Dominance & Submission Dynamics

So buckle up, it's going to get really intense. And on tonight's show, a flirty night at a cocktail party turns into a tense car ride home where defiance meets dominance, leading to a raw edge of your seat encounter that ends in a sweet, affirming praise. A young woman aches for total submission, penned down an edge to oblivion and wrecked in the best way, but wonders if she's alone in craving that free intensity. And from a nervous movie theater kisses to leashes in degradation on and plans for

a hotel destruction. A first time relationship spirals into a dictive BDSM territory that and so so much more so Tonight we have a question for you guys to think about while you're listening to the show. What hidden fantasy have you been keeping from your partner out of fear and might change things? I'd love to hear from you. Send your stories to my DM on discord, email me at Nikki and Ikky at Dearniki dot com, or the

website at Deerniki dot com under the confession stab. And to those of listening right now, what draws you to a fantasy like that one that's too vulnerable to share? And how do you think revealing it could shift the power in your relationship? It's sights, It's time for to night's rettle. Are we ready? Here? It goes what goes in hard and dry but comes out soft and wet? Did I get you a get abe on that one?

And of course you know you're out to stick around at the end show find out you know what time it is? It is time to sit down, relax, Let's have a whiskey with some filthy cherries of course, and explore some erotic fantasies from people just like you and me. Dear Nikki, I need to tell you about this weekend because it's still going through me and I can't stop replaying it. My husband and I have been leaning harder

into our dynamic lately. He's stepping more confidently into his dominance, and I'm well, I'm the same and satiable twenty eight year old who stays wet and needy basically every day seventies a week. I'm ready. It's honestly exhausting in the best way. We went to this cocktail party and I had a few drinks, more than usual these days, which always strips away the last little filter I have left.

I get flirty, extra bratty, and gravitate toward older men or anyone rating that quiet, commanding energy, you know the type. So I pushed it. I laughed too easily at their jokes, let my hand linger when one touched my arm, even gave my number to this charming bachelor who drunkenly called me his future sex therapist. I could feel my husband's eyes on me the whole time, darkening, and that's exactly what I wanted. I wanted to come home, knowing i'd

earn trouble. The drive back was thick with it. He didn't speak much at first, just let the silence build until he finally ordered me to take off my dress. I said, no, of course I did. He threatened to rip it. I love this stress, so I slid it down, heart hammering. Then he told me to squeeze my thighs together, rub them, and let him watch me soak through my

panties just from the tension and his voice. I was already dripping past the fabric when I reached to touch myself and got a sharp slap across my face, his hand clamping my wrist. Don't you dare touch that pussy before I do? God, the sting just made me clinch harder. He made me unbutton his pants and take him in my mouth while he drove. I teased it first, slow licks, sucking one ball, gently, stroking with spit slick fingers because I loved drawing it out, But he wasn't having it

hair wrapped in his fist. Head yank back. Do as you're told, or the punishment later will be worse. That threat only made me wetter, so I sank down and took him deep until I gagged, tears, spilling throat, working around him while I groaned and fought to keep the car steady. Hearing him lose control even a little always makes me feel like I still hold some power. When

we pulled up, we didn't even make it inside. He told me to climb over and sit on his cock, but I stayed completely still, no grinding, no rocking, just full and stretched and throbbing with nowhere to go. I got frustrated fast, so I leaned in like I was going to kiss his neck sweetly. Then I bit down hard enough to bruise. He shoved me back against the steering wheel, hand around my throat, and finally started thrusting,

slow at first, then harder as his grip tightened. I could barely breathe, eyes rolling, tears streaming from the edge he'd put me on through earlier. When he finally let go and pounded into me, I swear the whole world narrow to that, feeling stars, literal stars right at the edge. I've flipped it. I grabbed his throat, looked him dead in the eye, and told him to come for me. I wanted to feel him swell, pulse flood me while I shook and clinched around him. His release triggered mind.

