He always turned the strangest requests into rituals. A box. A costume. A note in his sharp, careful handwriting. Like instructions for something sacred, though half the time it was just absurd. Tonight was no different. I tore the paper back and — of course. Long ears. A ridiculous little tail. I actually laughed. Should’ve seen it coming after the kitten ears last month. He never stops at one game.
I went to the hotel, slid into the outfit. Looked at myself in the mirror and almost shook my head — part nerves, part thrill. The sort that makes your stomach tighten even though you want it. He always started with a phone call, stretching out the waiting like elastic. The city noise muffled through the windows. I lay there staring at the ceiling until the buzz finally came.
“Hello, handsome,” I said, maybe too sweet, like I was mocking myself.
He chuckled. “So, what are you wearing?”
I curled my toes into the sheet, feeling ridiculous. The ears, the tail pressing softly against me. “Not much,” I whispered, “something playful. The blanket’s barely trying to cover me.”
We circled each other in words. I teased, he pressed, always making me fill the silences. That laugh of his — deep, almost lazy — slid through me in a way I hated admitting. It reminded me of a night when I had to soften completely, give him something closer to affection than play. Like that blurred edge of a Girlfriend Experience in Mayfair — where you pretend, but it feels too real to dismiss after.
When the line went quiet, I knew he was on his way. Those seconds dragged out, my body wound too tight. And I thought — costumes are just decoration. Underneath there’s always the structure. Sometimes gentle. Sometimes sharp. A little like the first time I stumbled into DDLG roleplay — playful on the surface, but carrying a thread of discipline that pulled tighter the more you gave in.
Then the door clicked.
He walked in already smiling, and I opened my legs without thinking. That’s the power he had — or maybe the one I let him take.
“What does my little bunny want?” His finger traced over my knee, slow, cruel in the way he withheld.
“You,” I breathed, and for once it didn’t feel like a line.
The kiss came heavy, claiming, and I leaned straight into it. That’s always been the point with him — the surrender, the rules, knowing I could stop if I wanted but never wanting to. His mouth moved lower, slower than I liked, reminding me who dictated the pace.
“Please,” I whispered. Not sure if it was a request, a surrender, or just a habit I’d fallen into.
He laughed softly, almost kind, and pressed in closer. When he whispered “come with me” at my ear, I believed it without question. My body moved in his rhythm, the costumes fading, the make-believe turning into something uncomfortably real.
Afterwards, he stayed. He always did. His weight half on me, anchoring me to the bed, his breath in my hair. That part undid me more than anything else — not the ears, not the tail, but the silence after, the staying.
Maybe that’s why it lingers. There’s something dangerously intoxicating about letting someone else decide who you’ll be for the night. If that temptation tugs at you, wander into A Beginner’s Guide to Bedroom Role Play — a reminder of just how much power hides inside a game of make-believe.