Witters Note:
This is a slow story,non-erotic though there is teasing up to chapter 15 where the full on on erotica starts. Uploads for the story would be weekly ranging from 2.5K to 4k words each. The story is centred on romance and soon moves to soft dom then to full BDSM territory. Mainly this is based on the female MC's POV all though it is written in 3rd person because I like to jump to different POV's. Hopefully you enjoy the story. (and also am I am a little sorry about the cliffhangers). And I give no permission to repost this.
(written and edited by)
MocoFF
****
For as long as Ethan could remember, Vanessa had been a menace in his life. Petite but terrifying, the 5'7" brunette with waist length hair had ruled over him with her sharp tongue and even sharper fists since middle school. As a state-level karate champion, she had never needed a reason to assert her dominance--Ethan was simply her favorite target.
At first, it had been name-calling, tripping him in the hallways, and taking his lunch money. But when he had grown tired of her antics and started refusing, the bullying had turned physical. A light punch on the shoulder, a "playful" kick to the shin, a casual demonstration of her strength. She never left marks--nothing a teacher could call her out on.
Ethan had spent years enduring it, dodging her in hallways, taking the hits, and giving in just to avoid trouble. But today... today was different.
Vanessa stood in front of him, hand outstretched expectantly. "Lunch money. Now."
Ethan crossed his arms. "No."
Her brown eyes flickered with irritation. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," he said firmly.
Her smirk twitched. "Hah. Cute. Don't make me ask again."
Ethan didn't move.
Vanessa's expression darkened. "Fine," she sighed, rolling her shoulders. "Looks like I gotta remind you how this works."
She swung at him--a simple jab to the chest, nothing fancy. The same move she'd used countless times before. But this time... Ethan moved.
Not away, not back--just slightly to the side. Her fist cut through empty air.
Vanessa blinked.
"What?" she muttered before throwing another punch, this time aiming for his shoulder. Ethan ducked, pivoted smoothly, and stepped just out of reach.
A chill ran up her spine. That wasn't luck.
She clenched her teeth. "Stop messing around and stand still!" she snapped, launching a faster strike toward his stomach. But again--he dodged.
Ethan's face remained calm, focused, unreadable. No fear. No hesitation. No submission.
Vanessa's heart pounded, frustration rising. "What the hell?! How are you doing that?!"
She lunged, throwing a rapid combination of punches--left, right, a kick aimed at his knee. Every single one missed. He weaved, sidestepped, evaded like he'd been doing this for years.
Vanessa stumbled back, breathing hard, staring at him like he was an entirely different person. This wasn't the weak, helpless Ethan she knew. This was someone else.
For the first time in her life... she felt powerless.
And Ethan? He simply adjusted his backpack and met her stunned gaze.
"I'm done playing your game, Vanessa," he said. "Find a new hobby."
Then, without another word, he walked away.
Leaving Vanessa standing there, fists clenched, speechless, and utterly baffled.
Vanessa's fist had cut through empty air.
That had never happened before.
It was supposed to be simple. Ethan defies her, she reminds him who's in charge, and he falls back in line. That was how it had always worked. She had never needed to think about it before. She was stronger, better, faster. That's just how things were.
But now, Ethan was moving differently. Not just lucky flinches or nervous jumps--he was reading her attacks. Dodging like he had done this a hundred times before.
And the worst part? He wasn't even trying to fight back.
He wasn't scared. He wasn't defensive. He was just... letting her wear herself out. Like she wasn't a threat at all.
The realization struck her like a punch to the gut.
She wasn't in control anymore.
Her face burned with frustration, with humiliation. "What the hell?! Had he done this?!"
Ethan had weaved past every strike like it was effortless. Like he had already won.
This wasn't just some freak moment of luck. This wasn't something she could brush off or laugh about later. Something had changed.
Ethan had changed.
She had spent years making sure he knew his place. But now, as he looked at her with steady, unreadable eyes, she realized with a sickening certainty--
She was the one who felt small.
And then Ethan spoke.
Vanessa stood frozen, fists clenched, heart hammering.
She had never lost before. Not like this. Not against him.
For the first time in her life, she felt something she had never allowed herself to feel before.