We came together, messy and loud, his cum linking down my thighs as I kept riding through the aftershocks, the punishment, the roughness, the way he claims me when I've been bad. It's all electric. But Nikki, what absolutely undoes me afterward when he catches his breath, pulls me close, strokes my hair and murmurs. Then I'm as a good girl. But I took it so well that I'm perfect for him. That praise HiT's deeper than any slap or choke ever could. That's what I chase every time I push him to

the edge. I just needed you to know it's ron MESSI and ours and I'm still glowing from it. Yours her name or just the girl who can't get enough price who you know? I actually felt this one, abe, because this is exactly like me. I like to push from the bottom, but I also know that I'm gonna get it. I don't think I could ever be with a man that I think I'd get bored eventually if I wasn't challenged somehow sexually, you know, if I was able to ride, you know, run over him. I guess

I should say I wouldn't do anything for me. But here's a question that we should ask her. How is leaning harder into this dynamic changed your day to day connection with your husband and for you those are listening. Have you ever provoked trouble on purpose just to feel that electric claim? What was the aftermath for like for you? Yes, and it was a nice, good throat fucking. And I proudly still. I have this little sign in my office I have to take a picture for you, and it says,

don't tell me what to do. And that fits me so very, very very perfectly. Dear Tickie. I've been thinking about this NonStop and I just need to get it out. I want to be dominated completely, fuck sentenceless until my brain shuts off, and that's all that's left is feeling him take over every inch of me. I crave it so badly it almost scares me. How much my husband's getting better, it's stepping into that role. And the times that he really claimed me have left me shaking and

glowing for days. But lately this fantasy keeps building him, not holding back at all, pinning me down so hard I can't move, hands everywhere, gripping my wrist above my head, throat hips slamming into me relentlessly until I'm whimpering, dripping mess who can barely form words. I want him to edge me until I'm begging incoherently. Then just keep going past the point where I think I can take it, pounding me through over stimulation until my legs give out

and I'm seeing stars again. Took me just right, slap my face or asks when I get bratty, spit in my mouth if that's what he wants. Make me feel every brutal thrust like it's the only thing that matters. I don't even know exactly why it pulls me this hard right now, it just does. The idea of being used like that, reduced to pure need and surrender, feels

so fraying and filthy, imperfect. I want to be his good girl who's also his desperate little slut, wrecked and praised for taking it all afterward, when I'm boneless and linking him, hearing him murmur how well I did, how pretty I looked ruined for him. That's the part that makes my heart race as much as the roughness. I

want it so bad. I can feel the egge already, like, please just throw me around and fuck the thoughts right out of my head until I'm nothing but his Tell me I'm not alone in this craving and this intensity. I feel like I'm burning up just writing it. Still, your listener, the girl who wants to be utterly ruined? There is nothing like her, you know, I know I had just said this, but there is really nothing like someone just railing you and taking control and hello, welcome.

So the question for the author what sparked this fantasy building so strong right now? And for you, those of you who are listening, do you ever fill that pull towards total submission, where freedoms come from letting go completely? And how do you melance that with your everyday life? Anybody? I know? Our new person just popped in like three quarters away through any thoughts? I love the cat. Is that a hat or a piece? Or is that a two pe wig of the cat? I can't really tell.

It's a really bad bull cut. The cat deserves better. I'm just gonna say that it looks awful though it needs a better haircut. Though it's very pretty cat, very pretty cat. I'm gonna guess it's a red enom photo. It's beans free holes, am I? Right? Guys? Abe? Where'd you yeah? Where'd you uh come up with it? When I was in high school, I took French and when I was in French three I started Spanish, and yeah, that didn't work out so well because a lot of

them are close. And I remember I would start My French name was cecil and when I went because the samely you taught. When I went to Spanish, it was Cecilieah, And no, I cannot speak Spanish, so but I used to and kind of do I try to ride it on my hand when I go to Mexico. The only thing my history teacher told me I needed to know was well, for me, more margarita please, and where's the bathroom? He said, Really, that's the only thing you really need

to know in Spanish to get you through vacation. I'm just quoting him. Don't don't you know, don't whip me or anything, guys, and forgive me. I have Zeppelin watching the Olympics, so and Kashmir is in here with me. So this is a whole new trial and air kind of thing. Well, we're glad you're here for free holidays. Oh, I'll tell your wife Ansa and I is she listening with you? Oh? Well she can listen to or she busy with the bundles of joy. Okay, hang on Okay,

let's go see let's go see one second. Guys, a's cash okay, right, Gossie go sing go Scosi. Ah, well, you can show her the rebroadcast tomorrow sometime. Sorry, I had to let mine out well out my office door. Ah okay, Yeah, we just started. This is the first week we're doing live, so I'm I can't wait till Friday, and I'll tell you guys about that to see at the show. I've come up with an idea that I think is going to be fine with audience participation if you happen to listen if I don't know if you

paid subscriber or not. But Abe does the erotic hypnosis for me. He's my writer in the erotic hypnosis. Yes, you guys should listen together. Maybe I'll do one late for couples that have later. Maybe I'll do one later. We are on Saturdays, so will you even tell her? I said, Hi, dear Nikki, I'm twenty one and this is my real first relationship. My girlfriend is my first girlfriend ever, So everything feels intense and new. I still get nervous just thinking about how it all started. Our

