand stays in your hair, stroking lightly. Not guiding you. Not holding you down. Just claiming.

You suck him in a little deeper, enough to feel the weight of him on your tongue. You’re not bobbing your head. You’re not working toward anything. You’re just… serving. Existing in the quiet act of giving.

He leans back against the couch and watches you with something between amusement and reverence. “This,” he says quietly, “is how it should be.”

Not because you’re pleasing him toward orgasm. Not because he’s fucking your throat or using your mouth. But because this—your head in his lap, your tongue worshiping him without being told, without an end—this is what submission looks like.

It’s the stillness. The devotion. The way you wrap your mouth around him like there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. Because there isn’t.

He exhales softly, chest rising and falling with your rhythm. “I could sit like this all night,” he murmurs, voice deep with something more than lust. “You. Quiet. Full. Focused.”

He strokes your cheek with his thumb while your lips circle the head of his cock again, sucking just enough to feel the weight of his control settle between your ribs.

No one’s in a hurry. There’s no goal. No permission to earn. No finish line to cross. Just the slow, patient rhythm of your mouth and his hand, and the warmth that settles deep in your belly at the realization that this is enough.

You don’t need praise. You don’t need climax. You don’t even need a reason. You just need to serve.

And he lets you. As long as he wants. As long as he needs.

The show continues playing in the background, forgotten. You stay right where you are. Because this—his hand, your mouth, the quiet in between—this is a microcosm of everything that feels right.

And he knows it. Which is why he smiles, just faintly, and whispers,

“Don’t stop, pet. Just like this.”

[ally-rambles]

Warm Water, Full Body

You’re sitting in his lap, straddling him in the tub.

His cock is inside you—thick, slow, heavy—but unmoving.

It slipped in so easily with the warm water and the way your cunt was already aching to take him. You gasped, breath catching in your throat, waiting for him to thrust.

But he didn’t move. And he didn’t let you.

“This isn’t about fucking,” he murmured, his hands dragging slowly over your soapy skin. “It’s about staying full.”

He holds you there, hips flush, his cock buried to the base inside you as he washes you like you’re an object that belongs to him.

His hands are deliberate. Sensual, but clinical. One slides up to squeeze your breast, thumb flicking your nipple. The other rests against your ass, grounding you in place.

Every now and then, he grips a little tighter. Just to remind you who owns your body. Who’s inside you. Who gets to decide when you get to move.

“You squirm,” he says, “and we’re done.”

So you don’t.You try to be still.

But the water ripples when he shifts. Your muscles tense when he rolls your nipple between his fingers. And the longer he holds you in place—filled, wet, stretched—the harder it gets to obey.

You clench without meaning to. His cock twitches in response. You both feel it.

He smirks.

“Slippery little hole,” he murmurs. “Trying so hard to behave.”

His hand lifts. Fingers curl around your throat. Not to choke. Not even to control. Just to feel—to measure every swallow, every trembling breath, every twitch of submission that betrays your need.

“Stillness is a skill,” he says again. “And I want you to master it.”

Not for you. Not for praise. For him. To prove you can hold him inside you and not ask for more.

To show that you’re not a needy slut today. You’re a vessel. A possession. A thing he uses and washes and fills—and you’re proud to be used that way.

You try to stay calm. You try not to squirm. You try not to clench. But she keeps fluttering. Pulsing. Desperate for more than this…

And he just chuckles.

“You’re going to make this bath take a very long time, aren’t you?”

[ally-rambles]

Earn It

He knows you want to please him.

It’s written all over you—tension in your thighs, the way your lips part when he looks at you, the way your body hums when he says, “Lie back.”

You obey immediately.

Legs closed. Hands by your sides. Eyes up.

He presses the toy against your clit—not strapped on, not held in place, just there.

Buzzing.

Barely brushing.

And maddeningly insufficient.

“You can come,” he says, calm and cruel. “If you can manage it without moving.”

Your breath hitches.

He smiles, soft but expectant.

“Stillness is a skill, pet. Let’s see if you’ve learned it.”

The vibration isn’t enough. It almost is, but not quite. You clench. Flex. Your hips rise—instinctively—and the toy slips.

He plucks it away instantly.

“Nope,” he murmurs, setting it on your stomach.

You whimper. You didn’t mean to. You weren’t trying to move, you just… needed.

He leans in, kisses your forehead like you’re precious.

“You’ll get there,” he says. “When your obedience outweighs your desperation.”

And just like that, the game begins again.

Toy back against your clit.

You, motionless.

Focused. Silent. Desperate to prove yourself.

[ally-rambles]

Biting Down the Beg

You’re on your knees, mouth stretched wide, his cock resting heavy on your tongue.

Not sucking. Not licking. Just holding.

He tells you to stay like that while he scrolls his phone. “No movement unless I fuck your throat myself.”

Every twitch of your jaw, every shift of your tongue earns a warning. A slap. A clench of his hand in your hair.

You’re not serving.

You’re being tested.

[ally-rambles]

Stillness is a Skill

You’re not allowed to move.

His cock is buried in your ass, thick and hot, and you’re perched in his lap like a pretty little seat warmer—nothing more, nothing less.

“Don’t clench,” he murmured when he slid into you. “Don’t twitch. Don’t squirm.”

Your whole body is on high alert, trembling from restraint, breath held hostage in your throat.

Because he feels everything.

His hands are roaming. Squeezing your tits, your hips, your thighs—gripping and groping like your body is just something he owns and is idly checking the quality of.

And every time you flinch? Every time your hole tightens even a little around his cock?

