#Dominance and submission

[notthatdom]

when you are jealous, don't argue with her, just grab her waist from behind and kiss her neck then wishper in ear and say " sweetheart ,you are mine "

[thatonewhore1oo]

there's something so hot about someone whispering "be a good girl and take it for me baby" gods it just makes my brain all fuzzy 🤭

[rafeyssugar]

yours to break

sub!rafe x fem!reader

rafe cameron was a nightmare.

at school, he made sure you knew it.

he was relentless—tripping you in the hallway, knocking your books out of your hands just to watch you sigh in frustration, leaning down to whisper something cruel in your ear while his friends laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. he’d smirk, watching you with those sharp blue eyes, waiting for a reaction.

"what's wrong, princess?" he’d taunt, all mock sympathy. "thought you could handle me."

he was unbearable. arrogant. a menace.

but at home?

at home, he was yours.

on his knees, forehead resting against your thigh, hands gripping at your legs like he was praying at an altar. like he wasn’t the same boy who spent his days tormenting you.

"please," rafe rasped, voice wrecked, hands sliding up your thighs like he needed to hold onto you. "please, baby, don't be mad. i need you."

you scoffed, tilting his chin up with two fingers, making him meet your gaze. his eyes were wide, pleading, so desperate it almost made you laugh.

"you’re mean to me at school," you said, voice light, almost teasing. "why should i be nice to you now?"

rafe swallowed hard, licking his lips like he was trying to find the right words. "you don’t get it," he said, shaking his head. "i gotta keep a reputation somehow."

you hummed, dragging your fingers through his hair before giving it a sharp tug, making him whimper. "is that right?"

"yeah," he breathed, nodding quickly. "but you—fuck, you know it’s not like that. not really. i worship you, baby. you’re everything."

his hands tightened on your thighs, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, eyes flicking between yours like he was searching for mercy.

"then prove it," you murmured, watching the way he melted at your voice.

"i will," he promised, nodding so fast it was pathetic. "anything."

you smirked, pressing a thumb against his bottom lip, watching the way he parted his mouth, obedient, waiting.

"open up," you commanded.

rafe obeyed instantly, tongue flicking out, pupils blown wide with need. you leaned in close, letting spit drip from your lips into his waiting mouth.

he moaned. actually moaned. eyes fluttering shut like it was the best thing he’d ever been given.

"good boy," you murmured, running a hand through his hair again, this time softer.

rafe exhaled shakily, cheeks flushed, lips slightly swollen, and when he looked up at you again, it was with pure devotion.

"see?" he whispered, voice raw. "i belong to you."

you hummed, dragging your fingers through his hair again before tugging him up, forcing him to his feet. his breath hitched, body pressed against yours, his hands hesitant like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch.

"you’re gonna stop being mean to me at school," you murmured, tilting your head, fingers tracing down the line of his jaw.

rafe swallowed hard. "baby—"

"or i won’t touch you again," you warned, watching his face fall in an instant.

"no—fuck, i’ll be good," he promised, nodding so fast it was pathetic. "i swear, i just—please, baby, i need you."

you smirked, gripping his jaw, pulling him down until your lips were barely brushing his. "prove it."

he crashed his lips against yours, desperate, needy, like he’d been starving for you. his hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him, deepening the kiss like he couldn’t stand the thought of any space between you.

he kissed you like he had something to make up for. like he was trying to replace every cruel word, every shove in the hallway, every cocky smirk with the way he moaned against your lips, the way his hands trembled slightly as they held onto you.

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, and he whimpered, hips stuttering forward, pressing even closer.

"please," he murmured between kisses, lips moving desperately against yours. "please, baby, tell me you forgive me."

you smirked against his mouth. "are you gonna behave?"

"yes," he breathed, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck. "i’ll be so good, baby. promise."

you sighed, dragging your nails lightly down his back, and he shivered. "fine. i forgive you."

rafe groaned, arms tightening around you like he never wanted to let go. "thank you, thank you," he murmured, lips pressing against every inch of skin he could reach.

you rolled your eyes, shoving him back onto the bed. he let out a little yelp before you climbed on top of him, and he immediately wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face against your chest.

"’m sorry," he mumbled again, voice muffled against your skin. "you’re so soft, baby. let me stay here forever."

you laughed, fingers threading through his hair. "needy," you teased.

rafe hummed, nuzzling closer, lips pressing against the swell of your chest. "only for you," he whispered, voice soft, content.

and just like that, the menace from school was gone—left behind in favor of the boy curled up in your arms, clinging to you like you were the only thing that mattered.

[blushandbleed]

Good boy

Pairing: Dominant Reader x Submissive Choso.

Tags: 18+, Age gap(20 + 32), Nsfw , Worship, Obedience, Power Play.

Art not mine!

Summary: You’ve always had a soft spot for younger men—especially when they’re eager, obedient, and a little bit desperate to prove themselves. Choso’s just the perfect mix of sweet and needy, and you’re going to enjoy every second of teaching him how to behave for you.

“You’re blushing,” you purred, tilting Choso’s chin up with two fingers as he sat stiffly on the couch, looking anywhere but at you.

“N-No, I’m not,” he stammered, though the furious pink creeping up his neck betrayed him completely.

You chuckled, slow and sultry, leaning forward just enough to let him catch a glimpse down your low-cut blouse. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“Don’t be shy, sweetheart.” You brushed your thumb over his bottom lip, savoring the way he shivered under your touch. “You’ve been following me around like a lost puppy for weeks now. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

His breath hitched. “I—yeah. I just—I didn’t think—”

“That I’d actually let you have me?” You leaned in, your lips ghosting against the shell of his ear. “You’re so cute. Thinking you’re the one who gets to decide how far this goes.”

His cock twitched, already straining against his pants, and you smirked against his skin. He was so easy to read—so responsive. You’d barely touched him and he was already falling apart.

“Take your clothes off,” you ordered softly, but there was no mistaking the command in your voice.

His eyes flicked up to you, wide and nervous, but the way he scrambled to obey made your stomach twist with satisfaction. He fumbled with his belt, his breathing ragged as he stripped down to nothing, his cock flushed and leaking, resting heavy against his thigh.

You let your gaze roam over him, unhurried, unapologetic. “Such a pretty boy,” you murmured, watching the way his muscles tensed under your praise. “You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you? About me. About what I’d do to you.”

His ears were red now, but he nodded quickly, his voice barely a whisper. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, what?”

His eyes flicked to yours, and something in your tone made him straighten instinctively. “Y-Yeah, ma’am.”

“Mmm. Good boy.”

The sound he made was nothing short of desperate. You climbed onto his lap, straddling him, letting your skirt ride up your thighs. His hands hovered at his sides, trembling, unsure if he was allowed to touch you.

“You want to touch me, don’t you?”

His nod was frantic. “Please.”

You cupped his face, tilting his head back, making him look at you. “Then ask me properly.”

“Please, ma’am,” he rasped, hips twitching helplessly beneath you. “Please let me touch you. Please let me be good for you.”

God, he was perfect.

You guided his hands to your waist, letting him explore your curves slowly, savoring the way his breath shuddered at every inch of exposed skin. His touch was reverent, like he thought you’d vanish if he moved too fast.

You rolled your hips against him, grinding slow and deliberate, and he whimpered—an honest-to-god whimper that shot straight to your core.

“You’re so sensitive,” you teased, rocking against his cock just enough to drive him mad. “Bet you won’t even last five minutes once I start riding you.”

His grip on your waist tightened, his head falling back against the couch. “I can—I can last—I’ll be good, I swear.” You kissed down his throat, your teeth grazing his pulse point as you whispered, “You don’t have to last, baby. You just have to make me cum first.”

You dragged the head of his cock through your folds, coating him in your slick before sinking down in one slow, deliberate stroke.

Choso’s hands shot up to grip your hips, his breath catching in his throat, eyes wide and glassy. “F-Fuck—”

“Language” you tsked, cupping his cheek again, forcing him to look at you as you started to move. “Good boys don’t curse when they’re getting fucked.”

“I’m sorry—m-ma’am—I—ah—” his sentences dissolved into broken moans as you rode him, slow and deep, making sure he felt every squeeze, every roll of your hips.

“You can cum when I say you can cum,” you murmured, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Not before. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You worked him relentlessly, savoring his desperation, his struggle to hold back, the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from the sheer effort of pleasing you.

“You’re doing so well,” you praised, dragging your nails down his chest, leaving red marks in your wake. “Such a good boy for me.”

That was all it took to push him over the edge—his head tipped back, his whole body shuddered beneath you as he came hard, gasping your name like it was the only thing he knew.

But you didn’t stop.

You rode him through his orgasm, through the oversensitivity, through his desperate pleas until he was begging to be allowed to touch you, to make you cum, to prove he could be more than just a needy little boy in your lap.

You cupped his flushed cheeks, your hips still grinding against him. “Shh, baby. You’re not done until I’m done.”

And from the wrecked, blissed-out look on his face, you knew he’d let you ruin him as many times as you wanted.

Choso’s chest heaved under you, his body trembling from the force of his release, but you weren’t nearly satisfied yet. You rolled your hips slowly, grinding down on his oversensitive cock, your walls still pulsing around him, keeping him hard inside you whether he could handle it or not.

