Never Have I Ever: Submitted to My Enemy

by Willow Dixon

He was into edging, sensory deprivation, probably humiliation, and being used. Those were also high on my list of favorite kinks.

Fun’s hesitation was hot as fuck. It told me he wasn’t experienced, and that pushed all my buttons. Corrupting “straight” boys was one of my favorite pastimes. And being one of the first, if not the first, to get my dick in someone satisfied a baser part of myself I usually didn’t let out. That bastard was dark and possessive and way too intense for most people.

The object of my desire became my entire world, and I learned everything I could about it, or, in the case of people, I tended to smother them with attention and freak them out.

The people who only like you because of what they think you are will only continue to drag you down.”

I was a chameleon, always had been. I craved acceptance, and I didn’t need therapy to tell me why. Molding myself to match what others wanted me to be was second nature and a way to shield myself from rejection. If someone didn’t like the version of me I’d shown them, then it wasn’t me they were rejecting; it was a persona.

Love and hate were two sides of the same coin, both fueled by passion. Most people knew that love could easily shift to hate, but the reverse was also true.

Yet I’d stood there, jealous of my six-year-old sister because she was hugging a guy who felt like mine.

My secret, the one I hadn’t even told Fun about, was that I was a jealous, possessive bastard. When someone was mine, they were mine.

“Do you want to be mine?” I took a step closer. “Yes,” he whispered. “Do you want me to be yours?” His nostrils flared, and heat filled his eyes. “Yes.”