More than ten years ago, I started writing a book about an author (yes, I know) who went to a BDSM/romance convention (yes, I know) and met up with a fan (okay, okay, I get it) who wanted to be his Gorean slave girl (oof, right?). I personally am not into Gorean stuff; nor was my main character. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t able to dominate and intimidate her.
The following is rougher and more dub-con than I usually write, although so you know they did negotiate before the convention and everything they do in this scene is actually consensual.
The moment we were in my room, I grabbed Alice hard by the back of the neck and frog-marched her to the bed. I turned her and pushed her onto her back, then climbed over her, my legs trapping her arms at her sides. “S–“
“Don’t talk, slave.”
Alice shut her mouth. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed. I cupped her left cheek, and with my other hand gently backhanded her across the mouth – my fingers barely touched her, and my hand was moving so slowly that I couldn’t have hurt anyone. It was a symbolic gesture, one that I repeated with slow-motion forehands and backhands until Alice was leaning into my touch, until my palms were touching her cheeks and stroking her soft skin. Had I really wanted to slap her around like this, she’d told me once, she’d have taken it proudly, showing off the marks of her master. But I didn’t hit women. Not like that. Not ever.
However, I was only too willing to push her onto the floor once I’d gotten her attention. She caught herself easily on her hands and knees and tried to get into position, but each time she got vertical, I pushed her shoulder. My intent was clear, and even though I wasn’t shoving her hard enough to do it, she was rolling with the movements and falling to the carpeted floor.
“Sir,” she gasped after the fifth shove, “please!”
“Please?” I pushed her down again, onto her stomach, and held her in place with one hand on her shoulders. “Please what, slave?”
“Please, sir!” She held still under me. “Please let me serve you, sir, please!”
“Oh, you will. Don’t worry about that.” I pushed her dress up, revealing her ass, and reached between her legs to cup her pussy. She was hot and damp, trying to grind into my palm. “Stop, slave. Now!”
At the sharpness in my tone, Alice immediately stilled. “Yes, sir.” The word twisted higher when I plunged two fingers into her in a rough thrust. “Yes, sir!”
“Submitting to me turns you on, doesn’t it, slave girl?”
“Yes! Yes, sir!” Her pussy was clenching on my fingers. I fucked her with them, probably too hard, as I maneuvered myself on top of her, straddling her again, her head behind me.
“You’ll do whatever I order you, won’t you, slave girl?”
I pulled my hand away and smacked her backside, right on top of the darkest bruise. She cried out and tried to move, but I wasn’t going to spank her anymore.
Instead I undid my belt and whipped it out of my jeans in one quick, slithering sound that turned Alice’s cry to a scream. I bent it double and snapped it, and she screamed again. “I should whip you raw,” I said, my voice low, full of menace. As gently as possible I stroked her ass with the belt; she wriggled and pulled, but I was too heavy, too strong. “I should use my belt on you until you learn your lesson, shouldn’t I?”
“Shouldn’t I? Answer me, slave!”
But Alice didn’t answer, except to whimper. She was good and scared now, which was what I wanted. I wasn’t going to punish her with the belt, but I wanted her in the right frame of mind to listen to what I had to say.
“Answer me now, slave!” I raised my voice. “Now!”
Alice just whimpered more, and I heard a sob against the carpet.