Saturday Story 2025 #40 (Dark Dominance – Part 1)

We have an expanded piece today on my Patreon. Synopsis below:

Hannah wants to get back at Peter for dumping her and his new girlfriend is going to help her whether she wants it or not.

This is an expansion of the flash fiction piece with the same title, which you can read here: https://www.sbspellbound.net/dark-dominance/

This is a commissioned piece by John Gasp, who had already suggested the original concept back in January. We agreed that this new version will be a three-parter. Part 2 has already been written and will be posted here in two weeks. I’m currently writing Part 3.

To give you a taste of the new story structure, I’ll say this: Part 1 expands the original flash fiction piece. Part 2 is all about Gabrielle and Peter, and Part 3 will have all three main characters interacting in deliciously sexy ways. Please enjoy.

https://www.patreon.com/posts/141005408

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.

An excerpt is available below:

Gabrielle’s screams ricocheted off the basement’s stone walls until her throat was sore and every echo seemed to mock her helplessness. She jerked her arms against the ropes, the scratchy hemp biting into her skin, her wrists swelling with each failed attempt at freedom.

Overhead, a single bulb stuttered with a yellow glow, the light so harsh it burned her retinas and left disorienting afterimages every time she squeezed her eyes shut. The air was heavy with a pungent bouquet of mildew, rotting plaster, and the metallic tang of fear and sweat. Breathing through her nose stung more with every inhale, but the mounting panic wouldn’t let her stop.

She angled her chin upward, every muscle in her neck tense, and locked eyes with her captor. “Let me go, you crazy bitch!” Gabrielle howled.

Hannah stood at the other end of the room, statuesque amid the scattered detritus of the half-renovated division, which included such things as a battered stepladder, cracked paint cans, and a jumble of electrical cords. She was motionless, her crimson silk blouse an incongruous splash of expensive color against the basement’s grimy backdrop.

The late-twenties vixen wore a tailored black pencil skirt and stiletto heels that suggested she belonged in a Manhattan boardroom rather than this dark subterranean prison. Her long, black hair was pulled into a severe chignon, emphasizing her sharp cheekbones and the unwavering intensity of her gaze.

Those eyes – almost black and laser-focused – never left Gabrielle’s face, and were somehow more terrifying than a visible display of anger.

“You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be,” Hannah said. A manicured hand adjusted the delicate pearl earring dangling from her left ear.

“Fuck you! I want out! LET. ME. OUT!” Gabrielle insisted.

The captive woman had seen better days. Her tangled hair hung in greasy strands around her face. Gabrielle’s olive skin, normally warm and vibrant, now looked pale and sallow under the dim light. Though she stood six inches taller than the woman who had imprisoned her, her body was depleted, muscles weak from the lack of movement.

She winced at the sharp pain in her shoulder, trying to remember the last time she had felt strong. Her mixed heritage never showed in her appearance, and now, trapped and exhausted, she looked like a shadow of herself – neither her mother’s Latina roots nor her father’s Anglo features, just a broken version of something in between.

(…)

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