⛧ "Change of Heart" | C. Sturniolo
summary: A quiet morning between lovers transforms into a charged power exchange that redefines their relationship and the balance of control between them.
content warnings: explicit sexual content, BDSM dynamics, dominance/submission themes, power exchange, strong language, and adult situations.
(sorry for the late late update im drowning in work)
The coffee machine hissed, sputtering out the last bitter dregs into my chipped "World's Okayest Girlfriend" mug. Chris leaned against the counter, watching me with that lazy half-smile he gets when he’s plotting something. "You’re quiet today," he murmured, tracing a finger along the edge of my sleeve. "Thinking deep thoughts, or just hating Mondays?"
I swirled the dark liquid, avoiding his eyes. "Neither. Just... wondering if we’re stuck in a rut." The words hung between us, sharp and sudden. He straightened, the playful glint replaced by something more alert, more curious.
My pulse kicked up as I set the mug down. "Bed feels like reruns lately," I said, the admission scraping my throat raw. "Same moves, same rhythm. Predictable." Chris didn’t flinch, just tilted his head, waiting. So I pushed further, voice dropping to a near-whisper. "What if *you* weren’t in charge for once? What if I... told you exactly how to touch me? Where to kneel?"
His breath hitched. Not in protest-in anticipation. A slow flush crept up his neck, and he wet his lips. "Yeah?" The word came out rough, stripped bare. "Tell me."
I stepped closer, the linoleum cool under my bare feet. My finger hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging him toward the living room. "Sit," I ordered, nodding at the worn armchair. He obeyed instantly, sinking into the cushions, eyes locked on mine—wide, trusting, waiting. The shift was dizzying; the man who argued over thermostat settings now silent, pliant.
I stood before him, letting the silence stretch. His knuckles whitened where they gripped the chair arms. "Hands on your knees," I murmured. He complied, palms flat against denim. "Good." The praise made him shiver. "Now look at me. Only me." His gaze snapped up, pupils dark. I traced the shell of his ear, my voice dropping lower. "You don’t speak unless I ask you a question. You don’t move unless I tell you. Understood?" A sharp, eager nod. The power hummed between us, electric and thick.
Leaning down, I brushed my lips against his temple. "Such a pretty thing when you’re quiet," I whispered. His breath stuttered. I could feel the heat radiating off him, the slight tremor in his thighs. "Scared?" His head shook frantically, but his throat worked. I smiled. "Liar." My thumb pressed against his bottom lip, parting it. "But that’s okay. I like you like this. Dumb and desperate for me." A soft whine escaped him, high and needy. The sound went straight to my core. Control wasn’t just mine now—it was a living thing, wrapping tight around us both.
I stepped back, letting him feel the absence. His eyes tracked me, wide and unblinking. "You want to please me, don’t you?" I asked, voice cool. Another frantic nod. "Then stay." I walked to the window, drawing the curtains shut. The room dimmed, shadows pooling around his still form. When I turned, he hadn’t moved an inch. Perfect. I circled the chair, fingertips trailing along his shoulders. His muscles jumped under my touch. "So good already," I murmured. His lashes fluttered. I watched the flush deepen across his cheekbones, the way his chest rose and fell too fast. Raw, exposed—exactly where I wanted him.
Kneeling before him, I hooked my fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants again. "Lift your hips," I ordered. He obeyed instantly, arching off the chair. I tugged the fabric down, past his knees, letting it pool at his ankles. His boxers followed. He was already hard, straining against nothing. I didn’t touch him. Not yet. Instead, I traced a slow path up his inner thigh with my nail. He jerked, a gasp tearing free. "Shh," I soothed. "Just feel it. Feel how much you need me to tell you what to do." His knuckles were bone-white again. The air tasted like salt and want.
"Look at you," I breathed, leaning close. My lips hovered over his ear. "All that fire, all that noise you love to make-gone. Just soft and waiting." My hand finally closed around him, a loose grip. He cried out, hips bucking. "Ah-ah." I tightened my hold, stilling him. "Did I say you could move?" His whimper was muffled against my shoulder. "No," I answered for him. "But you’ll learn." I stroked him once, slow and deliberate. His whole body shuddered. "Good boy," I whispered. "Now... beg."
He choked on a gasp. "P-please," he rasped, the word ragged. "Nina-"
"Not my name," I corrected sharply, twisting my wrist just so. He arched, a strangled moan ripping from his throat. "You call me what I am right now. Say it."
"Mistress," he gasped, eyes squeezed shut. "Please, Mistress... touch me. Let me-"
I released him abruptly. He whimpered, lost. "Let you what?" I tilted his chin up with two fingers. His gaze was dazed, pupils blown wide. "Use your pretty, empty head. What do you want?"
