Sinful Silent Submission

[Se****]

Emma, 24, had dated Jake, Bob’s 25-year-old son, for a year. Jake’s gentle kisses left her craving something darker, more intense. Bob, 48, with piercing gray eyes and a commanding presence, ignited her fantasies. At family dinners, his lingering stares made her pulse race, her panties dampening as she thought, He sees my hunger. Jake once mentioned Bob’s locked study, shrugging it off as “Dad’s thing.” Emma’s mind burned with curiosity: What secrets does he hide?

One evening, with Jake on a work trip, Emma arrived at Bob’s house to deliver a package. She’d chosen a crimson silk dress, its plunging neckline and thigh-skimming hem clinging to her curves, paired with black lace bra and panties that whispered her desire. Bob invited her in, his voice a low growl. “You’ve been curious about me,” he said, eyes locking onto hers. Emma’s heart pounded—*** of crossing a line, excitement at the unknown. He knows I want this. I’m already wet.

Bob stepped closer, his tone softening. “I want you, Emma, but only if you choose this. You can leave, or you can submit to me—fully, freely. If you stay, pick a safeword. Say it, and everything stops.” Emma’s breath hitched, arousal drowning guilt. He’s giving me power, even in surrender. “Ember,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. Bob nodded, his gaze warm yet firm. “Good. I’ll check in. Use ‘ember’ if you need to. Are you ready?” She nodded, her core throbbing. I trust him. I want this sin.

In Bob’s study, a single candle cast shadows on leather books and a plush burgundy rug. Emma knelt, her silk dress accentuating her trembling form, wrists bound behind her with silken rope, the knots sensual yet secure. Her ankles were tied to a low wooden chair, legs spread, exposing her vulnerability. She’s exquisite, offering herself to me, Bob thought, his cock hardening. Jake’s girl, mine to claim. Emma’s mind swirled: This is wrong, but I’m his. What if Jake knows? God, I’m soaked.

Bob held gleaming scissors, the candlelight dancing on the blades. “Still good, Emma?” he asked, his voice a grounding anchor. She nodded, whispering, “Yes, Sir.” He cares. I’m safe. Bob traced the scissors’ cold edge along her collarbone, her skin prickling. I’ll unravel her slowly, he thought, aroused by her trust. The metal teased her, and she gasped, her nipples stiffening, her thoughts wild: He could hurt me, but he won’t. I’m his toy.

“Good girl,” Bob murmured, snipping the dress’s straps. The silk parted, revealing her lace bra. “You okay?” he checked, eyes searching hers. “Yes,” she breathed, arousal spiking. He cut the bra’s straps, then the center, the lace falling to expose her breasts, nipples pink and taut. She’s perfect, yielding to me, Bob thought, his erection straining. He dragged the scissors over her nipples, the cold making her moan, her clit pulsing. I’m bare for him, Jake’s father. It’s so naughty, Emma thought, her guilt fueling desire.
Bob knelt, his breath hot on her thigh. “Still with me?” he asked, voice steady. “Yes, Sir,” she panted, wet and aching. He slid the scissors under her panties’ lace, inhaling her arousal. She’s dripping, my little slut, he thought, snipping the fabric slowly, leaving her bare. Emma’s mind spun: I’m exposed, ***, and I love it. Take me. The forbidden thrill—betraying Jake with his father—electrified her.

Bob set the scissors aside, his hand cracking against her ass, the spanking fierce, each strike a blaze of heat. “Check in,” he said, pausing. “Good, Sir,” she gasped, her skin red and burning. She takes it so well, Bob thought, switching to a leather flogger, its tails stinging deliciously. Emma’s thoughts blurred: The ***’s perfect. I’m his. Her core throbbed, wetter with each blow. Bob trailed a feather over her flushed skin, teasing her thighs, then her clit. The lightness was ***, her bound body squirming. She’s mine to ***, Bob thought, his cock aching as she writhed. “Still okay?” he asked. “Yes,” she whimpered, arousal drowning ***.
The wand’s vibrations hit her clit, relentless. Emma’s silence broke with a moan. “No sounds,” Bob warned, slapping her face, the sting grounding her. “You good?” he checked, eyes soft. “Yes, Sir,” she nodded, mind hazy: I’m his to break. I’ll make her come undone, Bob thought, the wand driving her through ***d orgasms. Her body convulsed, juices pooling, a second, then a third climax leaving her sobbing, tears streaking her face. I can’t stop, don’t want to, she thought, lost in ecstasy.

Bob untied her legs, repositioning
her on her knees, hands still bound. “Ready, Emma?” he asked, gripping her hair. “Yes,” she whispered, eager. She’s so broken for me, he thought, guiding his hard cock to her lips. “Open,” he commanded, thrusting into her throat. Her gags were muffled, his hand slapping her cheek when she faltered. “You okay?” he checked, voice firm. She nodded, eyes glassy, thoughts swimming: I’m his slut, his secret. The *** and control sent her deeper into subspace, her arousal peaking.

When he pulled back, her lips were swollen, face tear-streaked. Bob tugged her hair, his gaze proud. She’s mine, not Jake’s, he thought. “Mine,” he said. Emma nodded, her mind surrendered: I’m his, in this sinful secret. Their forbidden connection pulsed in the candlelit room.

FetLife Notes: This consensual BDSM fantasy emphasizes explicit consent, safewords, and check-ins. Prioritize communication, aftercare, and safety. Scissors play requires safety shears and clear boundaries. Explore responsibly!

[Co****]

Great story

[Ma****]

Yes, great, nicely written

[bu****]

Love it

[0p****]

Safewords and check-ins 🔥🔥🔥 one of the sexiest scenes I've read in a minute.

[Se****]

Thankyou for the feedback. This is one of the chapters of this book I am working on.

[Ar****]

Fantastic, loved that he kept checking in with her.