Submissive Journal Prompts 소설 & 이야기

It was like a thirst that needed to be relinquished. My hand moved on their own finding the sweet spot between my legs. My grandfather forbade me from pleasuring myself, he said it was a sin to indulge in such temptations. That it would make me impure. But I couldn’t contain it anymore, I had to or else I might go crazy.

I whispered, my voice sounded rough and foreign to me, between the soft moans he coaxed. “No?” he asked amused, pushing his fingers deep between my folds; drawing out a low moan from my throat. “Would you like to submit?” I couldn’t get words out, only able to shake my head as his fingers slid out slowly and back in, deeper a few more times. “Are you sure?” I couldn’t hold back the moans, but I shook my head, forcing my hips to still and not grind against his hand. “Maybe next time,” he mused, withdrawing his hand. I choked back a whimper, making him laugh.

The position was one of complete surrender, a physical manifestation of her willingness to submit to their desires. Lila obeyed without hesitation, her body trembling with anticipation. The power dynamic, usually a source of unease, now felt intoxicating, a thrilling surrender to their dominance. She lowered herself to her knees, her hands finding purchase on the cool floor, her head bowing in submission. The vulnerability of the position, the exposure of her body, heightened the intensity of her arousal, making her yearn for their touch even more.

And the human mind, especially when navigating the deep, uncharted waters of psychological surrender, is entirely unpredictable. My eyes drifted to a semi-private alcove near the eastern wall, designated for light sensory deprivation and edge-play. A newly inducted couple—a Dominant named Julian and his submissive, Clara—were engaged in a scene. I recognized them from Jennifer’s orientation seminar earlier in the week. Julian was a quiet, intensely focused man, and Clara had radiated a bright, eager energy, practically vibrating with the desire to finally explore the subspace she had only ever read about.

The peace of it lulls me. “Yes.” “You finding a little place in your head to sink into?” How does he know? “It’s called subspace,” he offers. “All submissives go there when they’re getting what they want and need. It’s their happy place. Get cozy, baby. You’ll be spending a lot of time there.”

She goes very still and human—and then looks up. “No preamble,” she says. “I gave you one,” I say. “You declined.” She exhales through her nose, a laugh’s ghost. “You’re serious.” “Yes.” “A year.” She scans. “Public devotion. Private rules. ‘Mutual discretion.’ Monthly stipend. Clean exit.” “That’s the spine,” I say. “We write the rest together.” She taps the paper. “So… optics for you, oxygen for me.” “Order for me,” I say. “Options for you.”

My thumb scrolled down again, this time, my spirit tugged me towards a section labelled; correction. My breath hitched. ‘The submissive is expected to obey the dominant in all things without question. She is to procure the services of a gynaecologist of the Dominant’s choice every three months for contraceptives. The submissive shall be punished with any or more of these things once the dominant sees her actions as requiring such treatment…. Does the submissive consent to the use of;

“Now beg for it on camera, pet. Tell them exactly what you want, make it convincing.” I faced the lens, spreading my knees wide apart on the floor, putting my hands behind my back like a proper submissive, my voice coming out breathy and desperate as I spoke. “Chat, I need it so bad right now—need Daddy to use his pet, to fill my mouth, my pussy, make me work for every single tip you send.” My body was shaking with the need building up, my nipples so hard they hurt against the tank top, and he stepped in behind me, his large hands palming my ass roughly, squeezing the cheeks hard enough to make me moan out loud.

I wanted him to take my body fully, to disvirgin me in the only way that actually mattered, and to let me touch him while he did it. The terrifying question was: How on earth was I going to bring it up? How could a submissive, trained to speak only when addressed and to obey commands without hesitation, ask her dominant for his body? Would bringing it up sound like an audacious demand? Would it breach protocol? Or would it prove to him that my surrender was so total that I was begging for the ultimate claim? I paced the soft rug of my bedroom as the afternoon shadows lengthened, rehearsing sentences in my head, only to discard them immediately as too bold, too desperate, or too weak.

Then Ava occupied the chair by the desk, her almond shaped green eyes studied me with quiet intensity. I took a deep breath. My fingers twisted in my lap. "I need to tell y'all something." My voice came out barely above a whisper. "Something I have been hiding for a long time.” “And what's that Emma?” Ava asked me gently. “I… I have these fantasies. Submissive ones, though. You know, like where I'm the one submitting. I dream about giving up any form of control I have over myself. About being told what to do. About being used… shared even. It makes me feel alive in ways I cannot explain. I know it sounds strange but it’s true."