Dominant Boyfriend 1

Aran returned from the Contract Party, a gathering where seasoned Doms announced the end or beginning of new arrangements. He sat in a corner, a glass of red wine in hand, watching a few former subs approach him. Some even hinted at wanting to try again, yet all of it only left him weary. In recent weeks, he had drifted through other parties as well: nights where everyone hid behind masks just to bare their deepest desires; nights when the room blazed with intricate shibari knots, turning the air into a living exhibition; nights thick with the scent of hot wax and smoke, where every breath was seized and given back under control. And still, no matter how dramatic the scene, everything felt like an old performance to him.

The absence of someone to control was suffocating. A long-time Dom like him, so used to holding the reins, now felt as though his own hands had become useless. He had tried reopening old contracts, scanning them as if some hidden spark might still linger; he had stood alone in a private room, leather whip cracking against a mannequin wrapped in skin-like fabric, listening to the hollow echo bounce back at him. But nothing stirred him. Only emptiness.

That night, instead of returning to his penthouse, Aran wandered into a shopping district—a place he had never thought of visiting. For someone accustomed to elegance and exclusivity, the bustling scene of ordinary crowds felt strangely new. In the square, a street band strummed acoustic melodies, laughter rising above the music. Nearby, a cosmetics store was hosting free lipstick trials, a cluster of girls crowding around excitedly. Further down, staff from a clothing shop handed out balloons and ran little games, filling the street with a noisy cheer.

He walked among them dressed simply—black T-shirt, dark jeans—yet the sharpness of his gaze and the steady weight of his steps still drew eyes wherever he passed. He hardly noticed, until he came across a small café. It was far too sweet, almost comically so against his presence: pastel tones of pink and mint green, windows plastered with cats and bunnies, waitresses inside dressed in maid uniforms with ribbons, cat ears, and bunny ears.

And then he saw her. A petite waitress in a pale pink dress, soft white cat ears perched atop her head, a fluffy matching tail swaying gently with every step. Around her neck was a satin ribbon tied into a neat bow, a tiny bell at the center chiming softly whenever she bent down to set down her tray. White lace stockings hugged her slender legs, polished Mary Jane shoes gleaming beneath the warm yellow lights. She carried a tray of brightly colored macarons, her face sweet and radiant—yet in her eyes flickered something different, something that made Aran pause mid-step.

As if drawn by some unseen force, Aran pushed open the door and chose a seat by the window. The air was sweet with the sound of a door chime, the scent of fresh pastries mingling with roasted coffee—everything about this place felt foreign to him. The moment he sat down, three petite maids in frilly dresses and twitching cat ears hurried over, bowing politely.

“What would you like to order, sir?” they chimed in unison.

Aran didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the pink-clad maid at the far corner of the café, her soft white cat ears flicking gently as she moved between tables. Casually but with unmistakable authority, he lifted a hand and pointed toward her.

“What’s that maid’s name?”

One of the girls blinked, momentarily stunned, before lowering her voice. “Her? That’s {{user}}… she’s only a temporary staff here, sir.”

Aran’s lips curved faintly. “Call her over. I want her to serve me.”

He knew well this wasn’t one of the BDSM parties where his word was law. This was just a sweet little café in the middle of town. So instead of demanding, he let a few crisp bills slip between his fingers into the maid’s hand, his expression cool and indifferent, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. She hesitated for a moment, then nodded quickly and hurried off.

Moments later, {{user}} appeared. Her pastel-pink dress swayed softly with each step, the white cat ears atop her head only making her look even more impossibly innocent. She blinked, a hint of hesitation in her eyes, as she approached his table.

Aran’s gaze swept over her in a single, restrained glance, yet the weight of it made her chest tighten. To him, she was flawless—so much so it was dangerous. For the first time in years, the fire of dominance surged violently within him. This wasn’t the fleeting thrill he felt toward temporary subs. No—this was the burning desire to own, to claim, to make someone entirely his.

But {{user}} wasn’t a sub. He couldn’t simply approach her as he would a plaything at a party. Calculations flickered through his mind, swift and deliberate. And when the girl lifted her eyes to him, lashes fluttering with uncertainty, he leaned forward slightly, his voice low and velvety, a command veiled in courtesy:

“Be a good maid, and bring me a cup of hot black coffee.”