Morning Power Play

The sun wasn’t even fully up yet.

Soft amber bled through half-closed blinds, warming the edges of the room, but doing nothing to stir him from his place beneath the heavy comforter. The faint glow only brushed at the corners of the space, hesitant and diffused, like it knew better than to disrupt the heavy, decadent quiet that reigned there. Outside, the world was silent except for the occasional chirp of early birds and the soft hum of distant cars starting their morning journey. The world might have been waking, but inside this room, time was frozen.

He looked peaceful.

Too peaceful.

And she hated that.

Seated delicately on the edge of the bed, her legs curled gracefully beneath her, she wore nothing but the oversized sleep shirt she’d stolen from his drawer months ago—an act that felt more like claiming territory than seeking comfort. The cotton clung loosely to her form, dipping low enough at the collar to hint at bare skin beneath. The sleeves were long, bunched up around her forearms, and as she flexed her fingers thoughtfully, the fabric shifted and whispered softly in the quiet room.

She watched him quietly, her head tilted, lips pursed in thoughtful assessment. Minutes passed, and yet she stayed still, except for the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she inhaled slowly through her nose and exhaled through slightly parted lips. This was not admiration. This was appraisal.

It was infuriating how good he looked when asleep. The way his jaw relaxed, strong lines softening just enough to give him a boyish vulnerability. His lips parted faintly, breath slow and even, entirely unaware of the storm brewing beside him. He radiated the kind of defenselessness only deep sleep could provide—unguarded, exposed, hers.

Always hers.

And that was the problem this morning.

Because last night, he had gotten lazy. Shamefully lazy.

No proper goodnight. No gratitude. No whispered thank-yous or the proper reverence she demanded. Just half-hearted kisses, mumbled excuses about exhaustion, and then the audacity of turning away and falling asleep in seconds. As if she was just another warm body beside him. As if she wasn’t deserving of more.

Unacceptable.

The cool resolve in her eyes hardened. This would not stand. Not in her bed. Not in her kingdom. Not when discipline and ritual were everything in this sacred space they shared.

Her tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek, her mind already rehearsing every step of his impending correction. The hunger for dominance surged through her, hot and undeniable.

With fluid grace, she slipped beneath the covers. The sheets whispered against her skin as she slid closer, her hands finding his bare back first—cold fingers pressing deliberately against the warm canvas of his body. She savored the way he flinched, a soft grunt breaking from his lips as consciousness yanked him upward from his dreams.

“Morning,” she murmured, her voice honey-sweet but laced with something darker. Her lips brushed his earlobe, letting warmth and warning curl in tandem against his skin.

He shifted, groggy and confused. “Mmm… too early…” His voice was gravelly, saturated with sleep and unprepared for what was coming.

“No,” she corrected immediately, her voice cutting through the haze like a blade cloaked in silk. “Not too early.”

There was no arguing with that tone. It left no room for negotiation.

His groan was half-hearted at best, because his body already knew better. His mind might have still been sluggish, but muscle memory told him the rules of this game. The weight of expectation pressed heavier than the comforter now tangled around his hips.

Before he could gather coherent protest, her hand slid beneath the sheets. There was nothing hesitant or tender about the way she moved. Possessive. Casual. Her fingers wrapped around him like she was straightening a cord—an act of maintenance, not affection.

He was soft, warm, utterly defenseless.

But not for long.

“Up,” she whispered against his neck, her hand moving with slow, calculated cruelty. The rhythm was lazy in the most sinister way—a promise that he would have to work for every ounce of release this morning. “C’mon. Don’t make me work harder than I need to.”

His breath caught. Eyes blinked open slowly, pupils dilating as awareness flooded in. He knew what this was now. This wasn’t affection. This wasn’t about tender morning intimacy. This was something deeper. Something harsher. This was correction.

“Baby—” he started, voice thick and pleading, but she silenced him with a kiss that traveled lower, a heated trail left down his chest as her hand continued its unrelenting coaxing.

“No excuses,” she warned, her lips brushing dangerously close to his abdomen now.

He shivered—not from cold, but from the terrible anticipation curling in his gut.

“You were selfish last night,” she reminded him, her breath a searing brand against his sensitized skin. “Didn’t say thank you properly. Didn’t ask permission. You just took.”

“I—” he began, but the sharpness in her eyes—now level with his—shut him down instantly.

“Hush.”

That single word was law.

He swallowed hard, falling silent beneath the weight of it. His submission came quickly, because deep down, he craved it as much as he feared it.

Her mouth found him then. Warm. Deliberate. Unforgivingly gentle in a way that promised nothing easy was coming. Her lips wrapped around him, tongue tracing maddening patterns as suction threatened to pull him into madness—but never quite gave enough.