“Ma’am—please—it’s too much,” he whimpered, his voice shaking with raw desperation, his hands fluttering uselessly at your waist as if he was too afraid to push you away.

You cooed, dragging your nails up his ribs, savoring the way his muscles twitched under your touch. “Too much? You’re inside me, baby. Don’t you want to make me feel good?”

His head dropped forward against your chest, his breathing ragged. “I do- I do, I just- ah, fuck—” his cock twitched inside you, thick and still achingly hard despite how spent he looked. You smiled, sweet and cruel, threading your fingers into his hair and tugging just enough to make him look at you.

“You’re not done,” you whispered, licking the salt from his flushed skin. “Good boys can go again. Can’t you?” His eyes glazed over, dark and unfocused, lips parted as he nodded helplessly. “Y-Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s my sweet boy.”

You adjusted your pace, grinding deeper now, slow and torturously steady, pressing your hips down to keep him seated all the way inside. The overstimulation had him squirming, his hands trembling as he gripped your thighs like they were the only thing tethering him to this plane of existence.

“Ma’am, please,” he begged, tears beginning to gather at his lashes. “It’s so much—I’m gonna—gonna cum again—”

“Not yet,” you panted, your own pleasure building with each stroke. “You can hold it, can’t you? You’re strong, baby. Be good for me.”

His broken moan nearly undid you.

"Ma’am, I can’t—please—" his voice cracked, his body shivering under you as you continued to ride him, never once letting him fully retreat from the overwhelming sensations.

You leaned forward, your lips brushing against his ear. “If you cum without permission, I’ll edge you until you cry.”

The whimper he let out was positively sinful.

He buried his face in your chest, clinging to you like he might shatter if you let go, his entire body tensed, desperately clinging to the fragile thread of control you granted him.

“Say it,” you commanded, your own climax racing toward you now, the relentless grind of your hips driving you both to the edge. “Say you’re my good boy.”

“I’m—fuck—ma’am—I’m your good boy,” he gasped, his voice raw and soaked in need. “I’m yours—just yours—”

You slammed your hips down one final time, grinding hard against him as your release crashed over you, a delicious wave of heat that had you moaning his name, your walls clenching around him so tightly that he nearly sobbed.

“You can cum now,” you breathed, dragging your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “Go on, baby. Show me how good you are.”

His entire body jerked as he spilled inside you, his groan muffled against your skin, his fingers bruising your hips as he emptied himself for the second time, barely able to breathe through the intensity of it.

You rocked against him lazily, coaxing him through the aftershocks, your fingers soothing along his spine.

“That’s it,” you whispered. “That’s my good boy.”

His trembling arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, clinging like you were his lifeline. His breath hitched against your chest, and you felt the faintest dampness of tears on your skin.

“Thank you,” he whispered, voice barely audible, wrecked and sincere. “Thank you, ma’am.”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

“Oh, we’re not done yet,” you hummed, your voice syrupy sweet. “You still owe me at least one more, baby.”

And the way his cock twitched again inside you told you he was ready to be pushed even further.

[rdmasevi]

A Taste of You

Title: “A Taste of You”: a Hannibal fanfiction

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Reader Fem

Genre: Dark romance

Warnings: NSFW/smut, psychological manipulation, blood, mild noncon/dubcon undertones, cannibalism themes, obsession, dominance, violence-adjacent intimacy.

Summary: You are a profiler with the FBI, brought in to assist Jack Crawford alongside Will Graham. Hannibal has taken an interest.

It starts with his eyes.
Dark, reflective—like the surface of a wine-dark lake, still but hiding something deep beneath. He watches you, and you feel it. A subtle pressure on your skin. Like hands not quite touching, like breath on your throat.

You’re new to the team, an outsider, but Jack trusts your instincts. You’re intuitive, methodical, but never cold. You see the monsters for what they are—but you never let them touch your soul.

He finds that fascinating.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter invites you to dinner the first week you’re there. Will warns you with a glance, his eyes unreadable. But you go anyway.

The house is perfect—elegant, warm in an old-world way. And Hannibal is nothing if not the consummate host. He greets you with a soft smile and a glass of red so deep it’s nearly black.

“This is one of my favorites,” he says, handing it to you. “Full-bodied. Complex. Let it linger on your tongue.”

You do. It tastes like sin.

Dinner is delicate, tender, exquisite. You ask what kind of meat it is, and he tilts his head, smile curving just slightly too far. “You’d be surprised what we grow fond of, if only we allow ourselves.”

That night, something shifts.

—

You begin to see him more. Consultations. Crime scenes. Briefings. He always has time for you.

He listens to your thoughts with rapt attention, like your voice is music. Sometimes he says things that feel too sharp to be compliments, too true to be polite.

“You see more than you should,” he murmurs once, after a case that left you shaken. “And yet you walk away unscathed. How do you manage that, I wonder?”

You shrug. “I compartmentalize.”

He leans in, lips near your ear. “You’ll find that only works… until it doesn’t.”

—

It happens on a rainy evening, months later.

The two of you are alone—another dinner, another wine. You don’t remember what you were laughing at, only that the sound died in your throat when he stepped behind you, so close your breath hitched.

“May I?” he asked, fingers brushing your shoulder.

You nodded. You should’ve said no.

His hands were skilled. Purposeful. He touched like he was sculpting, like he already knew your shape, like you were something to be created—not possessed.

But he did possess you.

He kissed you like it was a test. And you passed.

—

In his bed, Hannibal was not gentle.

He was methodical. Attentive. Thorough. Each movement was calculated, precise. But every now and then, something wild broke through—an edge of teeth, a hand too tight around your throat, a sound that didn’t belong to any version of a man you thought you knew.

You moaned his name, and he inhaled like you’d fed him your soul.

When he came inside you, he whispered, “Bella mia. So soft. So willing.”

You were still catching your breath when you asked him what he meant.

He smiled.

“You give yourself so freely. Most people… take more time to carve.”

—

You began to notice things.

Small inconsistencies. Missing reports. The way he knew too much. The scent of something metallic beneath his cologne.

One night, while tangled in his sheets, his lips trailing down your stomach, you ask, “Have you ever killed someone?”

His tongue pauses. Then continues. He doesn’t answer.

You don’t ask again.

—

The deeper you fall, the more you lose the line between predator and prey.

You think you’re investigating him.

He knows you’re indulging him.

He feeds you meals you don’t question.

Touches you in ways that leave bruises and wetness pooling between your thighs. Marks you like territory. Speaks to you in tongues that don’t require words.

And you let him.

You want to.

Because Hannibal Lecter doesn’t just make you feel desired. He makes you feel chosen.

And in the dark corners of your soul, that’s what you’ve always wanted—to belong. To be devoured.

He cups your face after one particularly vicious session—your thighs still shaking, your nails bitten into his back—and murmurs, “You taste better every time.”

You believe him.

Even if you don’t know what part of you he’s sampling.

Even if you don’t care.

He doesn’t love you. But you are his.
And that is far, far more dangerous.

My main masterlist

[enanamikaze]

"The Tent Behind the Line"

Minato Namikaze x Fem!Reader ¦ Great Ninja War / Hokage Minato Timeline

Tags: Dominance & submission, stress relief, war-time desperation, rough sex, praise/degradation mix, oral (f receiving), light choking, breeding kink, slight overstimulation, established dynamic, rough tenderness.

_________________

The cold winds of the front lines hissed just outside the canvas flaps of the Hokage’s war tent. Inside, everything was too quiet — the calm before the next mission report, the next casualty list, the next hopeless call for reinforcements from another dying squadron in some ravaged sector of the battlefield.

Minato stood over the wide field table, blonde hair damp with sweat, brows deeply furrowed as his golden eyes scanned the map again and again, as though staring longer would change the positioning of the enemy.

He didn't hear the flap open at first. But he felt her.

You stepped in silently, as you always did — with the same softness as your chakra signature. A medic-nin assigned behind the lines… officially. Unofficially, your presence had become something else entirely. Not everyone knew. Just him. Just Minato.

And tonight, the war had clearly worn him thin.

His eyes flicked up, finding yours with a slow drag, and you watched the Hokage’s expression shift — not softening, no, but changing. That coiled tension in his shoulders didn’t disappear, but it turned toward you. Became focused.

"You’re late," he said, voice low, threaded with steel and strain.

Your breath caught slightly. “I was treating the wounded. The explosion near Sector Three—”

“I didn’t ask for excuses.”

His voice dropped. He stepped away from the map. Slowly. Controlled. The authority he wielded outside the tent never bled as fully into his tone as it did here. This was the only space where he could lose control… and take it all out on you.

“Strip,” Minato commanded.

You obeyed instantly, fingers moving to the buttons of your medic coat. You kept your eyes down as you shed each layer — the coat, the undershirt, the fishnet mesh, the blood-stained pants, until you were bare in the flickering lantern-light, the cold tent air nipping your skin.

You could feel his gaze on every inch of you — inspecting, consuming, as though verifying that you were still his. That the war hadn’t touched you the way it had touched everything else.

Minato approached without a word, gloved fingers reaching out to tilt your chin up.

His voice was quieter now. “Kneel.”

