Watching my ex-boyfriend laugh and chat with an attractive, bubbly brunette is like a knife twisting in my heart. When she touches his arm and he returns the smile, it's unbearable. Despite being the one to end things, witnessing this feels like torture. Seeing him move on is a harsh reminder that I'm no longer the person he wants by his side.
He was mine for what felt like an eternity. However, as time passed, our paths and desires started to diverge. My curiosity drew me into the shadows of BDSM—a realm he was hesitant to explore.
Despite his doubts, his love for me was so deep that he ventured into unknown territory with me, agreeing to a scene I'd planned. But the flicker of pain in his eyes when I showed off the purple-blue bruises from his first attempt at spanking, and the tremor in his voice as he murmured, "I did this... I hurt you," unveiled his inner turmoil.
I hurried to comfort him, assuring that I was more than okay—I was elated, treasuring the marks adorning my tender skin, each one an intimate symbol of his claim over me, branded on my buttocks like a beautiful reminder of our passion. But as his tear-brimmed eyes locked with mine, all my joy faded, replaced by a deep ache of regret for causing him such distress.
I ended things with him because it hurt him too much, and I didn't want to coerce him to do something he couldn't. He asked for more time, hoping to adapt to my changing desires, but I let him go, convinced that he could never meet my needs.
His parting words to me were a warning: "Be careful, Emma. The BDSM world is dangerous. It can chew up and spit out someone as innocent as yourself. I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you." I wish I'd listened.
My decisions were impulsive as I dove headfirst into the BDSM scene, driven by an overwhelming sub-frenzy. And when it all came crashing down, leading to an emotional breakdown, who was there to help me piece myself back together? Him. My ex-boyfriend.
He had a unique ability to calm the chaos I created by grounding my emotions. Deep down, I always believed he was my Dom, and his reluctance to fully embrace that role made me feel rejected. So, I left him, looking for someone who would accept every aspect of me. However, the reality I encountered was far from the fantasy I had imagined, and it almost cost me everything.
My ex-boyfriend never said, "I told you so." Instead, he simply stood beside me, offering support without judgment or reservation.
After he helped me stabilize and get my life back on track, we stayed in touch now and then. I realized he needed some space from me, and I respected that.
It's been a few months since we last saw each other. And there he stands, irresistibly handsome in his jeans and fitted shirt, giving his full attention to another woman. I can't help but wish my red dress would highlight my hourglass figure as effectively as her black dress does hers.
As I watch them interact, I can't help but feel jealous, wondering if he has completely moved on from me. Curious, I turn to my friend and ask if he is in a relationship with her. She says they hang out a lot, but as far as she knows, he's still single after our breakup.
"Which really messed him up," she adds, her tone accusatory.
I understand that the breakup was mainly my fault, and deep down, I genuinely want him to be happy, even if it means with someone else. But there's this voice inside me screaming, "He's mine!" But he isn't. Not anymore.
I tell my friend I'm leaving and exit the party; the pain is just too much to bear. As I sigh and walk down the sidewalk, attempting to distance myself from the emotions swirling within me, I hear footsteps hurrying behind me.
"Hey! You're leaving already?" The familiar voice of my ex-boyfriend brings me to a halt. I turn around to meet his deep brown eyes, which always make my heart race. "I spotted you and hoped to catch up," he says. "I haven't seen you in ages,"
"Yeah, I was on a vacation with my family in Italy over the summer."
"That sounds great! I know how much you enjoy traveling," he says with a heart-melting smile. "So, how've you been?"
'I've been lost without you,' is what I want to confess. But instead, I manage, "Good, how about you?"
"I've been fine," he begins, his voice faltering. Suddenly, he admits, "I've missed you. It feels like I didn't just lose my girlfriend when we broke up; I lost my best friend, too."
Without thinking, I reply, "I feel the same."
We stare at each other, the weight of all the things we've left unsaid in the past pressing down on us.
"Let me walk you home," he offers, easing the tension that hangs between us.
