Announcement My Dark Fantasies: Imagining Raping The Submissive from My BDSM Sessions

[shanghaidomme]

Throughout my career as a professional dominatrix, I’ve dominated over 600 Western men in China, crafting and executing a wide range of BDSM scenarios. Each session is a dance of power, control, and exploration, with men willingly submitting to my dominance. Yet, amidst the sea of submissives, a rare few have stirred something primal and unscripted within me — an overwhelming sexual attraction that disrupted my professional detachment.

Of the 600ish men I’ve personally dominated, only a handful have left me with an urge so raw, so intense, that it bordered on dangerous fantasy. One man in particular — a silver-haired fox with piercing eyes and an effortlessly masculine presence —lighted an almost uncontrollable desire. His chiseled features, shiny blue eyes, and commanding yet compliant aura made him irresistibly aphrodisiac. Each time he knelt before me, baring his body and soul, I found myself captivated by his masculinity, almost hungry to devour him.

The Dark Temptation: Fantasizing About Raping Him
There was a moment during one of our sessions when I watched him strain against the restraints, his chest heaving, eyes clouded with submission and trust. The faint sheen of sweat on his temples, the way his lips parted slightly with each shallow breath — it was carnal perfection. I was so aroused by his vulnerability and allure that my mind strayed to forbidden territory.

I imagined raping him in a frenzy of unrestrained desire — pinning him down, ignoring his protests, and taking him violently. I fantasized about violating him with merciless aggression, marking his body with scratches and bites, breaking his composure as he struggled beneath me. It wasn’t about power or humiliation — it was pure, unadulterated lust. The thought alone sent a jolt of wicked arousal through me, and for a fleeting moment, I savored the fantasy.

Desire vs. Morality: The Line I Refuse to Cross
As thrilling as the fantasy was, I am not someone who gives in to such dark impulses. I am a dominatrix — a purveyor of consent-based pleasure, not a predator. No matter how much I wanted him, rape is never justifiable, regardless of gender. Even in the throes of lust, I knew that my desire alone did not entitle me to his body.

He was submissive by nature, but not my possession. His consent mattered. Without it, the fantasy remained where it belonged — in my imagination.

Beyond that, I realized there was no future between us — he was destined to be nothing more than a passerby in my life. Though his body lighted my desire, our compatibility ended where the session did. I could not bring myself to indulge in a meaningless sexual encounter devoid of emotional connection, as it would ultimately feel hollow. Besides, one-night stands — or even many-night stands — are not my thing. His character clashed with mine — once his horniness faded, so did his submission. The nature of his devotion revealed that he was not truly submissive at heart, but merely driven by temporary lust. No matter how strong my physical attraction, he was never meant to be mine.

Sexual Aggression Toward Attractive Men
This experience revealed a truth about myself — I am sexually aggressive when I encounter men who overwhelm me with attraction. While I thrive in the BDSM world, where aggression is controlled and consensual, my carnal instincts can push the edges of that control when a man’s physicality enraptures me.

There have been moments when I’ve gripped a man’s face harder than intended, bit into his flesh with more hunger than necessary, or pinned his wrists down with a fervor that was barely performative. With certain men, my dominance flirts with genuine sexual hunger, making it difficult to separate the performance from the desire.

The Beauty of Restraint
I do not regret my decision to leave the fantasy unfulfilled. In the end, restraint is power. Knowing that I could take him by force but choosing not to — that is true dominance. My control lies not in giving in to every urge, but in mastering them.

The memory of that silver-haired fox still lingers — his scent, the way his eyes locked with mine, the way he shivered under my touch. The unfulfilled fantasy makes the memory even more potent — a dark, delicious secret that exists only in my mind, where it belongs.

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