Your knees hit the cold ground without hesitation. You looked up at him — his face still partially shadowed, lips set in a grim line, but his eyes… they were hungry. Desperate in that tightly leashed way only he could be.

“You know what I need, don’t you?”

“Yes, Hokage-sama,” you breathed. Your throat tightened with anticipation. “Let me take care of you.”

He let out a low exhale, one that almost sounded like a laugh. But there was no humor. Just exhaustion buried under dominance.

Minato unfastened the front of his pants, and his cock sprang free — flushed, already half-hard, thick with the same restrained anger he didn’t voice in the war room.

“You’re the only thing in this entire cursed battlefield that listens without arguing,” he muttered as his fingers twined into your hair. “The only one who knows what I need without another damn report or casualty count.”

And then he pushed into your mouth.

Not gently.

You took him in deep, hands on his thighs, letting him use you — slow thrusts at first, then deeper, faster, pushing past your resistance as he began to truly lose himself. His breathing sharpened, his hips flexing forward, one hand gripping your hair, the other resting heavy on your shoulder to keep you still.

“You look so fucking good like this,” he growled. “Mouth open, tears in your eyes, gagging on my cock while the whole world falls apart outside.”

You whimpered — a needy sound muffled by him, and he loved it. His grip tightened in your hair, holding you there as his hips stuttered once… twice… then pulled away.

“Get on the table,” he ordered. “Face down.”

You rose on shaking legs, dripping, dizzy from the lack of air, but turned obediently and bent over the edge of the war table — maps and reports scattering beneath your body.

Minato came behind you immediately, rough hands gripping your hips. He didn’t tease, didn’t prep — didn’t need to. You were already soaked.

He sheathed himself in one brutal thrust.

You gasped, the sudden stretch splitting through you — pain tangled with pleasure, your body welcoming him like a promise it had made long before now.

“Fuck,” he hissed against your neck, grinding deep inside. “So tight. Always so tight for me, like you were made to take this.”

He set a punishing rhythm, hips slamming into yours, each stroke echoing against the heavy wood of the table. His breath came faster. His grunts turned into something darker — groans that mixed frustration and addiction, his fingers digging into your hips like he was staking a claim.

“You want this?” he rasped. “Want to be my relief, my little fucktoy behind the lines while the rest of the world burns?”

“Yes—! Yes, Hokage-sama—!”

He leaned down over your back, one hand curling around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision fuzz at the edges.

“You belong to me,” he whispered. “Say it.”

“I-I belong to you—!”

“Louder.”

“I belong to you!”

He released your throat just enough to hear the desperate moan that followed, then reached between your thighs to find your clit — circling it in time with his thrusts. The overstimulation hit hard, your body locking around him as he fucked you straight into release.

You came with a cry, shaking, legs weak beneath you — but he didn’t stop. If anything, it spurred him.

“Gonna fill you,” he growled. “Breed you full so even when I’m on the front lines, this cunt remembers who it’s for.”

“Yes— please— fill me—!”

With a growl, Minato slammed deep one final time, pulsing inside you, hot and hard, releasing everything — all the pressure, all the stress, all the rage of a war he couldn’t win alone. He stayed there, buried to the hilt, until your shaking body began to melt beneath him.

Silence returned, broken only by the sound of your ragged breaths and the whisper of the wind beyond the canvas walls.

Minato leaned forward, forehead resting on your shoulder. His voice — when it returned — was softer.

“You’re the only peace I have left,” he murmured.

You smiled faintly, even with your cheek pressed against the cool wood of the table.

“Then use me, Hokage-sama. I’m yours.”

[sorcerer-felix]

Sorcerer Felix- THE ORIGIN

The wind whispered through the streets of Marsh Grove, carrying with it the scents of earth, moss and the salt of the nearby Ocean. At seventeen, Felix was already a sight to behold, with his golden hair glinting in the sunlight and those piercing blue eyes sparkling with mischief. He strolled through the market square with an effortless swagger, drawing glances from everyone around. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he smirked at his reflection in a shop window. “I’m destined for greatness!” he muttered with a vain smirk on his lips, adjusting his white t-shirt to better showcase his physique.

Felix strode confidently out of the town onto an overgrown path that led him to an old oak tree. Shadows danced among the leaves as Felix paced impatiently, his golden hair catching the light like a beacon.

“You think you can just waltz in here and demand to learn magic?” The voice of Mara, the Wicca coven’s leader, cut through the air like a knife. Dressed like a hippie, she stood tall, her expression a mix of disappointment and disdain. Felix smirked, undeterred. “I have what it takes. I could be the most powerful mage you’ve ever seen. Just imagine—” “Magic isn’t a game, Felix!” she snapped, her tone sharp. “It requires respect, dedication, and humility—qualities you lack.” He shrugged, feigning indifference. “C’mon, just give me a chance! I can be powerful, and I know you can feel it.”

Mara's eyes narrowed. “This is why we won’t teach you. Your arrogance will only lead to chaos.” Felix scoffed, waving her off as he turned on his heel and left the clearing, his charm failing to mask the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He had always felt destined for more than this sleepy town could offer.

Years later, Felix found himself in a bustling university town, a world away from Marsh Grove. Life buzzed around him—students, laughter, and the eclectic mix of coffee shops and bookstores. Now twenty, he stood in front of the Mystic Moon, a magical shop in the university town.

Felix, with his trademark smirk, sauntered into the Mystic Moon, the bell above the door tinkling a greeting only he seemed to notice. The air hung thick with the scent of dried herbs and something faintly metallic, like old coins. He frequented the shop not for its crystals or incense, but for Dorian. The clerk's gaze lingered a beat too long, his smile a touch too eager whenever Felix entered the shop. Dorian was an open book, a fact Felix intended to exploit. Dorian, a handsome man and Wicca in his 30s, with kind eyes and a gentle smile, was clearly smitten. Felix, despite his straight inclinations, saw an opportunity. He needed magic, and Dorian seemed willing to offer more than just enchanted trinkets. Felix feigned interest in spell books and tarot cards, all the while calculating his approach. Each visit was a reconnaissance mission, mapping Dorian's desires and vulnerabilities. He spotted Dorian behind the counter, arranging a display of crystals.

"What do you think about dark magic?" Felix asked, leaning against the counter of Mystic Moon, his eyes gleaming with a playful curiosity. Dorian, usually so composed, fidgeted slightly. "Dark magic is bad! It twists the nature of things and destroys what we Wicca want to heal!" Felix feigned a thoughtful expression, then countered, "But dark mages are often really hot!" The words hung in the air, a deliberate barb aimed at Dorian’s hidden desires. Dorian's face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and longing swirling in his eyes. He was secretly in love with Felix and realized that he is obviously not Felix's typ. Even though he knew Felix was straight, yet Felix's words still ignited a flicker of longing in his heart. Felix, sensing the shift in Dorian's demeanor, smiled and slid a picture across the counter. It was an AI-generated image of Dorian: clad in a tight, unbuttoned black silk shirt revealing a hairy chest, and tight black suit pants. His hair was slicked back, a stark contrast to his usual gentle appearance.

"Look, how sexy you would look as a dark mage!" Felix said, pointing at the picture. Dorian stared at the image, a mix of fear and lustful excitement swirling within him. “That’s not me, Felix! It can’t be me!” Felix leaned closer, his voice dropping to a flirty whisper. “But his silk shirt is really hot. You should wear one as well, you would look amazing!” Dorian imagined the sleek fabric on his skin, how it would hug his strong pecs. Felix pressed on, "And maybe some silk boxers as well, which are caressing your glans soft and cool!" Dorian felt his cock stir in his pants, the image of himself in black silk now vivid and tantalizing. To break the tension, he said, with a hint of sarcasm, knowing that Felix is straight, “If you would date me, then I would wear such clothes!” Felix smirked, reaching under the counter. He produced a black silk shirt and black silk boxers, placing them on the counter with a flourish. “I guess we have a date!”

Dorian blinked, hardly believing Felix's offer. He hesitated for a heartbeat, the offer hanging in the air like a potent spell. He couldn’t dismiss the chance to spend time with Felix. He grabbed the silk shirt and boxers, retreating to the small restroom in the back of the shop. The silk felt cool against his skin as he changed, the fabric whispering promises of a different version of himself. Emerging, he smoothed the shirt over his chest, the unbuttoned front revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his torso. "You look amazing!" Felix grinned, his eyes raking over Dorian. Dorian smoothed the silk over his chest, feeling the fabric cling to his skin. "I feel so sexy today," he purred, reveling in the newfound confidence the clothes provided. He glanced down, feeling his cock throb against the confines of the silk boxers. Felix noticed the growing bulge, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "I would enjoy watching you jerk off!" Felix declared, his voice laced with suggestive delight. Dorian’s eyes widened, a mixture of shock and arousal flooding his senses. He hesitated for a moment, then, emboldened by Felix's gaze, he began to caress his cock through the fabric.

