Repost as I've finished the story and fixed a few bits. I love this one 
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Submissive to Ann (F/M – BDSM)
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Chapter 1: The Quiet Bond
The room is quiet, the soft hum of the TV filling the space as Ann lounges on the couch, legs crossed lazily in her Converse trainers. The light is dim, the kind that wraps everything in a golden haze, making it feel like time is suspended. She’s not paying much attention to the screen; it’s more of a backdrop for the moment, her thoughts elsewhere, her presence steady.
You’ve just stepped out of the shower, the towel wrapped loosely around your waist, water droplets still clinging to your skin. You move through the living room without hesitation, drawn instinctively to the warmth of her presence. There’s no plan. No thought in your head except the need to be near her.
You kneel beside her, not with any instruction, but because it feels right — natural. You’re still a little shy, your body still wet, but you’re here. And she’s here.
Without a word, you rest your head against her leg, nuzzling gently, the soft fabric of her jeans warm beneath your cheek. It’s a quiet, simple gesture. But it speaks volumes. Her leg tenses slightly, the feeling of you against her grounding her, reminding her of the space you occupy in her world.
Her hand moves automatically, fingers running through your hair, soft and slow, like she’s reminding herself of the connection between you — and you, reminding yourself where you belong.
“There’s my good puppy,” she murmurs, her voice light but heavy with affection.
“Always here when I need you. Always at my feet. Always mine.”
You don’t speak. You don’t need to. The feeling of her hand in your hair is enough. You stay close to her, grounding yourself in the warmth of her touch, the love laced with subtle dominance.
“I know you don’t need words,” she continues, her fingers trailing softly down your neck. “But it’s nice to hear you grateful, isn’t it?”
You close your eyes for a moment, nodding gently, your body still beneath her touch. And in that simple, loving silence, you both exist — she’s not forcing anything. She’s just being with you. And you, being with her, don’t need anything more than this quiet surrender.
But as she strokes your hair, something shifts — just the faintest weight to her hand, pressing down a little more firmly. You look up at her, her eyes soft, but there’s something else behind them. Something… commanding, even when she’s smiling.
“You’ve been good today, haven’t you? Helping around the house. Being quiet when I needed you. I think you deserve a little reward, don’t you?”
Her words are soft, playful, but you feel them in your chest. And even though you don’t speak, you feel the pull of her control — it’s there, without being forced. Just a gentle nudge. An invitation.
“But if you want your reward, puppy…” she adds, her smile deepening, “you’re going to have to earn it. Show me you can stay right here, by my side. Without moving. Without speaking. Can you do that for me?”
You nod, the affection in your heart swarming, the quiet ownership settling comfortably in your bones. You stay close, resting against her leg as she continues to stroke your hair, her fingers now pressing into your scalp, grounding you.
“Good. I knew you could. You’re exactly where you need to be. And you’re mine… all mine.”
Her words are a soft promise, wrapped in warmth, and the touch of her hand tells you all you need to know.
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Chapter 2: Teasing Affection
You stay kneeling in front of her, the warmth of her leg beneath your cheek still grounding you. But as her fingers continue to run through your hair, the faintest, playful smile tugs at her lips. Her attention drifts from you, back to the TV, and then to her phone — just for a moment, but it’s enough. You know what that means.
She shifts her legs, one foot sliding slowly down toward you, her Converse trainer nudging your face gently. It’s a small movement, casual, but intentional. You know what to do without her saying a word.
You tilt your head, lips brushing the side of her shoe, and then softly kiss the worn rubber. The scent of leather and fabric fills your senses as you press a little deeper into her, offering yourself like the good puppy you are. Your tongue flicks out, tentative at first, but she doesn’t stop you. She’s watching you, though — her gaze flicking back to the screen now and then, pretending to be distracted.
You start to lick, gently, feeling the warmth of her shoe against your lips, the slight scrape of the sole beneath you as you move. Your devotion is clear, the soft hum of your need pressing into the quiet room.
But then, without warning, her foot shifts again, this time with more purpose. It presses gently, but firmly, against your chest, and she pushes you back just enough to make you pause.
