One of AfterDarkLA's Twitter followers and avid reader, Leah, hit me up with a special tweet expressing her adoration for yours truly (can't blame her) and an intense desire to contribute to the site.

Now intense desires are my M.O., and flattery will get anyone everywhere with me, so I immediately hit her up.

Here's what she's got to say:

I love quality. When someone has perfected her craft – anything from digging a hole to creating an art masterpiece – and it's at the top level of its doing, she and it have my utmost respect.

Story writing/telling – especially about sex – is probably highest on my list.

Here is my first contribution to one of my favorite sites, an attempt to join the other seasoned writers whom I absolutely adore.

How could anyone pass up the opportunity to publish contributions from aspiring literary fornicators?

Taken Control

By Leah

The white leather of the collar creaked as I moved my head up and down on his hard cock.

His hand gently pushing my head down, he let out a slow moan as I gazed up at him with my lips still around him.

With his left hand firmly on the chain attached to my collar, he gives a little smirk — “good girl” – and orders me to my feet with a tug.

“Follow me.” I do as he demands.

With my lace thong nestled in my ass, soaking between my thighs, and red platform heels adding six inches to my stature, I walk topless in a school girl's kilt into the bedroom. Following him.

He pulls me to the bed and forces me to my knees with my ass pointed high up in the air. Then I feel his tongue on me.

Pulling the tiny sliver of fabric aside, his tongue explores me as his fingers tug at his pants until I hear them fall to the ground.

I feel his hard dick enter me without word — I moan as he pulls my head up and yanks my collar back. Then I feel the beautifully sharp pain of a paddle as my right ass cheek trembles. Again and again.

My senses are heightened with each crack, crack – CRACK! and the pain subsides as I swell with anticipation.

This is the ingredient I seek when I spice things up in my sex life. Candles, lingerie, music? Elementary, vanilla, boring. I'm a sub to the core, and the helpless meek weakling I become with domination is the only way I want to be fucked.


The feeling of being taken, vision blank from a blindfold, use of my limbs eliminated by a belt, scarf or cuff: That's what makes me wet. I want to be at someone else's mercy, and the idea of letting go of all control – control I have to fight and stand up for every day of my life – lets me be a different creature.

Having my clothes torn off, being forced into something I don't want only to eventually sink into the desire – and especially having a hard, throbbing dick forced inside of me without my consent – nothing turns me on more.

Even the words that cut me down as a woman, as a human — I salivate at the mere thought of hearing them barked at me in bed.

Dominance. When done right, there's nothing that turns me on more.

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