It's Always the Quiet Ones Pt. 01

I wrote and wrote and wrote and sometimes it was definitely shit that I would have to go back and carefully edit. I wrote a noncon story where I hunted her down and forced her, where I played out the part of the big bad wolf and called her my little red kitten, the prey I wanted to eat. I wrote how I would lick her little pussy until she screamed in need, how I would slap her tits roughly. It wasn't a long story, but I ended up all night editing and working on it before I posted it.

Two days later I got the notice that it had been approved and then I sent her a private message with a link to my story, grinning with mischief.

————

Hunter

I stared at the story that had been linked to me, blinking. This was the first time something like that had happened. It was rare I got private messages on the kinky erotica site I wrote on, so when the message had come through, I had smiled happily, thinking this was another writer to upvote and help out.

But then I had read it and with every word my eyes got wider and wider. This was... was this me? It was described like me. A girl with blonde hair and a single light pink stripe in it. The daughter of a career marine who hated her name. It seemed like me. Like real life me. I was sitting at my little reception desk when I read it and the sound of the door opening made me jump and close the site. "Hello, Sh-Shane."

He grinned. "Wow, it only took you months to use my middle name instead of that godawful first name."

I blinked, then grinned. "You caught me on an off day. Don't worry, I'll be back to annoying you later." I forced her bowed over my bed, now that I had tricked her to come into my apartment. "You're secretly a naughty little girl, kitten. You just need a little encouragement to let loose. I think it's time I gave you that."

"Well, how do I make it an off day again so I can keep hearing you call me Shane instead, kitten?"

My face went blood red with the nickname. Had he ever called me that before? Holy Christ, I didn't think so, but how the hell would he know? How? I thought of leaving my tablet on the table a couple of nights ago. "I don't know." My voice came out a squeak of fear and he laughed.

"Maybe I'll just keep calling you that." He winked. "That seems like it threw you off. Will I get to see you tomorrow night?"

You call me sir, kitten, when I have you under me and mewling for orgasm. My mind was going haywire, wondering what was fantasy and what was reality at the moment. That disconnect bled into my response and the damage was done even while I tried to stop the words from escaping. "No, sir. Not until the next day."

Holy. God. No. I didn't. The word made my heart thunder, that magical word that I had written and never said to guys I was interested in because I was way too shy to ask someone for what I wanted in bed. Holy shit. Holy God fucking shit, my body went hot all over just from saying it. The thought of him having some kind of authority over me turned me on. The verbal acknowledgment of his having authority over me?

My gears cranked in all the right ways and I was desperately trying to ignore the feeling of heat between my legs because it was freaking painful. When I shifted under his gaze, which lit up with his own wild light, I could feel wetness in my little heart patterned g-string. His lips lifted and there was a moment between us where I forgot everything. It was almost like... like deja vu maybe. "Such a pity, little kitten. Well, then, I hope you enjoy the rest of your night and your day off. Have fun reading The Stand." He winked.

And then he left while I trembled and wondered what the hell had just happened. I swallowed and dove back for the story, reading more. My heart went even crazier with the sexy content and the reluctance story. "Bad girl, kitten, for being a little tease."

"I'm just shy, I swear I didn't mean to tease!"

"Liar."

And then at the end of the story, there was another sentence that made me choke, one that let me know what was happening. It ended with the guy tying the girl down and training her to ask readily for cock. He forced her to go to him for more training and sessions of his mastery and at the end of the story, she started to realize that she was his plaything and she couldn't even get off to thoughts of vanilla sex anymore. So the guy had her tied to his bed, with her ready to be used as his pet toy, and he teased her nipples and asked, "Are you enjoying The Stand, kitten?"

He knew. It was him and he knew and he wrote that story and it was supposed to be me and I wasn't crazy. God, no. I thought over the flirting look in his eyes and realized that I wasn't crazy at all. It was him. At first, I felt horror for about thirty minutes, but then it was erased as I went back through the pages of his own story and realized that he had described himself. And then I realized, mind racing, just what I was reading.