second date, we went to a movie. I was so anxious about making a move, heart pounding the whole time. Then she leaned in and kissed me first. That broke everything open. I couldn't hold back. I started devouring her lips, kissing her deep and long tongues everywhere. My hands slipped under her top, inside her braw and I squeezed those huge, soft boobs. I felt incredible in my hands. I pinched her nipples, rolled them between my fingers, and she moaned

into my mouth like she loved it. A few days later, her birthday, another movie date. This time we didn't wait. We started making out hard right as little lights went down, kissing fiercely, hands all over each other. I got so worked up I pulled out my cock six and a half inches, hard as hell. She looked shocked at first, eyes wide staring at it, and I asked her politely, wanna suck? She said sure, without hesitation. She started licking the tips so gently, teasing, then took more in her mouth.

It was my first blow job ever, and it felt like heaven, her warm mouth sliding up and down my huge cock. On her birthday, I gave her that as her gift, and she took it eagerly. We kept going to the movies just for the dark, empty spaces to fool around. Soon we discovered bedeous end stuff online, the idea of putting a leash on her, controlling her completely. It fascinated me. Next date, I bought a leash. I put it on her collar, made her sit on the

floor like my pet. I slapped her face lightly, told her to suck me again. I thrust into her throat deep, pulling the leash to yank her closer, forcing more of my cock down until I heard those wet glock clock sounds. She gagged a little, but kept owing, eyes watering, and I could tell she was into it. I came hard in her mouth and filled it up completely. Come overflowed and got on my hands too, and that dirty girl licked every drop off my fingers like she couldn't get enough.

Things got rocky for a while. We fought a lot, but then she decided to submit fully. She told me she wanted to be de behore and my randy just for me. Since then, I've treated her like an absolute slut. She craves to be calling her names, using her whenever I want, making her bag. Now I've got plans to take her to a hotel soon and destroy her with my huge dick. I'll let the leash on her the whole time, force her to crawl like a dog on

all fours. I'll make her pee like one right in front of me on the floor, and I'll record it all to humiliate her more. I'll slap her to grade her to the limit, call her every filthy name, and force her to suck my toes and lick my feet clean. Make her lap up my come off the floor. If I spill any then I'll fuck her so hard she can't walk straight, pounding her relentlessly. At the end, I'll make her drink my piss straight from me, making her

mind completely. She's excited for it, she says, she's ready to be ruined that way. It turns me on so much, knowing she's giving herself over like this. The power is control. It's sictive. I had to tell someone, it's wild how far we've come from nervous movie kisses to this, your confessor, the twenty one year old who owns his whore. Yeah, I oh, you change. You're not a kiddy cat anymore. Guys are changing on me. You're still Undrello's abe. Uh what about you for Jolee, I don't know. Come go

out and come back in and see if that helps. Yeah, like I was telling Abe earlier, there's a neighbor I think sometimes at night it's like we cross streams. I guess you'll say he is amateur radio. So I'm wondering if that cross is over, if it's really bad, we can stop because I want to be able to. Oh but you can hear me clearly. I've okay, well it might just be him. We'll see. I'll keep going. So

maybe you can have any answers on this. This is a no for me because I'm not getting on no nasty, no offense to the person that wrote in I'm not kidding the nasty movies, the or floor. That is just and he had me until he went into the whole degrading and pissed drinking, and that's just yeah. No, that's a note for me as well. But yeah, and I don't mind being a you know, a man I'm into. I don't mind being a whore for him. But this everything else is in now, that's see what he has

to say here. Oh so for you, this is listening. Vape is in here? Did the BDSM elements sneak in unexpectedly in your relationship. If you are doing the whole bondage and submission thing, and if so, how did it view your power and consent? And if you are exploring those dynamics, what is yes and no? I mean where are your limits? You know, do you like the full degradation or are you just into the impact play and

not so far? And like I said earlier in the week, because had somebody that had a choking fantasy as well in there, and I mentioned that if you're going to go this far into the extreme, you really should be learning from someone that is trained in the art. In the arts, I guess I should say, because they are

out there. I mean, if they're Shabari teachers. I know, for a factor, I don't know exactly where everybody is, but they're not really hard to find, and if you are interested in them, I would suggest a munch so that way you can meet other people as well. I'm waiting we're able to type something out. Yeah, yeah, I don't know. If you heard the whole made her drink my pist kind of thing, I was like, yep, this is an absolute no for me. It was a no for me when he made her niel on the nasty

theater floor. You know there's some shit that don't come out of close and nope. But to each their own, your mileage may vary. As I say, dear Niggy, I've never really talked about this out loud, so I figured, if anyone's going to get without judgment, it's you. I'm in my mid thirties, always identified as straight, always been the dominant in one bed, taking charge, calling shots, very much into women. That was just who I was, no question.

