A Leashed Tiger Ch. 02

In his mind, my beauty only exists to pleasure his wishes, to make them come true. I count for nothing. My own wants, my desires, my consent--they're seen as inconsequential at best, obstacles to be actively overcome at worst.

As I complete my stripping, standing nude before a man unwillingly and for the first time, I know the sight alone is almost enough to make him bust his nut. And I hate that I have to almost wish for it to happen, because then, at least, he will not touch me.

"Get on the bed, Serena," he says, whispering in what sounds like utter disbelief that this is happening to me. "I want you to be my first."

Were it not for the instruction to be deferential, I would snort right now. Seriously? Everything else aside, that's how he wants his first time to take place? Non-consensually, with a lesbian who's hating every minute of it?

To be honest, he should be begging me to fix him with mind control. It's way easier, and way less expensive, than the many years of therapy he would need to even begin approximating an emotionally mature adult.

Even so, I climb on the bed. His vague command leaves room for doubt, but I apparently can't consider it consciously--I just naturally get on all fours on the bed, exposing myself to him.

Responding to male aggression and authority, evidently. My own subconscious reaching for the gestures and postures it considers signs of sexual subordination and respect. Those I must have imparted on my own sapphic pets a million times before.

I can sense the significance behind this act, the gender-coded nature of my submission. Here I am, presenting myself to a man like a bitch waiting for inspection. Open, accessible, vulnerable, defenseless.

Even if I do break free, even if I do turn the tables, this moment can't simply be undone. I'll have to live with the memory forever: a strong, confident feminist, forced to heel while on all fours like a fucking dog, at the hands of the most stereotypical incel she could ever meet.

Kevin joins me on the bed, and even though I don't turn around to look at him, it's clear he has no idea what he's doing. He fumbles with his hands, which feel so wrong against my naked skin, not quite sure how to proceed from here. I can sense his rapid breath, but also his confusion.

Eventually, he tries to enter me, which has me roll my eyes in exasperation. Were it not for the quiet lubrication provided by his arousal command, it's likely he would simply fail.

Instead, he does slide inside me, eliciting a shudder out of me, but not much else.

I'm well-used to penetration and have strapons and dildos of various sizes and girths. I close my eyes and pretend it's one of my girls sliding one in and out of me, rather than a man's tool.

Fortunately, the feeling is not especially weird or alien. Sure, the texture is different, but the pure physicality of the act, while doing nothing for me, is not exactly unbearable.

I just block it out.

The psychology, on the other hand...

Kevin presses the palm of his open hand against my head, pushing my face down into the mattress, and holding it there. Honestly, he's not exactly wiry and strong, and given his fumbling sexual performance, this grotesque attempt at dominance is as ridiculous as it is violating.

And yet, I still submit, pulled down by the yoke that's been slipped around my neck.

I find myself in the impossible situation of being unable to take Kevin seriously, but also having to yield to what he believes are his manly rights. The ability to take what he wants from a woman whenever it strikes his fancy. The ability to override her consent with a snap of his fingers.

No matter how little I think of Kevin, or how unimpressive his rookie sexual performance is proving to be, I know how this would look, seen from outside. A girl bent in half, easily tamed and brought under control by the guy currently humping her. Her head pressed down into the mattress, out of the way, forced to bow before his mastery. Allowing him to focus on the parts of me he truly cares about.

Not my mind, my voice, my opinions, but my cunt, exposed and available for him to use.

It's a betrayal of everything I've ever believed in, and worked towards. It's such an indignity that I find my entire self-conception challenged to its core. How does a lesbian with literal mind control powers end up on all fours, being fucked by a guy she despises?

Am I a failure?

My low-level arousal is working overtime, trying to find something to cling to while Kevin tentatively pistons in and out of me, one hand possessively on my rear, the other now clasping my neck to keep me firmly in place.

I realise with a degree of shame that if this were a girl topping me, I could probably buy into it. I could sexualise my own humiliation, find a small thrill in the idea of the strong mind-controlling queen being deposed, demoted to a social inferior, little more than a maid to her former slavegirl. Having to swap clothes with her, trading her boots and jeans for nylons and a skirt, perhaps...

I never had a submissive bone in my entire body, but that's the literal point of mind control powers: they can change you.

But Kevin, well... there's nothing erotic about my temporary defeat at his hands, at least not for me. I know he's having the time of his life up there, though. The humiliation I feel may be burning and terrible, but there's very little about it that is strictly sexual.

Still, like so many women before me, I do submit. I kneel there and take it, let him use my holes as a receptacle for his pleasure. It's an even more terrible defeat than the accidental self-hypnosis from last time. There is no shame in yielding to a supernatural power. But having my body turned into a cocksocket, a sleeve for Kevin's sexual adventurism... that's the most devastating form of humiliation I could ever imagine.

Predictably, he doesn't last long, but at least he has the presence to pull out of me in time. With a grunt of pleasure, he releases all over my back, making me shudder as the warm cum hits my skin, trickling downward towards my shoulders and my neck.

Kevin collapses in the bed behind me, having finally lost his virginity to a girl. No matter how unusual the circumstances, I suppose.

I, too, collapse forward, adhering to the bed in full, as if trying to disappear. I turn my head, catching my reflection in the mirror, biting the pillow in frustration.

That's it. It's actually happened. Meet Serena, militant feminist, convinced lesbian, veteran mind-controller... with a man's cum on her back. The person in the mirror looks humiliated and defeated, her hair disheveled, a freshly-fucked look on her face.

That's me now. I've been violated, mastered, and man-fucked. I plan to have my revenge in full for all of this, but I can't undo it. I've served cock with my body. And I still have treasonous mind control triggers inside my mind, waiting to be leveraged against me even further, bring me even further down from my pedestal... being dethroned, maybe for good.

Or maybe not.

I blink slowly at my own reflection, staring in growing disbelief.

I've been looking for loopholes in Kevin's instructions, and to be fair there are some... he still hasn't said anything about future enthrallments, which does provide me with an opening. But still, in the shock and daze of my self-hypnosis, I've been so stupid that I've missed something completely obvious.

The loophole has been right here, under my very nose, staring at me all the time, just waiting to be exploited.

My reflection in the mirror.

My revulsion forgotten, I smile to myself, a plan starting to form in my head.

Yes, this is going to be a long war. A great game between the incel and the lesbian, a battle of wits and wills with stakes that couldn't possibly be any higher than this. And now, at last, I know how I'm going to make my move.

The game, at last, is very much on.