"You are doing great!" Felix cheered, his voice laced with excitement. Dorian’s breath hitched as he continued, the silk a tantalizing barrier against his skin. He grew closer to the edge, moans escaping his lips. "That is so hot!" Felix exclaimed, his eyes gleaming with desire. "Couldn’t you summon some dark magic, just for the mood? You would be so sexy, doing it! That would top it off." Dorian paused, his arousal warring with his conscience. "Only something small, e.g. killing that potted plant over there?" Felix pressed. "I would never kill something living!" Dorian refused, his voice firm. "I have a better idea," Felix suggested, his tone persuasive. "You could transform my clothes, so that I fit a bit more to your style!" Dorian considered the request, seeing little harm in it and hoping to further entice Felix, to show him that he could be someone different. He closed his eyes, focusing his energy, and summoned the dark magic. A visible force shimmered around Felix’s clothes, the air crackling with arcane energy. Felix watched in fascination as his clothes transformed, morphing into a light-blue silk shirt with short sleeves, unbuttoned to his waist, and tight grey nylon pants.

He examined himself in a nearby mirror, a grin spreading across his face. Felix felt a surge of triumph, realizing he had successfully manipulated Dorian into using dark magic. Felix seduced, "That’s amazing! I feel so horny in such clothes! Shall I suck your cock?"  

Despite his straightness, Felix was willing to pay the price and suck Dorian’s cock, viewing it as a small sacrifice to finally gain the magical power he craved. Dorian could hardly believe his ears, but the offer was too tempting to resist. He nodded eagerly, his eyes burning with desire. Felix wasted no time, dropping to his knees and pulling down Dorian’s silk boxers. He began to caress Dorian's glans with his tongue, sending shivers of pleasure through Dorian’s body. His tongue flicked and swirled. Dorian moaned, reveling in the sensation of Felix's lips on his cock. The dark magic amplified the lust, igniting a fierce desire within him. Felix sucked deeper, his expert technique driving Dorian wild. Lost in pleasure, Dorian surrendered to the moment, his body trembling with anticipation. Felix focused on making Dorian cum, hoping to further weaken his resolve. Dorian cried out, his body convulsing as he climaxed, shooting his load into Felix's face. He collapsed onto a chair, exhausted but euphoric. Felix wiped his face, a strange mix of disgust and satisfaction swirling within him. Felix caressed Dorian’s thighs, his touch both gentle and possessive. "That was amazing, Dorian," Felix purred, his voice low and seductive. "But you need to keep it a secret. You know, the Wicca want you to be weak and obedient, not so strong and manly as you are now!" Dorian considered his words, a seed of doubt planting itself in his mind. . "You might be right," he conceded, "they have never let me step into higher ranks in the coven." "They only pretend to be your friends," Felix continued, his voice dripping with honeyed persuasion, "but in reality, they just want to keep you under their thumb." Dorian found truth in Felix's words, a seed of resentment beginning to sprout within him. "The Wicca don’t mean good with you," Felix pressed on, his voice gaining urgency. "You need to subdue them and take their magic power!" Dorian hesitated, his conscience warring with the dark path Felix was urging him down. "I can’t do that!" Felix began to caress Dorian’s cock through the fabric of his silk boxers, his touch igniting a fresh wave of desire. "You need to render them harmless!" Dorian moaned, his resolve crumbling under the onslaught of pleasure. "Yes, I will subdue them and take their magic power away!" "And then you will give me their power," Felix added, his voice a seductive whisper. "We will be perfect partners – two dark mages!" Dorian’s eyes glazed over, his mind consumed by lust and ambition and his will completely surrendered to Felix's influence. "Yes!" he gasped. Felix abruptly stopped caressing Dorian, his demeanor shifting from seductive to cold and calculating. "We will see each other again when you have taken the magic power of your first Wicca-victim," he said, his voice laced with a predatory edge. "I will make it a celebration of lust for you when you provide me with their magic power!"

Felix stood before Dorian’s apartment door a week later, anticipation bubbling within him. Dorian’s call, the news of a Wiccan’s stolen magic, had electrified him. Power, true power, felt tantalizingly close. The moment he had craved for so long was at hand. He pressed the buzzer, a thrill coursing through his veins. The door hissed open, revealing a starkly modern space. Black and chrome dominated the luxurious living room, the open layout accentuated by a glass staircase that seemed to float in the dim, accented lighting.  

This wasn't how he has imagined the apartment form the Dorian he knew from the dusty magic shop. Dorian appeared, a triumphant glint in his deep blue eyes. "I have it," Dorian said, his voice a low hum. He extended a hand, offering a small vial filled with a swirling, iridescent liquid. "Pure magic power, Felix. Ready to become a mage?"

Felix snatched the vial, his heart pounding. "How do I use it? Do I drink it?" Dorian laughed, a deep, resonant sound that sent shivers down Felix’s spine. "No, Felix. It needs to be absorbed. Apply it to your skin." He gestured towards the bedroom. Felix didn't need to be told twice. He tore off his blue parker with its fur collar, tossing it carelessly onto a chrome bench. Buttons popped as he ripped open his white shirt, his fingers clumsy with haste. His pants followed, landing in a heap at his feet. He stood in the impressive bedroom, clad only in blue briefs and his open shirt.

The bedroom was dominated by a massive bed draped in black silk sheets. He stared at the vial. Here it is, he thought. Everything I ever wanted. He popped the vial’s cork and poured the liquid onto his hands, then eagerly began to rub it into his skin. A wave of warmth spread through him, a delightful tingle that quickly intensified into a potent arousal. He moaned, his body growing heavy, his muscles loosening. The lust built rapidly, overwhelming his senses. He collapsed onto the silk sheets and writhed on the bed, his body arching uncontrollably. Dorian watched from the doorway, a triumphant grin spreading across his face.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes burning into Felix. Dorian reached out, his fingers brushing against the elastic of Felix's briefs. With a slow, deliberate motion, he swept Felix's briefs aside, exposing his throbbing cock without fully removing the fabric. He began toying with Felix's cock, his fingers teasing and tantalizing, while simultaneously pinching and twisting his nipples. At the same time Dorian unzipped his pants, his own cock sprang forth, thick, engorged and slicked with pre-cum. He held it to Felix's lips, a silent invitation. “That’s it, Felix,” Dorian purred, his voice dripping with dominance. “So horny and at my mercy.” Felix gasped and tried to resist, but his body refused to obey. He was trapped, a puppet dancing to Dorian's tune.

Dorian pressed on, his voice laced with command. "Submit to me, Felix! Suck my cock and become my obedient servant!" Felix was shocked. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. However, the lust was too potent, the magical influence too strong. Felix's will crumbled. He opened his mouth and took Dorian’s cock, his tongue flicking over the head, savoring the taste of pre-cum. Dorian groaned, lifting Felix’s legs and positioning himself between them.  He gripped his saliva-slicked cock and pressed it against Felix's tight hole, the head slipping in with a wet squelch. Felix cried out, struggling against the intrusion. "Please, Dorian, stop it! I just wanted to become a mage!" Dorian's grin widened, a chilling display of cold amusement. “I just have started,” he hissed, his voice a venomous whisper. “Soon, you'll be mine. I will enjoy you, every inch of you.” Felix felt helpless, trapped in a nightmare of his own making. But beneath the fear, something else stirred: a strange, forbidden pleasure. He hated this, but a part of him, a dark, nascent part, thrilled at the sensation of being dominated. Dorian sensed the shift in Felix's emotions, his grin widening. "You have become a mage, Felix. But you will also be mine." Dorian’s dominance fueled Felix’s lust, igniting a primal desire to submit. His resistance crumbled, replaced by a perverse longing to be dominated, to be used. “Yes, Master,” Felix moaned, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anticipation. “Teach me what it means to be a mage!” Dorian accelerated his pace, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more demanding. "Cum the first time as a mage with my cock inside you, and you will be mine, body and soul. Cum for me, Felix!" The command, the raw power in Dorian’s voice, shattered Felix's remaining control. He bucked against Dorian, his body convulsing, and with a strangled cry, he shot his load onto his own lips, the taste of his own semen mingling with sweat. Moments later, Dorian shuddered, emptying his load deep into Felix’s ass. As Felix lay exhausted on the bed, gasping for breath, Dorian leaped to his feet, his energy seemingly boundless. “It’s time to get dressed, Felix,” he declared, his voice brisk and businesslike.

With a snap of his fingers, clothes began to materialize around Felix's body: Black velvet pants hugged his hips, and a tight black silk vest with a deep neckline showcased his chiseled physique. Felix stared at his reflection in a nearby mirror, and a surge of pride coursed through him. He looked powerful, youthful, and undeniably sexy. He got a hard-on by his own sight and ran a hand over the smooth velvet of his pants, reveling in the sensation. Dorian smirked, watching Felix’s reaction. "I like that you feel so attractive," he said. "You were born for showing you off!"

"The girls will adore me!" Felix said, striking a pose. Dorian chuckled. "Sure, they will adore, desire, and serve you," he said. "But I don't think that girls are too much of interest for you anymore." Felix looked perplexed. "What do you mean?" he asked. "You are a dark mage now," Dorian explained. "Girls won't be enough for you anymore. You desire more - men!" Felix was shocked. "What, I'm gay now?" Dorian just laughed. "It's about dominance and power," he said. "And you will crave for it. That is the nature of dark magic. Don't you feel drawn to me, to my power?"  A vision flashed through Felix's mind: himself, kneeling before Dorian, serving him, obeying his every sexual whim. The image was shockingly arousing. "Yes, Master!" Felix moaned, his voice thick with desire. "Let me serve you, make me your pleasure boy!" Dorian threw back his head and laughed, a triumphant and possessive sound that echoed through the room. "That's the spirit, Felix!" he said. "But now it's time to hunt Wiccas, to strip them of their power. And you, my pleasure boy, will help me."

