Taming Him... Part 7... Pain... Good boy!

 

I flexed my hand slightly. It held a bamboo cane. I was tasting, err… testing the cane. Well, a freudian slip, I must admit, but an interesting one. I could actually taste his anticipation, and the heaviness of the air on my lips, and in my nostrils.

His next lesson was going to be pain. Pain would also be a teacher, and I wielded it with precision—not to harm, but to reveal. He remained on his knees, hands on his thighs, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. His cock twitched faintly, a reminder of his body’s betrayal, but I ignored it. This wasn’t about his pleasure.

“You wanted intensity,” I said, my voice steady and low. “You’ll get it now. Twenty strikes. You’ll count each one aloud. Miscount, hesitate, or break position, and we start over. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he replied, his voice quivering but resolute.

I stepped behind him, running the cane lightly along his spine, letting him feel its promise. “Brace yourself. This isn’t a game.”

The first strike landed across his ass, a sharp crack that echoed in the room. He yelped, his body jolting forward, but he caught himself. “One!” he gasped, his voice tight with pain.

“One what?” I barked at him as I struck again. Harder this time.

“One, Mistress. Thank you Mistress.”

I was amused. He clung to the last figments of his control, bratting, trying to top from bottom. But I ignored it again.

The second came quickly, a parallel line blooming red beside the first. “Two, Mistress, thank you very much!” His hands clenched into fists on his thighs, but he held position.

By the tenth strike, his ass was a lattice of welts, and his voice had turned into a ragged chant. “Ten, Mistress, thank you very much!” he cried, tears streaming down his face, his knees trembling beneath him. I paused, letting him breathe, watching the way his shoulders shook and his chest heaved. Pain was stripping him bare, peeling back the layers of bravado he’d worn like armor.

“You’re halfway,” I said, my tone even. “This isn’t about endurance, cunt. It’s about letting go. Unless you feel it, unless you let it break you open, you won’t know!”

The eleventh strike was harder, and he choked out, “Eleven, Mistress!” His body rocked, but he steadied himself, tears dripping onto the mattress. I didn’t rush—each blow was deliberate, a rhythm of revelation.

By the fifteenth stroke, his counting was a sob, his voice raw and broken. “Fifteen, Mistress!” He had stopped thanking me. I didn’t mind. He was withdrawing now into that deeper place within himself.

Based on what he had told me, pain wasn’t something he had preferred, but pain affected him nonetheless. He had wanted me to break him, and then rebuild him. That is what I would do.

When we reached twenty, he was a mess—sweat-soaked, tear-streaked, his ass a map of my will. “Twenty, Mistress. Thank you very much.” he whispered, barely audible, and collapsed forward onto his elbows, his forehead pressing into the mattress.

I set the cane aside and knelt beside him, my hand hovering over his back but not touching yet. “Look at me,” I said softly.

He lifted his head, his eyes red and wet, meeting mine with a vulnerability I hadn’t seen before. “Who’s in control here?” I asked.

“You are, Mistress,” he breathed, no hesitation, no pride—just surrender.

I gently caressed his ass. He winced.

“Good boy!”, I whispered.

The dam burst open. He wept shamelessly now. Sobbed without a care in the world.

I pulled him forward. Into my arms. I let him weep.

After a while, I gently instructed, “Lie on your stomach. Arms at your sides.”

He obeyed, wincing as his raging hard-on pressed against the mattress, but he didn’t complain. I sat next to him, applied salve to the angry red welts on his ass. “Pain is a teacher, boy. It’s taught you something today. We’re almost there.”

He snuggled closer, nodded faintly, his breath hitching, and I could see the cracks widening—his resistance shattering, his trust growing.

Asmi
30.03.2025

Taming Him Part 6 - Submit!

The room was stifling now, the air thick with his exertion and my resolve.

He knelt before me, hands behind his head, his chest heaving as he tried to steady himself. I stopped in front of him, tilting his chin up again with the toe of my shoe—not cruelly, but firmly. His eyes met mine, no longer glassy. I held his gaze. For a few minutes.

There it was. Something he was learning to hide. He was playing games. I could see it in his eyes, very deeply buried, but present.

Annoyance.

It was annoyance.

It was as if he was back in that armour of his. Annoyed at what he thought was some roleplay.

He still thought this was a game, and that he was too good for this.The welts from earlier had faded to faint pink lines, but his pride was still raw, bleeding beneath the surface.

I wasn’t done stripping it away.

At least, not yet.

I set the crop aside and picked up a shallow clay bowl from the table, filling it with water from a jug. I placed it on the floor in front of him, not gentle, not rough, just affirming that everything is in its right place.

“Drink,” I said, stepping back.

“No hands. Like the beast you are.”

His eyes widened, a flicker of that old defiance sparking before he smothered it. He lowered his face to the bowl, hesitating as his lips hovered above the water.

I tapped my foot impatiently. “Must I repeat myself?”

“No, Mistress,” he mumbled, and then he drank.

It was annoying really. His bratty attitude. I hadn’t permitted him to call me Mistress yet. And he’d called me that. Well, the fact remains I hadn’t corrected him either. I should have.

In truth, I hate being called Mistress. I prefer being called Miss, Ma’am, or simply my name. But this one needed to be put in his place. So, Mistress it is, for now.

His tongue lapped at the water, clumsy and unpracticed, splashing onto his chin and dripping down his chest. The sight was pitiful—a man in a three-piece suit reduced to this, slurping like a stray dog at my command.

I let him continue, circling him slowly. “Look at you,” I said, my voice dripping with mockery. “A big man, a leader, a soon-to-be father, and here you are, groveling in my dirt. Tell me, pup, how does it feel to be so small?”

He paused, water glistening on his lips, and whispered, “It’s… humiliating, Mistress.”

“Speak up,” I snapped.

“It’s humiliating, Mistress!” His voice cracked, louder now, raw with truth.

“Good.”

I stopped in front of him, lgrabbing a firstful of hair in my palm and tilting his chin up again. His eyes met mine again, this time glassy with shame, and I held his gaze.

Finally, it was there!

The submission.

Not yet surrender, but he was crawling back in his head. His cock vouched for it too. I needed to bring him back.

“Humiliation isn’t a toy for your fantasies. It’s a mirror. Look into it. See what you really are. Obedience has to be taught, learnt, practiced though, but later on that!”

He swallowed hard, nodding slightly, and I released him. “Finish it. Every drop.”

He bent back to the bowl, his tongue working faster now, desperate to obey. Water sloshed onto the floor, soaking the mattress, and I watched his struggle with a quiet satisfaction. When the bowl was empty, he sat back on his heels, panting, his face a mess of dampness and defeat.

I tossed him a rough cotton cloth. “Wipe yourself. You’re a disgrace.”

He caught it, wiping his face and chest with shaking hands, his movements slow and deliberate. I could see the exhaustion creeping in, the weight of his own arrogance crumbling under my scrutiny. But I wasn’t here to destroy him—I was here to refine him.

“Kneel properly,” I ordered. “Hands on your thighs, palms up. Chin up, eyes down.”

He adjusted his position, his posture straighter now, though his body ached with the effort. I sat back in my chair, resting my hands on the armrests, and studied him. “Tell me what submission means to you now. No rehearsed lines. Speak from your gut.”

He took a deep breath, his voice trembling but finally earnest. “It’s… it’s about giving up, Mistress. Not fighting you. Trusting you to… to take me apart and put me back together. It’s not about me anymore. It’s about you.”

I leaned forward slightly, my eyes narrowing. “Closer. You’re getting there. But you’re still clinging to something. We’ll rip that out next.”

He shivered, but he didn’t argue. The lesson was sinking in, deeper now, and I could feel the shift—humility starting to bloom where pride once festered.

He would soon… Submit!

Asmi
24.03.2025

Taming Him Part 5 - Resistance

 

Back on his fours, his elbows dug into the mattress, the air thick with the scent of his sweat and my authority. The towel had long since fallen away, leaving him bare, his skin prickling with goosebumps.