“I didn’t tell you to lick me, puppy,” she says, her voice calm but laced with that unmistakable command.
You blink, looking up at her, trying to hold your place. You haven’t been told to stop, not yet.
Her eyes flicker down to you, and there’s that faint, affectionate smile again, the one that says she’s enjoying this — enjoying seeing you squirm.
“No… no more for now,” she adds softly. “You’re so eager, but sometimes you need to wait.”
With a playful flick of her foot, she taps your shoulder, coaxing you to lay down beside the sofa, face up. The soft carpet beneath your back feels like a contrast to the tension in your chest, and your eyes lift to her, waiting.
“On the floor. Beneath me. Face up. Now.”
You obey, rolling onto your back, feeling the heat rise in your body as you stretch out in the vulnerable position, beneath her gaze. Your heart hammers, but you don’t dare speak — not until she gives you permission.
Ann glances down at you from the sofa, her phone now in hand, the quiet click of her fingers scrolling through something on the screen. She’s completely casual, as if you were nothing more than a comfortable presence in her space.
And yet, her foot moves again — this time, stepping lightly on your chest. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you of your place. It’s a light pressure, but it makes you feel small, vulnerable, completely hers. You want more of it, but you stay still, watching her.
She lets the footrest there for a moment, her gaze never leaving her phone, barely acknowledging you. Then, slowly, her foot shifts, moving to your stomach, pressing gently as she shifts her weight.
You feel her heel tap your ribs, then slide down to your thighs, then back up. Each movement is a soft reminder, a small command, that you’re here for her amusement. Here for her control.
She’s not in a hurry to make you suffer — no, this is a different kind of domination. It’s casual. It’s easy. And yet, there’s a brutal elegance to it. A reminder that, even when she’s not fully engaged with you, you belong to her, and she knows it.
The pressure of her foot presses against your chest again, firm but light, as if she’s checking to see how much you’ll take without a word.
And then, she ignores you. Her phone becomes her focus again, and you’re nothing but a piece of furniture to her — her personal footstool. And for now, that’s enough.
“Stay there. Be still. If you move, I’ll punish you.”
Her tone is teasing, yet firm. It’s a reminder that she’s in control, always. Her right foot rests lightly on your mouth, the soft rubber of her trainer meeting your lips, like a silent invitation. She doesn’t need to say anything — her presence is commanding enough.
You kiss the shoe gently at first, your lips pressing softly against the worn leather. Before pushing your face more deeply against the sole, lips parting, togue flattening, lapping at her sole, worshipping.
You feel Ann respond, pushing her foot more firmly against your lips.
Without warning, you feel her left foot shift, and suddenly, you feel the gentle pressure of it moving against your towel. She presses just enough to knock the fabric to the side, revealing your already hard cock. You don't move, hands still laying loosely at your sides. But in the moment, you hesitate, you stop licking her other foot.
Ann responds with a light but forceful tap against your mouth. The message is clear; she didn't tell you that you could stop. You begin to lick and lap at the sole of her trainer once more, a little more feverishly, as if making up for your indiscretion.
The left foot continues as it began. The trainer gently treading on, nudging and playfully tapping your hard cock. You let out a small involuntary moan at the attention.
A small smirk escapes Ann's lips, and she pressed down more forcefully with the flat of her foot, crushing your cock and balls against your stomach.
You squirm slightly, she responds by increasing the pressure, enjoying her controlled dominance over your exposed body.
She doesn’t glance down, her eyes still focused on her phone, as though you’re not even there — just a silent, obedient presence beneath her. Her foot continues to tease your cock, she presses again, crushing, not harshly, but with just enough force to remind you of the vulnerability she holds over you.
“You want this, don’t you? To be touched by me” she murmurs, still not looking at you. “But you’ll have to wait. I decide when you’re allowed.”
Her foot presses down more firmly now, her focus on your balls, enough to make you squirm, pant slightly. You attempt to lift your head slightly and her right foot swiftly moves from your mouth, away from your adoration to your forehead. Pinning you back down, letting you know, in no uncertain terms, that you're not to move.