Up until twenty twenty. I'd never been high and didn't smoke, didn't touch anything. Then life hit hard, a bad break up fueled by depression, and I started smoking weed to cope. At first, it was just to take the edge off quiet noise in my head. But something unexpected happened. The higher I got, the more my usual writing seemed to flip. Dominant in control version of me softened, melted away to this other side, came out submissive, pliant, almost eager to

let go. And when I was around other guise while I was stoned, I caught myself looking, not just glancing, but lingering, noticing their hands, their jaw lines, the way they carried themselves. It wasn't like I suddenly wanted to date men or anything close to that. I still feel zero attraction to guys when I'm sober, but hi, there's this haze where the idea of being used, of submitting to another man, or better yet, being shared, doesn't scare me off. It starts to feel intriguing hot. Even I

still see myself as straight. Women are what turn me on day to day, what get me hard without question. But weed unlocks the stoor in my brain where the line blurs just enough that m M F scenario doesn't sound wrong any more. The thought of being on my knees between a woman and a guy, and her guiding me while he takes control, or even just letting the dominant man use my mouth while she watches and praises me,

it creeps me into my fantacies. When I'm eight, I get this submissive rush, this craving to be directed, objectified, a little passed around. It's confusing as hell, because sober me would shut that thought down instantly. I don't know if it's the weed lowering my inhibitions or if it's revealing something that always there under the layers of control

and depression, or maybe just a temporary chemical thing. All I know is that when I'm high enough, the idea of being submissive to a man, of being his good boy for a night or part of a threesome where I'm not one getting wrecked feels less like not me and more like why not. I haven't acted on it, haven't even came close, but it's there now, this quiet curiosity that shows up when the smoke's thick and my

guard's gone. Part of me wonders if I'll ever chase it sober, or if it'll stay locked away in that hazy space forever. Either. It has changed how I see myself, a little less rigid, more open to whatever my body wants when the walls are down. Thanks for being the place I can say this without feeling like a frod still figuring out the guy who turns sub when he stoned. Yeah, highly aroused can trigger many things that doesn't rise up, especially I don't know I do edibles. I haven't done

him in years. But when I want, if I'm with somebody like or socially, it's inedible for me, and I have to say that, I get pretty worked up. Horny when I'm high as a kite, and it doesn't take much for me. I also see a marching band walking going down streets but naked. But that was the last time I got high. But yeah, I don't. I don't get like crazy horny, like where I'm running around saying fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, like some girl did in high school at a party, apparently when she was high.

But I do get arousal in it. I think because marijuana and pot whatever we're gonna call it, brings our antibitions down and it does relax us. It could make us more susceptible to things that maybe are back in our brain. So I don't think it's wrong. I think you know, if you want, I don't know, how would you guys have that conversation with yourself. I like that he's keeping the toothpaste in the tube until he's completely ready.

I mean, do we think this curiosity will ever cross into a sober life or is it just like a fancy maybe he could get off on when he's high. And for those of you who are listening, has substance ever revealed a new layer of your sexuality? What boundaries do you set around exploring it. Like I said, I've never I've only done pot a couple times, so I don't know. For me, it would just be not doing it when I want to sexually explore. But if I do it, it's gonna be loan and I'm gonna use.

He's a very good vibrator. Dear Nikki, I'm twenty one, and I love my boyfriend more than I can put into words. He's twenty, sweet, attractive, and somehow our sex drives line up perfectly, like we're both horny basically all the time, and the sex is honestly incredible. We click in so many ways. I feel so lucky to have him, But there's a side of me I keep locked away

because I'm scared it would freak him out. I have this deep, almost embarrassed, embarrassingly chauvinistic fantasy where I'm his completely submissive, slutty little housewife, the kid who walks around the house naked except for a tiny apron tits an ass full on display, ready for him to grab, bend over, or use. The mood strikes, I want to bring him jinks on my knees, cook for him while he watches me move around the kitchen, like him his personal property.