As we walk to my house—our old house, which feels starkly empty without him—we fall into easy conversation. With each step, I am reminded of how things were when we were together.
I realize how much I miss him: his jokes that could instantly lift any mood, the way his lips curve into a smile reserved just for me, and those fleeting glances he gives me, laden with a tenderness that used to be so familiar. For a brief moment, I catch what appears to be that old lovingness in his eyes, but it fades so quickly that I'm left wondering if I imagined it.
As we approach the front door, I brace myself for the goodbye, knowing that this brief moment of closeness will quickly fade into the background of our history. The ache inside me sharpens as my wishful thinking collides with the harsh reality that our chapter as a couple has come to an end.
We stop at the door, enveloped in a silence that feels too heavy. His hands, tucked away in his front pockets, act as a shield, just as does the distance between our hearts.
In the soft light of the street lamp, he looks extremely attractive, his gaze fixed on me. I'm fighting the urge to simply grab him and kiss him, but I'm painfully aware that I've lost that privilege.
"So..." he begins, stepping back slightly. I can almost hear the 'I have to go' coming, but I don't want him to leave. My mind tells me it's time to let go, but my heart begs me to hold on just a little longer. To hell with clinging to my pride and the idea of doing what is supposedly 'decent' or 'right.'
"Want to come in?" I murmur, dropping my guard and embracing the possibility of being turned down.
"I'm not sure if that's a good idea," he replies softly, his eyes evading mine.
"Why? Are you seeing someone else?" My voice barely conceals the tremor of hurt as I wait for his answer.
He slowly shakes his head, still not looking at me. "No. What made you think that?" His forehead creases, confusion clear in his expression.
"I saw you with that woman at the party," I confess, my tone tinged with jealousy.
"Oh, you must refer to Julia... Yeah, she's kind of into me, but I'm not really feeling it," he says, his voice trailing off as if there's more he's not saying.
"So, what's stopping you from coming in?" I press, hoping to break through the wall between us.
His gaze finally meets mine, a silent storm raging in his eyes before he sighs. "I guess nothing," he concedes, and we enter the space that once felt like ours but now echoes a life we once shared, familiar but unmistakably changed.
As he crosses the threshold into what was once his home, I can't help but notice a distinct change in him—a palpable sense of unease. I chose to ignore it, kicking off my shoes and heading into the kitchen. He follows suit, taking off his sneakers and approaching me.
In the kitchen, I try to lighten the mood by offering drinks, hoping to dispel the lingering tension, but he declines. He finds a spot against the counter, and I'm immediately drawn in by the depth of his gaze and his familiar, homey scent—the one that is unique to him. It's a blend of his skin, his favorite cologne, and something inexplicably personal that has always made me dizzy with lust. Overtaken with nostalgia and yearning, I instinctively lean in, seeking the comfort of a kiss and craving a taste of the past. But he gently stops me by placing his hands on my shoulders.
"I should go," he murmurs before turning and walking into the hall.
"Please don't." The plea escapes my lips before I can reel it back in.
He turns to face me, his eyes filled with pain. "Look, you fucking broke my heart and..." His voice trails off as he closes his eyes in an obvious attempt to calm himself. He takes a deep, fortifying breath before opening his eyes again and continuing, "I can't go through this with you again, Emma. The idea of letting myself feel for you... it scares me to death. If you choose to leave again, I honestly don't know if I'll make it through."
"I won't! I promise I'm not going anywhere this time. You mean everything to me, and I want us to find our way back to 'us.'"
"I want to believe you, Emma. I really do. But trusting again isn't easy."
I completely understand his reservations, but the thought of losing him for good sends a wave of panic through me. There has to be a way to bridge this gap between us. Perhaps I can't fix what's broken, but she might be able to.
"Let me prove it. Allow me to show you who I am. All of me."