I paced around him, my heels clicking deliberately against the tiles of the floor, each step a reminder of who held the reins. His breath was uneven, a mix of exhaustion and defiance, and I could still sense those last remnants of his cockiness buried beneath his trembling form.

He thought he could endure me, outlast me. Foolish pup!

I stopped.

He held his breath.

I stood behind him, my shadow falling over his back.

He didn’t know what to anticipate, and his breath became increasingly ragged, as I tapped the crop lightly against my palm.

“You’re still holding on, aren’t you?” I said, my voice calm but edged with steel. “That little smirk of yours—it’s gone from your face, but it’s still in your head. You think you’re clever, don’t you? That you can play this out on your terms?”

He didn’t respond, but his shoulders stiffened—a telltale sign.

I crouched down, leveling my gaze with his hunched form, though he couldn’t see me. His ass was still red from earlier, his thighs trembling from the strain. I reached out, not touching him, but letting him feel my presence.

From the table, I retrieved a small brass bell—simple, unassuming, but heavy enough to demand effort. I placed it on the small of his back, just above the curve of his spine.
“This stays put,” I instructed, standing up. “You move, it rings, and we start over. No breaks, no mercy. Fifteen minutes. Begin.”

He sucked in a breath, adjusting his posture to keep the bell steady. I returned to my chair, crossing my legs, my demeanour strict.

I watched him silently, the only sound, his shallow breathing and the faint creak of the mattress beneath him.

One minute passed. Two. Two and a half.

His arms began to shake, the bell wobbling slightly but not falling. Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickling down his temples, and I could see the effort etched into every muscle.

“Tell me, pup,” my voice cut through the silence, “why do you resist? What’s that pride worth to you? A pat on the head from your office mates? A smug nod from your wife? Or is it just that you can’t stand the thought of losing to me?”

He grunted, the bell trembling. “I—I’m not resisting, Mistress,” he managed, his voice strained.

“Lies!”

I stood, circling him again, the crop swishing through the air.

“You’re fighting me with every breath. You think submission is just a posture—knees on the ground, head bowed. It’s not. It’s in your bones, your blood. And you’re nowhere near that yet.”

The bell rang.

It tipped off his back, clattering onto the mattress with a sharp chime. He froze, his head dropping in defeat. I sighed, a sound heavy with disappointment. “Pick it up. With your mouth. Crawl to me.”

He hesitated, and I brought the crop down hard against the floor beside him—thwack.

“Now, pup!”

He flinched, lowering his face to the mattress, his lips fumbling to grasp the bell. His cheeks burned red, his dignity peeling away with every awkward shuffle as he crawled to my feet. He stopped, the bell clenched between his teeth, and looked up at me, eyes wide with shame.

I took it from him, my fingers brushing his lips briefly, a flicker of contact he hadn’t earned. “Back in position. We’re doing this until you stop fighting me.”

By the third attempt, he lasted ten minutes. His body was slick with sweat, his breath ragged, but the bell stayed put. I stood over him, watching the tremble in his legs, the clench of his jaw.

“Better,” I said finally, plucking the bell from his back. “But not enough. You’re still holding on. We’ll break that soon. May be another time though.”

He collapsed onto his elbows, panting, and I let him rest—just for a moment. The intensity was building, and I could feel it: the slow unraveling of his resistance, thread by thread.

Asmi
21.03.2025

Taming Him Part 4 - Tears!

He knelt quietly.

I sat still too.

No movement, no music, no phone, no sound.

I observed him closely.

He fidgeted. A lot in the beginning.

Slowly, he started becoming still too. His breath deepened, his cock started softening. His mind was somewhere else, I could tell.

I had the timer on. Counting the minutes. 1... 2... 3... 4... 5...

He started fidgeting again, on his knees. It was expected. For someone who hasn't knelt before, 5 minutes can be a long time.

He settled in again, but now he was drooling around the gag.

6... 7... 8...

Not bad, I thought. The drool trickled down his face and finally dripped on his thigh. His cock twitched again.

I finally smirked. For the first time. He couldn't see me. I was not demonstrating bad behavior. And I had earned my smirk after all. I knew in that moment that I had a sensation slut at my feet.

Humiliation, pain, all of that is great. Sensation alone - Oh that's a different level after all. Ignorant pup.

He fidgeted again and raised his ass. Bending forward, he was trying to maintain his balance and go on his shoulders and knees finally. I didn't want him to topple over, so I held his head with my left hand, supporting him. I tapped my crop gently on his knees, indicating that he can push them behind.

He gasped, but didn't try to mumble from behind the gag.

I was mildly impressed.

He took the cue, and soon he was exactly as I wanted him. Naked, on his fours, with a fully raging hard-on, as he parted his thighs to the tap of my crop. Yet aware that I won't let him fall. I won't let him come to harm.

And in that moment, a wall broke inside him.

I could see his body shaking.

He was weeping.

He sobbed like a child. Without any shame. Without any embarrassment.

An unsaid sense of safety in a vulnerable moment can do this.

I let him sob. Slowly he stilled again.

On his fours still. Ass high up. His hard-on still raging, his balls heavy, his hole exposed. At my mercy, vulnerable at my feet.

I looked at the timer.

11 minutes, and a half!

And we had just begun.

Paulo Coelho, were you wrong? Or maybe not.

This pup had broken the record in my experience so far.

It was time.

It didn't have to be 15 minutes. He needed me. And he had earned it reasonably well. I was the decision-maker in any case. So, I uncuffed him, tossed the cuffs on the bed, grabbed a towel from the table, with one hand, his hair with the other, bringing him back to his knees.

I knew there would be wet spots where his tears and drool would have coaked the mattress. This is why I make sure I use a new soaking sheet beneath the bedsheets for every time I train a pup.

As he sat up straight, his breath became shallow again. His tears started flowing again as I wiped his face with the towel.

The earplugs came out first and he heard my voice again. "You're safe. You're with me. And I do not want you to speak yet. Nod if you understand."

He nodded, almost serenely this time.

His gag came off next, and he stretched his legs slowly upon my instruction.

I covered his loins with the towel and gently hushed him. He leaned against me and put his head against my shoulder. I let him. He needed this. He had been obedient. He had earned this.

So, I held him.

"Good pup. We will make a good sub, a good slut, and a good toy out of you. But all in time." I cooed.

He gasped again. Softer this time.

"Shhhh.... it's fine. You're fine. You're here. I will take care of you," I could see my voice calm him down.

I held a water bottle to his mouth.

He sipped hesitantly.

"Drink!" My voice was gentler than I intended.

He gulped down a few more sips, and then I put the bottle back on the sidestand.

"Open your eyes very slowly now," my voice turned firm again, as I removed the blindfold.

His eyes were moist. Red. Glazed.

'He's an easy one,' I thought.

I held his chin. Looked into his eyes.

"Do you want to continue? Use your words."

"Yes, yes please mistress."

"It is going to get tough now. Harsh, unforgiving, possibly unkind. Do you really want that?" I tried to dissuade him.

I didn't want him to wrongly think that he would see my gentle side often. I will give him aftercare, of course. But, kindness? Well, if he wants pain and humiliation, that is what he would get.

"Yes Mistress, please..." he almost begged.

"Back on your fours then. You may use your elbows."

He hesitated, now that he was out of his sensory deprivation.

"Now!" I barked.

And just like that, there he was...

On his fours again!

Asmi
24.7.24

Taming Him Part 3 - Kneel!

"Kneel!" I would have liked to bark, but he had already folded himself at my feet.

He knelt. Awkwardly. Trying to cover his dick.

I tapped the crop gently at his inner thighs.

He took the hint and parted his knees.

His hands were still covering his genitals, and he knelt with a hunch.

It looked like his was an impressive cock, but who cared? I was not interested in his tool. I was more interested in his mind, heart, body, and submission.

Sit up straight! I snapped.

"Arms behind your back!"

"Chin up!"

"Eyes to the floor!"