Ann waits for a beat, not moving, enjoying the tension, the control. But she’s not finished with you.
As she shifts her weight, her right foot moves down from your forehead to your throat — not enough to ch0k3 you, but enough to remind you of her control. Her gaze never leaves her phone, but her foot presses against your neck. You’re trapped under the weight of it, vulnerable and exposed. You feel helpless, owned, completely under her control - even more so as she applies it so casually, seemingly with so little care or effort.
“Look at you,” she says softly, but the words are laced with a quiet power. “So obedient. So needy. But still… you’re mine, aren’t you?”
You feel the pressure of her foot on your throat — it’s enough to make you gasp, just a little. She’s not trying to hurt you; it’s a test.
You don't speak, she didn't intend you to answer, it's just a statement of fact. You are entirely hers. You've been reduced from giving her an affectionate nuzzle, to a mindless, longing, pet in only a few minutes. With no more effort on her part than a few softly spoken words and a few well-placed movements of her feet.
She presses harder with her right foot, stealing your breath, you can feel the thumping of the blood in your head. She toys with you casually, letting you breath, taking it from you, testing your obedience as she remains uninterested in you, her attention divided. Playing with you almost like an object, a toy, under her control.
Her left foot shifts again, it's been resting almost casually against your cock. You'd grown use to the pressure, almost a warm comfort. She begins to tap, lightly flick and kick your cock, toying with you as she pleases, giving you just enough contact to remind you of your place — beneath her, at her mercy, her control woven through every inch of the interaction.
“Stay still,” she says, her voice soft yet firm. “You’ll get nothing more unless you prove you can hold your position. Be still, obedient, and patient.”
And so, you wait. For her. For her next move. For her to decide what comes next, because, at the end of the day, it’s her choice. And all you can do is stay still, under her control, knowing you exist for her.
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Chapter 3: Collared and Owned
The moment stretches, lingering in the stillness. You lie beneath her gaze, obedient and silent, her feet shifting casually over your body like you’re nothing more than an object for her amusement. The softness of her touch, the weight of her presence, is all you need.
Then, without warning, Ann’s expression shifts — her eyes meeting yours, darkened with subtle command. The playful teasing that had been so casual before hardens just slightly, a new clarity in her voice.
“You’ve been a good boy, puppy.” Her voice is a low murmur, full of affection but with that underlying edge. “You've earned a little more.”
You feel a spark of anticipation. She’s not done with you yet. Not by a long shot. The space between you tightens with the unspoken understanding that she’s about to take the dynamic further.
“Go and fetch your collar and leash. Now.”
The command is simple, but you know better than to hesitate. You rise, slowly, the weight of her words pulling you to your feet. You leave the room, your feet light on the ground as you hurry to obey. The collar and leash are waiting in the bedroom, tucked neatly on the chair. You grab them quickly, feeling the cold metal of the collar in your hand, and the familiar weight of the leash.
Your heart races as you return to her, the cool air around you almost a sharp contrast to the warmth of the space she occupies. When you step back into the room, Ann is still seated comfortably, her attention lazily returning to her phone, the screen glowing in the dim light. She hasn’t moved.
“Crawl to me,” she says softly, without looking up.
You can feel her gaze on you even though she doesn’t make it obvious. You drop to your hands and knees immediately, crawling forward, the collar handing gently from your mouth, the attached leash trailing behind you. The sound of your movements feels almost louder than they are, your heart pounding with the anticipation of what’s coming next.
You stop right in front of her; the collar and leash still held delicately in your mouth. Ann doesn’t say a word at first. She just looks down at you, eyes taking in the sight of you before her. It’s the look of someone who owns you. Who commands you. Who sees you for what you are.
She places a hand gently on the back of your head, guiding you, just a little, so you can rest your forehead against the edge of her thigh. It’s a small touch, but it sends warmth through your chest. The affection is always there, always woven into her dominance.
“Such a good puppy,” she murmurs, almost absentmindedly. “You’re always ready to serve. Ready to obey.”
