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“Well,” she says, “be a big boy. Use your words.”

I don’t know how to say it, how to admit what I need, and it hangs there, thick and heavy. “I want to—I want to have actual sex,” I finally manage. It sounds hollow, even to me.

She lets out a small, amused noise. “That was real sex, Ethan.” The way she says my name makes me shiver. “It’s so much more than penetration. It’s about power and surrender. What do you think you were doing when you came all over yourself, the towel, and my floor?” She looks at me with knowing, expectant eyes, waiting for an answer.

I feel my face go hot, and the heat of embarrassment mixes with the heat of desire. “Having sex,” I say, the words almost a whisper. I can’t look at her, can’t stand how exposed I feel.

“Exactly.” The triumph in her voice makes my pulse race. She leans closer, her scent enveloping me. “And when you were crawling after me like a desperate puppy, that was sex too. When I was stroking and tormenting you, that was sex. When you released all over, that too was sex. Did you actually think you would ever be inside me?”

There’s a catch in my breath. “Why not?”

She looks at me, her eyes narrowing just enough to make me squirm. “Because penetration is power, and you have none, so you cannot,” she says, each word sharp and deliberate. “You’ve exchanged that power away for service and pleasure.” I let her words wash over me, unable to do anything but listen, my chest tight with the painful knowledge that she’s right. She continues, relentless. “Everything we’ve explored has been about surrender. You haven’t used the power of your own camera once after the first time we met. Every single tryst, I’ve framed you, posed you, marked you, and felt something inside you. You’re a submissive. Just as I am a dominant. It’s a natural cycle. Dominants and submissives need each other. Two halves of the same coin.” Her voice is calm, even, like she’s teaching me a lesson I should have learned a long time ago.

“If I were to guess, your previous relationships fell short,” she says. I lower my gaze, confirming it. “That’s your submissive nature coming out.” Her words hit me with the same certainty as her touch, and I can’t help but see memories of inadequacy and insecurity flickering through my mind. She reaches out, strokes my arm. “Maybe they sensed you weren’t living true to yourself,” she’s speaking softly. “Inauthenticity shows, Ethan.”

“But, submission can reveal a hidden power in you. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just a flower who had been planted in the wrong soil before. But I’ll water you, tend you, cultivate your delicious submission.” Her gaze pierces me, and I feel a pang of regret, like something vital has been lost. I sink into myself, unable to stop it. Unable to deny it. Until her voice cuts through again. “Was this going to be… your first time? Remember, use your words.”

It’s like she’s commanding more than just a response. She’s commanding the truth. I’m breathing heavy, my whole self collapsing under the weight of what I know she wants to hear. “Yes, my Queen,” I say, defeated, resigned. “It was.”

There’s a trace of pity in her gaze, but she doesn’t let up. She doesn’t let me go. “Some day, if you’ve earned it, I mean really earned it, I’ll give you the privilege of being inside me. I’ve never given any slave that before.” It sounds hollow, an empty promise, but I cling to it like a lifeline, like a distant goal. Like it might mean something if I hold on hard enough.

She watches me, and I feel like she’s looking straight through to my insides, straight through to all the hopes and fears I keep hidden there. “Now,” she says, and the sound is as precise as the edge of her razor, “you need to get dressed.”

“I don’t have clothes,” I protest.

She shakes her head, amused, almost disappointed. “Seriously? You didn’t bring a spare set after I told you these were going to be ruined? Jesus Christ.”

“I wasn’t thinking,” I admit. I’m weak, used, and she knows it.

“Obviously not.” Her tone is sharp, cutting through the last defenses I have. “Being led with your dick seems to have pulled the blood from your brain. Okay, genius, you can borrow my robe and bring it back tomorrow. Now, go.”

I’m bristling at the way she dismisses me, the way she commands me, the way I can’t get enough of it, and she knows. Of course she knows. “Yes, my Queen.”

I gather my keys, my phone, my wallet from the pile of shredded clothes, her words echoing in my head as I pull her pink robe from the hook. The camera’s red light is still vivid in my mind, still burning me up inside, as I pad out to my car. The night is empty and wanting, just like me.