It was worship in disguise. Punishment masquerading as reverence.

She knew exactly how to make this hurt.

Every motion calculated, every pause stretched too long, every flick of her tongue choreographed to dance on the razor’s edge of pleasure and denial. It wasn’t enough to satisfy—it was just enough to drive him insane. Enough to make him remember that pleasure was a gift she gave, not a right he owned.

His fingers gripped the sheets, knuckles whitening as he fought the urge to buck his hips. He knew better. She demanded control. Compliance. His restraint was as much a part of his correction as her mouth was.

“Good boy,” she purred as she pulled off, letting the cool air tease his exposed, aching skin. Her praise was both reward and weapon—delivered with syrupy sweetness that somehow tasted like venom.

He nodded, silent but obedient. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling with the effort to hold back.

She rewarded him again, sinking lower, deeper, hollowing her cheeks and dragging a groan from deep in his chest. Still, she didn’t relent fully. Every time he teetered too close to the edge, she withdrew. Kissing his thighs. Scraping him lightly with her nails. Whispering filthy little promises he knew she wouldn’t keep—not yet.

The minutes stretched on unbearably, a brutal dance of need and denial. He was reduced to soft, broken noises now, his mind fogged with desperation and submission. He felt weightless and heavy all at once. She drove him past frustration, past desire, to that hollowed-out state where only craving and obedience remained.

“You thought you could just sleep through my ownership?” she taunted softly, lips ghosting maddeningly above his leaking tip. “Like you’re some ordinary man who gets to roll over and forget who he belongs to?”

“N-no, ma’am,” he gasped, his voice fractured, weighted with shame and desperate longing.

Her smile was slow. Dark. Satisfied.

Victory tasted divine.

Without another word, she descended again—this time ruthless. Fast. Deep. She wanted him undone now. Wanted to shatter him. Wanted every ounce of the cocky dismissal from last night obliterated.

And he crumbled exactly the way she wanted.

Pleading filled the room. He begged shamelessly, promises and apologies spilling from his lips as he bucked helplessly beneath her. His hands, once clutching the sheets, found her hair, desperate and needy. He forgot everything in that moment—forgot to hold back, forgot the sun had fully risen, forgot who he was beyond the vessel of overwhelming need she had reduced him to.

She knew the signs. The shift in his breathing, the tremble in his thighs, the frantic whimper on the cusp of release.

And she stopped.

Just like that, she pulled away, leaving him straining, sobbing, undone.

Her tongue traced her lips with deliberate slowness as she crawled back up, straddling his trembling form and meeting his wide, devastated eyes. Satisfaction gleamed there—a queen surveying her conquered subject.

“Did you really think I’d let you finish?” she asked softly, tapping his flushed cheek with the back of her hand, her tone equal parts mocking and affectionate.

His lips parted. Words failed him, but he forced them out, hoarse and broken.

“No,” he whispered, utterly wrecked. “But I hoped.”

Her smile was brutal in its triumph. It was beautiful. It was everything.

“Hope,” she murmured as she sank back into the blankets, closing her eyes with smug satisfaction, “is for when you’ve earned it.”

He lay there, vibrating with unsatisfied need, his mind blank save for the singular understanding that he had been thoroughly, expertly put in his place. The ache in his body was matched only by the ache in his pride—broken and rebuilt in the same cruel breath.

And she?

Already drifting back toward sleep, her breathing evening out, body curling softly into the warm cocoon of the sheets. She was sated. Secure. A queen on her throne, ruling over the quiet kingdom they both knew he would never escape.

Because that’s what mornings were for here.

Not breakfast.

Not peace.

Correction.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow he would remember.

Gangbangers

Chapter 1

I stood there, my heart pounding in my chest, as I took in the erotic and twisted display before me. The room reeked of leather and sweat, a musky scent that both repulsed and aroused me in equal measure. My eyes darted from one image to another, each more depraved than the last. Men were bound and gagged, helpless as their bodies were used and abused by dominant women. The thought should have disgusted me, but a fire kindled within my belly.

A sudden creak behind me made me whirl around, my senses on high alert. In the doorway stood a woman clad in black leather from head to toe, her features obscured by shadows save for her piercing emerald eyes. “Welcome,” she purred, oozing with authority and lustful intent. “I’ve been expecting you.”

I was not one of those men who cowered in fear before such displays of female domination. I stepped forward tentatively, drawn in by a voice I couldn’t quite place. It was like a whisper, yet I knew it was from a presence in the room. “Come closer,” the voice beckoned, and despite my better judgment, my feet carried me forward.