I want him to treat me like I exist just as so, and please him. Fuck my mouth when he's stressed, take me from behind while I'm bent over the counter. Call me his dirty slut, his cum dump his owned, or degrade me, objectify me, make me feel small and used and cherished for all at once. The more possessive and filthy he gets, the letter I get just thinking about it. The problem is he's not like that at all. He's genuinely kind, respectful, almost overly careful. He's shy about

anything that even hints at roughness or dominance. I've dropped little hints before, joking about wanting him to take charge or playfully say he saying he could use me however he wants, And every time his face changes, he gets visibly uncomfortable, tenses up, and starts reassuring me that he'd never want to hurt me or make me feel bad. Even when I tell him straight up that I'm into it, that pain or degradation would turn me on, he pulls back. He's afraid of crossing the line, and I get it.

He cares so much about me feeling safe, but it leaves me feeling like I can't ever show him the real depth of what gets me off. I don't want to push him into something he's not comfortable with. I'd never want him to do anything that feels forced or fake just to please me. So these fantasies stay locked away in my head, or they come out when I'm alone, touching myself and imagining him finally letting go, grabbing my hair, slapping my ass red and telling me I am his

filthy little bitch while he fills me up. It's intense, and it gets me there every time, but it always ends with this quiet ache because it's not him. It's just me in my hand and a version of him that doesn't really exist. I'm not going anywhere. He's too good, too perfect in every other way. This isn't a deal breaker,

God Nikki. Sometimes I wish I could just crawl to him one night, naked and collared, even if it's imaginary, look up at him and beg him to owe me completely, to stop being gentle for once and treat me like the desperate, submissive slut I craved to be for him. For now, though, I guess I keep venting here and handling it solo. It's not ideal, but it's better than risking making him feel like he's not enough as he is. Thanks for letting me spell it. I feel a lotter

just saying it out loud. You're aching aching apron fantasy girl. Oh yeah, it does sound hot. I think she should. I think I think what she did is what I usually do, abe I have. I'm horrible at this where if I want to confess something and it's been a while, like a decent amount of time, I am like a fire hose and it just all comes out. I am horrible about that, so I'm not perfect, guys, and then I just expect him to digest it. So I think that's what she did. I mean, that sounds like exactly

what she did, just went the word vomit. I think if she pulled back and they tiptoed into it, you know, a little here, a little there, or even just hell ripping the band aid off of herself and walk around in an apron all day like that and bring him drinks and see how long it takes. I mean, it

kind of forces the sand. But I mean, depending on where they're at, I think maybe that tiptoeing around it I mean, and maybe she doesn't get the praises that she gets the first time, but hell, why not, right, I mean, she'd have to be open to the fact that he says I don't want this, and she'd go get dressed. But tell me, gentlemen, I have to know.

If your lady that you really like showed up in an apron and started dusting your house all day was just wearing an ape brand and nothing underneath and maybe add some heels to it, or even just bare feet with a great pedicure, what are we thinking? No, yes, so free holla. So let me ask you this. If you're this dude and you're really shy and she just said fuck it and she came down like that, would you get I mean, she tiptoed you into it. Would you be okay like that? I could see, uh duh yeah.

Could you hear me?

you leave it there. And if you're the confessor, like if you're the one telling what's going on, you have to be patient because as long as it took you to work up the guts to say it, it takes that person probably just as long. So don't expect to answer in twenty four hours. But the person that's listening, I always say, tell them if you don't you're not sure of an answer, it's always okay to say give

me five minutes. And that's my I don't mean like literal five minutes, that's my I need a pause here and think about this and then go there's this beautiful thing called the internet, and go read all you want and find out, come back with questions, and then say, if you need more time running from it and turning it completely down unless it's you know, or really something that's a hard, hard no, But listen, That's that's what I usually say dear Nikki, I still can't believe I

set it out, least after all these years. My wife and I have been together a long time and sex has been sparse. Honestly, we love each other deeply, but the bedroom has gone quiet for a while, so the timing felt off. When I finally worked up the nerve to tell her, I've always fantasized about her dominating me, like really taking control, making me beg using me, owning the moment while I just surrender. I half expected her

to brush it off or feel weird about it. Instead, she looked at me, smiled the slow, curious smile, and said she was into it, more than into it. We've only done it a handful of times, maybe three or four sessions, but each one has burned itself into my brain so hard I can't function normally anymore. The first time, she straddled my chest and pinned my wrist above my head and just stared down at me while telling me exactly what a good boy I was going to be

for her. Her The way her voice dropped, the way she called me her little toy, her pet, hit all kinds of different. Then she made me wait. She edged me for what felt like forever until I was shaking, leaking, begging her to let me come. When she finally allowed it, I came so hard I saw spots. The next time, she tied my hands behind my back with one of her silk scarves, made me kneel the foot of the bed, and used my mouth like it was hers to fuck.