Time blurred. Dorian’s grip on dark magic tightened, twisting him into a figure of cruel authority. Evil dripped from his every word, every glance. Felix, however, remained untouched by darkness. His ethical compass spun wildly, but his playful spirit endured. He took nothing seriously, not even the dark magic coursing through his veins. "Another sacrifice awaits, my pretty mage,” Dorian purred, his voice a silken threat. Felix shrugged, adjusting his silk vest. “Wiccas are boring. Can’t we find someone more fun to corrupt?” Dorian’s eyes flashed. "The dark magic didn't affect you as I had expected," Dorian mused, circling Felix like a predator. "No evil, no dominance." Felix shrugged, flashing a disarming grin. "Why should I? Magic's just another toy." Dorian's eyes gleamed with disapproval. "You underestimate its power. It can corrupt, consume..." "Maybe," Felix conceded, his gaze flitting around the room. "But I'm too much fun to get corrupted."

[honeyscovet]

Gareth: Hey, wanna take a shower with me?

Kayden: I have a gun in that nightstand beside the bed. If I ever say no to that question, I want you to take it out and shoot me because I’ve obviously gone crazy.

[keepinggcomposure]

When she turns you on so much she brings out a dominant side of you that you didn’t know you had

[fairynymphkid]

Really fucking tired of ignorant, inconsiderate, self serving doms.

What the fuck happened to chivalry without an ulterior motive?

I am a princess because I'm sick and tired of serving and never getting anywhere close to equality in the bedroom.

You want me to provide? No, because the only time I am given pleasure is when it's for someone else. I want to be given pleasure to please me, you take care of me because you want me to feel taken care of and that's it.

If I am this little precious angel baby girl, fucking treat me like one, prove to me that that's how you feel. Don't just call me those things because I just gave you a fantastic orgasm.

I still exist outside of making you cum.

[notthatdom]

Don't flirt with me, because I'll flirt back and you will fall in love and I will not

[sorcerer-felix]

Sorcerer Felix - the Origin

The wind whispered through the streets of Marsh Grove, carrying with it the scents of earth, moss and the salt of the nearby Ocean. At seventeen, Felix was already a sight to behold, with his golden hair glinting in the sunlight and those piercing blue eyes sparkling with mischief. He strolled through the market square with an effortless swagger, drawing glances from everyone around. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he smirked at his reflection in a shop window. “I’m destined for greatness!” he muttered with a vain smirk on his lips, adjusting his white t-shirt to better showcase his physique.

Felix strode confidently out of the town onto an overgrown path that led him to an old oak tree. Shadows danced among the leaves as Felix paced impatiently, his golden hair catching the light like a beacon.

“You think you can just waltz in here and demand to learn magic?” The voice of Mara, the Wicca coven’s leader, cut through the air like a knife. Dressed like a hippie, she stood tall, her expression a mix of disappointment and disdain. Felix smirked, undeterred. “I have what it takes. I could be the most powerful mage you’ve ever seen. Just imagine—” “Magic isn’t a game, Felix!” she snapped, her tone sharp. “It requires respect, dedication, and humility—qualities you lack.” He shrugged, feigning indifference. “C’mon, just give me a chance! I can be powerful, and I know you can feel it.”

Mara's eyes narrowed. “This is why we won’t teach you. Your arrogance will only lead to chaos.” Felix scoffed, waving her off as he turned on his heel and left the clearing, his charm failing to mask the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He had always felt destined for more than this sleepy town could offer.

Years later, Felix found himself in a bustling university town, a world away from Marsh Grove. Life buzzed around him—students, laughter, and the eclectic mix of coffee shops and bookstores. Now twenty, he stood in front of the Mystic Moon, a magical shop in the university town.

Felix, with his trademark smirk, sauntered into the Mystic Moon, the bell above the door tinkling a greeting only he seemed to notice. The air hung thick with the scent of dried herbs and something faintly metallic, like old coins. He frequented the shop not for its crystals or incense, but for Dorian. The clerk's gaze lingered a beat too long, his smile a touch too eager whenever Felix entered the shop. Dorian was an open book, a fact Felix intended to exploit. Dorian, a handsome man and Wicca in his 30s, with kind eyes and a gentle smile, was clearly smitten. Felix, despite his straight inclinations, saw an opportunity. He needed magic, and Dorian seemed willing to offer more than just enchanted trinkets. Felix feigned interest in spell books and tarot cards, all the while calculating his approach. Each visit was a reconnaissance mission, mapping Dorian's desires and vulnerabilities. He spotted Dorian behind the counter, arranging a display of crystals.

"What do you think about dark magic?" Felix asked, leaning against the counter of Mystic Moon, his eyes gleaming with a playful curiosity. Dorian, usually so composed, fidgeted slightly. "Dark magic is bad! It twists the nature of things and destroys what we Wicca want to heal!" Felix feigned a thoughtful expression, then countered, "But dark mages are often really hot!" The words hung in the air, a deliberate barb aimed at Dorian’s hidden desires. Dorian's face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and longing swirling in his eyes. He was secretly in love with Felix and realized that he is obviously not Felix's typ. Even though he knew Felix was straight, yet Felix's words still ignited a flicker of longing in his heart. Felix, sensing the shift in Dorian's demeanor, smiled and slid a picture across the counter. It was an AI-generated image of Dorian: clad in a tight, unbuttoned black silk shirt revealing a hairy chest, and tight black suit pants. His hair was slicked back, a stark contrast to his usual gentle appearance.

"Look, how sexy you would look as a dark mage!" Felix said, pointing at the picture. Dorian stared at the image, a mix of fear and lustful excitement swirling within him. “That’s not me, Felix! It can’t be me!” Felix leaned closer, his voice dropping to a flirty whisper. “But his silk shirt is really hot. You should wear one as well, you would look amazing!” Dorian imagined the sleek fabric on his skin, how it would hug his strong pecs. Felix pressed on, "And maybe some silk boxers as well, which are caressing your glans soft and cool!" Dorian felt his cock stir in his pants, the image of himself in black silk now vivid and tantalizing. To break the tension, he said, with a hint of sarcasm, knowing that Felix is straight, “If you would date me, then I would wear such clothes!” Felix smirked, reaching under the counter. He produced a black silk shirt and black silk boxers, placing them on the counter with a flourish. “I guess we have a date!”

Dorian blinked, hardly believing Felix's offer. He hesitated for a heartbeat, the offer hanging in the air like a potent spell. He couldn’t dismiss the chance to spend time with Felix. He grabbed the silk shirt and boxers, retreating to the small restroom in the back of the shop. The silk felt cool against his skin as he changed, the fabric whispering promises of a different version of himself. Emerging, he smoothed the shirt over his chest, the unbuttoned front revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his torso. "You look amazing!" Felix grinned, his eyes raking over Dorian. Dorian smoothed the silk over his chest, feeling the fabric cling to his skin. "I feel so sexy today," he purred, reveling in the newfound confidence the clothes provided. He glanced down, feeling his cock throb against the confines of the silk boxers. Felix noticed the growing bulge, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "I would enjoy watching you jerk off!" Felix declared, his voice laced with suggestive delight. Dorian’s eyes widened, a mixture of shock and arousal flooding his senses. He hesitated for a moment, then, emboldened by Felix's gaze, he began to caress his cock through the fabric.

"You are doing great!" Felix cheered, his voice laced with excitement. Dorian’s breath hitched as he continued, the silk a tantalizing barrier against his skin. He grew closer to the edge, moans escaping his lips. "That is so hot!" Felix exclaimed, his eyes gleaming with desire. "Couldn’t you summon some dark magic, just for the mood? You would be so sexy, doing it! That would top it off." Dorian paused, his arousal warring with his conscience. "Only something small, e.g. killing that potted plant over there?" Felix pressed. "I would never kill something living!" Dorian refused, his voice firm. "I have a better idea," Felix suggested, his tone persuasive. "You could transform my clothes, so that I fit a bit more to your style!" Dorian considered the request, seeing little harm in it and hoping to further entice Felix, to show him that he could be someone different. He closed his eyes, focusing his energy, and summoned the dark magic. A visible force shimmered around Felix’s clothes, the air crackling with arcane energy. Felix watched in fascination as his clothes transformed, morphing into a light-blue silk shirt with short sleeves, unbuttoned to his waist, and tight grey nylon pants.

He examined himself in a nearby mirror, a grin spreading across his face. Felix felt a surge of triumph, realizing he had successfully manipulated Dorian into using dark magic. Felix seduced, "That’s amazing! I feel so horny in such clothes! Shall I suck your cock?"  