The floor was covered in plush red carpet, and a large, velvet Altar of Submission stood in the center. A dominatrix, attired in a shimmering leather corset and thigh-high boots, stood before it, smirking as she waited for me to make my approach. “Do you know what you are about to do?” she asked.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into, but something about this place, this moment, drew me in like a moth to a flickering flame. “No,” I managed to croak out. “But I… I want to know.”

You are here to be feminized,” the dominatrix purred, a cruel smile playing on her red-stained lips. “To be used by these men in ways you could never have imagined.” She gestured to a group of hooded, faceless figures standing around the altar, each representing a different part of my transformation. First, I was stripped naked and strapped down onto the altar. My cock, once so erect with anticipation, now limp with terror at what was about to happen to me.

As the hooded figures stepped closer, one of them approached me with a gleaming hook in his gloved hand. My heart pounded, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the cold, shining steel. The dominatrix leaned in close, her hot breath on my ear as she purred, “This is where your transformation begins.”

With a swift motion, the hook pierced through my left nipple, and I gasped in pain. The sensation was both agonizing and exhilarating; it felt like a thousand needles pricking at once. I could feel the adrenaline surging through my veins as endorphins masked some of the pain. The hooded figure then did the same to my right nipple, and I bit down on my lip to muffle a moan. An odd sense of arousal quickly replaced the stinging sensation I’d never felt before.

I realized this was happening as they tightened the ropes attached to the hooks, lifting me slightly off the altar. A wave of submission washed over me; this was what I had been unknowingly craving all along – to be at someone else’s mercy, to be used and transformed into their plaything. A part of me reveled in this newfound submissive role, while another part screamed in terror at what lay ahead.

The second figure, a hulking, muscular man with a sneer on his face, approached me. His hands gripped a large bottle of KY Jelly and several intimidatingly-sized ribbed plugs. “You, too, are for my pleasure,” he growled menacingly. My stomach clenched in fear and anticipation as he unscrewed the lid and scooped out a generous amount of the cold lubricant. The coolness sent shivers down my spine as he began to coat the first plug, his eyes never leaving mine. I knew what was about to happen next, and though part of me recoiled in terror, another part of me was strangely aroused by the thought of being used so…

I clenched at the feel of the icy KY Jelly spread over my anus, my body trembling with both fear and anticipation. The hulking figure behind me positioned the first plug, its cold, smooth surface touching my entrance. I gasped as he began to push it in, the sensation foreign yet strangely arousing. The ribs inside the plug grazed against my most sensitive spot, sending shivers down my spine.

As I adjusted to the intrusion, another part of me yearned for more – to be filled and used in ways I never thought possible. The second plug was more significant than the first, and he didn’t hesitate to push it in even further, stretching me beyond what I thought was comfortable. Each thrust sent a bolt of pleasure-pain coursing through my body as my prostate was stimulated in ways I never knew possible.

Meanwhile, a third figure emerged from the shadows – an attractive woman with blonde hair pulled into a tight bun. In one hand, she held a menacing violet wand; in the other, she carried a glass of water with a single ice cube resting at its bottom. She dipped her fingers into the water and circled it around one of my now-erect nipples before placing it on…

After removing the tube from my penis, she lubed it with the same icy KY Jelly and began to jack me off with her frigid hand slowly. Her fingers were like ice against my heated skin, sending shivers down my spine. I was conflicted – terrified by the cold touch yet strangely aroused by the sensation. Each stroke of her hand sent a shiver down my spine, and I felt myself growing harder despite the situation. The contrast between the warmth of arousal and the chill of her touch was overwhelming, and I couldn’t help but moan out loud as she continued to pump her hand up and down…

The fourth figure, a tall, imposing man with a monstrous cock, stepped forward. Before I could even process what was happening, he grabbed me by the hair and forced his member into my mouth. His girth was unlike anything I had ever experienced before – so thick and complex that it felt like it would tear me apart. I gagged and gasped for air as he mercilessly pumped in and out of my mouth, using me as if I were nothing more than a toy for his amusement. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I struggled to breathe around his perimeter, but he didn’t relent.

As the man continued to fuck my mouth mercilessly, I could taste the salty tang of pre-cum on his dick. The absurdity of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks, and I found myself caught between fits of hysterical laughter and streams of tears. The dominatrix, amused by my plight, smirked down at me. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she purred. I wanted to deny it, to scream that this was all a mistake, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I nodded pathetically as the man pumped his seed down my throat, leaving me gagging at his bitterness.

The fifth and final figure, a woman with a riding crop, approached. Without any preamble, she began to lash at my balls, the leather biting into my tender skin. Each strike sent a wave of pain coursing through my body, but strangely enough, it also served to increase my arousal. I moaned as she hit me harder and harder, the stinging sensation making my cock twitch against the cold altar beneath me. The others in the room laughed at my predicament as if they knew all along that I would succumb to this depraved pleasure.