Heather's Story (coming soon)

"Shhhh…" She placed a hand across my lips. "You think I didn't notice you staring at me during the football games?"

As a faculty member, I had an excuse to be there. As family, I was there cheering my little brother on.

"You think I didn't see trying to hide your erections during class? We all notice it. Every single girl in your classes knows. The moment you walked into my dorm room, I won a bet over who could get you first."

I sputtered and stammered, trying to form words of denial. It was no use. There were a lot of young girls in my English class, and a lot of long silences while they read a passage or wrote a response to a question on the whiteboard. I couldn't help but look, even if the early freshmen like Heather were only half my age.

Nubile teens in immodest tops caused frequent disturbances at my desk and many times over the last semester. I sometimes had to give the lesson or answer questions from a seated position lest I give myself away. Apparently, I wasn't good enough at hiding it, though. While I contemplated this, she straddled me, still wearing her skirt and gray socks. I heard the click of her heels as she settled into position on my core.

"You little bitch…" I said wonderingly.

"Now be a good boy, and let me know what an orgasm from a grown man feels like," she said teasingly.

She scooted forward, pinning my arms under her thighs and reached out in front of her to slide the drapes open, letting in the morning sunlight. We were on the third floor, so I had no illusions that we were going to be seen, but the thought of being exposed drove me to new heights of lust.

Bracing her arms against the cheap headboard, she locked her elbows and rolled her hips against my face, reaching down briefly to drag her panties aside before grabbing the headboard again.

She bucked and ground against my goatee, alternating between fondling her breasts and grabbing the top of the bed as I buried my face and mouth against her slick pussy. I hadn't had sex like this in years. My marriage had grown stale, and I had forgotten what passion was like until Heather met me in my office. She fucked my face now, and I eagerly lapped up her juices, sucking her swollen clit. I tried reaching up to bring my hands to the mix, but her thighs pinned my arms down even harder. I settled for grabbing the backs of her legs instead and forcing her labia even harder against my mouth.

My cock surged at the feeling of the thick cotton beneath my fingers. She moaned, gasped, and wiggled on my face. Cries of pleasure mixed with mewls, and young, girlish giggles. I tried forcing my tongue in, but the tightness of her snatch made it a futile exercise. I could taste the change in her nectar; she was close. My mouth and nose were full of the scents of Lycra and cotton mixed with Heather's juices as she began to cum.

As I worked her quim, she gyrated earnestly, reaching back to stroke my cock. Dribbles of hot pre cum lubricated her hand as we both twitched and jerked. She gripped my shaft intensely, cutting off both the blood flow and directing my orgasm. She moaned and cried out loud, and I knew the entire floor could hear us. I tried to respond, but only muffled gasps came out as I shot my load across her back and hair.

Heather's Story (coming soon)

She paused before continued. “Were there other vulnerable girls, Mister Rikes?” She asked, opening my dresser. I answered with silence. It was to my detriment, but I was feeling stubborn. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that she was the only one. “Girls that you took advantage of? Do their parents know? What about your wife? Does she know?” She held up the pair she left for me earlier. “Here they are!” She let out a childish giggle of excitement.

“You weren’t … going to keep these, were you?” She gave me a disappointed pout, then added a childish lilt to her voice. “Because what kind of naughty, bad man steals a wittle girl’s panties? I’m going to have to punish you.

“I bet you want these back …,” she mocked. “You can earn them.”

I watched the first drop of clear fluid leak from my cock as she arched her back and stripped her sports bra. She took her time showing off. Her breasts stood out pale and firm, with pink nipples and puffy areolae. The way she wiggled as she stripped out of her workout pants heightened my arousal. Then Heather climbed onto the bed wearing nothing but a black thong, carrying the blue pair in her hand. She dropped them over my aching cock and began stroking me, stretching the Lycra from the front panel over my glans with every downward thrust. Her lips were so close to my shaft I could feel her breath. Her tongue darted out, touching the panties, and not my skin.

“Oh, fuck,” I cried out.