Despite his straightness, Felix was willing to pay the price and suck Dorian’s cock, viewing it as a small sacrifice to finally gain the magical power he craved. Dorian could hardly believe his ears, but the offer was too tempting to resist. He nodded eagerly, his eyes burning with desire. Felix wasted no time, dropping to his knees and pulling down Dorian’s silk boxers. He began to caress Dorian's glans with his tongue, sending shivers of pleasure through Dorian’s body. His tongue flicked and swirled. Dorian moaned, reveling in the sensation of Felix's lips on his cock. The dark magic amplified the lust, igniting a fierce desire within him. Felix sucked deeper, his expert technique driving Dorian wild. Lost in pleasure, Dorian surrendered to the moment, his body trembling with anticipation. Felix focused on making Dorian cum, hoping to further weaken his resolve. Dorian cried out, his body convulsing as he climaxed, shooting his load into Felix's face. He collapsed onto a chair, exhausted but euphoric. Felix wiped his face, a strange mix of disgust and satisfaction swirling within him.

Felix caressed Dorian’s thighs, his touch both gentle and possessive. "That was amazing, Dorian," Felix purred, his voice low and seductive. "But you need to keep it a secret. You know, the Wicca want you to be weak and obedient, not so strong and manly as you are now!" Dorian considered his words, a seed of doubt planting itself in his mind. . "You might be right," he conceded, "they have never let me step into higher ranks in the coven." "They only pretend to be your friends," Felix continued, his voice dripping with honeyed persuasion, "but in reality, they just want to keep you under their thumb." Dorian found truth in Felix's words, a seed of resentment beginning to sprout within him. "The Wicca don’t mean good with you," Felix pressed on, his voice gaining urgency. "You need to subdue them and take their magic power!" Dorian hesitated, his conscience warring with the dark path Felix was urging him down. "I can’t do that!" Felix began to caress Dorian’s cock through the fabric of his silk boxers, his touch igniting a fresh wave of desire. "You need to render them harmless!" Dorian moaned, his resolve crumbling under the onslaught of pleasure. "Yes, I will subdue them and take their magic power away!" "And then you will give me their power," Felix added, his voice a seductive whisper. "We will be perfect partners – two dark mages!" Dorian’s eyes glazed over, his mind consumed by lust and ambition and his will completely surrendered to Felix's influence. "Yes!" he gasped. Felix abruptly stopped caressing Dorian, his demeanor shifting from seductive to cold and calculating. "We will see each other again when you have taken the magic power of your first Wicca-victim," he said, his voice laced with a predatory edge. "I will make it a celebration of lust for you when you provide me with their magic power!"

Felix stood before Dorian’s apartment door a week later, anticipation bubbling within him. Dorian’s call, the news of a Wiccan’s stolen magic, had electrified him. Power, true power, felt tantalizingly close. The moment he had craved for so long was at hand. He pressed the buzzer, a thrill coursing through his veins. The door hissed open, revealing a starkly modern space. Black and chrome dominated the luxurious living room, the open layout accentuated by a glass staircase that seemed to float in the dim, accented lighting.  

This wasn't how he has imagined the apartment form the Dorian he knew from the dusty magic shop. Dorian appeared, a triumphant glint in his deep blue eyes. "I have it," Dorian said, his voice a low hum. He extended a hand, offering a small vial filled with a swirling, iridescent liquid. "Pure magic power, Felix. Ready to become a mage?"

Felix snatched the vial, his heart pounding. "How do I use it? Do I drink it?" Dorian laughed, a deep, resonant sound that sent shivers down Felix’s spine. "No, Felix. It needs to be absorbed. Apply it to your skin." He gestured towards the bedroom. Felix didn't need to be told twice. He tore off his blue parker with its fur collar, tossing it carelessly onto a chrome bench. Buttons popped as he ripped open his white shirt, his fingers clumsy with haste. His pants followed, landing in a heap at his feet. He stood in the impressive bedroom, clad only in blue briefs and his open shirt.

The bedroom was dominated by a massive bed draped in black silk sheets. He stared at the vial. Here it is, he thought. Everything I ever wanted. He popped the vial’s cork and poured the liquid onto his hands, then eagerly began to rub it into his skin. A wave of warmth spread through him, a delightful tingle that quickly intensified into a potent arousal. He moaned, his body growing heavy, his muscles loosening. The lust built rapidly, overwhelming his senses. He collapsed onto the silk sheets and writhed on the bed, his body arching uncontrollably. Dorian watched from the doorway, a triumphant grin spreading across his face.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes burning into Felix. Dorian reached out, his fingers brushing against the elastic of Felix's briefs. With a slow, deliberate motion, he swept Felix's briefs aside, exposing his throbbing cock without fully removing the fabric. He began toying with Felix's cock, his fingers teasing and tantalizing, while simultaneously pinching and twisting his nipples. At the same time Dorian unzipped his pants, his own cock sprang forth, thick, engorged and slicked with pre-cum. He held it to Felix's lips, a silent invitation. “That’s it, Felix,” Dorian purred, his voice dripping with dominance. “So horny and at my mercy.” Felix gasped and tried to resist, but his body refused to obey. He was trapped, a puppet dancing to Dorian's tune. Dorian pressed on, his voice laced with command. "Submit to me, Felix! Suck my cock and become my obedient servant!" Felix was shocked. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. However, the lust was too potent, the magical influence too strong. Felix's will crumbled. He opened his mouth and took Dorian’s cock, his tongue flicking over the head, savoring the taste of pre-cum. Dorian groaned, lifting Felix’s legs and positioning himself between them.  He gripped his saliva-slicked cock and pressed it against Felix's tight hole, the head slipping in with a wet squelch. Felix cried out, struggling against the intrusion. "Please, Dorian, stop it! I just wanted to become a mage!" Dorian's grin widened, a chilling display of cold amusement. “I just have started,” he hissed, his voice a venomous whisper. “Soon, you'll be mine. I will enjoy you, every inch of you.” Felix felt helpless, trapped in a nightmare of his own making. But beneath the fear, something else stirred: a strange, forbidden pleasure. He hated this, but a part of him, a dark, nascent part, thrilled at the sensation of being dominated. Dorian sensed the shift in Felix's emotions, his grin widening. "You have become a mage, Felix. But you will also be mine." Dorian’s dominance fueled Felix’s lust, igniting a primal desire to submit. His resistance crumbled, replaced by a perverse longing to be dominated, to be used. “Yes, Master,” Felix moaned, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anticipation. “Teach me what it means to be a mage!” Dorian accelerated his pace, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more demanding. "Cum the first time as a mage with my cock inside you, and you will be mine, body and soul. Cum for me, Felix!" The command, the raw power in Dorian’s voice, shattered Felix's remaining control. He bucked against Dorian, his body convulsing, and with a strangled cry, he shot his load onto his own lips, the taste of his own semen mingling with sweat. Moments later, Dorian shuddered, emptying his load deep into Felix’s ass. As Felix lay exhausted on the bed, gasping for breath, Dorian leaped to his feet, his energy seemingly boundless. “It’s time to get dressed, Felix,” he declared, his voice brisk and businesslike.

With a snap of his fingers, clothes began to materialize around Felix's body: Black velvet pants hugged his hips, and a tight black silk vest with a deep neckline showcased his chiseled physique. Felix stared at his reflection in a nearby mirror, and a surge of pride coursed through him. He looked powerful, youthful, and undeniably sexy. He got a hard-on by his own sight and ran a hand over the smooth velvet of his pants, reveling in the sensation. Dorian smirked, watching Felix’s reaction. "I like that you feel so attractive," he said. "You were born for showing you off!"

"The girls will adore me!" Felix said, striking a pose. Dorian chuckled. "Sure, they will adore, desire, and serve you," he said. "But I don't think that girls are too much of interest for you anymore." Felix looked perplexed. "What do you mean?" he asked. "You are a dark mage now," Dorian explained. "Girls won't be enough for you anymore. You desire more - men!" Felix was shocked. "What, I'm gay now?" Dorian just laughed. "It's about dominance and power," he said. "And you will crave for it. That is the nature of dark magic. Don't you feel drawn to me, to my power?"  A vision flashed through Felix's mind: himself, kneeling before Dorian, serving him, obeying his every sexual whim. The image was shockingly arousing. "Yes, Master!" Felix moaned, his voice thick with desire. "Let me serve you, make me your pleasure boy!" Dorian threw back his head and laughed, a triumphant and possessive sound that echoed through the room. "That's the spirit, Felix!" he said. "But now it's time to hunt Wiccas, to strip them of their power. And you, my pleasure boy, will help me."

Time blurred. Dorian’s grip on dark magic tightened, twisting him into a figure of cruel authority. Evil dripped from his every word, every glance. Felix, however, remained untouched by darkness. His ethical compass spun wildly, but his playful spirit endured. He took nothing seriously, not even the dark magic coursing through his veins. "Another sacrifice awaits, my pretty mage,” Dorian purred, his voice a silken threat. Felix shrugged, adjusting his silk vest. “Wiccas are boring. Can’t we find someone more fun to corrupt?” Dorian’s eyes flashed. "The dark magic didn't affect you as I had expected," Dorian mused, circling Felix like a predator. "No evil, no dominance." Felix shrugged, flashing a disarming grin. "Why should I? Magic's just another toy." Dorian's eyes gleamed with disapproval. "You underestimate its power. It can corrupt, consume..." "Maybe," Felix conceded, his gaze flitting around the room. "But I'm too much fun to get corrupted."

