Saturday Story 2025 #32 (Excerpts from the Diary of a Hypnodomme – 7)
This gentle femdom piece continues today. You can find it on my Patreon. Synopsis below:
A Domme who recently returned to the world of kink shares some experiences of her journey with a new client. A gentle femdom piece.
As promised, I’m continuing this one, intending to wrap it up in a satisfactory fashion. It’s been a minute, so I decided to reflect the passage of time in the story as well because shit happens when you least expect it. Please enjoy.
To read this story before anyone else, head over to my Patreon page and become Spell… B-O-U-N-D, too. The minimum pledge for this type of early access is $5 per month.
https://www.patreon.com/posts/136650965
A small excerpt is available below:
August 5,
Sorry for being away for so long. I know some of you check this journal regularly, either for new posts or to see if your comments received a response, so it’s only fair that I offer you an explanation.
I didn’t mean to vanish, but life has a way of slipping a leash and dragging us in directions we’d rather not go. When that happens, all our clever plans and carefully curated routines get scattered like pebbles in a river and are carried away by the current. That’s where I’ve been, tumbling along at the mercy of other forces.
If you want to know what kept me away from the kink world for almost four months, the answer isn’t very glamorous or even particularly interesting: I had a family emergency. My mother, who is in her seventies and is more stubborn than any mule in existence, was in the hospital after a nasty fall.
The details are unremarkable – a slick tile, a missed handrail, a momentary lapse of balance – but the consequences were not. Multiple fractures, a concussion, and a stubborn refusal (on her end) to be “a burden” made for weeks of tension, stress, and the kind of mental fatigue that doesn’t clear out with a single good night’s sleep.
Now, I have always been the “responsible daughter”. The “good” daughter, even if my nightlife might suggest otherwise. So of course, the moment I got the call, I dropped everything – work, sessions, even the writing I claim to love more than anything – and drove three hours to the hospital. I packed a bag so hastily that I forgot my laptop charger and had to buy a new one at a depressing electronics store next to a Cinnabon.
If you’ve ever spent any significant time in a hospital, then you’re familiar with the particular blandness of the air, the way the sounds and colors cancel each other out in perpetual gray, as if the world itself has been anesthetized. Visitors and staff move through the corridors in slow motion, and the only real indicator of time’s passage is the rotation of nurses and the changing quality of the fluorescent light. I fucking hate hospitals, and I don’t think that’s ever going to change.(…)
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