She rode my face until she came, grinding me, smothering me, telling me not to stop until she said so. I could barely breathe, and I didn't care. I just wanted to please her. Afterwards, she pulled me up, kissed me deep, with the taste of her still on my lips, and I whispered how proud she was of me taking it

so well. Every session's had been like that, her finding new ways to turn oh collar one night, spagging me red while I thanked her for each hit, making me hump her thigh in a desperate puppy until I came untouched, humiliated, and blissed. All at the same time. She's still figuring out her style, sometimes gentle, sometimes teasing, sometimes sharp and commanding, but either way, she owns me completely in those moments.

Now I can't stop replying it. I reread our texts from right after telling her, telling me you're such a perfect slut for me last night, or I can't wait to use that mouth again, and I get instantly hard. I catch myself sewing off work, remembering the weight of her on top of me, the sting of her palm, that way she left softly and then whimpered her name. It's like she flipped a switch in me that won't turn off. I'm walking away, half aroused, all day, craving

the next time she decides to take what's hers. We still don't have sex super often outside these scenes, but these domination moments they're electric. They make everything else feel charged. I feel more connected to her than ever, even if it's in this new, raw way. I don't know how long this phase will last, or how deep we'll go, but right now I'm addicted. I can't stop thinking about being her good boy, her plaything, her whatever she wants. And the best part, she likes it too. She likes

seeing me like this, meany obedient and completely hers. I'm still buzzing from it all, and the husband who finally got dominated and can't come down. You know, sessions can be addictive. The edge the praise, the connection afterward, the aftercare. I know, when I work the lines, I can't tell you how many times that I had somebody wanted to for me to dominate them hard and I never knew how. And I'll tell you this, the one time I was

able to pull it off. I have very short views when it comes to people that are like whiny or just this guy pushed my buttons and I remember. All I remember is I totally went into red haze and cussed five ways to Sunday time. And next thing I know, he's like, oh, thank god, mistress, thank you. I came so hard. I have no idea what I said. All I know is I went into five shades of rainbow cussing and I would have made the Navy blush. Yeah, I did give it to him. I probably said a

lot of things I should not have said. Nothing like, you know, bad bad things. But you know, it was stuff that I feel uncomfortable calling somebody or telling him they're stupid. Stuff like that. I mean, it was really really bad. I was a GoF phone and I was like, well, that's okay, I guess I mean, like forty five fifty bucks off of it. But I was like, okay, game, that's I guess that's good. That's the game. Right. Have you ever switched rolls after the years together? And what's

the biggest shift? Did it regnite this spark?

could you free Hille dominate? I mean, I mean there's always a dance of domination and subition, even in Vanilla. So and if it's if you don't want to say I just say beans or whatever, you're safe where it is. It's a delicate dance. And you know, I hate fifty Shades of Gray. I call it fifty stages a shit because it's exactly what it is, not just the acting. But but I have to say it has been good to open up relationships. It is lame. The books were better, and I read the books after I had a major

surgery and couldn't really do anything. It was okay, So you have to you have to as my as I was raised my father that you'll find out as I talk. And one that my sex talk growing up was if you if you aren't willing to, you know, to change the house, redecorate, move things, change things up, someone will come along and take what you took for granted. And I don't know if he was talking about, you know, home depot or whatever, but I take it to heart as my U. I've heard that a The Mistress. I've

heard that's a good movie. I have not seen it yet. I need to, but I'm definitely the yes. I'm the yes woman in the relationship. So I like to keep my partner sexually happy no matter what. That's just me, though, Dear Nicky, and I want you on your knees tonight, non gently, not slintly, a snow slow build up or whispered permissions. I want you exposed, horny, just the way I want you to be, just your mouth open and

waiting for a second. I step in front of you, I fist that thick handful of your hair right at the root, and I tilt your head back so your throat makes one long straight line. Your eyes are already watering from the angle alone. Mascaras start to smear at the corners. Good. I like that first proof, already giving something up for me. Your com fleet surrender, no warm

up licks, no teasing kisses along the shaft. I feed my cock past your lips in one long, desperate, deliberate push, past the soft part of your tongue, past where most girls start gagging. And I don't stop until I feel that tight, muscular ring of your throat clinch hard around the head, that little panicked flutter. Yes, that's the spy. I want you choke instantly. A wet, strangled gurgle escapes around me. Your hands reach to my thighs on reflex,

nails sticking in, but I don't care. I hold your pin there, nose mashed against my pelvis, lips stretched wide, and thin thoat bulging visibly, while your body convulses in that beautiful, helpless rhythm, throat chest heaving, tears streaming freely. Now your face. I wait, I let you feel every thick inch sealing your airway let the burn build in your lungs, let your survival instincts scream while I stay completely, still, savoring how your throat milks me and frantic involuntary pulses.

