A Fantasy - Kink & BDSM
She’s ready for more
Adam was a man of control. It was in the way he moved — deliberate, assured. The way he spoke — calm yet edged with quiet authority. He had long since mastered the art of dominance — not just in play, but in life. It wasn’t about force. It was about presence.
So when he met her, Brianna, he recognised the hunger in her eyes immediately. A need not yet fully realised. A longing for surrender she hadn’t yet named.
She was new to this world, and he never took on someone lightly. Experience had taught him that guiding a submissive wasn’t just about pleasure. It was about trust. And trust wasn’t freely given; it was earned.
Brianna was fire and uncertainty, testing boundaries even as she sought them. She had sent him an email - polite but laced with curiosity and defiance. "I THINK I’d like to be submissive, but I’m not sure what that means. Can you show me?"
Adam didn’t rush. He never did. Their first meeting was nothing more than coffee, his sharp blue gaze assessing her while she fidgeted beneath his stare.
“Tell me what you want,” he had said.
“I… I don’t know,” she admitted.
He smirked. “Then we start with control.”
The next few weeks were a lesson in discipline. Not with ropes, not with cuffs - yet. No, the first thing he took was her time. A bedtime. A list of rules. A simple demand: *You will text me goodnight, every night, before midnight.*
At first, she resisted. She wasn’t used to accountability. She skipped a night.
He didn’t scold her. He didn’t punish. He simply didn’t respond the next morning.
The absence of his attention stung more than any reprimand.
The next night, the message came at 11:58 p.m. *Goodnight, Sir.*
Only then did he reply. *Good girl.*
That was the night she understood. The night she felt the shift.
Over the next few weeks, he introduced more structure. No cursing in his presence. No slouching. A command to wear a certain colour on certain days. Small things that, to anyone else, would seem insignificant. But to Brianna, they were more than rules. They were a tether. A constant.
She tested him, of course. Pushed back. One evening, she showed up to dinner wearing blue instead of the red he had instructed. She watched him carefully, waiting for anger.
Instead, he simply leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady.
“You knew the rule,” he said.
“Yes, Sir.”
“And you broke it.”
A pause. “Yes.”
“Why?”
She swallowed. She didn’t know. Or maybe she did, but admitting it felt dangerous.
He reached across the table, traced a finger along her wrist. Just that, nothing more, and her breath hitched.
“Rules aren’t about punishment, Brianna,” he said. “They’re about trust. When you follow them, you’re choosing to give me control. When you don’t, you’re choosing to take it back. So tell me… do you want me to have it?”
She exhaled, a slow, shaky breath. “Yes, Sir.”
He nodded, satisfied. “Good. Then we move forward.”
That night, when she sent her *Goodnight, Sir* text, there was something different in it. More than obligation. More than routine.
This time, she wasn’t just following orders.
This time, she was submitting.
And Adam knew: *She’s ready for more.*
So when he met her, Brianna, he recognised the hunger in her eyes immediately. A need not yet fully realised. A longing for surrender she hadn’t yet named.
She was new to this world, and he never took on someone lightly. Experience had taught him that guiding a submissive wasn’t just about pleasure. It was about trust. And trust wasn’t freely given; it was earned.
Brianna was fire and uncertainty, testing boundaries even as she sought them. She had sent him an email - polite but laced with curiosity and defiance. "I THINK I’d like to be submissive, but I’m not sure what that means. Can you show me?"
Adam didn’t rush. He never did. Their first meeting was nothing more than coffee, his sharp blue gaze assessing her while she fidgeted beneath his stare.
“Tell me what you want,” he had said.
“I… I don’t know,” she admitted.
He smirked. “Then we start with control.”
The next few weeks were a lesson in discipline. Not with ropes, not with cuffs - yet. No, the first thing he took was her time. A bedtime. A list of rules. A simple demand: *You will text me goodnight, every night, before midnight.*
At first, she resisted. She wasn’t used to accountability. She skipped a night.
He didn’t scold her. He didn’t punish. He simply didn’t respond the next morning.
The absence of his attention stung more than any reprimand.
The next night, the message came at 11:58 p.m. *Goodnight, Sir.*
Only then did he reply. *Good girl.*
That was the night she understood. The night she felt the shift.
Over the next few weeks, he introduced more structure. No cursing in his presence. No slouching. A command to wear a certain colour on certain days. Small things that, to anyone else, would seem insignificant. But to Brianna, they were more than rules. They were a tether. A constant.
She tested him, of course. Pushed back. One evening, she showed up to dinner wearing blue instead of the red he had instructed. She watched him carefully, waiting for anger.
Instead, he simply leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady.
“You knew the rule,” he said.
“Yes, Sir.”
“And you broke it.”
A pause. “Yes.”
“Why?”
She swallowed. She didn’t know. Or maybe she did, but admitting it felt dangerous.
He reached across the table, traced a finger along her wrist. Just that, nothing more, and her breath hitched.
“Rules aren’t about punishment, Brianna,” he said. “They’re about trust. When you follow them, you’re choosing to give me control. When you don’t, you’re choosing to take it back. So tell me… do you want me to have it?”
She exhaled, a slow, shaky breath. “Yes, Sir.”
He nodded, satisfied. “Good. Then we move forward.”
That night, when she sent her *Goodnight, Sir* text, there was something different in it. More than obligation. More than routine.
This time, she wasn’t just following orders.
This time, she was submitting.
And Adam knew: *She’s ready for more.*
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