[openatthedinnertable]

As if it were real

An X reader from someone who has watched baby girl🥛

I hated this project. I voted against it. And as punishment, I'm doing it with someone I can't stand.

My boss is a narcissist. The word is used often now, but, it's genuine this time. He cannot imagine why you wouldn't see anything his way. But to openly express it, will always deserve punishment.

When I started working this job a year ago, I expressed my distain for William to said boss. I thought the space was safe in the beginning of my employment. At my old job, I told my boss anything, almost too much sometimes, but she was so warm and open, that it felt like talking to a sister. I never questioned whether I could share who I liked or disliked. Who did what to bother me.

But at this job, it's different. Not so safe. Not warm, even if it is safe.

So when I made it clear to my boss that I thought  the employee critique (Honestly, coworker critique) was stupid and has nothing to do with the actual work we put in as employees, he partnered me right with the person I told him I couldn't stand.

There's nothing particularly wrong with William. That's what I've been told by anyone I complained about him to. They don't get it. They see him as someone who is simply different from me. They don't see him like I see him. Strange, sarcastic. A quick lipped cocky bastard. Incredibly subtle about it. His presence is very gentle, but he opens his mouth and something just doesn't seem right. It's offensive when he speaks, but he's so quick and sly about it you don't fully notice, you almost feel crazy for being irritated. You almost want to ask the other people in the room if they heard what you heard, but it will always be "Isn't he great?!" And not "Yeah, that was strange."

His presence almost makes me feel alone, like he's putting a spotlight on me just so he can laugh at me.

That is my partner for the next month.

I hear his shoes down the hall, but it's been so long, I don't actually believe it's him until he walks through the door.

"Hey." He said, closing the door behind him and rushing to sit across from me.

"You're late." I said.

He pauses for a moment, a smirk creeping up on his face.

"I'm sorry to hear that." He says, plopping his briefcase on the table.

I could feel myself losing patience, and it's only been 20 seconds.

"I uh, printed everything that we need to start, so you won't need to worry about that." he fixes his tie, patting down his arms to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt.

"Thanks for answering my text and letting me know that you did that before I printed everything already." I slam the stack of papers down on the table.

He glances at them and then back up at me.

"I'm sorry, my phone has been off for a couple days cause the place I go to pay my phone bill switched locat-."

"I don't care."

My interruption makes a smile spread across his face as he organizes the papers in front of him.

"Let's just start with the questions first and work our way up from there." I said, my tone sharp.

"That's uh, a better idea than mine." William said.

"What was your idea?" I asked.

"Well I was thinking we could start throwing out answers first, then seeing if the questions fit with whatever information we tossed at each other." a chuckle escaped his mouth. I say escaped because it always seems like he's holding in a laugh. Like there's an inside joke I'm not a part of.

"Taking two seconds to not act like a child would be incredibly helpful." I said.

"A child? You decided you're pissed at me the second I walked through the door."

"Because you're 25 minutes late!" I can hear my voice getting louder.

"Was." he replied.

"What?"

"I was 25 minutes late." His face is friendly. I could almost choke him, but he's not worth assault charges.

I take a deep breath.

"Let's just answer them ourselves and switch papers." I said, taking out my notebook.

"No way, that's so insincere." William argued.

"Anything to make this process less painful." I reached out to take the questions but he quickly slams his hand on them before I could grab them.

"You called me childish for being late, but you want to handle this project the way I would've handled it in high school?" he chuckles. I take a deep sigh and lean back in my chair in frustration.

"C'mon let's do it the interesting way." His tone is genuine, which is rare for him.

"Fine." I said.

He begins to shuffle his papers, laying the questions in front of him, ready to take note of whatever I say.

"Okay, first question. What makes a good boss in your eyes?" William asked.

"Someone who recognizes how their employee learns, and takes that into consideration as they go forward in their work." I replied.

"Good answer. Next question is do you feel our boss meets that qualification?" William scratches the back of his neck.

"That's not what it says."

"Well that's what I asked."

We are both silent for a moment. I take another deep breath.

"Can you please focus on what's actually written?" My tone is sharp again. I hate being this way. But he knows exactly how to push my buttons. What's worse is when he's not trying to.

William put his hands up in the air in surrender.

"Just thought I'd try to pick your brain, that's all." he smirks again, giving direct eye contact, the type of eye contact you can feel.

He clears his throat.

"Okay, next it says, how do you usually handle conflict?"

"Well that depends on the situation." Every single thing that has happened at this job replays in my head.

"What if someone called you selfish?" He asked, curiosity spread across his face.

He's off script again, but I humor him.

"I would tell them they're too needy." I said. I can feel myself fidgeting.

"What if someone told you you're too competitive?"

"I would tell them they're not competitive enough."

"Well aren't you the light at the end of the tunnel." he smiles, continuing to write down my answers.

"Y'know, you and I are very similar. Smart, confident, stubborn." He said.

I squint my eyes on him.

"I'm not stubborn." I snap back.

"You are absolutely stubborn, and incredibly cold. Your answers are shorter than your temper and you have a clear control problem. I can practically see the bricks stacked up around you.

You are one of the most guarded people I've ever met." His eye contact has feeling to it again.

"Question, do you ever let anyone get past this?" He waves his hand in front of me.

"Ofcourse I do."

"You know what I think. I think you are so scared to be any more warm than this cause that requires letting people in even a little bit." He puts his pen down and crosses his arms.

"Your point?" I said.

"My point is if you keep pushing people into your little dark, bitter corner, you'll end up alone."

I wince at his words, scrunching my face, as if he cussed at me.

"I'm open to the right people." I say quietly.

William calmly stands up, making his way to my side of the table and kneeling in front of me. Something about this felt out of character. Personal.

"Look at me. I mean actually face me." He said, turning my chair so that my entire body was in his direction. My eyes widen at the sudden jolt of movement.

He keeps himself kneeled.

"Who exactly are the right people?" His tone is low and intimate.

"I'm sorry, do you feel pushed away by me? I don't exactly know you like that for it to matter this much. We don't need to connect" I said.

"Fair. But let me ask you this - if you don't need to connect with me, why haven't you walked out yet?" The tone in his voice is almost hypnotizing. The fidgeting I've been doing gets worse.

"B-because I-." I hate that I stuttered. Hate that I didn't know what to say. I always have something to say.

"Because you what?" His eyes drop down to my lips waiting for me to respond. I can see him reading my body language. It puts anger in me that I can't quite place.

In almost a whisper, he speaks again.

"You know what I think? I think you're full of shit. I think deep down you like the way I push your buttons. You're interested in this conversation and me trying to figure you out. You're interested in the eye contact you seem to have a hard time keeping with me." He tilts his head towards my eyes, making effort to look at me.

My mouth is dry and my hands are sweating. I hate this, I hate this feeling like he's winning something. Like he hit the right rock and found diamonds.

I feel like he's dangling something in front of me.

"We're not doing this." I stand up as he watches me shove everything into my bag and make my way towards the door. I hear the sound of his steps making their way towards me.

He steps infront of me, placing his hand on the door.

I make effort to look away, trying to avoid whatever moment is sitting in the room.

"Look at me." His hand gently moves my head, so that my eyes are forced to lock on to his.

"You're not going anywhere until our conversation is finished." William says.

We stand there for a moment, looking at each other.

My hand slips off the door knob as I silently walk back to my seat. My lips are separated and my face feels as if it's fallen.

William sits back down, a smile dancing on his face as I comply with his order.

"Was that so hard?" He said, leaning back in his chair.

I shift in my seat to get more comfortable.

"I guess not." I said dryly, trying to make my tone and face unreadable.

"You know, for someone who was ready to bolt out the door, you seem to be getting quite comfortable." He smirks at me and looks back down at his notepad.

"Just fucking continue the questions you were asking-." I snap. There's an embarrassment I feel. Like something warm creeping up my neck. I'm readable now.

"Careful, it almost sounds like you're giving me permission." His voice drops, to something deep, the word intimate pops up in my mind again. The eye contact he maintains is intense.

"Are you?"

I'm silent, glaring at him. Heat is rushing to my face and I can tell he notices.

He raises his eyebrows and leans his head forward, waiting for my response.

"Am I what?" I almost felt dizzy.

"Giving.Me.Permission." His face is so serious it almost doesn't feel like I'm talking to him. It's like someone else has taken the wheel entirely.

I don't realize I'm not breathing until it starts to hurt.

My jaw tightens as my head nods in agreement.

"So I have permission to push past the wall?" He asked, his face still serious.

"What wall?"

"The wall you are clearly hiding behind." He moves his chair forward and leans on the table. His face is directly in front of mine and all I can hear is the sound of my breathing coming back.

"The wall..." he grabs my hand, moving my fingers between his.

"Of obedience...of touch." His voice sounds like butter, and I find myself listening more than I ever have.

"If I give you another order, will you follow?" William asked.

I wanted to say no. To not give him the satisfaction, but my curiosity was so peaked, to turn back would feel unsatisfying.

I nod my head.

He leans in a little bit closer.

"Look at me and don't break eye contact until I tell you to." he says sharply.

I don't respond, but I do as he says. He stares into my eyes and at my face.

His voice comes out in a whisper "Your pupils are dilated."

William moves his hand away from mine and brings it up to my face. His voice stays in a whisper.