Then I pull back just enough for you to drag in one ragged, snotty gasp before I slam back in hard, this time faster, no pause. The sound is obscene, wet clerks and gags filling the room every time I bought them out. Your spit runs in thick ropes down your chin, trips onto your tits, strings between my balls and your neck. With a very brutal withdrawal. I don't let you set any rhythm. This isn't a blow job. This is me fucking your face, like at the second cut, deep, relentless, selfish.

When your hands starts slapping at my thighs for real, when your gag turns into full body ratches and your eyes roll back a little, I finally give you mercy, but only for three seconds, just long enough to let you cough, splutter, beg with your erect voice, if you can even form words. Then I pull you forward by

the hair and bury myself to the hilt. I don't stop until your throat is raw, swollen, until every breath you manage to steal tastes like me, until your makeup is ruined, your lips puffy and dark, your neck flushed red from pressure, and your eyes are glassy with that perfect mix of humiliation in need. And when I finally decide I'm close, I won't pull out. I know you're locked all the way down, nose crushed, throat, stuff, bodies shaking.

While I pump every thick pulse straight into your stomach, You'll feel it happening. You'll feel the heat spreading while you're still fighting to breathe around me. Only after the last twitch do I let go of your hair. You collapse forward, coughing strings of spit and come connecting your swollen lips to my cock, gasping, trembling, ruined in the best way. And then only then do I crouch down, grip your chin, and force your erect face to look up to me and tell you, good girl, Nikki free. Holy.

One thing I absolutely love is I love when people write in and their letters are about me. That was hot. I'm wondering what inspired does vivid Fantasy directed it me? And ladies and gents does reading something this graphic spark your own domb sub urges and how are you how do you feel being on either end of that scenario? This is me, This is totally and actually I would think the person that wrote it was there in the room when it did happen, because that's exactly how it

happened with someone not saying names. But yes, one of my favorite things is actually this being having my throat fucked or let I'm come laying on the bed and my head dangled backwards and definitely being fucked my throat fuck that way too. That's how I love to be dominated that and just flip me over and fuck me. However, just ron go for it, you would have to ask. I don't know. I don't have anything to compare it tough. I'm blushing. I blush a lot, free Holly, I do.

I'm a blusher. I can talk a dirty game, but I am I am really the girl next door that blushes bad and can talk dirty. Oh my god, there's nothing like having someone take you that way. It's just I mean, I oh, I don't even know how to put it into words. I mean the fact that it's you that's being used that you're the one that's making lose control. That's intoxicating as it is, yet you're right,

it's very very, very hot, very hot. Wrapping up this episode on dominance and submission, We've heard stories of provocication leading to passionate reclamation, fantasies of total surrender, first time BDSM explorations, substance unlock, curiosities, hidden wife housewife dreams, long

term role reversals, and unapologic face fucking commands. From each we learn the power of communication, like how confessing desires can reignite connections or reveal hidden to shelves, but also the risk in mismatch energies and the importance of consent. The thrill of punishment often ties back to the sweetness of praise, showing that how vulnerability builds trust. What they all have in common a craving for balance and power play, whether giving up control feel free or claiming to feel

it live or navigating the gray areas in between. These dynamics aren't just about acts, They're about emotional afterflow, the growth, and the deeper bonds they forge. If these resonated, share your thoughts or stories, I'm all ears Until next time, Stay curious, stay consensual, and keep what makes you going all right. Before we slipped into the dark to night, I've got one last little gift to tuck you in

with something just from me straight to you. I want you to both relax and close your eyes for me now and picture this. I kneel on the soft carpet of our dimly lit room, the air thick with the scent of Vanella candles flickering on the night stand. My heart races a steady drum beat echoing in my ears as I wait for you, my sir, my everything. The silk blindfold you tie my eyes earlier, blocks out the world,

heightening every other sentence. I can feel the cool draft from the slightly open window brushing against my bare skin, raising goose bumps along my arms and thighs. I'm dressed only in black lace panties you chose from me, the ones that hug my hips just right, and my hands are clasped behind my back, wrists browned loosely with a