"To... to serve you," he stammered, voice thick with desperation. "To be good."
I smiled, tracing the frantic pulse in his throat. "Then listen." My other hand slid between my own legs, over the thin cotton of my shorts. I pressed hard, letting him see the dampness bloom. His breath hitched. "You don’t get to come until I’m dripping. Until I say. Understood?" He nodded, frantic. "Words, Chris."
"Yes, Mistress." The title fell from his lips like a prayer. "I understand."
I leaned in, my lips brushing his. "Prove it."
My hand slid from my shorts to his mouth. "Taste." He opened obediently, tongue sweeping over my fingers with a low groan. His eyes fluttered shut-pure instinct. I gripped his hair, yanking his head back. "Eyes open. Watch what you worship." He obeyed, gaze locked on mine as he sucked, hollowing his cheeks. The desperation in his stare was intoxicating.
I pulled my fingers free with a wet pop. "Now," I murmured, standing to strip off my own clothes. His breath quickened as I revealed bare skin inch by inch. When I straddled his lap, he trembled, hands twitching on his knees. "Touch me," I ordered. His palms flew to my hips, fingers digging in. "Higher." They slid up my ribs, thumbs brushing my nipples. "Good boy."
I ground down against his hardness, watching his control fray. His hips jerked, chasing friction. "Still," I commanded, pinning his wrists to the chair. He froze, sweat beading on his temple. "You move when *I* want." I rocked slowly, deliberately, my breath hot against his ear. "Feel how wet I am? That’s all for you... my pretty, dumb toy." A broken sob escaped him. I smiled. "Shh. Just take it."
My fingers tangled in his hair again, forcing his head back. "Beg properly this time. Tell me what you are." His voice was wrecked, raw. "Yours. Only yours, Mistress. Please-" I cut him off with a searing kiss, swallowing his whimpers. He melted into it, pliant and desperate. When I pulled away, his lips were swollen, his eyes glazed. Perfectly ruined.
I shifted, guiding him inside me with a slow, torturous slide. He cried out, back arching off the chair. "Look at me," I ordered, my voice low and dangerous. His gaze snapped to mine, wide and unfocused. I moved with agonizing slowness, savoring the way his breath hitched with every inch. "You feel that? How deep you are?" He nodded frantically, a tear tracking down his cheek. "Good boy. Now... don’t you dare come."
Leaning close, I nipped his earlobe. "You’re going to count for me. Every thrust. Out loud." His voice trembled. "One." I rolled my hips, drawing a gasp. "Two." I tightened around him, watching his knuckles whiten. "Three." He choked on the number, eyes squeezing shut. "Look at me, Chris." His lashes fluttered open, dazed. "Four." The count dissolved into a ragged moan as I rode him harder, my own breath coming in sharp gasps. Power thrummed between us, thick and sweet.
My fingers traced the sweat-slick column of his throat. "So desperate to please," I murmured, grinding down until he whimpered. "But you’re mine to ruin." His hips stuttered, seeking more. I stopped dead, drawing a shattered groan from him. "Did I say move?" He shook his head frantically, tears welling. "Good. Now tell me what you are." His whisper was raw. "Yours. Dumb. Only yours, Mistress."
I rewarded him with a slow, deep stroke that made him cry out. "Beg for it," I demanded, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Beg to make me come." His voice broke. "Please-let me serve you. Let me feel you fall apart on me." The raw need in his words sent heat coiling low in my belly. I rocked faster, my own control fraying at the edge.
His breath hitched, body tensing beneath me. "Don’t you dare," I warned, slamming my palm against his chest to still him. He froze, trembling, a whimper trapped in his throat. I leaned in, my lips brushing his. "You don’t get release until I’m dripping down your thighs. Not. One. Second. Before." His nod was frantic, eyes wide and obedient. Perfect.
I rose slowly, letting him slip out with a gasp, then pushed him back down with a sharp glare. "Hands behind your head. Show me how still you can be." He locked his fingers together, knuckles white, sweat glistening on his collarbone. I knelt between his legs, tracing the strained muscles of his inner thighs. "Such a good toy," I murmured, watching him shiver. "So quiet. So empty."
My fingers slid between my legs, circling my clit with slow, deliberate pressure. His gaze burned into me, desperate and hungry. I moaned softly, arching my back. "See how wet you make me?" I whispered, dragging my slick fingers across his parted lips. He sucked them clean, eyes fluttering shut. "Open those pretty eyes," I commanded. "Watch me ruin you."
Standing, I gripped his hair, forcing his head back. "Now beg again," I hissed. "Tell me what you need." His voice was raw, broken. "Please, Mistress... let me taste you. Let me drown in you." I smiled, guiding his mouth to my core. "Then serve." His tongue met me with a groan-eager, worshipful, utterly mine.