"I'm going to punish you again for being a tease. Using shyness is just a cop out, an excuse. I will train it out of you until you're my little wanton, kitten."

And suddenly I realized something. I couldn't talk to people or flirt very well, couldn't do anything out loud, but when it came to writing I could be very bold. My fetters of terror, the ones that came from interaction and fear of confrontation of any kind, were off my wrists. I was free to play back in this form.

My heart thundered with nerves and excitement and thrill and it was amazing. All my life had been boring monotony, menial night shifts where I would read my books and do my homework and write my sex stories, where I would study like a good girl and where I ruined grade curves in difficult classes. I had always kept my head down and always put in the work.

And now I felt excitement. And it was wonderful! I could play and flirt back in this way. I went to my notepad and did something I had never done before. I wrote a short story for the "fictional correspondence" tag.

Dear Sir,

I hope this letter finds you well. Your previous games of training have been intense and I know you wanted me to be more forthcoming on things I love, things I like, and things I hate so you can better use them in training me. Being trained to be more sexually open and less timid is difficult, but I know you said you want a slave who is nice and greedy, eager and slutty for cock.

Things are starting to get confusing. I used to hate the thought of receiving oral because of how bare and vulnerable it makes me feel, but when you held the vibe to me with my legs spread apart every day for a week, I couldn't help but need more. I love the feel of your tongue fucking me open and I love the filthy things you say the most, like how you taunt me for hating oral when my cunt drenches at the first touch of your tongue now.

I wrote and wrote, forcing myself to let go in the fantasy. It helped, when I wrote, to try to relate to my characters and I was imagining myself as the girl suffering through his training in his story, so I went back to reread periodically. The result was that I wrote something sluttier than ever, playing the part of a slave in mental control training who was being forced to be more open. I went for my own shyness in the character, while displaying my secret, inner horny self, that part of me that religiously masturbated three times a day. I even "confessed" to some of those darkest fantasies I masturbated to, ones I had never told anyone. I forced myself to edit the letter while still in the throes of playing a role, keeping myself in it.

Afterwards, when I was home because it had taken so long, I forced myself to post it and then I threw my tablet onto my pillow and grasped my hair with wide eyes, mortified and terrified and grinning with a wicked excitement that I had never felt before. Oh man. This was a dangerous feeling. I had never acted on these crazed fantasies, and they had grown insanely out of control and intense over an amount of time. It had been driving me crazy, the thought that I might never get to try bowing to a man, just to see how it felt. I had gotten so desperate that I was thinking of ways to be servile to someone in real life without even having to add sex to the factor. I wanted the sex, craved it, but I burned to feel authority over me. I don't know why that was, only knew that it was a deep part of my being and it had been confusing me all my life with a secret torment. My father was a career marine and I had been raised in a feminist world. And it wasn't that I didn't believe in things like female empowerment! Not at all, because I did.

But I kind of wanted to be made to dress in a maid outfit. I kind of wanted to do things like serve a man food and be made to kneel until he finished, submissive and sweet at his feet. I felt like it was something I would be good at in life, like I was good with Microsoft's Excel and accounting and numbers. It was probably wrong and my fantasies concerned me because I didn't want to set feminism back, but I kind of wanted to feel a patriarchal over-the-knee spanking and to tremble in a male's arms. I kind of wanted to feel the fact that he was bigger and stronger than me and there was nothing I could do about it.

What was even worse? The deepest part of the desire held hands with my horny arousal, but it didn't stem from it. No, the deepest part of me craving male dominance stemmed from the fact that I kind of wanted to be taken care of, so I could feel safe and secured. And I wanted that "taken care of" bit to involve being a sexual servant, as well as any other kind that would please my partner.

Good lord. Maybe I was totally setting feminism back anyway. I was supposed to be a strong female, making it through college to take care of herself. And then I decided I was sick of thinking about it because whenever I did think about my submissive tendencies, I only felt worse about myself. So instead, I grabbed my vibrator and went back to his story and held the toy against my clit until I forgot everything but the pleasure, laying in my tiny little apartment. I liked to think of it as my kitten cage, because it was so small.

