Playing Dom by Sky Corgan
**Limited time new release pricing of $0.99**
What happens when someone steps into the lifestyle blindly? Talia is about to find out. It seems like all fun and games until she pairs up with the wrong Dom.
Micah has been out of the lifestyle for a while. He’s down on his luck when it comes to finding stable submissives. They either leave him or want more than he can offer.
After going home to tend to family matters, Micah tries to get in with the local scene, feigning disinterest all the while. But when an enemy from the past shows up to pollute his good time, it becomes a game of wills and perseverance. Talia is caught in the middle, torn between fear and desire, pleasure and pain, and intrigue for the new stranger who could either be her savior or her undoing.
Content Warning: This story contains adult content. For readers 18+ only!
Description
Find more from this author on:
About the author:
Sky Corgan lives in a little podunk town near San Antonio, Texas. When she’s not typing away at the next steamy romance novel, she’s busy planning for future vacations. Originally a horror author, sex scenes and love stories kept magically creeping into her work, so she decided to make the switch to romance. Now she enjoys writing stories that make your heart flutter and your inner yearnings awaken.
What inspired you to write your book?
Personal experience with my own search for a submissive.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Moving sucks, and I never would have done it if it hadn’t been out of necessity or obligation or some other stupid fucking feeling that causes you to do something that completely goes against the grain of your desires. It couldn’t be helped though. Well, maybe it could have been if I was some asshole who didn’t give a crap. I couldn’t imagine letting her die without seeing me again. She deserved at least that much.
The shit part was having to see him too. He had beaten both of us when I was growing up. Her to the point of death once. Why she stayed with him I was never able to understand, but once I was old enough to leave I got the fuck out of there. He would have kicked me out if I hadn’t of left. I was always such a fucking inconvenience to him, just something he had shot out of his cock and had to tolerate for eighteen years. Tolerate was a gentle term compared to how he treated me—how he treated us.
He should have been the one to end up with cancer, but as they say, the good die young, leaving the rest of us monsters behind. My mother was a saint. She always had been. She tried to be the perfect mother, the perfect wife, the perfect woman, but it was never enough for him. I begged her to leave with me, but she wouldn’t come. Watching them together as I grew up was my first taste of dominance and submission. He was the alpha; she was the omega, and if I wasn’t his pup, I’m pretty sure he would have killed me somewhere along the way. Our blood bond was the only thing that had kept him from beating me to death, and he seemed to like to check the color of my blood often to make sure that I was his.
You’d think with such a background, I’d never take an interest in BDSM, that my mind would be too scarred from living in a domination hell to consider putting someone else through something similar, but they say that every man secretly wants to marry their mother, more accurately someone like her. Even though I swore to God that I’d never be an abusive asshole like him, I still craved the need to be served by women, both domestically and sexually. I craved the need to dominate, and so that’s what I eventually became, a Dominant.
Maybe the move was for the best. Things had been shit for me for a while. In my eight years as a Dominant, I only ever had one good sub. That was in the beginning, and my stupid ass had let my feelings get the best of me. When things got really serious between us, she had wanted to change the dynamic of our relationship, replacing the mantle of sub with the word girlfriend. Things went downhill from there as I lost control of her. I still kick myself in the ass for letting things get like that. She was the one who got away, not as a woman, but as a sub. When I wanted to change things back to the way that they were before, she refused, and the relationship crumbled. My body still aches for her at times, the perfect submissive she was. That’s over now though. After we broke up, she stopped talking to me. I chased her like a pathetic love sick puppy for about a month . . . until she got another boyfriend.
No one has really satisfied me since. Perhaps my standards are set too high. Maybe I’ve been comparing everyone to her, and they’ve failed the test. Since Hannah, my trial subs have either been too clingy or only want to play in the lifestyle. While I feel the need to dominate, I also like my free space. I don’t want someone around me twenty-four-seven. But I also don’t want someone who will only come around when it pleases them. That’s not submissive behavior. That’s them putting themselves in control. It’s funny how many people think they’re submissive but really aren’t. It’s the same with Doms though. There are so many fake ones out there, so many men who either don’t really have dominant qualities or who take things to the extreme and only use their title to lash out at innocent victims.