I barked the orders one after the other as I got up from my chair, moved around him and stood behind him, fixing his posture with a tap of the crop here, and a smack there.

God, I didn't want a pathetic weakling. I wanted a Man.

Just that a cocky man had entered my room, and a submissive man would leave. A man, who I would tame.

But I didn't want a weak, little, pup.

He had goosebumps on his upper arms now.

"Why are you here pup?" I was back in my chair, the crop in my right hand, pointed to the floor.

"Erm... to surrender to you... Mistress...uh...oh..." He mumbled, fumbling for words.

"Speak!"

"To submit to you Mistress." His voice was stronger this time.

So was his cock.

He gasped as my crop gently caressed the underside of his shaft.

"Not a peep, pup!" I pressed the crop where it was, just enough.

He flinched.

"Yes Mistress, I'm sorry Mistress, " he whispered.

"I am now going to gag you, blindfold you, plug your ears, cuff your wrists behind your back, and leave you here, kneeling for the next 15 minutes. If your knees need a break, you may bend forward and lower your shoulders to the floor. Apart from that I do not want to see you move, I do not want to hear you speak. If you need to tap out, you will drop this smiley ball, or tap the back of your palm 3 times against your ass. Do you understand?"

I asked him as I put the crop on the table next to my chair, got up, and started picking the props that I told him, I'd use.

"Yes Mistress, " he whimpered.

"Paraphrase it for me," I instructed.

"Gag, blindfold, no sound, handcuffs. I will kneel or go on fours using my shoulders. No other movements or sounds, duration - 15 minutes. Tap 3 times or drop the ball to safe word, Mistress."

I was impressed.

I knew he was intelligent. His looks, and his well-maintained built weren't his only assets. He was a senior leader in his firm, he was sharp, he was successful. A successful man in his late 30s, no wonder he was also cocky.

I contemplated if I was mistaken. Could I have misread his confidence for his vanity? And then I was reminded of that smirk.

"We shall see." I told myself as I prepped him for the next 15 minutes of silent treatment.

Most pups I train tap out by the end of 5 minutes. The longest one to last so far had lasted 8 minutes. I wanted to see if this one could last.

As I readied him, I deliberately kept my hands away from his skin.

He will be rewarded when he earns it. Till then, he would take only the scrapes.

The earplugs were the last thing I wanted to use.

"For the next 4 hours, you're all mine. And unless one of us taps out, I will not stop. But, by the time I am done with you, you will be my bitch. Do you understand boy? Nod your head thrice if you understand." I almost could feel myself growling as I whispered these words to him.

He was gagged. He nodded... Once... Twice... 3 times.

Good!

"Now, I want you to think deep and hard about what submission really means. Do you think it was appropriate to kneel at my feet, even before I commanded you to? Is that what you think submission is?"

"Is it about that dick of yours that seems to be enjoying itself at your helplessness? Is it about you being at my mercy? Is it about you trusting me? Is it about me trusting you? You will be with nothing else but your thoughts and silence for the next 15 minutes pup!"

Those were my last words to him before I threw him in a world of silence, darkness with just his thoughts for the next 15 minutes.

I knew he would break. Sooner or later.

But his place would always be the same.... At my feet, on his knees.

Never again would he rob me of my command to him.

The one command that will lead to his surrender in my presence.

Every single time.

"Kneel!"

Asmi
23.07.24

Taming Him Part 2 - Strip!

STRIP. NOW!

I raised my volume.

He trembled, as he removed the 3 piece suit that he was wearing and hung it on the hangers I had put out for him on the table.

I could see the goosebumps on his neck, and I knew that he'd be my bitch by the time I'm done with him.

That's what he had asked for... To be humiliated... To be beaten... To be stripped of his self-respect.

But he'd smirked, and THAT was his error.

Not the smirk itself, but the delusion that he could top from the bottom and get away with it.

Not under my watch. He wasn't the first pup I was training afterall.

I sat in my chair, tapping my foot impatiently. I was wearing high heels that I so hate.

I was wearing them only to drive the fear of God in him when I would press the heel in his ass or just an inch away from।his cock and balls in the mattress on the floor. He would fear these heels then.

Fear, you see, is both a good early-stage teacher for entitled adult learners, and a powerful aphrodisiac. Just that, I prefer to teach rather than arouse.

I wore a floral long dress, simple cotton, every day prints.

On purpose.

This pup needed to learn that submission isn't about latex, leather, paraphernalia. No disputing the vibe they build. Not questioning the feel they give, the fantasies they arouse.

But, that submission is about your actions, your discovery, your journey at another person's feet.

The intensity of submission is not a function of the clothes I wear. It is about how I make them feel, what I CAN make them do, and yet I NEVER make them do. The power that I hold for them, and their trust that I won't abuse it.

He would learn, this cocky pup!

Just like I had learnt over years. I had learnt in my limited but not so limited experience as a Dominant that my larger purpose is to teach these boys submission, eventually at a level that borderlines surrender.

My purpose was not to fulfill their fantasies.

My purpose was not to give them another adrenaline rush.

My purpose was not to bind them, or get them।addicted to me.

My purpose was to free them, in their submission, in their bonds!

My purpose was to teach them - deeper nuances, emotional awareness, and comfort in discomfort.

He fidgeted as I pondered upon all this. I flicked my wrist and it had been just 30 seconds.

'Who's going to take off their underwear??? You need me to find you servants who will help you serve me, is that so?'

I swished my crop in the air.

He flinched.

He took off his underwear and held it in his hands awkwardly.

'Awww, poor mama's boy, needs a dutiful wife now to fold his boy panties and put them aside, hai na?'

He flinched again.

I hadn't raised my volume, or lowered my pitch. But my voice had dripped with sarcasm.

He dropped to his knees, head hanging in shame, as he whispered, 'I'm sorry miss, please forgive me'.

I continued to sit calmly in my chair, my expression unfathomable. My eyes trained on the top of his head, my wrist casually flicking the crop.

I could have smirked now.

But lessons are best taught through demonstration.

He will learn humility!

On his knees, he will learn so much more!

Asmi
22.7.24

Taming Him Part 1 - Enter!

He had asked me for a session, not the other way round.

He had agreed to pay for my time and energy.

He wanted to experience intensity.

He had been coached during multiple discussions on hard limits, soft limits, safe words, and safety precautions. Both him and mine.

We settled on pain and humiliation. We settled on CFNM.

He shared with me that his wife was going to deliver a baby a month later. I asked him if he really wanted to do this right now? I would have understood if he felt confused, reluctant, or even wanted to cancel.

He wanted to go on. He thanked me for my advice, but he would like to continue please, he said.

And there it was - this stupid, entitled smirk, that I wanted to wipe off his face.

He wasn't really a sub, he just fantasized about being one.

He was just a slut with some fetishes.

And that was fine with me.

But his smirk told me, he thought he could play me.

His smirk told me that he thought I couldn't see through him.

Oh, he would pay, and dearly so!

Literally. And then figuratively. And then some more.

He would be tamed.

Not broken, not damaged, but definitely tamed!

I would teach him.

Pain, humiliation, and..... Submission!

He received his instructions.

He bought and carried his toys.

He landed at my doorstep 10 minutes early.

I took him in and snapped my fingers.

Strip!

That was the moment he knew, he'd be tamed. Broken in. Like a horse, maybe an unruly dog, nothing but a beast in my collar.

Asmi
21.7.24

Establishing Boundaries - 2 (Grief)

TW – Grief, death.

Grief knows none! 

I think that it is grief alone that knows no boundaries. 

 As I started writing this series on boundaries, I went down the rabbit hole thinking how many of them were violated and how many times. About how I had to learn to establish some boundaries more than others. About how I had to let go of some people because they would refuse to respect my boundaries. And also, about how I had to let go of some people because their other people could not respect boundaries.

I thought of the unbridled tears that had practically washed my face for months in the metro after I lost someone close, and tried to keep myself in check at home, at work, and every place else. 