“Ah-ah!” she said. “Every noise you make, I walk away.” She climbed off the bed and walked out of the room, taking them with her.

“Where are you going?!” I yelled.

“I just told you to be quiet! I’ll be right back … and you need to learn some fucking manners!”

Now silent, I concentrated on taking deep breaths. I heard the clinking of bottles in the refrigerator. I closed my eyes, willing my heart to slow and trying not to be nervous. Something made a hollow sound on my nightstand and I opened my eyes as she climbed onto the bed. Her entrance was silent. She had changed. She straddled me, sitting above me in a position of dominance once again. Only now she wore the blue panties soaked with my pre-cum, and a pair of black fishnet stockings, with wide holes.

“You like what you see?” she asked, running her hands over her taut body. I watched her nails run from her panties, up over her body, and across her breasts. She finally rested an index finger on her bottom lip, kissing it before placing it in my mouth.

“Yes, Ma-” I replied before Heather cut me off. She sounded formal.

“Nod your head yes or no. You don’t speak right now.”

Her voice was firm. “You learn well, though. If I let you speak, you are to address me as Miss Heather, or Ma’am. Understand?”

I nodded my assent.

“Good. Now shush. Be quiet.” She reached over onto my nightstand and grabbed something soft. Smothering my mouth, she began stuffing it with her used panties. They were the ones she wore to the gym and masturbated in on my couch. I breathed her scent deep into my lungs, inhaling her cum. I could feel the cool dampness of her juices on my tongue as my mouth became cottony.

“Good boy,” she continued. “After I dropped these off-” she tapped a manicured nail against the blue panties, “I bought these,” she continued, raking her nails up her stockinged thighs. “I was going to wear them for Josh, but I brought them for you instead. Now, you’re mine tonight, and I’m going to make you beg for this pussy. You’ll be … my bitch … by the time we’re done.” My eyes widened.

I also do Femdom scripts (https://www.loyalfans.com/itsKaileyWest)

• Hey there... Do you like what you see? I bet you do. I bet you're getting excited just looking at me, aren't you? Show me how much you want this. I want to see you touch yourself through those pants first. Can you do that for me? Just a little rub, right through the fabric. I want you to make a wet spot for me

• That's it. Good. I bet you're already getting hard. Does it feel good when you touch yourself? I bet it does. I love knowing you get excited for me. Keep touching yourself. Press a little harder. Feel how your cock responds to the pressure of your hand. Is that tip wet?

• Do you want to watch me touch my pussy? I might show you... if you're good. If you follow my instructions exactly. Would you like that? I bet. But first, I want you to pleasure yourself. I’m going to count you down from twenty, and by the time I reach zero, you’ll be cumming for your Goddess. Doesn't that sound amazing?

• Let's start. I want you to unzip those pants now. Slowly. Tease yourself like I would tease you if I were there. Pull down that zipper tooth by tooth. Can you hear that sound? That's the sound of you counting down to release.

• Now reach inside. Grab it for me. Don't take it out yet. Just feel yourself through your underwear. Trace the outline of your cock with your fingertips. Feel how hard you're getting. And it’s all for me, isn’t it? Say it out loud, say ‘yes, Miss Kailey’ for me. Are you throbbing yet? I bet you are. Say it again: Yes, Miss Kailey.

• Twenty... That's it. Now take it out. Let me see that beautiful cock of yours. Wrap your hand around it, but don't stroke yet. Just hold it. Feel the weight of it in your palm. God, you’re so fucking desperate already.

• Nineteen... Give it one slow stroke from base to tip. Just one. Feel every inch. Is your cock sensitive at the head? I bet it is. I'd love to run my tongue right around the edge, tasting you. Would you like that? Say ‘yes, Miss Kailey.’ Maybe at the end, if you can last, you can see how I'd do it.

• Eighteen... two more strokes now, nice and slow. Squeeze yourself a little tighter for me. Imagine it's my hand wrapped around you, my fingers exploring every vein, every ridge. I bet your cock looks so good in your hand.