She reaches down, her fingers grazing the collar in your mouth. There’s a moment of silence as she takes the collar from you, the leather warm beneath her fingertips. She wraps it around your neck slowly, the metal clasp clicking shut, securing it into place. You feel a rush of warmth flood your body, the symbol of your submission settling into place with the softest of pressure.
“Now you’re really mine,” she says quietly, her eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second. It’s a moment that feels like everything. You are hers, and she is yours. There’s nothing more.
She pauses, then, and you sense that something is coming. Something more than just the simple act of placing the collar on you. She shifts, her weight slightly adjusting on the couch, and the air thickens with her quiet thoughtfulness.
“Turn around. Don’t look at me,” she orders softly, her voice carrying that unmistakable edge of control.
You obey at once, shifting on your knees, and turning away from her. You hear the faint rustle of her clothes, the sound of her jeans being unbuttoned, the belt pulled from the loops with a soft snap.
“Stay still,” she continues. “And don’t you dare look.”
You can hear the soft shuffle of her trainers being kicked off, followed by the sound of her jeans fall to the floor. The room seems to hold its breath; each sound filled with anticipation. You feel exposed, vulnerable in this moment — but there’s a quiet thrill that comes with it. A deep, intimate surrender.
You feel her standing behind you, not touching, but close enough that you can feel the warmth of her presence.
Gently she runs her hands down your shoulders and pulls your arms together behind your back. You hear a brief sound as she collects the canvas belt from the floor and loops it around your crossed wrists. You feel the cinch as she pulls it tight.
Ann's hands roam up your arms, to your neck, grasping your chin. She guides you then, using your chin to turn you toward her once more, moving you into position, settled in front on her, on your knees stills.
She settles back onto the sofa once more, leaning to one-side, legs curled under her, feet resting on the edge of the sofa cushion.
You stay still as instructed, waiting for her next move.
She clasps your chin in her hand and raises your gaze to meet her eyes.
“Worship me,” she says softly.
She gently shifts her hand to the back of your head, tugging at your hair, pulling you toward her foot where it rests on the sofa. Your lips brush against her skin, soft yet commanding. There’s a gentle tenderness in the way she guides you — a reminder that even in her ownership, there’s love.
You kiss the top of her bare foot gently, licking it lightly.
She lifts her foot, letting it rest against your cheek, her toes curling softly against your skin. You begin to kiss the soft arch, your lips tracing the curve of her foot, the feeling of her skin against yours sending a rush through your body.
“Good boy,” she murmurs, her voice warm but laced with that playful dominance. “You know exactly where you belong.”
She releases her grip on your hair, and almost lazily picks up the leash, letting it hang loose between her palm and your collar.
You understand this is your cue. You turn your face into the sole of her foot and press against it, breathing her in, before kissing, lapping, and worshipping at her feet more fervently.
You feel Ann shift her weight and spare her half a glance as she settled more heavily back into the sofa.
She raises her other foot to join the first, pressing both into your face. You worship them, as you worship her.
Chapter 4: Total Submission
The room is still, save for the soft sound of Ann’s breath, the only reminder of her presence as she reclines, one leg casually resting over the other. You remain kneeling at her feet, collar still tight around your neck, leash hanging loosely from her hand. Your body is taut with anticipation, every part of you tuned to her energy. The air between you both is thick with the understanding of your place, your submission, and her dominance.
Ann’s eyes are half-lidded, her gaze soft, almost distant, but there’s a quiet power in her silence. She doesn’t need to look at you to make you feel owned. She doesn’t need to say a word for you to know exactly what she wants. Her grip tightens on the leash, and for the briefest moment, your pulse quickens.
“Come here,” she says, her voice soft but commanding, as her fingers curl around the leash, pulling gently, urging you forward.
You move, slowly, obediently, your hands still bound behind your back, the belt cinching your wrists together. The leash moves with you, her hand guiding you effortlessly, like a puppet, your body responding without question. You feel the pull of it, a quiet reminder of her power, the unspoken truth that you belong to her.
When you’re close enough, Ann’s hand rests on the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. She doesn’t say anything more, just guides you down, her gaze never leaving her own. You feel her guiding you lower, and with every inch, the pressure builds — a constant reminder of your place, of your purpose.
