🔗 Master Says Write: Pet's Diary
Master just smiled. "Good girl,” he said. “Now, I want you to write something every week. And I want to see it."
Master Says Write: Pet’s Diary
NSFW: Content warnings
GENRE: M/F Romantic Erotica. | POV: Female | RATING: 🌶️ | CONTENT: BDSM: light; Bodily Fluids: cum; D/s: Master/pet; DubCon: mild; Free Use. LANGUAGE: UK
࿐ ࿔*˖𓇼 READ IT NOW 𓇼˖*࿔࿐
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࿐ ࿔*˖𓇼 DESCRIPTION 𓇼˖*࿔࿐
Do you know what true cruelty looks like? Master does. He’s a soft Dom with a sadistic streak, and he knows how to punish a pet.
Anyway, we were talking about cruelty. It’s not ropes or spankings. It’s not even pleading and begging for release when you’s burning with need. No. True cruelty is when you hafta do something again and again and again just because Master says so. Because it’s supposed to be good for you. S’posed to teach you a lesson. Bleh.
The stoopid journal started with a broken rule. A tiny one. And it wasn’t even me who broke it. Linn did. But Master noticed. And when Master notices, Master corrects. So, we had to write a story. Me didn’t want to, but he made us. And then, when it was finally done and me had poured the whole truth onto the page, Master just smiled.
"Good girl,” he said. “Now, I want you to write something every week. And I want to see it."
And that’s true cruelty.
Master says write so pet hafta write.
Every dang week.
Forever.
So now me writes. About how his voice settles under my skin and how safe me feels in his arms. About a memory or a fantasy. Something that makes me cheeks burn as it flows outta me. Sometimes me writes something funny to make him smile. Or something petty. Because who even made these stoopid rules anyway? (Oh. Right. Master did. So rude.)
But the cruellest part of it all? It’s the truth of it. No matter what me writes, or how much me grumbles about it, me loves it. Master makesapet write and spill secrets and share them so other people will know. But me no write for them.
My words are for him.
࿐ ࿔*˖𓇼 EXCERPT 𓇼˖*࿔࿐
She wakes up smiling, feeling his warmth sinking into her back. Not the piercing, scorching kind—just the deep, lingering heat that seeps into her soul.
Master is her furnace. His body, his breath, his constant, unyielding dominance. She basks in it, stretching languidly to let him know she’s waking up. Pressing back just enough to feel all of him.
His hand glides up her bare thigh, slow and deliberate. It’s a leisurely claim. A stroke that continues up over the curve of her hip.
She swallows. Waits.
His fingers trace higher, taunting skin already sore from the night before.
She is still aching. Still full of him. Marked. Owned.
His breath brushes against her ear. His gentle bite tugs on her earlobe. His hand cups her mound.
She mewls. Grinds against his palm. She’s needy. Shameless.
He chuckles. Amused. Two fingers slide inside. Slow, measured strokes easing in and out as he brands her again. Marking her neck and shoulder with his mouth.
She shifts her hips, turning to meet his eyes.
"I want you, pet."
It’s a command. A promise.
She shivers as he leans down to kiss her.
࿐ ࿔*˖𓇼 REVIEWS 𓇼˖*࿔࿐
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