Mx Female Cruel Affection [Dom for Sub]

[Herr Gabor]

Greetings. Call me Melchior, and make yourself welcome.

I’m looking for a particular series of plots, but am open to discussion of others if anything below calls to you. All of my plots include significant elements of power play and dub/non con, so if those aren’t your thing, I am not the partner for you.

What kind of partner am I? Polite and communicative, wicked (when asked politely) and story focused. I play dominant men and am looking for submissive, female characters.

At the moment, I have three plots I am looking to fill, each described below. Titles are the character archetype I would play, but all descriptions of characters and plot are intended to leave room for creative interpretation and to be discussed between us. Each can be molded to various time periods or settings, fitting in our preferred themes and kinks as applicable, but the ability to write compelling, genuine characters will do the most to engage me. Show me the fear, the pain, the anxiety and sadness. Show me character evolution and development; I will offer the same. I am looking for partners who wish to get deep into the head space of their characters in to play out anything from dark romance to kidnapping and force.

My general post length can vary, but I average between 400 to 1000+ words per response.

My F-List is available here, but largely includes the expected: BDSM, Master/pet, teasing, orgasm control/denial, emotional manipulation, as well as aftercare and affection. My limits include vore, scat and watersports and incest. See things here that you’re interested in but aren’t explicitly mentioned? Drop me a PM.

M.

Writing Sample, plots listed below.

He watched her stagger to the far side of the room. Emilia was weaving a little too much for his taste, the fatigue clearly having sunk its claws deeply into her. Yet that was part of the punishment, too; she didn't get out of his expectations of her just because she was tired, just because she hurt or was exhausted. No matter her state, he expected to see the young woman exert herself to please him. He could hardly protest now that it was finally happening. Though, perhaps, 'please him' was an exaggeration there – she was still afraid, the moment where he'd wrapped his hand around her throat still clearly on her mind. Marcus watched her pour, sniff and taste, then select the Angel's Envy for herself. When she had turned around, a smug smile hung on his lips. No, he did not mind she had taken a sip of his drink. Later he might chastise her for such a thing, but she was still learning, still exploring. He didn't want to crush that sweet, inquisitive spirit too much just yet.

When she returned to him, he accepted the glass with a nod and mirrored the actions she'd taken: the swirl, the observation of the behavior of the alcohol in the glass, it's color and finally a deep breath to spread the nose of it across his palate. Lovely. Both of them. He took a sip and let the scotch sit on his tongue for just a moment before swallowing it and setting the glass beside his seat on the couch. If she was going to drink, he really ought to feed her more, and yet…the alcohol might help loosen her up a little. It might help bring back the woman who had squirmed and screamed and whined when he denied her. Perhaps a few cards in, he'd see how she was doing.

His eyes as she drew the card were like a weight resting upon her. Marcus hadn't marked the cards in any way, but there were only so many options here. Lucky then, that she'd drawn a question card, even if it was the most statistically probable of the options. But then, what question would she ask? He was certain she had hundreds running around in her head, but what would be the first, the most urgent for her to know?

His name.

Marcus' expression, which had been pleasant, amused even, shifted subtly but distinctly.

She didn't know his name? He felt a surge of disappointment, followed quickly by anger. She didn't recognize him? Not from the times he'd tried to engage her at parties for the past few months, not from the society papers? His family was well known – he was well known among her set, even if they had rarely crossed paths before this. A short breath slipped in through his nostrils as he looked at her, then reached slowly for the scotch once more. The rage twisted and shuddered in his chest; familiar once again, the echo of everything he'd tired to put away, watching her laughing with friends at a social event, tipping her head to one side at a gallery opening. The soft whisper of her dress as she climbed the stairs in front of him.

The anger moved from his chest and spread, settled in his shoulders. Marcus' tension was obvious as he set the glencairn back down with a soft click and his eyes were dark when they turned back and focused upon her once more. She didn't know his name. She didn't know who he was. Well, she would. She would never forget it now.

Ever so slightly, the man tipped his chin up as he stared down at her. "Master."

The single word was an imperative, the only answer she would ever need now. His true name, the only thing she could ever call him that would be right, even if he did intend to answer the question she'd meant to ask. Slowly, the man leaned forward and cupped her chin in his hand, drawing her in toward him. "That's all you need to know." His voice was chilled, but still calm. "But since this is a game, and answering is only fair, my name is Marcus Eastman."

Without waiting for her response, he dropped his hand away and flicked over the top card without looking at it. His eyes remained pinned on Emilia for a moment longer before shifting to the turned card and scoffing slightly with displeasure. Two of diamonds. Well, he had set the rules after all. He couldn't be too bothered by it.

The man leaned back and eyed his pet thoughtfully. He'd offered her his name in good faith. Now it was time to see how much she was willing to play along, now that he'd signaled what information she might gain.

"Your last relationship, with Mayor Blandford. Why did you two break up?"

---

Plots

The General

He never intended to take a war captive. It was an old-fashioned thing, something belonging to the bad old days when wars were won by men instead of machines. If anything, it was more a weapon of the courts; the woman a reminder to those visiting diplomats just what fate might await their wives and daughters should negotiations fail. And yet…she seemed to occupy a corner of his mind, slipping into his thoughts during the briefest pause in conversation or a precious moment of solitude. He would have no use for her, really, even though technically he was entitled to her. The woman would be more trouble than she was worth. So why then, was he still trying to talk himself out of it?

Themes: political intrigue, conflicted loyalties, public and private humiliation



The Advisor

She was in over her head, that was clear from the beginning. Maybe it was fate or chance, but she had ascended the throne in circumstances that were questionable at best, traitorous at worst. The courts were undecided, but the wind was shifting it toward allowing the young woman to keep her crown. He had no loyalty to her, no particular interest in the Queen save for how her decisions might affect his own affairs, but the Royal Courts beckoned with opportunity. His title allowed him access, his Father's reputation enough that he could enter the rooms where decisions were made. From there, it was a simple matter of understanding how the pieces moved and through which conduits information traveled. And time to see just how much influence he might be able to exert over Her Majesty.

Themes: power reversal, manipulation and seduction, external threats



The Tycoon

He wasn't quite sure how the bound woman had wound up in his office. An apology from one of his lackeys? A fumbling spy caught in row upon row of the weaving machines in his factories? A threat, a bribe, an invitation. He could think of plenty of reasons she might be here, left to whatever tender mercies he might bestow upon her. She was marked, though – a tattoo etched on her left shoulder, a spiraling sun in iconography he didn't recognize and yet felt irritatingly familiar. Did this woman hold the answers to who had infiltrated his sanctum, or was she just an offered pawn, a first move in some larger game? Well. He had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Themes: Secret cabals, occultism, preparation

 

[Herr Gabor]

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