And that brought to front some of the saddest losses in my life. A friend I wished I had been more in touch with during their last stages. Another whom I had just patched up with before I lost them to a sudden cardiac arrest. 

And, as I write this piece, I burst into silent tears, even though I am sitting in a café. 

Further, as I think of my personal loss, I wonder if there are any boundaries to human connection really? Does collective grief not unite even strangers. I think of Covid. I think of deaths, I think of sickness, I think of so many pyres burning together. I think of the farmers’ protests and the profound sadness that had engulfed the collective consciousness those days. 

And then I thought of the wars. Communal hatred, the oppression of one country by another. I thought of how people fight in the name of religion, nationalism, caste, creed, increasingly in the gender. And it took my thoughts back to privilege, power, and abuse of power. 

I think of people who would use power and logic, and verbal prowess, and manipulation as tools to abuse others’ trust. 

I shiver. 

I think of how boundaries protect people from narcs, abusers, predators, etc. And then I settle for the fact that boundaries are important. 

I am wondering at the moment if death is the only real, true, ultimate boundary. 

But, I know better.

In shared grief, humanity sometimes draws a different kind of boundary. The boundary of unified solidarity. 

That boundary, or the lack of it, I will take any day.

And till I come back from the precipice of that boundary, that edge, 

Stay safe. Play well.

Asmi

Establishing Boundaries - 1

 While it's been a long time, no see, and I will definitely catch up on the backlog, here's something new...

Some one recently asked me to share my insights about boundaries and establishing them – both in kink and otherwise.

I think having strong boundaries is a function of a lot of things. It’s a combination of how we’ve been raised, what we have learnt in regard to power, authority, autonomy, and even emotions like loneliness etc.  It is also about self-discovery and the sense of being sure or not sure about what one wants or doesn’t.

Since it’s easiest to take my own example, that’s the subjective reference I will use to demonstrate what I wrote above. In my experience, the first step to establishing boundaries is the freedom and ability to say a no.

I was raised in a conventional family. This means, a dominating father and a docile, submissive mother. The usual as well as finer internalized layers of patriarchy and misogyny permeating our very existence.

That said, early on in my life, I was allowed to question everything, anything, and anyone I wanted, including my father. I think that’s a curse of democratic parents – They are the first authority their children question. In retrospect, I can now see the struggle my father faced on a daily basis.

There is this particular incident I remember vividly. I must have been 9 or something. I was with my father at his workplace, and he found a book for me to read in the library, He brought it to me to see if I was interested in reading it (Yeah, one of the few privileges I had was a VERY SOLID foundation in education for life). I said – I didn’t want to read it.

The librarian was surprised and blurted – Beta, you should not refuse your father’s suggestion! I didn’t know how to respond to that statement, so I looked to my father. He responded on my behalf – Ma’am, I think it’s OK. I trust her choices in this sense. I have made her read enough by now (I used to read 100 full-length books a year by then – Mostly well-curated fiction classics), to ask her for her opinion and for me to respect her choices even if I might not like them.

The two of them got into a more detailed discussion about how my father was OK with me calling out people, or my freedom to disagree, or to point out if I thought they were wrong. Even if it was my own father. Beyond this I got bored and submerged myself in another book, and didn’t register the rest of the conversation.

But this I think is the beginning of me establishing my boundaries. The fact that a parent asked me what my preferences / boundaries were, and they did not let another adult question them. The fact that I had the freedom to say ‘no. The fact that my judgement was trusted and there was a basis for it, beyond me being my father’s daughter.

All these were the early seeds of a lot of what I said in the earlier part of this piece.

Now some of us may not have experienced these snippets of privilege. My response to that is – Any learning (like coding, language), even EQ, or for that matter even establishing boundaries – is a function of practice. It’s like building a muscle that you weren’t aware existed. It exists, it can be learnt, it needs to be practiced.

The first step to do that is to give yourself the grace and freedom to say no. Oh sure, it shouldn’t be rebelling without a reason to rebel. It shouldn’t be a ‘no’ even when there’s value in the suggestion. It shouldn’t be a ‘no’ for the mere heck of it. However, before anything else, you need to ask yourself – Can you say a no?

If not, that’s the first thing you need to learn – You’re an individual and while your ‘no’ will have consequences, it is your fundamental right to be able to say it when you need / want to.

I will take it further from here in the next piece. Till then,

Happy intimacy

Asmi

 

His...7 (A long work of Erotica)

  Disclaimer and Trigger Warnings

    Any resemblance with any person living or dead is coincidental. All characters are 18+.
    Any choice of names is random, and not indicative on any caste, religion etc. The setting is in India, so readers need to NOT PROJECT THEIR BIASES on my work.
    I write for my pleasure. At my pace. I'm mindful of trigger warnings where they matter, but I don't overapologize. I am aware of FL limits, legal limits, boundaries in general.
    A lot of my fictional work is dark and deals with themes of depression, violence, rough sex, non-consent self-harm, suicide etc. So, if any of these themes are potentially triggering for you, I request you to please not read thhe work and focus on self-care.
    Apart from that, I take time to build my stories. The way I want. So, if this is too harsh, too mild, too little, too much, whine elsewhere. If this is too much sex, too little sex, too realistic, too unrealistic, too much plot, too much dialogue, take your judgement / opinion and put it where it belongs. Unless you're my writing mentor. Because - YKINMK.


________________________________

"Baby, if you are reading this, I am dead. Or at least sufficiently presumed to be so."

The letter began.

Mini sat stoically and read on. Krishnan sat next to her, reading the letter with her. He averted his gaze to the wall in front of her. This princess-styled room made him a bit queasy. It brought out his protective side way more than he liked it to be revealed. Mini turned to him, and handed over the crisp, pearl white sheet to him. Nodding to him, she let him read the letter as she bent over the box of journals to drag it with her good hand.

Krishnan was distracted momentarily by her pert, inviting bottom as she bent over the box, and then pulled himself back to the letter. As he read Anurag's graceful cursive hand, and choked back his tears. He missed the man. Terribly so.

_______________________________________________

Baby, if you are reading this, I am dead. Or at least sufficiently presumed to be so."

You will receive my journals. You may choose to read them or not. I want you to read them from beginning to end.

Not at the cost of your study, or work, whatever it is you do now. You know I would have no tolerance for that.

I wonder if you're reading them with Krishnan, or alone. I would like if you read these journals together, but it is your decision to make. Mini, this is my legacy to you, to do as you please.

I am aware that Bhaiya and Abhishek would have read them. It is alright. There's nothing in those letters that you can read and they can't. The vice versa is true as well. One thing I trust is their integrity. So, you will get the journals unedited, intact.

I have paid attention to not include any business sensitive, or potentially damaging pieces of information. However, I have ensured that I include all that would matter to you. All that I would want to teach you, to show you, to help you explore if you wished.

I am sorry I am not around to do that. But know that I always love you.

Forever, and then more.

Love,
Anu Da

__________________________________________________

They looked at each other, relieved that it was OK to read these journals together.

She opened the first page. It was dated some ten years ago.

"I was horny the entire day today", it began.

"WOW!" she shook her head.

"I was horny the entire day today... It is a sad day. I am struggling. I need comfort. I am angry. I wish there was some way to channelize this anger. I am overwhelmed. I am even concerned... my baby, my kid sister. I cannot see her in pain. Pramila came today, but I am not sure if I want to see her today. Of course I know that she wants to fuck because she thinks it will help me feel normal again. But it feels so wrong. How can one grieve and also enjoy fuckery together?"

Mini shrank. With embarassment, what with Anurag laying his innermost thoughts open in front of his sister. AFTER being dead. And what with her own desires, for Krishnan. Sitting so close. Her hands she clasped in her own lap, overcautious of not to lettheir bodies touch. It was wrong afterall. Even Anu Da felt it was wrong.

Krishnan and she turned pages, full of Anurag's turmoil, his emotional dilemmas, and yet his desires. Mini blinked. She was overwhelmed. Tired. Horny. Grieving. Lonely. Relieved that Krishnan sat next to her. Mostly she was tired. This was too much to process.

