"She craved its weight, its raw, undeniable power—a longing that pulsed deep within, not just to possess it, but to wield it, to feel its strength as her own." – From the Queen Master Liz, on the allure of power and other useless thoughts.
It had been a long week, and I needed to unwind, a chat with someone who truly embodies the title of Dom. My friend, Albion, sat across from me at Rarities, having thoughtfully ordered a bottle of something rare and opulent. We began with cocktails, the evening’s atmosphere settling around us in an inviting hush, creating a cocoon of calm in his presence. Here, I felt I could speak freely, let my guard down, and confess things only he could understand.
“You cannot marry a sub,” he began, his voice smooth, that familiar glint behind his polished glasses. With his sharp gaze and controlled demeanor, he seemed more like an eccentric genius than a traditional Dom. “I’d never marry a sub—it just wouldn’t work.” I took a sip, the rich spirit warming me, and in that moment, I saw myself in his words. This was precisely the root of my own current predicament.
“You need an equal, Liz,” he continued, his eyes meeting mine with unflinching conviction. “A true Dom wouldn’t marry a sub—I know plenty who could tell you that.”
I nodded, letting his words settle as I realized, perhaps for the first time, that I, too, longed for an equal. Albion saw it, and I felt a pang of recognition that had been too long ignored.
On my way home, a notification lit up my phone, pulling me from my thoughts. It was Albion again.
“Your Grace,” he texted, a familiar playfulness woven into the message. I smirked, quickly replying, “Yes, my lord?”
“Would you care for a little something to brighten your self-reflection?”
My smirk deepened as I replied, “Go on.”
Photos appeared, each one showcasing a man with an effortless allure—a "Chalamet lovely" kind of face and an athlete’s physique. Albion’s taste was impeccable, as always.
“I have a specimen I think you’ll find agreeable,” he messaged, and I hearted a few of the photos, pausing over one that brought the film "Dune" to mind—an Adonis with just the right blend of innocence and depth. “He can use ‘The Voice’ on me all he wants,” I replied playfully, and Albion fired back, “Atreides power indeed, Your Grace.”
A smile curled on my lips, and I let myself sink further into the moment. “I could be Jessica…” I replied, my fingers hovering before pressing send. Albion’s response came promptly. “He’d love that.”
I glanced out the car window, the skyline blurring past, but my attention darted back to the screen as it lit up again. The photos were now more R-rated, showing glimmers of skin that was pale, smooth, flushed with health—a shade that I found irresistibly attractive.
“Too twinky for you?” Albion teased, but I replied swiftly, “He’s perfect.” I could see the dots as he typed, and I bit my lower lip.
“Want to share him, or have him solo?” he asked. A temptation I usually shied from, but this was his sub, after all—a gift, perhaps. “Let’s share,” I answered, feeling a thrill at the thought. “I could breed him for you,” he texted back, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth.
“I didn’t know you liked men?” I typed, teasing, and he replied simply, “I’m a Dom. Gender is irrelevant for my toys.” I hearted the message, a pulse of excitement quickening within me.
A few days later, I found myself at Albion’s stately brownstone in the heart of my neighborhood, dressed in a long black gown with a dramatic cape, a touch I knew he would appreciate. As I stepped inside, his smile confirmed my choice.
“You redecorated,” I observed with a smile. Albion took my hand, placing a lingering kiss on it before leading me through the foyer.
“Paul is waiting,” he murmured, barely concealing his grin. In the living room, “Paul” awaited us, and with a thrill that I held just beneath the surface, I stepped inside, ready to indulge in the game Albion had so expertly set in motion.
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