Submissives Diary Novels & Stories

I grumbled, putting the journal in the nightstand. “Aw, look, Darren, he’s all embarrassed for having a diary. It’s okay, Tie. I keep one too. Granted, since I was old enough to start having sex, it’s been more of a sex diary. My personal Kama Sutra, if you will.” André giggled. “André, I think that’s enough. We said we’d sit with your sister till Tiberius arrived. He has, and so we should leave them alone.” Darren sighed with an apologetic look at me.

I start to write, my hand moving quickly across the paper: "Dear Diary, I did it. I spent an entire day naked, and it was the most liberating experience of my life. I felt so free, so uninhibited. I did everything naked – watched TV, ate, cleaned the house, even danced around like a fool. And you know what? It was amazing. I felt sexy and powerful and alive. I know it sounds crazy, but I think I might do it again sometime. Maybe next weekend. Wish me luck!"

I open the book again and flip back to the first page of the book deciding to read the inscription handwritten there in neat small letters; "This diary belongs to Jennifer Bennet, beginning 21st February 1975" I glance at Thomas, who has been watching me as I inspected the book, and I see he looks just as shocked as I am. I am currently holding the previous Luna's personal diary. Her son, our current Alpha, is sharing this most personal possession of his mother's with me? Encouraging me to read her private thoughts and feelings? I admit, I was intrigued before but now I am torn. Do I read the Ex-Lunas diary? Can I really do that? Diaries are so intensely personal and private.

Patting my double plaits nervously, I rode up in the elevator with the Omega, whose parting advice was to “submit and enjoy” I gulped. How could anyone ever be expected to enjoy something like this? Michael had shown me the ‘made up’ diary, in which ‘Diana’ claimed she had always fantasised about a reverse harem. Was I about to experience it by proxy? Or was Alpha Kane a lying sack of shit? I nerved myself to knock on the door and entered on his command. “Passable,” he commented, staring at my cleavage. “Go through. We’re waiting for you.”

And worst of all, he was holding my diary. My heart slammed against my ribs. The diary was private — pages filled with my thoughts, my fears, my confusion about the mate bond, the new abilities, and everything I had never told anyone. Seeing it in his hands made my stomach drop. Without thinking, I lurched forward immediately, aiming to grab it from his hand. My bare feet slipped slightly on the damp floor, and instead of reaching the diary, I ended up falling straight into his arms. My towel loosened, slipping down one shoulder as I landed against his chest. My hair was still wet, strands sticking to my neck and shoulders, and my skin glistened from the shower. The sudden closeness between

Every midnight we push further, fucking filthier, teetering closer to discovery. One afternoon I duck into the silent library, desperate for a moment away from the endless ache between my legs. My hand brushes a cracked leather diary hidden behind ancient books. I pull it free, my pulse racing. The pages are yellowed, but the words sear into me: a sister from centuries ago, spilling every sinful detail of her priest lover, how they met in this exact garden, how he pinned her against the wall and fucked her raw under the moon, how she came screaming around his bare cock night after night until a shadow at the window saw everything. Punishment. Shame. Exile. I read it crouched in the stacks, t

He glanced at Carys sitting in the passenger’s seat and went back to his car. Soon, Christian’s car was out of sight. I glanced at Carys, then shifted my attention to the diary. With a gentle touch, I traced my finger along the elegant, golden cursive words adorning the diary’s weathered brown cover, forming the word — “kys.” A subliminal smile appeared on my face. It was remarkable how something that had once irritated me now had the power to evoke such warm and sublime emotions within me.

“Damn, okay, I see why she keeps rejecting my offer, but there are couple activities, you know, there is the claiming ritual.” “Claiming?” “Oh right, you asked me a question before, ‘subs’, was it? Subs are submissives, people who like to give up control to someone else. Sometimes, it's sexual; sometimes, it's not; this time, however, it is most definitely sexual. Anyway, claiming is where a ‘dom’, in this case, dominant, a submissive’s master, claims a submissive as her own in a room full of their most favoured sex partners or exes. This is for locals, though, because most locals know who dates who; I don’t know if you’d make the cut as Lizzy’s submissive, but-”

Smut warning⚠️ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ DOMINIC Morning comes again, and I wake up next to my beautiful wife, my love, and finally, she becomes my submissive too. I don't expect how open-minded she is about this. If I knew she would be this open, I would ask her to become my submissive after we married, but everything in this life has a destiny.

I hadn't even said a word, and the two of them put on a whole show targeting me, as if I were the villain here. It had only been a few days into our honeymoon, and suddenly everything was clear. Clement always said Madison was like a sister to him. But what kind of brother would give his "sister" foot baths? Peel shrimp for her? Wash her underwear by hand? Even after five years of marriage, Clement had never done any of that for me. I forced myself up and brushed the snow off my clothes. "What exactly am I supposed to thank her for? "For crashing our honeymoon? For clinging to you every second of the day? Or for forcing me to go skiing and use me like her personal photographer?