She lifted her head, and looked at Krishnan. "Sir, I have a headache now", she tried to hide her bloodshot eyes, by averting her gaze.

Krishnan leaned across her, reaching for a bookmark. Her table always had one too many.

He marked the page, closed the notebook, and nodded. Lost deep in thought.

"Drink some water first. Hydrating helps."

She drank from the glass on the side table, put it back. Her cast was gone, but her hand wasn't fully functional yet. She was working with a physiotherapist.

"How is it healing? Does the therapy hurt a lot?"

She quietly nodded and lay down, trying to adjust the covers with one hand.

He pulled the blankets over her, tucked her in, a little too tenderly for a giant man his size and turned around to switch the lights off and close the door; when he felt her fingers tug at his.

Quizzically he looked at her and she pointed to her forehead and pleaded, "Please?"

Krishnan was torn. He wanted her. He wanted her body. He wanted all of her. What she offered was just a forehead kiss. But it was hers to have, and his to give. He knew her enough to realize that even if he refused, she wouldn't hold it against him. Consent had been a big thing with this family. They were all raised with that education.

"What if I will want more?" He gave it back to her. Straightshooter. As always.

She blinked. She sensed he wanted more. She knew he always talked straight. But this? She had not expected him to ask her.

"We can talk about that. Anytime you like.", she tried to sit up, but he gently shoved her shoulder back, not allowing her to rise.

"Yes we will. Later. One moment at a time.". He said in a calm, serene voice, kissed her forehead, stroked her hair once, and left.


©Asmi Uniqus Dec 2022

His...6 (A long work of Erotica)

 Disclaimer and Trigger Warnings

    Any resemblance with any person living or dead is coincidental. All characters are 18+.
    Any choice of names is random, and not indicative on any caste, religion etc. The setting is in India, so readers need to NOT PROJECT THEIR BIASES on my work.
    I write for my pleasure. At my pace. I'm mindful of trigger warnings where they matter, but I don't overapologize. I am aware of FL limits, legal limits, boundaries in general.
    A lot of my fictional work is dark and deals with themes of depression, violence, rough sex, non-consent self-harm, suicide etc. So, if any of these themes are potentially triggering for you, I request you to please not read thhe work and focus on self-care.
    Apart from that, I take time to build my stories. The way I want. So, if this is too harsh, too mild, too little, too much, whine elsewhere. If this is too much sex, too little sex, too realistic, too unrealistic, too much plot, too much dialogue, take your judgement / opinion and put it where it belongs. Unless you're my writing mentor. Because - YKINMK.


________________________________

"These are not for anyone else's eye. She is an adult and none of you can stop her from having what Anurag specifically left for her. Plus it doesn't have any business-sensitive information. Nor does it have anything that Mini can be blackmailed for. It poses absolutely no risk for Mini's physical, legal, or financial safety. I have made sure of that." The object in question was a box of journals.

Advocate Bajaj was executing Anurag's will. Most of his assets had gone back to the family business, and family trust. Some amount had been set aside for his two sisters. His journals and his documents had been scruitinized by Bajaj, both as a family lawyer, as well as the brother-in-law. Additionally, as their family and business counselor, he had already shown them to Dr. Mathur.

It was Dr. Mathur's wife who suspected that the journals may have information related to Anurag's sexual escapades, his relationships, Pramila even. She feared it would corrupt Mins.

Mins sat quiet, her hands in her lap. Clench. Unclench. Clench. Unclench.

Krishnan's keen eye could observe her being on edge. Krishnan had a place on the table. He was considered family by EVERYONE, in EVERY WAY, except that they couldn't have adopted an adult legally. Or they would have.

Krishnan gently patted Mini's knee, almost rhythmically, as one would pat a child to a lull. It seemed to be working too.

"Mini, do you wish to open these journals? You don't have to. This can wait. Do you think it would affect your emotions? What do you feel like doing?" asked Dr. Mathur. He had his blindspots, but he believed in agency.

"Bhaiya, I am 22. I am from a family of doctors. I have seen enough blood and Gore. I know exactly what humans do, even if I may not understand all their motives."

"Bhabhi, ab mujhe koi kya hi bigadega? What has the power to destroy your upbringing and spoil me or impact me negatively after all these years Bhabhi?", she turned towards her sister-in-law. The matron looked at the young girl thoughtfully, and finally nodded. Her shoulders sank in surrender and she nodded to Bajaj.

Back in her room, Mini looked at the journals. They were all dated. 12 years. Since that fateful day, till the day before Anurag and she had landed in the hospital. There was also an envelop. Embossed. Formal. It was a part of Anurag's official stationary.

Mini knew Bajaj had definitely gone through each word in those notebooks, and in that letter. And that Bhaiya had surely seen it. But Krishnan? Mini needed him.

She sighed, put the letter in her drawer and walked towards Krishnan's room.

"Knock. Knock Knock." This was Mini's specific knock.

Krishnan startled from his reverie, groaned at his half-erect cock, and spoke out, "Give me a minute!".

Quickly, he pulled on a pair of Pajamas, tied the drawstrings, pulled his tee lower, and opened the door.

"I need you. Please!" Mini, looked at his biceps. When he wore formals, they weren't that obvious. Right now? He looked ravishing to her.

Krishnan looked at her quizzically, an eyebrow arched.

"I need you to be with me when I read. I don't think I can do it alone". There. The tears again. Not brimming, but welling up for sure.

She was still grieving. It had just been a month.

He just nodded, turned around, picked his phone, closed his room and walked with her to hers.

©Asmi Uniqus Dec 2022

His... 5 (A long work of Erotica)

 Disclaimer and Trigger Warnings

1. Any resemblance with any person living or dead is coincidental. All characters are 18+.
2. Any choice of names is random, and not indicative on any caste, religion etc. The setting is in India, so readers need to NOT PROJECT THEIR BIASES on my work.
3. I write for my pleasure. At my pace. I'm mindful of trigger warnings where they matter, but I don't overapologize. I am aware of FL limits, legal limits, boundaries in general.
4. A lot of my fictional work is dark and deals with themes of depression, violence, rough sex, non-consent self-harm, suicide etc. So, if any of these themes are potentially triggering for you, I request you to please not read thhe work and focus on self-care.
5. Apart from that, I take time to build my stories. The way I want. So, if this is too harsh, too mild, too little, too much, whine elsewhere. If this is too much sex, too little sex, too realistic, too unrealistic, too much plot, too much dialogue, take your judgement / opinion and put it where it belongs. Unless you're my writing mentor. Because - YKINMK.

________________________________

"Krishnan Bhaiya, Mini baby fainted again", Rani didi, the maid stood at the door, all worked up, tears almost welling up in her eyes. Rani Didi had been Mini's babysitter since the latter had been a young toddler.

Rani was barely 15 when Mins was born. Today when Mins was young, beautiful, 22. Rani didi was not more than 38 either. She cared for Mins. She had always been there for the Mathurs and Anurag to help them with Mins since that fateful day 10 years ago.

Krishnan sighed, collected his stethoscope, pointed towards the equipment kit, and simply walked towards the room across the hall. Rani did would get the BP machine, the thermometer, the oximeter, and the sugar measuring machines. This home had doctors for generations. This home was a half-equipped nursing home in itself.

Mins had been fainting since Anurag's funeral. Her scans were normal. Her blood work was normal. Her vitals were fine. Yet, she kept fainting. Krishnan had restricted her movement on stairs, or outside the home for the time being. With Anurag gone, Dr. Mathur was nose-deep in dealing with his own grief, inthe only way he knew how to. He had thrown himself into work and into sorting Anurag's affairs with their family lawyer.

Adv. Bajaj was not only the Mathurs' family lawyer. He was also their son-in-law. Abhishek was a Harvard-qualified lawyer who had done his chartered accountancy before studying law, and eventually management. The Mathurs trusted him. Their daughter loved him. There was no reason for Abhishek and his wife to not look out for the Mathurs' interests.

