Chapter 1

“Hey, little turd!” Marla shouted. “Come back, now!”

“Screw you!” Mark shouted back.

It had been this way for both siblings for a long time, but since both of them turned 18 the situation had become unbearable. Marla had read a bunch of books on female domination, and had tried to turn several men into her subs. However, until now she was having no success. Each man had reacted to her domination attempts by dumping her, and her frustration directed her to her brother, the only man in her life who was uncapable of leaving.

Mark stormed off, slamming the door behind him. Marla fumed, clenching her fists as she paced the living room. She couldn’t believe her own brother was defying her like this. Didn’t he understand she was trying to help him? To mold him into a better man?

She glanced at the bookshelf, lined with titles like “The Art of Female Supremacy” and “Dominating Your Man.” Surely there was something in there she hadn’t tried yet. Some technique that would finally break through Mark’s stubborn resistance.

As she reached for another book, their mother’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “Marla, honey, leave your brother alone. This has gone too far.”

Marla spun around, eyes flashing. “Stay out of this, Mom! You don’t understand. I’m doing this for his own good.”

She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. There had to be someone who could help her, someone who understood the intricacies of domination. Her eyes landed on a name: Mistress Veronica. They’d met at a munch a few months back, and Veronica had offered guidance.

With trembling fingers, Marla dialed the number. “Mistress Veronica? It’s Marla. I need your help with a ... difficult case.”

As she explained her situation, leaving out the part about Mark being her brother, Marla felt a glimmer of hope.

Mistress Veronica listened intently, her voice oozing with authority even through the phone. “Marla, darling, you’re approaching this all wrong. Domination isn’t about force or coercion. It’s about power exchange, trust, and mutual desire.”

Marla’s brow furrowed. “But I’ve tried being gentle. He just won’t submit!”

“Because he doesn’t want to,” Veronica said firmly. “You can’t make someone submit who doesn’t wish to. It’s unethical and, frankly, abusive.”

The words hit Marla like a slap. She sank onto the couch, her certainty crumbling. “But ... but I thought...”

“Listen, dear,” Veronica continued, her tone softening. “Why don’t you come to my next workshop? We’ll work through this together.”

Mark paced his room, fists clenched, blood boiling. Who did Marla think she was? His sister had always been bossy, but this was a whole new level of crazy. He flopped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. How had things gotten so messed up? They used to be close, before Marla got into all this domination crap. Now he felt like a prisoner in his own home, constantly on edge, waiting for her next attempt to “break” him.

A soft knock on the door made him bolt upright. “Go away, Marla!” he shouted.

“It’s Mom,” came the gentle reply. “Can I come in?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, Mom. It’s open.”

She entered, her face etched with concern. “Honey, I know things have been ... difficult with Marla lately. I want you to know that I’ve spoken to her. This behavior isn’t acceptable.”

Mark snorted. “You think? She’s completely lost it, Mom. All these books and ideas about ‘female supremacy’ or whatever. It’s like she’s in a cult or something.”

Mom sat down on the edge of the bed, placing a comforting hand on Mark’s shoulder. “I know, sweetheart. I’m worried about her too. This obsession isn’t healthy for either of you.”

Mark’s anger deflated slightly at his mother’s touch. “What are we going to do? I can’t keep living like this. It’s like walking on eggshells all the time.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Mom said carefully, “maybe it’s time for you to move out. I know you’ve been saving up, and there’s that apartment complex near your work...”

Mark sat up straighter, hope flickering in his eyes. “Really? You think I should?”

“I think it might be best for everyone,” Mom nodded. “Give you some space, and maybe force Marla to confront her behavior without an easy target.”

As they discussed the logistics, neither noticed the shadow that fell across the doorway. Marla stood there, phone still clutched in her hand, her face a mask of shock and hurt.

“You’re ... you’re leaving?” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Mark and their mother whirled around, startled by her sudden appearance. Mark’s face hardened, while their mother’s expression shifted to one of weary resignation.

“Marla, honey,” Mom began, but Marla cut her off.

“No! You can’t leave, Mark. You can’t!” Her voice rose, tinged with desperation. “I need you here. I need to—”

“To what?” Mark interrupted, anger flaring again. “To control me? To try and force me into being your submissive little puppet? I’m done, Marla. I’m out.”

Marla’s eyes widened, her face paling as the full weight of Mark’s words hit her. She staggered back, gripping the doorframe for support. “I ... I was just trying to help you,” she whispered, her voice small and uncertain.