Dog Eared Lies

“Reputation is paper. Power is ink.”

She felt it before she saw it.

A vibration in the air, the way birds quiet before a storm. A shift in how the other girls walked past her—too fast, too careful. A silence thick enough to chew.

Dominique arrived at Saint Madeleine’s in full armor: hair sleek, uniform pressed, tie sharp enough to slice.

But by second period, something was off.

A group of underclassmen turned and whispered, one of them hiding her mouth behind a manicured hand. Another stared openly.

Not the usual jealousy. This was different.

This was… recognition.

She cornered Lena near the lockers before fencing practice, voice low and even.

“What’s going on?”

Lena looked like a fox trapped between teeth.

“You don’t know?”

“I’m asking, aren’t I?”

Lena hesitated, then pulled out her phone, opened Reddit, and showed her.

/r/DominaConfessions.

Top post of the day.

Thousands of upvotes.

Dozens of awards.

Title: “My Throne Was Hollow—Until I Learned to Bite.”

User: [deleted]

Posted: 1 year ago

Dominique’s blood ran cold.

She read the first paragraph.

It was hers.

Not a copy. Not paraphrased.

Word. For. Word.

“I wasn’t born to kneel. I was born to make men grateful for their knees.”

“But the first time I gave someone power—true power—I sobbed so hard my mascara bled into my collarbone.”

“It wasn’t weakness. It was baptism.”

She remembered writing it. Late at night. In black lace and honesty. It was the only post she’d ever made under that name. She deleted the account a day later.

Someone had screenshotted it.

And now? It was public.

Saint Madeleine’s students were elite.

But they were online.

She stormed out of the locker room.

Fencing practice forgotten.

Priscilla was waiting for her moment—of course she was. Sitting on the courtyard bench with her perfect posture, surrounded by her perfect followers. Eating strawberries like sin was sweet.

Dominique didn’t stop walking.

Girls turned. Phones came out. A few held their breath.

“You leaked it.”

Priscilla blinked, theatrically.

“Leaked what?”

“My writing.”

“Was it yours?” she asked with faux-innocence. “I thought it was just a desperate post from a wannabe dom who finally got bent the right way.”

The crowd tensed. One girl gasped.

“How long did it take to write that? An hour?” Priscilla smiled. “Shame to waste all that effort on being forgettable.”

Dominique didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

She stepped closer, close enough for the shadows of her lashes to cross Priscilla’s face.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”

“Neither does desperation,” Priscilla snapped.

“I’d rather be desperate than derivative.”

Priscilla’s smile cracked.

“No wonder he left you. You’re just a bad copy of someone your grandmother once was.”

The words cut like glass across the inside of her mouth.

Dominique didn’t think.

Her hand moved on instinct.

Smack.

It echoed across the courtyard like thunder.

Priscilla gasped.

The silence was instant, absolute.

Her hand flew to her cheek, shock widening her eyes.

But Dominique didn’t retreat.

She leaned forward and whispered so only Priscilla could hear:

“You may kneel in private. But you’ll never rule in public.”

Then louder—for everyone:

“Don’t ever mistake poise for passivity.”

She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving behind a circle of gasping girls and a stunned queen without a crown.

Detention was inevitable.

The headmistress called her “inappropriate” and “volatile.”

Dominique just smiled and served the hour in silence, her fingers curled over the edge of the desk like claws beneath silk.

She didn’t apologize.

She didn’t need to.

The hallway outside had already buzzed with something she hadn’t heard in weeks:

Respect.

That night, she returned home with fire in her lungs.

She didn’t log into The Velvet Room.

Didn’t touch her corset.

Instead, she brewed black tea, wrapped herself in one of Madam’s old robes, and sat at her desk with the laptop open—not to stream, but to watch.

The leaked Reddit post had gone viral across three Domme forums.

Some called her brilliant.

Others said she was reckless.

But one message—private, anonymous—appeared in her inbox.

You’ve outgrown the screen.

You’re ready for the next level.

Come see me.

— A

Attached was a location.

Just coordinates. No name. No digital trail.

Just temptation.

And below it, one final sentence:

We’ve been watching you since the day you howled.

Dominique closed the laptop slowly.

Her hand still tingled from slapping Priscilla.

Her jaw ached from the smile she refused to hide.

She stood, walked to the mirror, and whispered to her reflection:

“Let them watch.”

Then she opened a new browser window.

And booked a train.

The train confirmation email blinked on her screen.

Her ticket was secured.

Departure: Friday, midnight.

Destination: unknown.

Dominique shut the laptop gently, like closing the lid on something sacred.

She didn’t move right away.

The room was quiet, dim except for the glow of her desk lamp. Her tea sat untouched, steam curling like secrets in the dark.

Her body was still humming—from the slap, from the message, from the chaos she had turned into a crown.

But something else had taken root, low and aching.

Desire.

Not for domination.

Not for performance.

For release. For exhale. For the soft hum that only came when she let go of everything.

She rose from her chair slowly, walked to the bed, and let the silk robe fall from her shoulders.

Her body caught the moonlight.

She looked at herself in the mirror across the room.

Naked.

Unmasked.

Real.

Her fingers drifted across her breast, over the light bruise from the last harness, down to the smooth skin of her stomach.

She laid back.

Spread her thighs slowly, reverently.

And touched.

Soft at first. Featherlight.

The kind of touch meant for memory, not for men.

She traced herself in slow circles, breath catching. Her head tilted back against the pillow. Her hips arched slightly, hips rising into her own palm.

Thoughts blurred.

The Reddit post.

The slap.

The wolves in her inbox.

The new invitation.

The prod in her hand at the WREC Room.

The howl in her throat.

She circled faster.

Deeper.

Her breath stuttered, pulse pounding beneath her skin.

And then—

Unbidden.

Unexpected.

A whisper slipped from her lips as her climax cracked open like thunder in her chest:

“Wolf…”

Her whole body shook.

Pleasure rippled through her like glass shattering in water—quiet but infinite.

Her thighs clenched. Her fingers slowed. Her breath came in soft gasps.

She lay still.

Not empty.

But full.

Full of something she couldn’t name yet.

She wiped her fingers gently, not rushed.

And laughed.

Just once.

Not out of amusement.

But disbelief.

He was still there.

In the cracks between her power.

In the edges of her control.

She hated it.

She loved it.

She whispered again—more to herself than to anyone else:

“I’ll see you soon, won’t I?”

The room didn’t answer.

But something inside her did.

And it smiled.