This is my sincere attempt to open up to him and show him the real, raw me for the first time. Throughout my experiences in sub training with others, I never felt secure enough to expose this aspect of myself. Looking back, I'm grateful for that, realizing they didn't have my best interests at heart. But with him, it's different: I want to share everything, to be completely vulnerable. And I'm eager to reveal that untamed part of myself that I've always wanted to explore with him.
He stands there, silent, anchored in place in the middle of the hall. It's clear he comprehends the implicit offer in my words, and by choosing to stay, he's quietly consenting for me to take the next step.
"I'll be right back," I say, meeting his gaze for a brief moment before passing him and retreating into the bedroom.
My body quivers with anxiety as I strip off all my clothes. It's now or never: either I seduce him with this daring move, or I lose him altogether. I catch my reflection in the mirror across the bed, allowing the feral part of me to surface. Seizing that raw power, I murmur, "I can do this," to the fierce woman in the mirror.
With a hopeful thrill, I open the drawer and retrieve the buttplug adorned with a soft, fluffy pink tail. My hands tremble slightly as I apply lube to the cool metal surface of the plug. With deep breaths and a gentle push, it slides inside and fills me up, my mind racing with fantasies about his reaction to my naughty surprise.
He knew about the kitten gear I had bought, but back then, his knowledge of BDSM was limited, and he couldn't understand why I'd want to dress up in such a way. This uncertainty made me hesitant to share that part of myself with him, but now, with nothing left to lose—having already lost the most important person in my life—I felt compelled to open up.
I slip into a sheer white lace teddy, the delicate lace caressing my luscious curves. My heart flutters with excitement, its beats almost visible through the barely there fabric, as I adjust the plunging neckline that reveals the seductive swell of my perky breasts. With the open crotch, my tail swishes as I sashay around the room, feeling like a seductive goddess waiting to be ravished.
I twist and weave my hair into two playful pigtails, each strand adorned with pink ribbons. With a delicate click, I secure fluffy pink and white kitten ears to the top of my head.
Sweeping a brush dipped in dark gray pigment across my eyelids, I blend it into a smoky haze. As I look in the mirror, my eyes light up with a feline glint, accentuated by the expert strokes of winged eyeliner that perfectly frame them.
With a final slick of cherry red lipstick, the transformation is complete. Emma, who has always been held back by her insecurities, surrenders to the kitten within her, who knows no such limitations. Kitten's confident and unafraid to chase what she wants.
Barefoot, I step out of the bedroom, feeling the cool floor beneath my feet. The moment he lays eyes on me, surprise widens his gaze, and his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard, visibly taken aback. The effect I have on him thrills me, boosting my confidence as I approach him.
I sink to my knees before him, my eyes fixed on his as I rest my palms on my thighs. Submissively, I lower my head and shift back onto my heels.
Without lifting my gaze, I breathe out, "I'm yours." Then, with a surge of hope in my voice, I dare to look up at him and ask, "Would you be my Master?"
He remains motionless and tense, clearly resisting the urge to reach out and touch me. As I kneel before him, a wave of warmth washes over me, and I can feel the scales of power tipping delicately in response to my submission, each moment stretching into eternity as he considers my request.
"I'm unsure," he finally whispers. "You appear to be a stray, and they are not only difficult to tame but even harder to settle," he says in a somber tone.
A tangible veil of uncertainty envelops us, thickening the atmosphere until it feels suffocating. Normally, this would be the moment I'd dissolve into tears and retreat, but not this time. A silent challenge hangs in the air as our eyes engage in a tense stare, neither willing to give up first.
Desperate to win this unspoken battle, I coyly arch my back, my breasts straining against the fabric, my hardened nipples begging for attention. My tongue gently caresses my lips, wordlessly conveying my longing for raw, carnal lust.
As our gazes remain locked, the intensity in his eyes grows, becoming a tempest of emotions—desire burning brightly, adoration weaving through the flames, and, amidst it all, the unmistakable, gentle glow of love. This recognition gives me a heady, intoxicating feeling of power and connection.