You kiss the soft fabric of her thong first, tenderly brushing your lips against it before moving lower. You feel the warmth of her skin beneath the fabric. Your tongue flicks out, tentative at first. She hums in approval.
Her fingers tighten in your hair, but it’s a soft pressure, a loving grip that still carries her full control. She guides you, urging you to move closer, your breath mingling with the heat of her body. The pace is slow, deliberate, like a dance — she’s in control of every movement, and you simply follow.
Her body shifts, just slightly, her legs parting as she guides your mouth lower still. Her other hand gently moves her thong to one side. You feel the heat radiating from her skin, and you begin to kiss more eagerly, your lips pressing against her, feeling the pressure of her body against you.
“Good boy,” she murmurs, her voice low, affectionate, as she adjusts her position. “You know exactly what I need.”
She relaxes again, letting you take your time, guiding you slowly, like she’s enjoying the tenderness of this moment. You move between soft kisses, licks, and gentle strokes, your mouth finding its way to her pussy.
Her fingers tug your hair once more, gently but firmly, pulling you in, urging you to press closer, to give her more. The quiet tension between you both begins to shift, and the control she exudes over you becomes more evident.
You feel the way her body moves, the gentle swaying of her hips, her legs opening wider, inviting you to submit even further. She guides your mouth to her clit, the heat overwhelming you. You obey, kissing, licking, offering yourself to her completely.
Her grip in your hair tightens, this time with a little more force. Her voice, though soft, carries a note of deeper command now. “Don’t stop,” she says, her voice almost a whisper. “Keep going Puppy".
There’s a stillness to the moment, but it’s charged. Your mind is consumed with the overwhelming need to please her, to serve her, and yet, you are reminded of your place. You move in rhythm with her gentle guidance, each movement deliberate, but always in tune with the control she holds.
As you continue, her body begins to shift, the pressure of her legs growing firmer as she begins to lean into you. She doesn’t rush it — no, she’s enjoying the slow progression. The grinding of her hips against your mouth is gradual, but it carries a powerful message.
The shift in her movement is subtle at first, but soon, she begins to grind, pushing forward, urging you deeper, harder into her. The feeling of her body against yours becomes more intense, but still, you are nothing more than an instrument for her pleasure.
Her movements grow more insistent now, and you can feel the way her body begins to tighten with the rising tension, her hands pulling your head into her forcefully as she begins to press down against you, smothering you, grinding against your face now.
Her breath quickens, the sound almost imperceptible at first, but as the moments pass, it grows more noticeable, matching the urgency of her movements. She begins to drive herself into you more forcefully, the rhythm shifting, intensifying.
And then, as she reaches her peak, the satisfaction of it pulses through her body. Her grip on your hair is tight, almost desperate now, as she climaxes. Her body tenses, her legs quaking slightly with the force of her release. You feel her release wash over you, her body relaxing for a moment before she gently strokes your hair in a tender caress.
For a moment, everything stills, the room quieter now. You stay where you are, obedient, face buried in her, short of breath, drinking in her scent. Ann shifts, her fingers sliding from your hair to the side of your face, and she gently pulls you up, bringing your head to rest on her thigh.
“Good boy,” she murmurs, her voice soft with satisfaction. Her fingers stroke through your hair, the warmth of her hand soothing against your skin. “You’ve done well. I’m proud of you.”
She relaxes into the couch again, her fingers still caressing you, the tender affection laced with the calm dominance that marks the space between you. The weight of her praise fills you completely — the feeling of being owned, of being hers, is enough.
“You’re mine,” she repeats softly, a simple truth. You are, and you always will be.
Chapter 5: Bound by Desire
The room is still, save for the faint sound of Ann’s breath, the aftershocks of her release still rippling through her body. She’s reclined on the sofa now, her legs parted just enough to invite you in, her eyes soft but laced with a hunger that you can feel from across the room. There’s a predatory glint in them that makes your pulse quicken, a silent command that cuts through the air.