It was my last trial sub who finally made me want to take a step away from the lifestyle though. She was the distant kind, but she had a brilliant mind and a body to die for. I had never got to fully have my way with that body before I found out she had a second Dom behind my back. Fucking bitch. With so many people giving the lifestyle a bad name, or breaking the rules to fill their own personal agendas, what was the point anymore. It seemed like there were too many fakes, more chaff than wheat, too much hay not enough needles. I was tired of looking for that perfect girl—that perfect sub.
So after I got settled back in my hometown, I went on a random fuckfest. Condoms were abound as I racked up the notches on my bed post, so many that if they were literal, I might have needed to replace the headboard a few times. No matter how many girls I slept with though, I always left their beds with an empty feeling. Something wasn’t right inside of me, and no amount of sex was going to fix it.
I settled into my new job, went to visit my mother, and avoided my father the best I could. Just seeing him lit a fire inside of me that wanted to consume and kill him. The rage demon awakened, and I had to remind myself of all the years of therapy it took to quell it. He wouldn’t hurt me now. He’d be stupid to try. Because if he did, I would break him.
Back then, I was a skinny little shit. It was easy for him to over power me and beat me down. Now though, I had packed on the pounds, and it wasn’t fat. Hours of tirelessly lifting at the gym had my body looking like it was carved out of stone, and I could hit just as hard. No one was ever going to beat my ass again.
There were other perks to being fit. Women were easy to come by, and so I went through them like toilet paper. Use and discard. Use and discard. The ones that clung to me, I quickly wiped away with indifference. My body wasn’t the only thing that had grown over the years. My ego had inflated as well, and I had become somewhat of a cocky son of bitch.
For the first few weeks back, I felt out my surroundings and got a taste for the women in the area. So much had changed in the eight years that I’d been away. All the friends I’d known before had either moved or got married and had kids. It made me feel like the odd man out, but family had never been in my plans, and I wasn’t particularly interested in hanging out with a bunch of soccer moms and dads who probably spent most of their time gushing about their brats.
Bedding women was quickly getting old though, and I had other craving that were resurfacing. As fucked up as it was, seeing my mom and dad together reminded me of the things that were missing in my life, not the typical things that most people feel are missing from their mundane lives, but the darker cravings.
I knew better than to seek out what I truly wanted, that disappointment would be waiting just around the corner, as it always was when I felt weak and tried to reintegrate myself into the lifestyle. Despite the nagging voice in my head to let it go though, I found myself in front of my computer, searching a fetish website for local munches.
“Fuck,” I grumbled after jotting down the address for the next munch. Why couldn’t I stay away? Why couldn’t I just fap and fuck like a normal guy? This couldn’t lead anywhere good. It never did.
Exhausted from a long day of boring work as a health insurance salesman, I tossed myself down on my bed and shoved my hand in my boxers, grabbing my cock and filling my head with thoughts of her. Hannah. The perfect submissive. She cooked and cleaned and fucked like a Goddess. My mind went straight to memories of her shapely thighs as I pulled my dick out and began slowly stroking, the way those thighs would quiver when I ran my tongue up the inside of them, moving closer to the heat of her pleasure core. Just a touch was almost enough to throw her over the edge; she was so attuned to me. Never before had I been more in sync with a woman in every way possible. And then her fucking feelings stepped in and ruined it all. Not just hers, but mine. I had wanted her impossibly bad, in every sense of the word. And I had been so afraid of losing her that I was willing to give her whatever she wanted to keep her by my side. But in giving her what it took to make her happy, I had lost what made me happy. The scale of our relationship tipped to imbalance, and the weight of our differing needs was our downfall.
I sighed at my limp manhood, feeling defeated by Hannah’s memory. Even after so many years, she could still both inspire and destroy my pleasure with a single thought. Tonight was on the destructive end. It was a no-go. That’s why I tried not to think about her as much as possible. She still crept back into my mind every time I considered the lifestyle, probably because I held hope that I’d find someone like her—someone that could invoke the deepest part of my inner Dom, someone whom I could own completely.
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