"I think you like me being this close to you." His face looks content. Pleased.

"Fuck off." I wasn't expecting those words to come out of me. It just happened. The frustration being built from him getting me comfortable, it's almost too bizarre to track.

He smiles.

His hand begins to move and trace over my lips.

"Open." He commanded.

I slowly open my mouth and feel his thumb slip in.

"You follow instructions so nicely." His eyes are focused heavily on my mouth. I feel like he's undressing me. Like he's freeing me from something I didn't even know was trapping me.

"Do you want me to stop?  I can stop if you want." His thumb slowly, moves deeper into my mouth.

I shake my head no. Too much shame to say it out loud.

He takes out his thumb and holds my face again.

"I need you to speak when I ask you a question like that. No gestures." He demanded.

My heart is skipping three beats at a time, and the sweat down my back is incredibly hard to ignore.

"No, I don't want you to stop." I said. I continue to look at him, remembering his earlier demand.

"Okay." His voice was gentle. Almost comforting.

"I need you to stop overthinking everything you're feeling right now." He pushed my hair back from my face.

"Let loose and let go. If that's not what you want to do, you don't have to. But if you do, don't hold back." The breathing I couldn't do before has now gotten heavier, louder.

He brings his hand back down to my hand again, Not breaking eye contact with me.

"Do you still hate me?" he asked.

The question shocked me a little.

"I never said-."

"You didn't have to I could see it in your face. Although your expression now does look a little different than usual." A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Shut up." I snap. I've had to have snapped at him around four times now. He pushes my best and worse nerves.

"I don't pick on anyone I don't care about." He said.

"Is that your excuse for being a prick to me?" My question makes him chuckle. I can still feel him rubbing circles on my hand.

"Actually yes. I want your attention. Unfortunately, one of my flaws is I don't care how I get the attention I want." William looks down at my hand and then back up to my eyes.

He lingers there for so long I find myself looking away.

"Did I say to stop looking at me?" He said.

"No"

"Then why did you do it?"

I swallow at his assertiveness.

"I was going to ask to kiss you but you barely know how to not look at the floor when I'm talking to you." A small chuckle left him and my heart started racing again. I've never been spoken to the way he speaks to me.

"Do you want me to kiss-."

"N-no." I interrupted, tripping over the "No" as if I forgot how to say it. I didn't mean it. I wanted, almost needed him to. I felt as though I was half naked in front of him, I don't have the guts to take off the rest. That's what he wanted me to do. I could feel my pride hold up a stop sign in front of him.

He leans back in his seat, letting go of me and crossing his arms.

"Okay." He nodded his head slowly in acceptance. Unfazed.

A wave of disappointment hits me. I'm sure he could see it in my face cause his eyes lingered on me again.

For a moment he almost looks lost in thought, and then he snapped his fingers.

"You know what." he gets up from his chair with the movement of someone who forgot to turn the stove off, and now believes it's time to go home and handle it. Very matter of fact. Very casual.

"You're a liar." he says bluntly, making his way to my side of the table, standing near me, hovering.

He leans down, whispering.

"I respect it, but do you actually not want me to kiss you?"

The way he said it was almost sweet. Whether it was calculated or not, it felt that way.

"If you do, you win." My voice came out small. I wanted to crawl inside my own body just to escape the conversation.

The breath of air that left him, like a chuckle with no sound, made me feel stupid for saying that.

"I'm thinking about a lot of things right now. Winning is not one of them." He said.

William dragged his suitcase off the table and made his way towards the door. He glanced back at me quickly, before exiting and leaving me alone in the room.

All of a sudden, my eyes were on fire. Did I not blink the entire time?

My nerves were making me shaky, and there was too much to think about all at once. I wanted him to come back, to keep me busy, and I fucking hated that that was my thought.

I felt like a little kid who got a lollipop taken out of their mouth out of nowhere.

I felt irritated, like I needed to itch, like I'm longing for something.

I hate that he made me feel that way just to leave me by myself. At the same time, I could've stopped him.

I could now. Run down the hallway, get on my knees and beg him to come back in the room and lock the door behind him.

But I am no such woman.

READ THE REST:

[bmoafmc]

Satyr feeding his pet.

[schizoidvision]

7 Ways Schizoids Engage in Master-Slave Relationships

Schizoid personality dynamics often involve emotional detachment in social situations, a need for autonomy, and a complex relationship with intimacy. Many individuals with schizoid traits struggle to engage in balanced interpersonal relationships due to their defense mechanisms, which protect their true self from being overwhelmed by others' emotional needs, and prevent engulfment. One framework to understand these relationship patterns is through the lens of the Master-Slave dynamic, outlined by J.F. Masterson, in ‘The Masterson Approach.’

In this model, schizoids adopt dominant (master) or submissive (slave) roles during social interactions to maintain emotional distance and avoid vulnerability. Some schizoids may alternate between both roles depending on the situation, while others may exclusively engage in one role. There are also those who prefer to stay away from interpersonal interactions altogether, avoiding playing any role at all. Looking at schizoid dynamics through the lens of the Master-Slave framework can offer valuable insight into how schizoids navigate their relationships while keeping their true self protected.

Below are 7 ways schizoids can engage in master-slave relationships, as well as how these roles manifest in their interactions:

1. Emotional Detachment as a Defense Mechanism

Schizoids often maintain a significant emotional distance from others, which plays into both the "master" and "slave" roles. Whether dominating (master) or submitting (slave), schizoid individuals avoid emotional connection with others. This distance helps protect their true self from being overwhelmed allowing them to engage in relationships without feeling threatened or consumed.

Master Role: Emotional detachment allows the schizoid to exert control without becoming emotionally involved.

Slave Role: Detachment enables the schizoid to endure relationships while remaining disconnected, avoiding emotional harm.

2. Superficial Engagement in Relationships

Schizoids frequently interact with others through a false self system, engaging only at a surface level. This superficial engagement is essential in the Master-Slave dynamic, where schizoids play roles that allow them to manage interpersonal interactions without revealing their true selves.

Master Role: They may manipulate relationships from an emotional distance, using a controlled persona to maintain superiority.

Slave Role: They may adopt a compliant stance, performing roles without any genuine emotional involvement.

3. The Need for Autonomy and Control

For many schizoids, maintaining autonomy is essential. The fear of losing control or being consumed by another person’s needs often drives their behavior in relationships. This need for control manifests clearly in the master role, where schizoids assert dominance to protect their independence.

Master Role: Schizoids in this position create strict boundaries, dictating the terms of interaction to preserve autonomy.

Slave Role: Though appearing submissive, the schizoid may comply to avoid deeper involvement, or potential conflict, which helps them maintain internal control over their emotions.

4. In-and-Out Relationship Patterns

Schizoids often experience what is referred to as the “in-and-out” relationship pattern, in which they engage with a partner but frequently withdraw to maintain emotional distance. This pattern mirrors both the master and slave roles in the Masterson model.

Master Role: They control the rhythm of the relationship by pulling back when intimacy becomes too overwhelming.

Slave Role: They may follow the lead of the partner but retreat emotionally when the relationship becomes too close.

This retreat may be physical and result in the individual spending time alone in solitude represented in the Masterson model as the self in exile.

5. Playing Social Roles to Avoid Intimacy

In social interactions, schizoids often adopt roles (either as a dominant figure or a passive participant) to shield their true self. This "role play" is central to the Master-Slave dynamic, where they engage with the world through carefully constructed personas.

Master Role: The schizoid may take on a leadership or authority role to mask vulnerability.

Slave Role: They might adopt a passive, agreeable role to minimize friction and avoid deeper emotional entanglement.

6. Fear of Intimacy and Vulnerability

A key feature of schizoid personality is the tension between the desire for connection and the fear of intimacy. In master-slave dynamics, this translates into engaging with others in a way that limits genuine emotional closeness. Schizoids use these roles to manage their fear of being overwhelmed by another person’s emotional needs.

Master Role: They avoid vulnerability by controlling the relationship and setting strict boundaries.

Slave Role: By appearing submissive, they avoid exposing their true self to scrutiny or emotional demand.

7. The Use of Intellectualization

Schizoids often use intellectualization to cope with emotional discomfort. This defense mechanism allows them to analyze relationships from an emotional distance, thus reducing emotional engagement. In master-slave relationships, intellectualization can reinforce their roles, helping them maintain detachment.

Master Role: They may use intellect to justify their dominance, staying emotionally disconnected while manipulating the situation.

Slave Role: Intellectualization helps them rationalize their submission, preventing any emotional impact from deeply affecting them.

Conclusion

The Master-Slave dynamic offers insight into how schizoids may manage relationships while maintaining emotional distance. Schizoids may engage in these roles in a nuanced way, shifting between these roles depending on the situation, asserting control in some contexts and complying in others to avoid deeper emotional involvement. Others may primarily stick to one role. A third group may avoid relationships altogether, choosing isolation as a means to maintain emotional detachment and autonomy. While these roles can prevent schizoids from forming deep, fulfilling relationships, they serve as protective mechanisms to manage their need for autonomy. Ultimately, when schizoid individuals use these roles it is to maintain psychological stability, balancing their need for distance with the challenges of human connection.

Video From My YouTube Channel: Understanding The Schizoid Master-Slave Relationship