You remain kneeling between her legs, your hands still bound behind your back, the belt cinched tight around your wrists. The tension in the air is palpable, thick with an unspoken understanding that you’re hers to command. The collar around your neck, the leash loosely in her grasp — these are the symbols of your submission, but also your connection. You are bound to her, in every sense of the word.
Ann’s gaze flicks down to your bound hands, and without a word, she reaches behind you, undoing the belt. Her fingers brush against the leather as she releases you, the action almost teasing, as if to remind you of her control. Her eyes never leave yours as she slowly lets the belt fall away, giving you the freedom to move your hands, but only when she’s ready for you to.
You don’t move, not yet. You wait for her. And then, her fingers curl around the leash, giving it a gentle tug that pulls you closer. You lean in instinctively, the familiar pull of her control drawing you in like a magnet. Her hand claps your chin and lifts your eyes to meet hers.
Holding eye contact, but without a word, she releases her chin and gently takes your hand by the wrist. She guides it to her throat.
There’s no hesitation now. Her voice is soft, commanding, almost urgent as she whispers, “You know what I need Puppy.”
You obey, your fingers pressing to the smooth skin of her neck, feeling the steady pulse beneath your fingertips. The way her grip on your wrist tightens just slightly as she guides your hand — encouraging you to squeeze, to take her breath, to make her yours — sends a thrill down your spine.
The connection between you both shifts. It’s not just physical now; it’s raw, animalistic. You can feel the power dynamic reverberating through your body. She wants this. She needs this. You press into her neck, the pressure building just enough to make her eyes flutter closed, a soft groan escaping her lips. Her legs tighten around you, pulling you in, urging you closer as her body responds to the grip around her throat.
Her hands are still on the leash, pulling you in further, guiding you to her. There’s something in her eyes now, something deeper, something darker. It’s an invitation, but it’s also a challenge. She’s giving herself to you, but only if you prove you can take her — if you can claim her.
Your hand tightens around her throat, and she gasps, her back arching as her breath hitches. The pleasure, the surrender, the tension — it all mixes together in a heady rush. Her eyes roll back slightly, lost in the sensation of your grip. You feel her body responding to the pressure, her pulse quickening beneath your hand as she lets go, fully submitting to you as you enter her.
But it’s not enough. You want more. The primal part of you, the part that only she can bring to the surface, pushes forward. Your body moves with hers, the rhythm slow at first, testing her limits, testing your own. She groans beneath you, her hips grinding forward as the pace quickens, you begin to drive into her, powerful, single minded thrusts.
You pull her closer, your hand still tight around her throat, feeling the pulse of life beneath your fingers, feeling the moment of complete surrender. Her hand grips the leash tightly, and her body responds, pushing herself against you harder, faster. She begins to buck and grind against you. Her moans louder, quickening.
You feel her heat, her need. You look her in the eye and hold her gaze with an animal lust. As she starts to spasm against you, you squeeze her throat, you own her breath, she is yours. You raise your other hand and place it firmly over her mouth, smothering her moans. You hold her there, yours, as she begins to shudder and shake against you.
And then, she climaxes. It’s not a soft, gentle release. It’s ferocious. Her body trembles beneath you as she lets out a ch0k3d gasp into your hand, a shudder of pure ecstasy. Her hand grips the leash, pulling you into her as her breath catches, her body clenching with the force of her orgasm.
You allow the hand on her mouth to fall away.
For a moment, everything stills. You stay still, your breath heavy, your other hand still resting on her throat, feeling the rise and fall of her chest beneath you. You are both caught in the aftermath, in the rawness of what just transpired.
Then, Ann shifts. She pulls you back gently, guiding your head to her chest. The pressure of your body against hers is soothing in its way, the chaos of the moment giving way to a quiet calm. You sink back onto your knees, your head resting on her chest, her fingers running through your hair with gentle affection. The leash is still in her hand, held loosely now, a reminder that she holds the power even in this moment of tenderness.
She strokes your hair softly, cooing with satisfaction, her voice low and soothing. “Good boy,” she whispers.
The warmth of her touch, the gentleness in her voice, fills you completely. You know, in this moment, that nothing else matters.
“You’re mine,” she murmurs again, and you feel the truth of it settle deep within you.
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