Ties in this family WERE strange for a family where such wealth, power, and skill were concentrated. They were really loving people. They were bonded together with love. Of course, they weren't perfect. They each had their blindspots, but they were good people. They had been raised well. They were ethical. Only that some of them were VERY VERY dead now.

Thoughts reeled in Krishnan's head as he entered Mins' room, and nodded to Rani Didi. They measured all the vitals again. Everything was OK.

"Rani didi, iske pairon ki maalish karo, aur thodi thodi haathon ki bhi. Sab normal hai, weakness hogi. Isne kuchh khaya hai?", Krishnan inquired if she had eaten anything as he instructed Rani to massage Mins' hands and feet.

"No Bhaiya, she hasn't eaten much except toast and coffee at the breakfast".

Krishnan groaned inwardly. He just didn't want to unleash his anger at this brat. Not yet.

He took the oil bottle from Rani's hand and spread some on his hand. "Please get a glass of fresh nariyal pani", he told her. As Rani left for the kitchen, Krishnan was already applying oil to Mins' feet. Gently rubbing her soles, Krishnan pulled her toes a bit, kneading her soles to ensure all pressure points were treated just right.

If Krishnan had his way, he would prescribe massages twice a week for Mins. Perhaps give her one himself every week. "Focus!", he chided himself mentally and shook his head. He worked his way through her soles to her ankles. He went and soaped his hands in the princess washroom, dried them, and now decided to work her palms.

Rani didi was already there and had set the glass of fresh coconut water on the side table. She stood there silently, watching him, as he gently spread a few drops of the almond oil on his palms, and lifted Mins' right palm.

Did her fingers twitch around his? He wondered. Again. He felt her fingertips press against his as he applied oil to her palms.

"Rani didi, either sit or continue with your chores, as you wish please", Krishnan instructed Rani. She smiled and left for the kitchen again. "Please leave the door open", he called after Rani. That she did. She liked Krishnan Bhaiya. He was always a gentleman.

Mins moaned softly as Krishnan continued to gently massage her palms. She slowly opened her eyes. Deep, sad, unfathomable grief. Her eyes were expressive. Honest. They were incapable of lying. How the room used to light up when she smiled :)

Krishnan knew the impact Mini's smile had on his friend's mood. Anurag loved his sister unconditionally. Her smiles seemed to justify his existence. All the rest of him, the charming, the dashing, the handsome, the successful, the skilled Anurag; they all came after the brother came. The brother came first. And Mins? Her smile? It came before him.

Oh, and Krishnan wasn't naive. He did realize that he was as smitten with her smile, as Anurag had been. Just not as a brother. And the little vixen wasn't all that naive either. She knew the effect she could have on him.

In general, she was a gentle, submissive, adorable, brat. This little vulnerable china doll. She was mischievous, she was playful, flirty even, but she wasn't manipulative. She wasn't a cocktease. She was just smitten. Smitten with him.

So, when Mins' fingers gripped Krishnan's, he held her. Gently. Holding her against him, he moved a bit, adjusting himself. Gently rocking her, as one would rock a child. Soaking in their common grief. They grieved in silence together.

The reverie was broken when Krishnan brought the nariyal pani to her lips. Her eyes welled up again. She tried to sip a bit and then shook her head.

"Drink!" Krishnan's voice turned hard. "You need to recover. And you will do that either willingly, or I will ensure that you do that. Choose!", He sounded angry.

Mins cringed. She hated to make Anurag da or Krishnan angry. She could never think of Krishnan as 'bhaiya'. She had always been attracted to Krishnan.

"What?", Krishnan was frustrated.

Mins cringed and pulled back, avoiding his gaze. Why did it turn her on so much? This fear of his being upset?

Krishnan sighed. He didn't enjoy scaring people. Especially people he cared for. Krishnan was tall. He worked out. So, even at his leanest, he could look like this huge giant. Moreso, from where Mins was.

At 4.10 Mins was tiny. She was curvy, but she was a child. He didn't like to scare her. But he needed her to regroup. They would be executing Anurag's will soon and Mins needed to gather herself. With Dr. Mathur MIA on this front, Krishnan was left to deal with this petite brat. And God! It was tough! His raging hardons were not the most cooperative.

"Sorry Sir". That's what Mins had always called him. Sir. It frustrated him. It made him feel responsible. It aroused him. And, there was nothing he could do about it.

She drank up the whole glass of coconut water, eyes still brimming with tears.

"Good girl", he took the glass from her and petted her shoulder with his left hand. Her arm was around her, holding her gently. Like a giant would hold a fragile princess. His gaze and his voice softened. His cock? Well, it had a mind of its own. Thank God for Indian ethnic wear.

"Now sleep for a bit. You need to rest and recover."

He gently helped her lie down. On the side that avoided strain on her broken elbow.

Mins groaned inwardly, "Why does his stern voice turn me on so much?". This was her last thought as she drifted to sleep.

©Asmi Uniqus Dec 2022

His... 4 (A long work of Erotica)

 Disclaimer and Trigger Warnings

    Any resemblance with any person living or dead is coincidental. All characters are 18+.
    Any choice of names is random, and not indicative on any caste, religion etc. The setting is in India, so readers need to NOT PROJECT THEIR BIASES on my work.
    I write for my pleasure. At my pace. I'm mindful of trigger warnings where they matter, but I don't overapologize. I am aware of FL limits, legal limits, boundaries in general.
    A lot of my fictional work is dark and deals with themes of depression, violence, rough sex, non-consent self-harm, suicide etc. So, if any of these themes are potentially triggering for you, I request you to please not read thhe work and focus on self-care.
    Apart from that, I take time to build my stories. The way I want. So, if this is too harsh, too mild, too little, too much, whine elsewhere. If this is too much sex, too little sex, too realistic, too unrealistic, too much plot, too much dialogue, take your judgement / opinion and put it where it belongs. Unless you're my writing mentor. Because - YKINMK.


________________________________


Krishnan was sitting in his room holding his head in his hands. That niggling feeling he had? There was more to it. However, he didn't know how to define it. He didn't know enough to connect dots. He knew that Pramila's parents, specially his mother blamed Anurag for Pramila's death. They even blamed Anurag's parents for not pushing him to marry Pramila.

Anurag was rich, successful, a talented surgeon in making, second in line to be the heir of an empire of hospitals, creative, handsome, charming. He was a poster boy for an eligible bachelor.

Pramila on the other hand? She was hot, sexy, confident, and beautiful. Her priorities were misplaced though. She thought she could make her way in the world by marrying a hotshot. Anurag was nothing to her but just another sex toy and her pass to a rich, lavish lifestyle. True, she was a doctor like the rest of them, but she was neither interested in studying or growing further, nor in business. She just wanted to finish the degree and be a socialite wife.

It was all good as long as Anurag and Pramila remained exclusive. But, things started changing once they opened their relationship. Early on in their relationship, Pramila had wanted to include other people. Anurag was reluctant, but after their first menage-a-trois with another girl, he had let loose. In fact, it had been Anurag to suggest that Krishnan be the guy they experiment with. He trusted Krishnan. He felt secure around him.

But they didn't know Krishnan. No one really knew Krishnan. Or understood him.

Krishnan had been raised by his uncle in Europe after Krishnan's abusive father finally left his mother, and she committed suicide. His uncle legally adopted him. His uncle, who was gay, who practiced BDSM, who had more than one lover; and yet was the best parent Krishnan could have had. He hid nothing. He avoided nothing. He answered all of Krishnan's questions. Even sponsored his higher education.

It was only recently that Krishnan stopped taking money from his uncle. Krishnan sometimes wondered. Where was all his dominance, empathy, and affection rooted? Was it in his father's abusiveness? His mother's sense of defeat? Or in his uncle's unconditional love mixed with the in-the-face upbringing that he provided for Krishnan.