I grinned at that thought and went to my bathroom with a new idea and way to flirt with him. This one would involve a little bit of face-to-face, but I found myself emboldened by his foray.

————

Shane

When I knew she was going to be there two nights later, I deliberately stayed out late so that I would get in when she was there. She had written one hell of a hot story in the form of a fake letter and it had posted that night, right before it was time for me to go home and see her face. I ended up staying a little later so that I could finish reading it, where she confessed to fantasies she didn't want anyone to know about in her little role play. I wondered how close those fantasies hit to her heart at first, but then the fake letter said,

These are things I have to confess to masturbating to a lot, but I don't want them to happen ever. You see, sir, I have some fantasies that I use to orgasm hardest because of how horrified they make me. I couldn't ever get aroused by something like scat in real life, for instance, but if I'm drunk and it's hard to orgasm, I might have to use the horror of the thought to get off. If that makes sense.

And I knew that these things were very close to her heart. That made me blink when I read it, because I felt... sad for her. It was clear that she was all alone in these fantasies, in real life, and she was using these stories to find some sort of connectivity with other people like her. But even so, she had those fantasies. The ones that were so dark they scared her and they were masturbation fantasies because of, like she said, a certain mental shock and awe factor. I had some of my own actually. One of mine that I masturbated to, like that, was of having a slave whose head I shaved, to teach her a humiliation lesson in vanity.

Did I really want to do that? God, fuck no. I loved the western female appearance I had grown up with. It was a beautiful appearance. If a girl I was with was proud of her hair, then I wasn't going to do fuck all to it, except style it in ways I liked, to feel in control of her. There were huge differences between fantasies that were only for the thought and fantasies that one wanted to make a reality. Having both was nothing to be ashamed of. It was the sign of a healthy mind, to have both and distinguish which folders held which fantasies. Real life didn't work like daydreams. I felt like so many people in the world really just needed to be told that it was okay. It was okay to have those dark paths, at nights while getting off, and to know you never wanted to indulge in that. As someone with a little bit of sadism in my desires, I had struggled with the thought for a long time.

Poor Hunter. I had had friends when going through my self discovery, had gotten to experiment with things in real life to learn the difference. It didn't sound like she had had anyone to even talk with.

And then, of course, besides my moment of heart in reading my little receptionist's story, I ended up having to go find a private place to masturbate before I left too. When I read her talking about getting off with a vibrator just thinking about me tongue fucking her, it was game over. I went to the bathroom, with some fucking tissue paper like a goddamned teenager, to the thought of lifting her onto her receptionist's table and kneeling to suck her clit into my mouth, while she shouted in need.

See? Now that's a fantasy that is obviously just to stay a fantasy. We could both get arrested if I did that right there in the doorway and she'd get fired. But I loved getting off on the thought of forcing her to do it. And it made me feel more sane when I was leaving, more in control enough to flirt with her.

It turned out that I needed that control too. When I used my key and walked into the lobby, I felt my lips curl up into a grin of wolfish delight at the sight of her. She instantly looked up and froze like a bird meeting a snake's gaze, but I was frozen too.

She was wearing a set of kitten ears with silent little decorative bells in the corners. I broke the moment first and walked to her desk, trying to quell some of the raging lust she was giving me. He likes to use the nickname as a degradation, as if I'm a pet. "Hello, kitten." I purred the word out, imagining her curled up at my knees with a little collar on. Except I wouldn't make her play the part of a kitten. True little kittens were mischievous and they liked hunting things.

But she wasn't a kitten. No, she was a soft little puppy who would be playful, but not rebellious or bratty. I would plug a fluffy tail in her asshole, fix some furry ears to her hair, and I would make her bark for me. "Hello, Shane."

She was blushing fiercely again, too, and my smile widened. She trembled a little beneath my gaze, so afraid of even this confrontation. Jesus, she was a delight in all the best ways and now I was starting to realize that fact. Now that I knew what daydreams went through that head of hers, I couldn't help but notice every little nuance. The way her eyes remained respectful and downcast, for instance, or the way she took breaths for bravery at even the smaller interactions. I wanted to pull out the girl I knew was hiding in that mind and see if she would play with me. So I grinned playfully. "Aw, now I'm starting to worry that I'll never get to hear someone call me Aramis again."