• Seventeen... Faster now. Give me five quick strokes. Does that feel good? I bet there’s pre-cum glistening at your tip. So responsive. So eager. If you keep following my instructions, maybe I'll take off my top. Would you like to see my tits while you stroke that beautiful cock?

• Sixteen... Stop. Don't move. Just hold it. Feel how desperate you are to keep going. That ache when you pause right in the middle of pleasure. Torture, isn't it? But the wait makes it so much better. Trust me. Say ‘yes, Miss Kailey.’

And non-fiction (book coming soon)

The Economic Fiction

Throughout history, women have been portrayed as either property or economic burdens, with their value determined by societal norms and patriarchal structures. This lies has perpetuated female dependence despite progress in other areas.

 In medieval Europe, daughters were considered the husband's property until transferred to husbands through marriage, usually without consent. Financial transactions like dowries and bride prices treated women like goods for sale, with their preferences ignored in favor of family financial gain. This commodification created a system where a woman's value depended primarily on her virginity, fertility, and domestic capabilities – attributes that benefited males while treating the woman as property.

Women's roles were limited to household duties like childcare and cleaning after marriage, relegated to home responsibilities without any say or agency. Later, men would allow women some say in children's education and voting rights, but not everywhere, and not for centuries after their diminished roles were established. Until recently in the US (circa 1970), female education was largely limited to skills that enhanced their value as potential wives – household management, basic literacy, music or art to display family status, and social graces that reflected well on husbands.

Biblical law set up a property relationship clear: "If a man sells his daughter as a servant, she is not to go free" (King James Bible, Exod. 21.7). Similarly, if a man raped an unmarried virgin, his punishment was to pay her father and marry her – clearly showing that acts against women were treated as property damage rather than crimes against people.

Legal structures reinforced this through systems that erased female economic independence. Under English common law's principle of coverture, a married woman's legal identity was completely absorbed into her husband's, leaving her without rights or autonomy (Zaher 45). This coverture served as the basis for American legal framework, and married women couldn't own property in their own names until the mid-19th century with the passage of Married Women's Property Acts.

In America, inheritance practices reinforced male power by creating generations of economically vulnerable women while perpetuating patriarchal control. Women's financial security explicitly depended on marriage or a male relative's support, leading to a perverse cycle: laws preventing women from financial independence forced them into dependency (Federal Reserve History 12). This has continued to shape personal relationships, with men often framing women as "burdens" that must be supported.

This economic repression of women was stratified along class lines, with elite women restricted to ornamental roles demonstrating male wealth while working-class women performed essential but undervalued labor. Both patterns served the same function: ensuring women's continued subordination.

Legislation throughout history shows the exclusion of women from financial power, with laws restricting female land ownership in America and excluding them from certain professions well into the 20th century (Federal Reserve History). These restrictions were justified as "protections" rather than limitations, framing control as benevolence.

Though women advocated and legal barriers fell, economic myths adapted to maintain gendered hierarchy. The concept of the "family wage" emerged during industrialization, assuming male breadwinners would support wives. This justified lower pay for women and exclusion from some industries (Federal Reserve History). When women entered the workforce in greater numbers, occupational separation channeled them into underpaid jobs.

This myth of women as economic burdens continues today, shaping discussions about childcare and household labor. Despite research showing unpaid domestic work is approximately 40% of global GDP, women's essential economic contribution remains largely invisible in national accounts and policy – painting women's unpaid work as secondary instead of essential and ignoring their actual contributions (United Nations).

Further writings

Effort

It’s the hair and the nails, and the makeup and the perfume.
It’s the plumage.
I’m desperate for it.
It’s the cleavage, and the skirts.
The boots and heels.
The more of it is, the weaker I get.
The weaker I get the farther I fall under her control.
That’s what I want. I want that downward spiral, where I slide and drift until I land on the floor at her feet
I want to be a weak bitch and I want to serve my Queen.
I want to kiss stockinged feet and drown in the smell of leather.
I want to crawl and stare up lovingly up at her cruel visage.
I want to suffer and be denied while I leak until I’m a mindless puppet.
The more she dresses up, the more she shows, the harder I am.
Hair, and nails, and makeup and perfume.
Please let me be your bitch.