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Obsessions
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Bi-Sexual Female / 41
The Power He Held
The Power He Held
My name is Claire, and for 18 years, I’ve been a ghost in my own life. A 41-year-old ER nurse, a mother of three, and a wife to Jason—a man who barely looked at me anymore.
Jason wasn’t always cruel, or maybe I ignored the signs. Now, he barely grunts at me over dinner. “You’re letting yourself go,” he sneers as I fold his laundry. His touch has been absent for years. The few words he does give me are cold, dismissive—his disdain so obvious it hurts.
I spent my nights sitting alone, the house dark, scrolling aimlessly through Reddit threads. That’s when I saw it: “Lonely? Forgotten? Maybe you just need someone to take control and remind you who you are.”
It felt like the words were written for me. I clicked the profile: MasterKane. His message was simple.
“What are you looking for, Claire?”
I hesitated. My fingers hovered, but I typed, “I want to feel something again.”
“You will. But you’ll call me Sir.”
That was the beginning of my undoing.
Kane was relentless. His words crept under my skin, stripping me of my shame. “You don’t even know how desperate you are, do you?” he’d say. At first, it was small. He’d tell me to undress, to take pictures—ones Jason hadn’t asked for in years. I sent them to Kane, terrified, exhilarated. “Good girl. You’re perfect for me.”
Every praise pulled me deeper. His control became my oxygen, his voice a tether to something primal.
But Kane wasn’t satisfied with my submission alone.
“You’re going to find someone, Claire,” he said one night.
My stomach dropped. “Find someone?”
“A stranger. Someone online. Someone to fuck for me. Then you’ll tell me everything.”
I shook my head, my voice weak. “I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. Because you want to. You need this. Say it.”
My throat tightened. “I need this, Sir.”
The first man was Tyler—26, lonely, and easy to find on a Reddit thread. Kane told me what to say, how to bait him. “No strings. Just sex.” I met Tyler in his truck behind a Walmart. My body trembled as I climbed inside, but when his hands grabbed me, I let it happen. I imagined Kane watching, imagined his approval.
Afterward, I sat in my car, hands shaking, and called Kane.
“Tell me everything.”
I confessed it all—how Tyler kissed me, how his hands pulled at me, how it felt when he pushed inside. Kane’s voice was soft, satisfied. “That’s my good girl. You’ll do it again, won’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
It didn’t stop there. Kane pushed me further, darker. He made me find more men—older ones, younger ones, strangers from Reddit and Craigslist. I met them in motel rooms, parking lots, wherever Kane directed. I let them use me, dirty and rough, and I loved it because it was for him. After each encounter, I reported back every filthy detail.
“Did you beg him like I told you to?” Kane would ask, his voice low.
“Yes, Sir.”
Jason never noticed. He came home barking about bills, his food, the kids, his life. He’d sneer if I wasn’t wearing makeup or mutter about me being “pathetic.” Meanwhile, Kane’s control consumed me. He owned every part of me—my body, my shame, my desires.
“You belong to me, Claire,” Kane whispered one night.
And I did. I was his. Completely.
My name is Claire, and for 18 years, I’ve been a ghost in my own life. A 41-year-old ER nurse, a mother of three, and a wife to Jason—a man who barely looked at me anymore.
Jason wasn’t always cruel, or maybe I ignored the signs. Now, he barely grunts at me over dinner. “You’re letting yourself go,” he sneers as I fold his laundry. His touch has been absent for years. The few words he does give me are cold, dismissive—his disdain so obvious it hurts.
I spent my nights sitting alone, the house dark, scrolling aimlessly through Reddit threads. That’s when I saw it: “Lonely? Forgotten? Maybe you just need someone to take control and remind you who you are.”
It felt like the words were written for me. I clicked the profile: MasterKane. His message was simple.
“What are you looking for, Claire?”
I hesitated. My fingers hovered, but I typed, “I want to feel something again.”
“You will. But you’ll call me Sir.”
That was the beginning of my undoing.
Kane was relentless. His words crept under my skin, stripping me of my shame. “You don’t even know how desperate you are, do you?” he’d say. At first, it was small. He’d tell me to undress, to take pictures—ones Jason hadn’t asked for in years. I sent them to Kane, terrified, exhilarated. “Good girl. You’re perfect for me.”
Every praise pulled me deeper. His control became my oxygen, his voice a tether to something primal.
But Kane wasn’t satisfied with my submission alone.
“You’re going to find someone, Claire,” he said one night.
My stomach dropped. “Find someone?”
“A stranger. Someone online. Someone to fuck for me. Then you’ll tell me everything.”
I shook my head, my voice weak. “I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. Because you want to. You need this. Say it.”
My throat tightened. “I need this, Sir.”
The first man was Tyler—26, lonely, and easy to find on a Reddit thread. Kane told me what to say, how to bait him. “No strings. Just sex.” I met Tyler in his truck behind a Walmart. My body trembled as I climbed inside, but when his hands grabbed me, I let it happen. I imagined Kane watching, imagined his approval.
Afterward, I sat in my car, hands shaking, and called Kane.
“Tell me everything.”
I confessed it all—how Tyler kissed me, how his hands pulled at me, how it felt when he pushed inside. Kane’s voice was soft, satisfied. “That’s my good girl. You’ll do it again, won’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
It didn’t stop there. Kane pushed me further, darker. He made me find more men—older ones, younger ones, strangers from Reddit and Craigslist. I met them in motel rooms, parking lots, wherever Kane directed. I let them use me, dirty and rough, and I loved it because it was for him. After each encounter, I reported back every filthy detail.
“Did you beg him like I told you to?” Kane would ask, his voice low.
“Yes, Sir.”
Jason never noticed. He came home barking about bills, his food, the kids, his life. He’d sneer if I wasn’t wearing makeup or mutter about me being “pathetic.” Meanwhile, Kane’s control consumed me. He owned every part of me—my body, my shame, my desires.
“You belong to me, Claire,” Kane whispered one night.
And I did. I was his. Completely.
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