Selfbondagestories Novels & Stories

"By the way, Ryan said if your pup is ever born, it'll just steal the fatherly love meant for mine. So, you should really think about that." "After all, he doesn't even know you're pregnant, does he? But he's guarding my pup every single day." I stared at the words on the screen and suddenly started to laugh. So, that was their plan. I touched my stomach, thinking of the doctor's words—the pup is still there—and a wave of determination washed over me. I will protect this pup myself. I forced myself up and wrote out a formal declaration to dissolve the mate bond. I left the papers on the coffee table in the Pack House, right next to my wedding ring.

The sight of them—the unholy Trinity—was a brand against my retinas. ​Sienna Vane thought she had successfully stolen my King. She thought she could put him in a gilded silk cage, feed him a diet of carnal lies, and wait until he forgot the woman who had bled for him on the docks and cried for him in the snow. She thought she could erase a lifetime of devotion with a needle, a whisper, and a brother’s watching eyes. She was wrong. You can't erase a soul-bond, you can only bury it under layers of filth.

She was a sandwich of meat and muscle. The sound of the fuck was the only thing in the library. Squelch. Thud. Slap. It was the most raw session they had ever had. Sarah’s body was a map of sweat and desire. She was being stretched by two of the biggest men on the estate while her stepson claimed her mouth. Shifting the Womb on Leather "My turn for the prize," Leo said, pulling out of her mouth. He swapped places with Silas. Now Leo was back in his favorite spot. He stood between Sarah’s legs on the leather chair. He looked down at her. Her pussy was red, wide, and dripping with the seed of the other men.

“Then maybe that’s your answer.” Later that night, Ryan stood by his window. The streetlights blurred in the distance. His inbox pinged again a reply from L. Tansey, offering a call. He didn’t answer yet. Instead, he opened a blank page. And he typed: “A Story That Doesn’t Belong To You” by Ryan Calloway He stared at the title for a long moment. Then under it, he wrote: “This isn’t a story about revenge. It’s about reclaiming.” Two weeks later.

The bond between them was strengthening with every instant, every one of her breaths, every one of his touches. She moved again, her fingers trembling as she tried to clutch the sheet. She was trapped in some nightmare, fighting the horrors of her past. Her pain was palpable, and it made the beast inside him snarl, dissatisfied. Cael's Wolf also felt the need to protect his mate. It was a connection so strong he could barely control it.

The petite woman unbound her hair, letting it fall over her shoulders, her blue eyes alight with anticipation, while the tattooed woman shed her remaining leather, her muscular form a testament to her strength. “Bind her,” the leader instructed, and the silver-haired woman tied my wrists and ankles with silk cords, securing them to the mat’s corners, leaving me vulnerable and exposed. The leader knelt between my legs, her fingers tracing my swollen lips, then slipping inside, four at once, stretching my cunt with a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Feel us,” she murmured, adding a vibrator, pressing it against my clit, turning it to a high hum that made me arch against the bonds. The brunette stradd

“Bondage, discipline, dominance, submission but in my domain it’s my rules. You sign the contract you follow them.” He pulled out papers from a drawer. “Here, read it.” I took the papers. It was typed out clear. It said Elena Harper agrees to one night with Alexander Black. Physical acts include restraint, spanking, light pain play. No permanent marks, payment upon completion. Confidentiality both ways and no emotional attachment. I looked up. “This is strict. What if I can’t do something?” “Then you say red,” he said. “I stop, but if you sign, you try. No backing out halfway unless you safe word.”

He laced their fingers together and squeezed. Her lips brushed his collarbone. “I’m scared of how you make me feel,” she whispered. “So am I,” he admitted. The moonlight slipped in through the window, casting a silver glow across their tangled bodies. Somewhere far away, music still pulsed from the club they left behind. But here, in the quiet of her condo, their rhythm was their own. Two broken souls. Two dangerous hearts. Lying on a floor that held more comfort than any bed could offer.

"Still want to lie? There's a USB too. It's filled with videos of you partying overseas and laughing at me. I've watched them all. Want to take a trip down memory lane together?" Eula began backing away in terror. She stammered incoherently. "I don't know what that is. That's not me! Those are deepfakes. Someone's framing me!" Scott grabbed her by the hair. His eyes were bloodshot with fury. "Because of you, I killed my own unborn child! "Because of you, I hurt Natalie, who never left my side when I was down! "Witch, you deserve to rot in hell!" At his command, the bodyguards rushed in, tied her up just like they'd once done to me, and hoisted her in the middle of the living room.

In my submission, I have found a purpose that I never knew I needed. Every act of submission, every punishment melted out when I falter, only deepens my commitment to him. Each one is a lesson, a reminder of who I am and what I am here for. The pain, the pleasure, the control—it all blurs together into a symphony of sensations that I have come to crave. His punishments are not just corrections; they are affirmations of our bond. Each strike, each harsh word, is a reminder that I am his, completely and utterly. The physical boundaries of the manor are mirrored in the emotional and psychological boundaries he has set, all of which serve to strengthen the bond between us.