Desires Of Submission Novels & Stories

It’s like a motion picture, waiting to heap his spunk on his filthy good girl… to reward me for being Daddy’s little slut. And damn it, I want all of it. ALL. The oil clings for a moment, before it comes rolling down. I have roughly thirty seconds to show Daddy that I deserve his reward. To give myself away like a whore and be ripped apart by my bare hands while I fantasize about him jerking in front of me while he watches me with pity. In submission, I kneel under the portrait, right beneath the rolling cum, as if begging for air itself. “This will be my last…” I mumble a weak promise, just to feel good.

My brain has totally checked out. All I know is my desire for this man and the things he is saying. I don’t understand why I want so badly, only that I do. I want to surrender to him. I want him to give me everything just to see if I can take it, and then give me more. I can do it. I can be a good girl. I’m desperate. My body is moving on its own, grinding my ass back into his waiting palm. “You want that, huh?” I whine and whimper.

The thrill of control was intoxicating, and I wanted him to be mine—body and soul. "You must trust me," I continued, inching closer. "There is power in submission. Together, we can transcend the suffering of this place. I can show you ecstasy beyond your wildest dreams, but you must give yourself to me completely." His breath caught in his throat as he contemplated my words. I could sense the internal struggle within him—the pull of desire battling against the instinct to flee. I wanted him to succumb, to lose himself in the abyss I had created, and I would not let him go.

"Enough... I can’t... I can’t take any more..." I raised my eyes, locking my gaze with his. The sense of triumph tasted sweeter than the finest vintage wine from the capital. I saw it there, in the depths of his obsidian irises: the submission, the raw hunger that had eclipsed everything else—duty, honor, and even his own formidable will. "Not yet," I whispered, my voice a velvet caress. I traced my thumb along his lower lip, pulling it down slightly. "I want every single fiber of your being to remember exactly who you belong to."

His amber eyes were sharp and possessive. “Feel the tether of attention, the weight of ownership, the intensity of desire. Submission is layered. Respond fully. You are ours entirely.” Cassian pressed against my chest and thigh, grounding me further, though his fingers dug in with controlled strength to keep me exactly where they wanted. “Observe. Respond. Endure. Every twitch, every breath, every subtle motion threads through scrutiny, heat, and claim. You are theirs completely. Awareness and submission are tethered. Every inch is claimed.”

she agreed, unwittingly sealing herself to an evening with a man who was far more than he seemed—a man whose very nature defied the simple truths of the human world she knew. As she took her seat, the fabric of her dress whispered secrets against the chair—secrets of silk and hidden zippers. I pondered silently, a maelstrom of desire and doubt swirling within me. My role, always dominantly etched into my being, yearned for submission and craved the relinquishment of control in all its intoxicating forms. Would Kate understand the gravity of surrender? Could she willingly navigate the labyrinth of my desires, traverse the shadowy halls of dominance, and emerge not just unscathed but exalted?

He had pointed his finger at the simple, severe, almost monastic silhouette in the designer's catalog. "That one. You will wear that. It will cover you from head to toe, and every man in that room will know that what lies beneath belongs to me." His words, always a command disguised as a statement. I didn't argue. I haven't argued for a long time. Submission is not defeat, I've finally learned. It is a calculated surrender, a complete relinquishment of will in exchange for a paradoxical freedom: the freedom to no longer choose, to no longer have to fight against what I most deeply desire – him and the dispossession he embodies.

Doctor Jacobs said. "There is a song, and the artist says quote we want a lady on the street, and a freak in the bed, end quotation. I believe it's possible to teach part of the first, grace and poise, ballet to us, and the second part would be easy for the motivated candidate." "So we teach them to revel in the submission, grace, humility, and what was it you said?" Dominique flipped through the proposal. "Oh yes, here it is. The absolute loving worship of their dominant."

“I want… I think I want this. You. Control. Your… attention.” Hunter’s lips curved slightly. “Good,” he murmured. “You have admitted it. That is the first step. Submission is not weakness, Ava—it is recognition of power, clarity of desire. You acknowledge it. You feel it. You crave it.” Ava’s chest heaved, heat pooling low in her abdomen. Hunter’s hand brushed her arm. “Do you understand,” he whispered, “how rare it is to find someone who can be both independent and yielding? Who can resist, yet yield when necessary?”

"To want to be dominated?" "Not just accept it or endure it," Silas clarified. "Actually want it. Crave it. Seek it out. He wants your submission to be a gift you give freely, not something he takes by force." "That's..." Eve struggled for words. "That's actually kind of Terrifying,."