Dominant Woman Novels & Stories

NORA’S POINT OF VIEW. “What’s a dominant?” I blinked, the collar still around my neck. A part of me should at least feel fear….or terror, or even disgust. But all I can sense is desire…and that scares me. “Do women do this to you, or….?” “No, I do this to women. Women who want to.”

“I’m not that stupid, Dominik.” A small, genuine sliver of amusement makes my lips twitch. Her spine is straight, her chin high. She is magnificent. I release her hip, watching her glide away toward a group of women who instantly assess her with cold, cutting envy. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s exactly where she belongs. At the center of power, drawing every eye, proving my dominance without speaking a single word.

For years, Cynthia Cohen would have said that a perfect evening was one spent reading a book on the couch in her living room, her long red hair twisted into a bun and secured with chopsticks, her feet toasty in fuzzy slippers and her curves disguised by baggy pyjamas. But then she had met Richard, and Richard had helped her to see that an even more perfect evening included being naked and sweaty, her hands bound. On her knees. Just the thought of their nights spent together in such a fashion made Cynthia’s throat tight and her chest hot, the aching space between her thighs clenching uncomfortably. As her lover, Richard had helped her to see herself as more than the quiet bookworm she had alw

The same woman who was younger with weird looking braces and always carrying a book around with her geekiness. This woman before me is wild, all woman and feminine with it and her ink draws my eyes to it. She is everything a man could possibly want. Fiercely independent, running her own world, having me on my knees wanting her so badly. Her beauty would stop men in their tracks and turn them to putty with the bat of her eyelashes. “Go to the windows and take off all your clothes, leave the shoes on,” I command her my voice a mix of gruffness and harshness. I like to dominate but not in a way that disrespects her.

Something given, not something that was required or taken. Knowing that she’d willingly trusted me with all of herself, even in Del Mar, showed me what an amazing and resilient woman she was. I’d never forced her. I never would. That was the differentiation between unique tastes and abuse. A true dominant—the opposite of a submissive—understood and respected the fact that the submissive was the one with the true power. From our first meeting, the first time her golden eyes met mine, I never doubted that she was in control. I was captured by her spell.

And, of course, I was the only plus-size woman in line. You see, in our world, people weren't classified by gender alone. Everyone was born with a secondary gender: Dominant Alpha, Alpha, Beta, or Omega. No, we are not werewolves or wolf-shifters. Dominant Alphas were people born with special genes and were rare to exist. They commanded other Alphas and were so powerful that weaker individuals struggled to remain standing in their presence. Mere Alphas were also known for their strength and power, but not like the Dominant ones.

She added, unsure of the title. Rose wondered if she had mistaken the woman's attitude as a little rude as her eyes that looked at her was undeniably judging. "Oh, unlike some people who came here for fun without wanting their identity to be known. I don't mind for anyone to know mine," Dominic smiled and the woman became flustered as it was her who Dominic had jabbed with his words. "I prefer, however, for people not to bother me tonight especially since you seem to have gotten a hold of a good prey, Madame."

Asil raised his brows. “Well, if you still think that your mate is submissive, you’re in for a real surprise.” Toby couldn’t help but smile at that. “Yes. I deduced that right off.” “We who are dominant tend to think of that aspect of being a werewolf as rank: who is obeyed, who is to obey. Dominant and submissive. But it is also who is to protect and who is to be protected. A submissive wolf is not incapable of protecting himself: he can fight, he can kill as readily as any other. But a submissive doesn’t feel the need to fight—not the way a dominant does. They are a treasure in a pack. A source of purpose and of balance. Why does a dominant exist? To protect those beneath him, but protect

“I want you to punish her for putting me to shame in front of all the pack members.” “Are you ordering me around now?” He glared at her. “Not on my life alpha, I dare not order you around,” she bowed her head. “I only ask that you seek justice for me.” “Justice?” he asked, the sound of papers being shuffled filling the room. She didn’t have to be told before she knew he was getting up from his seat, he towered over her small frame, and she cringed. His dominance overwhelmed her, forcing her to go on her knee.

Many were getting maimed or slaughtered by older, battle hardy males who were hoarding females. I was never worried about being hoarded by such males. Nobody wanted to square off with Remus. He had even frightened the two friends I had made into staying back. Kita would then speak to me through the woodline, under scrutinizing glare of Remus. Remus had never favored Kita, who was a rogue male. Kita was female crazy and eccentric. Too full of life and not enough of sense, Remus would say.