As the ceremony ended, the dominatrix approached me, her heels clicking ominously on the cold, hard floor. “We’re not done yet,” she purred, a cold smile on her lips. Your training will continue until you are nothing more than our sex toy, our Feminized Pet.” Her words sent a shiver down my spine, equal parts fear and anticipation. “You will be used by us whenever and however we see fit,” she continued, running a leather-clad finger down my chest. “And you will beg for more,” she purred into my ear, “no matter how painful it may be.”

The next evening, the exact hooded figures from my Feminization ceremony were there, their faceless visages just as terrifying as before. But now, they were joined by a group of men I had never seen before. All of them were either naked or wearing revealing leather outfits, their arousal painfully obvious from their bulging erections. My stomach clenched with fear and anticipation as I wondered what was in store for me next.

The dominatrix, my new mistress, stepped forward and addressed the group. “Tonight,” she purred, her voice dripping with malice and anticipation, “our Feminized Pet will be christened in the most ruthless and degrading manner possible. We shall transform this pathetic man into a pathetic sissy!” A shiver ran down my spine as I heard her words. A few of the men smirked and chuckled, but most of them looked at her with a combination of hunger, lust, and awe. Their eyes ravenously devoured me as I lay helplessly bound to the altar.

To my horror, she then ordered me to kneel in front of each man, one by one, and perform oral sex on them, no matter how repulsed I was by their size, smell, or taste. The first man in line was a hulking brute with a cock that could rival a baseball bat. His musk was overpowering, like a combination of sweat and cheap cologne gone rancid. I gagged as I got closer but knew I had no choice. Closing my eyes, I took him into my mouth, trying to focus on the sensation of his engorged shaft against my tongue rather than the taste of stale sweat and musk that invaded my senses.

“We now have a transformation. I present to you Chloe Elizabeth!” The dominatrix pronounced. “Now treat her like the bitch sub that she is!”

The next man in line was a skinny fellow with a pungent cheese-like odor wafting from his crotch. His penis was uncircumcised and uncut, with a mushroom-shaped head that seemed to pulse with every heartbeat. As I delicately pulled back his foreskin, the smell intensified tenfold, making my stomach churn. But I swallowed my pride (literally) and took him into my mouth, too, sucking and licking as if he were made of fine chocolate instead of what felt like an overripe brie cheese log.

The third man was better looking than the others so far—a pretty boy with long eyelashes and full lips—, but his cock tasted like ash and cigarettes; each drags on him filled my lungs with the acrid stench of Marlboro Reds.

As the gangbang began, I felt a surge of power and confidence she’d never before experienced. Her heart raced, adrenaline pumping through her veins as she experienced the feminization unfold before her very eyes. The once-proud man was reduced to a quivering, submissive plaything for these dominant men to use as they pleased. It was both terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

The room was alive with the sounds of moans, grunts, and the wet slapping of flesh on flesh as each man took their turn with my newly feminized body. I was Chloe, and she was me! I couldn’t help but feel aroused by the sight, her pussy throbbing with desire. She bit her lower lip, fingers trembling as she unconsciously stroked her swollen clit cock through her leather pants.

As the gangbang intensified, a vast and imposing man grabbed me by the hair, forcing his thick cock down my throat. I gagged and spluttered, tears streaming down my cheeks as he mercilessly pumped in and out of my mouth. His cock was so big, stretching my jaw to its limits, but I couldn’t help but feel a sick sense of arousal welling up inside me.

At the same time, another man roughly spread my newly feminized ass cheeks apart, lubing up his massive cock before plunging it deep inside me without any warning. I screamed into the first man’s cock as he continued to fuck my mouth relentlessly. The pain and pleasure were indistinguishable at this point, my senses overwhelmed by the sheer depravity of the situation.

I found myself transformed into an obedient sex toy, a pawn in their lewd game. I knew this was just the beginning of her new life, and I felt her connection to AJ growing more assertive as she took his body more profoundly and deeper into depravity. She was now part of their world, their possession.

The men chuckled at her struggle, their cocks hard and eager for her ass, their abuse more pleasure than pain. Then came the woman, smacking my breasts and cock before menacingly approaching me; I cried out in discomfort as she began to slap, probe, and roughly play with my newly feminized body.

“Enjoy your first lesson in submission,” she whisper-screamed in my burning, violated ear, making me cum all over the floor. It was sickening and exhilarating- evidence that my transformation was complete. They all laughed, agreeing on their next steps for Chloe Elizabeth.