Submissive Women Novels & Stories

But instead of working, I had my skirt rucked up around my waist, legs spread wide under my desk, and two fingers buried deep inside my soaked pussy. The video on my screen was paused on the most dangerous frame: a tall, elegant woman in a crisp black suit, very much like Victoria, had her much younger submissive bent over a glass desk. The dominant’s hand was fisted in the girl’s hair, strap-on buried to the hilt in her dripping cunt, the submissive’s mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure.

Duties include 24/7 availability, immediate obedience, and complete sexual use at their discretion. My pussy clenches on the word use. A slow, deep throb that makes me shift in my chair and press my knees tighter. I keep reading. The submissive will wear a collar at all times. The submissive will be available for office use during and after business hours. The submissive will be bred and claimed at the discretion of her owners. Bred. The word sits in my stomach like a hot coal. I can feel myself getting wet, not damp, not slightly aroused, wet. The kind of wet that soaks through underwear and makes the fabric cling.

Just because my Charli could submit didn’t mean she was weak. On the contrary, it took a strong woman to be submissive, to relent and trust. That was the woman she was. Charli was fucking hot as hell when she gave herself—on her knees, her chin bowed, and eyes veiled. When she acquiesced, it was a gift, an offer to surrender her body and mind—her two most powerful assets. That’s what submission was meant to be, a gift. Something given, not something that was required or taken.

“If you fail to secure a husband tonight, your life as you know it is over. You will be sold off as a cheap whore. Gone is the lavish, loving life. Gone is your future.” He leans forward, voice dripping malice. “We’ll make sure the fucking dogs feast on you.” Behind him, a row of female teachers stand in stillness—heads bowed, hands folded neatly. But even they can’t hide their fear. Their shoulders are tight, faces pale. “Now seduce them,” he growls. “Like you’ve been taught. You are submissives—flawless, refined. The best in the world. Show them.” Then, with a final flick of his hand: “Leave.”

“Maybe she’ll change her mind and knock on your door later.” “She won’t.” 44 Justice Tiger cocked his head. “You know our women, Justice. All those years of captivity made them unwilling to be with us for more than a few hours and they get antsy if you hint at anything more than sex. They don’t want to commit because they don’t want someone trying to tell them what to do. It’s in our nature to dominate and we’re a bit controlling. They know our flaws as well as we know theirs and that’s why they avoid

"What do you mean anymore? And why do you keep saying I'm submissive? You know I'm a control freak." "I was into the club scene in college; it was big in New York-in the South, not so much. When I came home, I realized it wasn't the bondage, the spanking, or the toys that drew me to the dynamic, but the need for a woman to trust me to care for her. Submission is not about being weak, Cam-it's the ultimate position of power. The submissive has all the control. I want you to trust me to always push your boundaries but never take you further than you can go." "So, you just mean sexually?"

"Now, I like to be spanked, but I really love to be flogged. And I like to be bound, but I prefer rope to steel cuffs, because…" As she prattled on and on, Judd's mind wandered. I wonder what Jessi's doing. He thought back on last week's paddle boarding adventure, and he smiled recalling her enthusiasm. He glanced at Kit and knew she wasn't a genuine submissive. Ever since those books came out, countless women decided that they were submissive because it seemed glamourous. But by his estimation, billionaires were few and far between. Most Dominants were just like himself, regular guys trying to make their way in the world.

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.

“For the last time, let go.” This idiot was looking down on her because she was a woman, he was just as bad as her father and the members of her pack. But unlike her father and the stupid pack members, she wouldn’t go easy on him. Here she wasn’t under any restrictions, she could break his arm and wouldn’t get scolded after, she could make a mess out of his face and turn his stomach into a punching bag and wasn’t pointed fingers at. ‘You’re a woman! Women were born to be submissive, they weren’t born to overpower and beat men...’

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.