Slap.

His hand snaps up between your legs, lands hard against your cunt. You yelp. She pulses.

“Still means still, pet.”

You nod, eyes wide, teeth digging into your lip.

But his fingers are teasing your nipples now—rough, then gentle, then rough again—and the ache between your legs is building. She’s needy. You’re obedient.

And you don’t know which one will win.

He chuckles behind you, his breath hot against your shoulder.

“You keep tightening around me, like you want to be punished.”

Another twitch.

Slap. This one harder. Wet.

Your clit throbs. Your pussy aches.

But your ass stays full. Stretched. Stuffed.

“You’re not here for pleasure,” he growls against your neck. “You’re here to hold me. Still. Useful.”

And you try.

God, you try.

But it’s getting harder and harder not to clench around him just to feel something.

And that’s the worst part, isn’t it?

You’re not even moving on purpose.

Your body is just betraying you again.

[ally-rambles]

[ally-rambles]

“Open your mouth, pet. Wider. Tsk, wider still. There you go, good girl.”

You smile lovingly as you rub your thumb over my pretty tongue. “It stays like this till I say otherwise. I want you open and available for me today, pet. Unfettered access.”

[ally-rambles]

As you’re sitting at your desk working, or in your chair reading, have me stop what I’m doing to come over and kneel next to you. You tell me to present a hole of your choosing, just something pretty to look at while you’re busy. After a while, your fingers softly and absentmindedly tease it a bit. Then work gets busy and you go back to it, leaving me there exposed as some pretty office art.

[ally-rambles]

Nipple checks throughout the day to make sure they’re always hard for you, in their most pleasing form. Having to play with them quite often to keep them that way for you.

[ally-rambles]

In the evening as you’re in your chair reading, i’m sitting at your feet, leaned against your legs, reading as well. You’re, of course, reading something of worth…and i’m, of course, reading smut.

You interrupt me here and there to fill your drink…or let your hand down as your fingers idly play with hair, my mouth, my nipples…distracting me from my book.

[ally-rambles]

Traitor Series.

Part 7: Her Reward

A submissive’s descent into obedience—dragged there not by her Dom, but by the pussy who’s always been loyal to him.

————

You're lying back when he starts. No instructions. No ceremony. Just a hand on your inner thigh, spreading you open like you belong to him. (You do.)

Fingers stroking slowly over your cunt—his, not yours—like she's been patient, and good, and he's finally ready to give her what she deserves.

He doesn't look at your face. He's not touching you.

"She's been good," he murmurs, to no one and to her. "She kept herself open for me. Responsive. Obedient."

You shiver. Not from cold. From being near it.

"That little apology was a nice touch," he adds, lips brushing the skin just above your mound. "Took you long enough."

He doesn't sound angry. He sounds entertained. Amused. Like he's enjoying the show-watching you catch up to the alliance that already exists without you.

His fingers press deeper. Slide slow. She clenches around him like a heartbeat.

"She told me everything...my little informant." he says. "How needy she was. How frustrated. How badly she wanted to be touched."

You stay silent. You know better.

"She's loyal," he continues, thumb grazing her clit. "Even when you tried to silence her."

Your thighs twitch. She throbs. She pulses against him like she's trying to pull him deeper, beg with her body.

He laughs. "She's always been mine. You're just learning how to behave like it."

Then-finally-he turns to you. "You want to come, pet?"

You nod. Careful. Controlled.

"You think you've earned it?"

A pause. Not because you doubt it-but because you know you don't decide.

You say, "I'll do whatever you tell me." And he smiles.

"There's the obedience I've been waiting for." He leans in and speaks to her, soft and warm like a secret: "She can come if you let her. But only if you want to."

And from there, everything goes silent. Except your moans. His breath. Her slick.

You don't ask again. You don't beg. You just execute.

And if she rewards you with permission? With pleasure?

That's between her and him.

[ally-rambles]

Let me straddle your lap and sit on your cock. Running my fingers through your hair, my nails gently scraping your scalp while you massage my tits and tell me all about your day.

[ally-rambles]

Traitor Series.

Part 6: The Apology Ride

A submissive’s descent into obedience—dragged there not by her Dom, but by the pussy who’s always been loyal to him.

————

The car hums beneath you. Warm leather. City lights passing soft and slow through the windows. You're still squirming in the passenger seat. Your cunt's soaked. Tender. Smug.

And Him?

Unbothered. One hand on the wheel. The other resting heavy on your thigh. He hasn't said much since dinner. He doesn't need to.

She got what she wanted tonight. She always does.

And for the first time-you're not frustrated. You're not embarrassed.

You understand.

He and your pussy? They're in this together. You're just catching up.

His fingers drift under your dress, stroking her once through your panties. She pulses like a good girl, eager and open.

"She's not mad at you," he says, like he's reading your mind.

You nod.

"She knows you weren't trying to punish her. You were just... scared."

You smile a little. "She's braver than me."

"She just wants to please me," he murmurs, stroking again.

"That's all she's ever trying to do."

You nod again. Swallow. Then-quietly: "I'm sorry."

He doesn't answer right away, so you go on.

"I didn't trust her. I tried to keep her quiet. I made her feel like she was misbehaving when really... she just wanted to serve you."

His thumb presses down, just once.

"She did. She always does."

You breathe in, warm all over now.

"She's yours."

He smirks. "She knows that."

"And I'm... learning from her."

That gets his attention. He glances over, eyes sharp, pleased.

"Then I accept your apology."

He strokes her again. She soaks the lace through.

"Let her show me how much you've learned when we get home."