Submissives Diary Novels & Stories

I take a look at the contents of the box. Inside are diaries. At least ten of them, all labeled with her initials. S.R. My hands shake as I pick up the one on top. When I open it, dust flies off the pages like trapped breath being released. And then I read, even when my fingers trembled. Even when the pages felt like they were burning. The diary began innocently. April 7 “Mama braided my hair today. She says it makes me look like a princess. Papa didn’t come home last night…”

Digging inside, I pull out my discreet vibrator—the small, powerful one I keep for emergencies like long days or stressful nights. My hands shake as I lock myself in the farthest stall, the toilet lid down as I perch on it, skirt hiked up around my waist. I slide my panties aside, gasping at how slick I already am. My fingers brush my swollen folds parting them to expose my aching clit. The vibrator hums to life on its lowest setting, and I press it against my entrance first, teasing myself with shallow vibrations. But my mind betrays me, flooding with images of Brian.

Her mouth was dry, and her fingers kept twitching—toward her laptop, toward her phone, toward her mask. But she didn’t want to dominate. Not tonight. She wanted to understand. So she reached under her bed and pulled out the black velvet-wrapped journal—The Mistress Bible, she once called it. Pages of rules, philosophies, scene breakdowns, subs who begged, and subs who disappointed. And scattered between them? Letters to herself. Secrets only Domica ever read. She opened to a blank page. Her pen hovered. And then it poured. I don’t know who I am tonight.

I sighed and stared around his room, he really had a great taste A little hand book on the small table caught my attention, probably a diary I stood up and picked it up then sat back on the bed, I opened the first page and nothing was written on it I turned the second page and a subheading was neatly written. "Låst 5∅ dàys øn êãrth wîth thë çhósén õnê" I turned the remaining pages and nothing was written on it What?! What does he mean by last 50 days on earth with the chosen one? Wait! The chosen one? That was the same thing my mum had said to me, last 50 days on earth?

“Sit down, Miss Pierce.” I walked to the nearest empty seat in the second row, thighs rubbing together with every step, the plaid skirt shifting smoothly against my skin. I dropped into the chair and flipped my notebook open, trying to look normal while my pulse hammered between my legs. And then I saw the board. Written at the top in his neat, controlled handwriting: Dominance and Submission — Power Exchange. Of every possible topic. On the one morning I stumbled in late, already flushed and flustered. This was what he’d written.

Tessy’s POV Roy pulled out of my mouth, leaned over, and spat directly onto my tight entrance. Hank’s thick fingers rubbed the spit around, then pushed one inside, stretching me. I whimpered, still shaking from the last orgasm, but I didn’t tell them to stop. I pushed back into his hand instead. Hank lined up the head of his cock against my ass. “Breathe, little girl. Gonna claim this tight hole now.” He started pushing in slowly, relentless, the burn sharp and overwhelming. I cried out, forehead dropping to the hood, as inch after thick inch forced its way inside me.

~Samantha's POV~ Dear Diary, today I accidentally saw my step father's cock. And... I can't help but want to have a taste of it. I know how that sounds. I know I shouldn't be writing this down, shouldn't be putting these thoughts into words where they can exist outside my head. But my hand won't stop shaking as I grip this pen, and if I don't get this out somehow, I think I might actually explode.

“Oh, you guys are not going to believe this. Our little spy is a massive freak.” I adjusted my posture, holding the diary up to the ambient light of the limo. “‘If he pushed me against the bookshelves, I wouldn’t even fight back,’” I read, my voice dripping with dark amusement. “‘I want him to take control. I want him to rip this stupid sweater off me. I can practically feel his hands gripping my thighs, bruising my skin, pushing his huge dick inside my tight and wet aching pussy while he whispers my name…’”

“I’m your fat-titted pain slut. My cunt and ass belong to you. I’m not a lawyer anymore… I’m just your slave.” The words poured out of me between sobs. All the shame, all the arousal, all the years of secret submissive desires finally came rushing out. Ciara made me repeat it while she fucked me with the dildos again. I came harder than I ever had in my life, screaming my submission while my body convulsed. When it was over I lay on the floor in a puddle of my own juices, covered in welts and tears, completely spent. Ciara stroked my hair almost gently.

It was no different from firing a fancy declaration of war openly toward Hanbi-dan, saying ‘come attack quickly’. No matter how great those crazy men were, because the price for underestimating Hanbi-dan's cruelty returned only in blood stench, worry came first. Gye-yeong's finger nervously scrolling down the mouse wheel stopped thud at a certain photograph. The figure right in the center inside the article captured by high-definition camera lens. Gracefully letting down long hair of silver with a purple tint lingering, a woman looking at the camera in a sophisticated and fascinating posture that anyone can see.