Krishnan's cock twitched again. That night, with Anurag and Pramila. Anurag was silent while Krishnan ordered Pramila to strip.

"Kneel !", he had barked. She couldn't resist.
"Crawl !", he pointed to the floor in between Anurag and him. She obeyed.
"Touch yourself !", Anurag sat there gapingly.

Pramila had writhed that night. She had been ordered to suck Anurag. She had been beaten with a crop numerous times. Whenever she tried to behave like the sexy vixen she was, she had been made to give up the facade. She had been made vulnerable, to reveal her inner submissive, beneath the brat that she projected herself to be.

That night Pramila didn't get to orgasm. Krishnan had guided Anurag in pleasing her, not with the same dominance that he showed towards Pramila. Anurag was his friend, his friend. Pramila, was just a brat that Krishnan was hoping to tame for his brother.

Krishnan stroked himself, even though he felt guilty for being aroused thinking of a girl who was now dead, and her boyfriend, his best friend, whose body had just been cremated. But Krishnan didn't judge himself. He knew that physical release was one of the ways he could clear his mind. He knew that such desperate moments of loneliness could make one more needy for sex. And that it was OK!

Krishnan came, as he remembered how Pramila had sucked Anurag that night. She had taken him deeper than ever before. Anurag said this. She had agreed. She had consented to taste a different kind of lovemaking that night. Everything that Pramila did was consensual. And Krishnan? He had acted like a saintly dungeon master. Plus he wasn't interested in brats himself. Additionally, Pramila and Anurag wanted him, just to teach them what he knew. Not for him to be their third wheel. He didn't want that either.

He wanted.... Something else. Someone else. He wanted, rather needed surrender, complete submission. Someone who would look up to him, cherish him, and not just because. Someone who tested his resolve, his will, and loved him as fiercely as he would love her.

Krishnan knew who he wanted. He wanted... Mins. Since the day the girl had turned 18, she had been hitting on him. He had resolved to do or say nothing till she finished her Masters. But now, with Anurag dead... He needed her. He needed to protect her.

Krishnan wiped his hand on a tissue nearby and zipped his fly. He got up, turned on the tap, soaping his long, slender, skilled surgeon's fingers, and then letting his hands soak for a bit under the warm tap water.

"Knock knock!" Someone was at the door.

©Asmi Uniqus Dec 2022

His... 3 (A long work of Erotica)

 Disclaimer and Trigger Warnings

1. Any resemblance with any person living or dead is coincidental. All characters are 18+.
2. Any choice of names is random, and not indicative on any caste, religion etc. The setting is in India, so readers need to NOT PROJECT THEIR BIASES on my work.
3. I write for my pleasure. At my pace. I'm mindful of trigger warnings where they matter, but I don't overapologize. I am aware of FL limits, legal limits, boundaries in general.
4. A lot of my fictional work is dark and deals with themes of depression, violence, rough sex, non-consent self-harm, suicide etc. So, if any of these themes are potentially triggering for you, I request you to please not read thhe work and focus on self-care.
5. Apart from that, I take time to build my stories. The way I want. So, if this is too harsh, too mild, too little, too much, whine elsewhere. If this is too much sex, too little sex, too realistic, too unrealistic, too much plot, too much dialogue, take your judgement / opinion and put it where it belongs. Unless you're my writing mentor. Because - YKINMK.

________________________________


Anurag was dreaming incoherently as Krishnan and Mins entered his room. "I'm... sorry Pram. Forgive me...K and I should have taken more care.... Sorry"

Mins was livid as she heard the name Pram. Krishnan on the other hand sighed. He was more clued in, on Pramila singh, and Anurag's dream after all.

Pramila had been bad news from the word go. Entitled, reckless, irresponsible, going around pricking people with the same needle and calling it fun. Yet most people seemed to be falling head over heals for her.

When Pramila and Anurag started dating, Krishnan decided to be Anurag's self-appointed wingman. He kept a polite and watchful eye on the woman. Anurag and Pramila went to bars, parties, munches, play parties. The more Anurag indulged her, the more extreme her kinks got.

Krishnan's cock twitched involuntarily as he remembered the single time when Anurag and Pramila invited him into their bed. Krishnan knew he had not been coerced, or manipulated. He had consented to experience with his best friend and his snooty entitled girl-friend something exquisite.

Anurag was more of a lover-Dom. Krishnan on the other hand could be a sadist when playing. Pramila wanted to taste that. Krishnan would teach her well. He would ensure he put her in her place. That night? He did put her in her place.

He made her bend to his while and his crop, her body he bent, her mind he dominated. The hot Pramila, the wild Pramila, the overconfident Pramila who thought her body was her biggest currency, the mouth Pramila.

Eventually turned into a whimpering slut, begging to be touched, to be allowed release, to be allowed to yield. That night Krishnan and Anurag sat and talked. Pramila was left tied, horny, dripping, and wanting.

The next morning, she was a different person.

But then, the accident happened. The fateful night, that turned their whole world upside down. Anurag's parents. The car crash. Mins. Anurag transformed into a person no one would have ever imagined him to be.

Over the next few months, Anurag was centered around Mins.

Pramila mentioned, complained, even whined. She couldn't prioritize. Obviously. They were wrong to think that a single session could have changed a person. Play isn't therapy. And entitled princesses aren't exactly givers. Guess you can bring out a bitch in heat, but you can't take the bitch out of someone.

No one could have imagined what happened next. Till it happened. On that fateful night. That night when Mins had made the first attempt on her life. While Anurag and Krishnan were rushing the child to the hospital Pramila was planning an attention seeking stunt of her own.

She texted, called Anurag some 15 times that night. He silenced his phone.

The next morning, doctors in the hospital told them that Mins had survived. On the other hand, they discovered that Pramila had died. Inside sources said it was a self-bondage experiment that had gone horridly wrong.

The Singh family were powerful. They blamed Anurag for not responding to their daughter's distress calls. Anurag's alibi however was more than perfect. Genuine too.

Anurag never stopped blaming himself.

Mins however, blamed Pram for making her brother sad, when she discovered what had happened. She had been simply told Pramila didi died the night Mins could have. She was angry at Pram. She had never liked Pram in the first place.

Krishnan thought differently. He knew suicide wasn't so easy to fathom. He also knew that Pramila's mishap was NOT an attempt on her life. It was an accident. One that could have been avoided. But an accident nonetheless.

As Mins and Krishnan sat quietly holding Anurag's hand, Krishnan couldn't help but think of all of this. Suddenly the monitors started beeping erratically. Anurag pressed the call button and dialed a quick dial on his phone. Suddenly a flurry of nurses and doctors started moving in and out.

Mins were gently but firmly moved out of their way. Her heart leaped in her mouth. She could feel it in her gut. It was like this sinking feeling again. The kind she had with mum and dad more than 10 years ago.

Suddenly the monitor went blank with a long beep. There was pin-drop silence in the room!

©Asmi Uniqus Dec 2022

His...2 (A long work of Erotica)

 

 Disclaimer and Trigger Warnings

1. Any resemblance with any person living or dead is coincidental. All characters are 18+.
2. Any choice of names is random, and not indicative on any caste, religion etc. The setting is in India, so readers need to NOT PROJECT THEIR BIASES on my work.
3. I write for my pleasure. At my pace. I'm mindful of trigger warnings where they matter, but I don't overapologize. I am aware of FL limits, legal limits, boundaries in general.
4. A lot of my fictional work is dark and deals with themes of depression, violence, rough sex, non-consent self-harm, suicide etc. So, if any of these themes are potentially triggering for you, I request you to please not read thhe work and focus on self-care.
5. Apart from that, I take time to build my stories. The way I want. So, if this is too harsh, too mild, too little, too much, whine elsewhere. If this is too much sex, too little sex, too realistic, too unrealistic, too much plot, too much dialogue, take your judgement / opinion and put it where it belongs. Unless you're my writing mentor. Because - YKINMK.