I ground against his face, fingers tightening in his curls. "Count my breaths," I commanded. "Out loud." He obeyed between desperate licks. "One... two..." His voice hitched as I rocked harder. "Three... four..." The numbers dissolved into muffled whimpers against my skin. Power sang in my veins, sharp and sweet.
His hands twitched toward my hips. I slammed his wrists against the chair arms. "Did I say touch?" A choked sob escaped him. "No, Mistress." I leaned down, breath hot on his ear. "Good. Just take it. Take everything I give you." His tongue worked faster, frantic. Tears tracked through the sweat on his temples.
I watched him unravel-the trembling thighs, the choked gasps, the utter surrender in his glazed eyes. "Almost there, pretty thing," I murmured, grinding down until his moans vibrated through me. "But not for you. Never for you." His whimper was a shattered thing. Perfect.
I pulled away, leaving him panting against the cushions. "Hands behind your head," I ordered, circling the chair like a predator. He obeyed instantly, fingers laced tight, knuckles white. Sweat soaked his temples. I knelt before him, tracing the outline of his straining cock with a single fingernail. He jerked, a ragged gasp tearing free. "Still," I hissed. "Only move when I let you."
I leaned close, my breath hot against his ear. "Such a pretty mess you are." My thumb pressed against his bottom lip, dragging it down to reveal clenched teeth. "But I need you quieter. Deeper." His whimper dissolved into a choked silence as I pushed two fingers into his mouth. "Suck." He obeyed instantly, hollowing his cheeks, eyes fixed on mine with desperate devotion. The wet heat of his mouth sent a shudder through me-control tasting like salt and surrender.
Circling back behind the chair, I dragged my nails down his spine. He arched into the touch, a strangled groan muffled around my fingers. "Still," I commanded, pressing my palm flat between his shoulder blades. He froze, trembling. I traced the curve of his hipbone, lower, until my hand hovered above his cock. "Count," I whispered. "Every second I don’t touch you." His voice cracked around my fingers. "One... two..." The numbers trembled, raw with want.
My free hand slid between my own legs, fingers slick and urgent. I moaned softly, watching his eyes darken. "Hear that?" I murmured, rocking against my hand. "That’s how wet I get watching you suffer." His breath hitched, hips twitching involuntarily. I withdrew my fingers from his mouth and gripped his throat, not hard—just enough to feel his pulse hammering against my palm. "Count faster, Chris."
"Thirteen... fourteen..." he choked out, sweat dripping from his jaw onto his bare chest. I circled the head of his cock with my thumb, a feather-light tease. He cried out, back arching off the chair. "Fifteen-fuck-"
Sixteen," he gasped, the word cracking like dry wood. My thumb pressed harder, a slow circle that drew a ragged sob from his throat. "Seventeen..." His voice was breaking, fraying at the edges. I watched the tremor race through him-shoulders shaking, thighs rigid. Perfect. "Eighteen..." He choked, tears mingling with sweat. I leaned close, my lips brushing his ear. "Stop counting." His breath exploded out in a shuddering rush. "Look at me." His glazed eyes snapped to mine, wide and drowning. "You’ve been so good," I murmured, tracing the desperate line of his jaw. "So perfectly dumb for me. Now..." My hand closed around him, tight and sudden. "Come."
He shattered instantly. A raw, broken cry tore from him as his hips jerked off the chair, back arching violently. I held him through it, feeling every pulse, every desperate spasm against my palm. His eyes rolled back, mouth slack, utterly lost in the release I’d commanded. The power was absolute-watching him come apart like that, with just a word and a touch.
When the tremors finally subsided, he collapsed against the cushions, chest heaving, skin slick and trembling. I didn’t release him. Not yet. My thumb swept through the mess on his stomach, then pressed against his swollen lips. "Clean yourself," I ordered, voice low. He obeyed, tongue laving weakly, gaze dazed and distant. The submission was beautiful-total.
I stood, letting the silence stretch as I watched him. His eyes followed me, still wide, still waiting. "Good boy," I murmured, tracing the sweat-damp hair at his temple. He leaned into the touch like a starved thing. "Now rest." His lashes fluttered shut, breath evening out.
The coffee machine hissed again in the kitchen, forgotten. Outside, Monday traffic hummed. But here, in the dim quiet, everything had changed. Power tasted sweeter than I’d ever imagined. And Chris? He’d never looked more perfect-dumb, spent, and utterly mine.
tags! @sturnstvs @gxldenlush @slut4chriss-deactivated20250930 @stasiesturn @jetaimevous @solarsturniolo @watercolorskyy @thedarkqueenofavalon @owensbabygirl @seaouidbabyx @sturnskiss @ariestrxsh @courta13 @heartsonlyforchris