velvet rope that reminds me of your unyielding control. You enter the room, I know a jew by the deliberate click of your boots on the hardwood floor each step measured, powerful, drawing closer until I can smell cologne, that musky, intoxicating blend that always makes my core clench in anticipation. Good girl, you murmur, your voice, low and commanding, sending a shivers

straight down my spine. Your fingers trail lightly over my shoulder, a ghost that makes me arch towards you, instinctively craving more, but you pull away, chuckling softly, that deep rumble that tells me you're enjoying my desperation. You circle me slowly, like a predator savoring its prey, and I feel the heat of your gaye even through the blindfold. You've been waiting so patiently, You say, your breath warm against my ear as you loosen, as leaning close, not quite touching,

but patience deserves a reward, or perhaps a tease. Your hand hovers near my neck, fingertips brushing the air just inches from my skin, making me strain forward, my lips parting in a silent plea. I can hear the faint rustle of your shirt as you move, imagining you loosening your tie, though one I love to feel wrapped around my wrists on other nights. Suddenly your fingers grayze my collar bone, father light tracing slow, deliberate path downward toward

the swell of my breast. My nipples hardened, instantly, aching for attention, but you avoid them, circling around the sensitive peaks without contact, the near mists, sending sparks of frustration and arousal through me. Feel that you whisper, your voice felt smooth. How close am I? But not quite there? I whimper, the sound escaping before I can stop it, and you reward me with the barest brush of my thumb over your nipple, gone in an instant, leaving me gasping,

my body trembling. You kneel behind me now, your chest pressing just enough against my back. Then I feel the rhythm of your breathing, steadying controlled, while mine is ragged and needy. Your hands slide down my sides, palms flat but not gripping, skimming over my ribs, my waist, dripping toward my hips where the lace pandies sit. I feel the warmth of your breath on my neck as you nuzzle there, lips hovering, teasing with the promise of a

kiss that never lands. Instead, you exhale slowly the hot air cascading over my skin like a caress, making me squirm. Stay still, pet you command, and I freeze every muscle taut with effort. Your fingers hook into the waistband of my panties, tugging them down ever so slightly, just an inch, exposing the top of my mound, but no more. The fabric cleans to my tempness, a reminder of how wet

you've already made me without even trying. You trace the edge of the lace with one finger, tip back and forth, agonizingly slow, dripping lower each time, but pulling back before reaching where I ache most so eager. You tease, your voice laced with amusement. I can smell your arousal, feel the heat radiating from you. My thighs pressed together involuntarily, seeking friction, but you nudge them apart with your knee,

denying me even the small relief. The teasing intensifies. You lean forward, your lips brushed the shell of my ear. Imagine my tongue here, you murmur, your fingers circling just above my clip. The pressure so light, it's magening. I got a whisper of silk against overheated skin. I can picture it vividly, the wet heat of your mouth, a flick of your tongue, But all I get is the

ghost of your touch, circling, circling, never quiet, landing. My hips buck forward, desperate, and you pull away entirely, leaving me whining, my body throbbing with unfuel. Need not yet, you say firmly, but there's a promise in your tone that makes my pulse quicken. You stand again, and I hear your zipper and repants, the sound alone, making my

mouth water. Your hand returns, this time cupping my breast fully, squeezing just hard enough to elicit a moan, your thumb finely, finely rolling over my nipple in a slow, deliberate circles. But even in this tease, you alternate brush her light, then firm, pinching just to the edge of pane, before releasing, keeping me on that azure razor sharp precipice bag. For it, you command, and I do, my voice breath aim broken. Please, sir, touch me. I need you satisfied. You reward me by

sliding your hand, lower, fingers dipping beneath the lace. At last, but still you tease, tracing my folds with the lightest strokes, parting them to feel my slickless but avoiding my clit the entrance so that for me you growl and I feel your hardness pressed against my back through your pants, a tantalizing hint of what's to come. Your fingers circle my entrance, pressing in just the tip, then with drawing over and over, building the egg until I'm trembling tears.

The blind field that was sensation is exquisite torture, this stretch that promises fullness but delivers only emptiness. The slick slide of your scann against mine, The way my body clinches around nothing, begging for more. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of this delicious agony, you untie the blindfold, letting it fall away. I blink up at you, meeting your intense gaze and your smile, that dominant, knowing smile that melts me. Now, My good girl, you say, guiding

me to the bed, It's time for your reward. As you push me back onto the sheets, your body covering mine, I surrender, completely lost in your power. You hold over me, the submission that makes me feel so alive, so utterly yours, so sweet, sweet, tight, my dear guests dream of me on my knees, waiting for the next time you decide to ruin me.