________________________________


"Come. I'll take you to him." His heart went out to her. His own grief hidden behind that mask of professional politeness. He took her to the room just next to hers and held her close. He didn't want her to panic. He needed her to have a grip on herself right now.

Dr. Krishnan had known Dr. Mathur's family for a little more than a decade now. Anurag and Krishnan had become friends in the final year of their degree. He knew Dr. Mathur understood the consequences of the accident. Dr. Mathur understood that his younger brother might not survive these injuries. As the head of the family, perhaps he would also be able to handle and calm down the rest of his family. Krishnan knew that the Mathur family would grieve. For long. But, they would survive.

This girl, however? In a family of 5 siblings, she was the youngest and almost 11 years their junior. Anurag was the second eldest brother, and the lifeline she had for the last 10 years since the Mathurs lost their parents. She was only 12 when they passed away in a similar accident. She was with them. She had miraculously survived.

She had made multiple attempts on her own life over the next few years. Anurag had been the one to pull her out. His unfathomable love for her, his endless patience, his vigilance.

10 years later, the girl had grown into a remarkably intelligent, beautiful, and strong young woman. No one could even imagine the extent of the darkness she had gone through. The only remnants left in the wake of that accident were the scars on her wrists and the way she clung to her brother.

But this? Krishnan knew Anurag won't survive. But his baby sister? Will she be able to recover? Will she survive this? Krishnan didn't have any answers.

As he held her and walked into Anurag's room, there was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was too much of a coincidence to happen to a family and a young girl like this. The Mathurs were a well-respected, well-known, powerful family in the country. All of them had been very respectable doctors for 3 generations now.

They owned multiple multi-specialty hospitals. Yet they had kept this hi-tech, yet nondescript facility completely out of the public eye; strictly for family and friends. And then they meet with two accidents, both equally devastating, taking down someone critical to the family, and the businesses. And the survivor was the same in both cases.

There was this niggling feeling that Krishnan was unable to shake off. He didn't know what to make of all this. But he was uneasy. Significantly so.

He wondered if he was in danger too. Not that he cared. He had no family. The Mathurs had been his family since the word 'go'. It was all the more important that he listened to his intuition.

Was there something sinister at play here? He had his suspicions. He also knew who to share this with. He needed to talk to Anurag's elder brother. Dr. Mathur was the only person who Krishnan could trust right now. But this would need to wait.

Right now? He needed to deal with Anurag. And his baby sister. Right now, she needed him.


©Asmi Uniqus Dec 2022

His...1 (A long work of Erotica)

 Disclaimer and Trigger Warnings

1. Any resemblance with any person living or dead is coincidental. All characters are 18+.
2. Any choice of names is random, and not indicative on any caste, religion etc. The setting is in India, so readers need to NOT PROJECT THEIR BIASES on my work.
3. I write for my pleasure. At my pace. I'm mindful of trigger warnings where they matter, but I don't overapologize. I am aware of FL limits, legal limits, boundaries in general.
4. A lot of my fictional work is dark and deals with themes of depression, violence, rough sex, non-consent self-harm, suicide etc. So, if any of these themes are potentially triggering for you, I request you to please not read thhe work and focus on self-care.
5. Apart from that, I take time to build my stories. The way I want. So, if this is too harsh, too mild, too little, too much, whine elsewhere. If this is too much sex, too little sex, too realistic, too unrealistic, too much plot, too much dialogue, take your judgement / opinion and put it where it belongs. Unless you're my writing mentor. Because - YKINMK.

________________________________

There was pain. A lot of pain! Searing pain!

She couldn't move her left hand. She moved her neck, but was unable to see what was stopping her from moving it. There was nothing. Perhaps she broke her bones. Maybe she was dying. There was another flash of hot, searing pain, and she drifted..in and out.. lots of voices, sounds, an ambulance perhaps somewhere. She saw a glimpse of a white lab coat. "A doctor", she thought. A wave of relief hit her, and she passed out.

She woke up and found herself in a hospital. Machines, monitors, IV tubes. It looked foreign. She didn't know hospitals like that existed in India. A kind, friendly face came into her sight, the brown eyes peering into hers. She blinked. She seemed to know this man, but couldn't recognize him. She blinked again.

He smiled. Kindly, gently.

Even in the hospital, she blushed, just a bit. Her brother's batchmate.

Her brother!

She panicked. Where was her brother? Where was Anurag???

Dr. Krishnan put his hand on her shoulder gently.

"Anurag is alive. He's critical, but he survives. I need to ensure that you're fine before I let you see him. Will you let me do that?"

She nodded.

"Any aches? Any pains? Except your left elbow that is?", he asked as he poked and prodded her around her right shoulder, arm, her shoulder, her back, her ribs. His hand brushing her right breast accidentally.

She blushed but shook her head. Her left elbow was in a caste.

"Your joint broke into 6 pieces Mins", he addressed her with her pet name. "There was bone loss. We've operated it, fixed it, it will look normal, but it will never be back to 100% efficiency." Dr. Krishnan gave it as it was. Anurag and Krishnan were both like that. Doctors, friends, brothers, and straight shooters. They said things as they were. Kindly, yet honestly. Always.

"Is he stable?" her voice choked.

He looked at her keenly as he put his hand out. "Hold my hand and slowly try to get off the bed and stand up", he focused on the task at hand. She sulked but obeyed. She knew better than to argue or snap. She knew from experience, it never worked on the man. She had known him for almost a decade now.

"Anything? At all?" He looked at her, concerned. She shook her head. Apart from the pain in the elbow, she felt absolutely alright. Even the anaesthesia had worn off completely.

"I am fine. Please. Now tell me. Is he stable? Where is he? I need to see him please!" Her voice choked again, her anxiety finally getting the better of her, eyes welled up.

©Asmi Uniqus Dec 2022

After 10 years, I am not sure if I love him anymore.

Hi Asmi,

We’ve been married together for 10 years. We were love married to begin with and have successful careers and a great friendship. Our family and friends think we’re an amazing couple. But after 10 years, I am not sure if I love him anymore. The sex is infrequent too. We still care for each other and I feel guilty that I don’t love him the same way as I did once. I wonder how can I fix this? 

Imperfect and ashamed

Dear Real-and-beautiful,

Yes, I chose that name for you because I think that’s who you are. Real and honest about how you feel and beautiful on the inside.

First off, thank you for acknowledging that something is amiss. It’s important to acknowledge that something isn’t how it used to be, or how you would want it to be. However, it is critical for you to resolve the emotional upheaval your feelings are causing in you.

I am sure you already know this, but I will repeat – people change all the time. So does love.

You’ve loved each other for 10 years. Been with each other, had arguments, heated debates hopefully, and have made love to each other passionately, am sure. I do not know if you have children together, but if you do, then you’ve both crossed that milestone together too. 

In the process, you’ve changed. Tremendously. Together and individually, you as well as your husband have changed. And, so has your love.

You see, love comes in multiple forms.

When we’re young, it often comes as infatuation. Later sometime as desire, then as lust, and with a special person or more, as romance. It comes in the form of affection, care, commitment, giving, intense sexual attraction. Love also sometimes comes in the form of unhealthy obsession, manipulation or abuse. Add to it the fact that love and its forms change as people change. 

Is it possible that you might be considering this change as fading out of the chemistry? Have you spoken to your partner about it yet? Have you tried to find new ways of reigniting your spark together? Maybe you both want to take a small vacation together? 

Perhaps you just want to book yourselves an OYO for a weekend getaway, even if in the same city. Or, you might want to explore the sensual rather than the sexual or the emotional rather than the sensual? Go learn dancing together or take up running or jogging with each other every evening and reconnect with each other.

While I have listed a few things, you can do to spark and reignite the love you once shared, let me emphasize again. You both need to talk first. It is very possible that he doesn’t even feel like your love is fading. It’s also possible that he also feels the same way and wants to rediscover your love, but is hesitating in telling you. So the first step is to buckle up and speak to him gently about it. I’m sure you will discover another facet of the love you both share. 

Much Love,

Asmi