It worked. She smiled up at me, with a playful little gleam in her eyes. "Oh, I'm sure we'll get back to it eventually. It's just for right now that we aim to please."

I laughed. "I see. Just for right now we're being a good little kitten and doing what Sir tells you to."

She swallowed, eyes going wide with my straightforward flirting. "Yes. Yes, sir."

The word was breathy coming from her lips and I felt my cock get hard again from it. Oh, but I had never gotten to play with a submissive who wasn't experienced with the game and now I was wondering why that was. It was clear she was very inexperienced and not trained or used to these things at all. But it wasn't irritating, no. It was sweet and made me imagine petting her hair while I trained her, made me imagine calling her a good girl and teaching her the difference between kittens and puppy girls and bunnies. "That was very polite. It was so polite that I'll order you a present, little kitten."

Her eyes widened in horror. "Wait, no, don't do that! No, really, I-"

I cut her off. The submissives I had played with all knew that gifts were for their top's pleasure. But for a little new one like Hunter? I knew she wouldn't see it like that and I couldn't let her feel so shy over receiving a present from me. I made a tsking motion with my fingers. "Are you telling me what to do? I don't think I like that."

She swallowed. "Ah. No. No, not telling you what to do. I didn't mean it like that. Honest! I guess I meant that... um... I don't know what I meant."

I grinned. "I do know what you meant. Gifts are like compliments, kitten. Learn to accept them. It's a gift that will make me happy to give you and you'll see what I mean when you get it. Try again and say 'thank you, sir' instead."

She took a deep breath, clearly uncomfortable, the notion at war in her mind. I wondered what kind of gifts she had gotten that had made her wary of receiving them. Many people ended up fearful of surprises when previous relationships used them for unwanted leashes or for guilt trips, I knew. And then there were people who lied and said it pleased them to give a significant other a gift, when they would have rather spent the money on something else but wouldn't confess it and would harbor a sense of martyrdom instead. My own past relationships had shown me how complex guilt could make things like gifts.

"Thank you, sir," she managed out.

I leaned over the desk, feeling playful and wanting to show her this world of mine, wanting to teach her about it. Oh, but I hadn't given enough thought to something as basic as teaching. "Good girl," I said softly. "That was brave of you."

Her eyes lit up. They turned purely delighted with those two basic statements. I didn't even think she realized it, but her whole face came alive and the way she smiled... It was something magical to see. "Um. Thank you, sir?" She answered bashfully.

I laughed and winked. "There we go. Have a good night for now. Maybe you'll get a link soon."

She giggled, face red with exhilaration and shy blushes, but eyes so alive. When I was almost to the elevator, she called after me for one last thing. "Oh! And I am enjoying The Stand, thank you for asking."

I was still laughing when I got on the elevator and went to my floor.

————

Hunter

The sudden abrupt dance of flirting I found myself in made me too thrilled to be upset by it. On the one hand, it was true I was too shy to ever initiate something like what he was doing. On the other, I was glad he had initiated it in such a way that let me flirt back because the adrenaline rushes were starting to be a delight. And that was something that shocked me because I had never considered myself as being particularly edgy or much of a thrill seeker, but it turned out that I could have fun outside of my cozy little box and kitten cage.

It was a day before I got the link to another story in answer to my letter, due to processing and posting approval time, but my heart thundered as soon as I checked my notices and received it. I grinned at the private feedback message, and copy and pasted the title into my tablet, going to the story. My smile grew when I saw the exhibitionism tag and I started to read the setup of a shy submissive being trained by her master to be more of his little slut. The master took the submissive to a fetish club, where he displayed her for everyone to see, and my heart raced even while I moaned at the thought of being cuffed, spread eagle, to a cross like the girl in the story. I trembled when the girl quivered in shy embarrassment.