Subliminal Wife Training Novels & Stories

“Better than I expected after two weeks of inactivity.” “I feel weak. Clumsy. Nothing like I was before.” “You’re seven months pregnant. Weakness is relative.” She handed me water. “But your power is still there. Still strong. We’re just retraining your body to channel it efficiently.” Sunday’s training focused on scaling-using minimal power to affect one wolf, then gradually increasing to affect multiple wolves simultaneously

She couldn't afford to lose her job now. "Miles... Please reconsider your decision..." "I told you to stay out of this, May! Don't push me!" He finally lost it and raised his voice at her, and she cringed. Miles has not changed but has just been pretending. What was she thinking? That he would ever change just because they were together now? "You were just his contracted wife, how could you think so highly of yourself?" May's subconscious mind reminded her, and her eyes glistened with tears as she stared back at Miles…

He can't severely hurt me the one minute, and then sensually touch me the next. “Cherish?” Henry spits, voice drenched in mockery. “Didn’t you drop all your previous subs?” “With good reason,” Aiden answers coolly. A dropped sub means a sub with no dom. No dom means no education. No education means no marriage, or a future. It's a dead-end. “But—”

Michelle snapped, gripping a glass of alcohol. She slammed the glass down on the table, picked up a lit cigarette, and took a long drag, exhaling thick smoke from her mouth. “Are you jealous of everything she got?” Mason asked. “Stupid question. Of course I’m jealous! Laura’s now the wife of the richest man alive, and her status isn’t something we can easily challenge,” Ivana sneered at Mason.

Last time, the banner had read, “The Dad Zone--giving bored men something to do while their wives shop.” The “something to do” had consisted of TV, video games, and a girl-- Willow, as it turned out--inside a makeshift gloryhole (the aforementioned gift-wrapped box). The new banner read, “CONTROL, Inc Submissive Training Workshop.” Underneath that unlikely yet potentially exciting title were the words, “Hosted by the Town Centre Tramps.”

Heat bloomed low in her belly. Rule three. Training never stops. Every day I push a new edge. Deeper submission. Tighter control. Harder pain. Longer denial. More public use. More private ruin. You will beg for it. You will thank me after. If you fail you earn correction. If you succeed you earn reward. The reward might be an orgasm. It might be my arms around you for an hour without a word. It might be nothing but the knowledge that you pleased me. He stood. Walked to her slow.

"That's....that's intense." "Dial it back," Damian said, his voice strained. "Before we all lose control." Eve quickly pulled the pheromones back in, containing them again. The men sagged with relief. "Impressive," Markov said, though his voice was slightly hoarse. "You've learned suppression and amplification in just a week. That's remarkable progress." "What else should I be practicing?" Eve asked.

She argues. “Well then don't do anything.All you have to do is stay by my side at the company.” She rolls her eyes but doesn't say a word. “You begin your training next week.” “What?” I walk to where she was seated and place his hand on her cheek. My thumb caresses her jaw.“You are my wife now,comes with its disadvantages. “

I listened to every single word that they said while trying to hold back my gasps of shock and amazement of how far they were going to get what they wanted. They talked about how they are going to meet the doctor after my husband and I left, waiting to hear the sad news that he was actually unable to have a child. But that was where the real bombshell in the story finally landed. My husband was not important at all; rather , they had bribed the family doctor rather heavily for his confidentiality and for him to also bring out fake results showing that my husband was impotent when he actually wasn't.

I drop the fake whimpering instantly, my voice turning flat, venomous, and dangerously sharp. "You called me—your husband—to deliver a threat because of a glorified grease monkey? Is he really that good in bed, Violetta? Is that what this is? Has a few weeks in a cheap loft completely degraded your standards to the point where you're begging for a man who smells like exhaust fluid?" A sharp, audible breath hitches on her end of the line. I can practically feel the wave of disgust rolling through the phone, but before I can double down on the insult, her voice cuts back in, lower and deadlier than I have ever heard it in my entire life.