Submissive Men’s Fantasy: To Be Sexually Dominated In An Aggressive Way
I improvised this sexually aggressive scenario when I met my favorite slave in Shanghai.
Isn’t every submissive man’s dream to have an aggressive, dominant woman sexually taking advantage of you?” I said, my voice a low, teasing drawl as I watched him, letting the words hang heavy in the air. “I can only be sexually aggressive to men who turn me on — and you, you’re lighting me up.” His eyes flickered, caught off guard, and I could see the way his breath quickened, the subtle shift in his stance like he wasn’t sure whether to lean in or pull back. Too late for that. The heat in me was already surging, wild and unrepentant, and I wasn’t about to let him slip through my fingers.
He muttered something about getting me water, a nervous little escape attempt, but I moved faster, stepping in to block him, cornering him against the wall with a swift, deliberate stride. His back pressed against it, and I caught that spark of surprise in his eyes, his chest rising sharper now. My hand shot to his shoulder, firm and commanding, fingers digging into the muscle just enough to feel his warmth seep through his shirt. I pinned him there, my body closing the gap until it was nothing but heat and tension between us.
My gaze locked onto his — those wide, unsteady eyes that couldn’t look away, trapped in mine. I leaned in slow, savoring the way his breath hitched, the way he tensed under my touch without even meaning to. My lips brushed his face first — a soft, taunting kiss along his cheekbone, then another, lower, tracing the edge of his jaw with a tenderness that belied the fire driving me. Again and again, I kissed him, gentle but relentless, each one claiming a little more — his temple, the corner of his mouth, the faint roughness of his skin against my lips. My free hand slid to his neck, fingers curling possessively, tilting his head just right as I hovered over his lips, barely grazing them, letting the anticipation coil tighter.
I pulled back just enough to stare into him again, my eyes burning with intent, daring him to move. My grip on his shoulder tightened, and I pressed myself closer, my body pinning his now, the aggression simmering beneath every slow, deliberate touch. “You’re not going anywhere,” I murmured, voice thick with hunger, before diving back in — teeth grazing his jaw this time, a sharp little nip, then his lips, rough and unyielding, tasting the moment I’d been craving.