Powerless.
And she hated it.
Vanessa stormed out of the school gates, fists clenched, heart still racing.
The world around her blurred as she walked, each step striking the pavement harder than the last. Her mind buzzed, replaying every humiliating moment. The way Ethan had stood there, unshaken. The way he had dodged her attacks like she was nothing. The way he had walked away from her.
For years, she had been in control. She had made sure Ethan knew his place. So why--how--had it all fallen apart in a single moment?
Her stomach twisted.
She hated this feeling.
Powerless.
Weak.
Like she was the joke.
Vanessa kicked a loose rock on the sidewalk, watching it skitter away before she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. This wasn't just about today. This was years of control slipping through her fingers.
Why had she bullied Ethan in the first place?
The answer was simple. Because he had everything she didn't.
Her family wasn't poor. Not in the way some kids were. They had a house. They had food on the table every night. But that was it. No luxuries. No brand-new shoes. No spontaneous shopping trips. Every time she wanted something extra--a new phone, a designer jacket, even something as simple as going to the movies with friends--her parents' response was always the same.
"We can't afford that right now."
"Maybe next time."
"Be grateful for what you have."
She was.
She really was.
But then there was Ethan.
The rich kid. The one who never had to hear no. The one who always had the newest stuff, the nicest clothes, the kind of life she wished she had. And the worst part? He never even seemed to care about any of it.
She remembered the first time she had taken money from him. Middle school. A quick demand, a little shove, and he had just handed it over. No argument. No fight. Just like that.
It had been so easy.
And once she realized how easy it was, how much she could take, how much control she had over him--she never stopped.
Until today.
Vanessa exhaled sharply, her throat tight.
Ethan's parents had died in seventh grade. She remembered when it happened--how the whole school had whispered about the tragic accident, about the drunk driver, about the massive insurance payout he got.
She hadn't thought much of it back then. To her, he had still been the rich kid. The one who had everything.
But now, walking home in silence, she wondered if she had ever really looked at him.
He had been living with his uncle all these years. Alone in that big house, carrying money that meant nothing compared to what he had lost.
She stopped in her tracks.
For years, she had convinced herself she was the one who had been dealt the unfair hand. That she deserved to take from Ethan because he had more.
But today--when he had dodged her punches without effort--when he had stood there looking at her like she was nothing--she had felt something she hadn't felt in a long time.
She had felt small.
And for the first time, she wondered if Ethan had been feeling that way all along.
Vanessa clenched her jaw, forcing the thought away as she continued walking.
No.
This didn't change anything. It couldn't. She refused to believe that.
Tomorrow, she'd figure out what was going on with Ethan.
Tomorrow, she'd take back control.
Because the idea that she wasn't the strongest anymore... that she wasn't in charge anymore...
That scared her more than anything.
Vanessa arrived at school early, leaning against the lockers with her arms crossed, eyes locked on the entrance. She wasn't going to be caught off guard again.
Ethan showed up like he always did. Same slow walk. Same hands shoved in his pockets. Same black hoodie and sleeveless jacket jacket with the hood up--like nothing had changed.
But something had.
She spent the morning watching him. Looking for any difference.
Maybe he had started training? Maybe he had new friends? Maybe someone had taught him how to fight?
But there was nothing.
No new bruises. No signs that he'd been practicing. He still sat alone, still barely talked to anyone, still had that quiet, almost invisible presence.
If she hadn't experienced it herself, she would've thought yesterday was a dream.
But it wasn't.
So at lunch, she made her move.
She waited until he was at his usual spot--sitting at the farthest table in the cafeteria, picking at his food without much interest. Then she walked up, placing her hands on the table, leaning in close.
"Lunch money. Now."
Ethan didn't even glance up.
"No."
Her jaw clenched.
No hesitation. No fear. Just like yesterday.
Her fingers curled into fists.
"I'm trying to be nice about this," she said, voice low and sharp. "Hand it over."
Ethan finally lifted his head, his dark eyes unreadable.
"Not happening."
That was it. That was all he said.
Her patience snapped.
She threw a punch.
And once again--he dodged.
Not by luck. Not by accident. It was controlled, calculated. Like he knew exactly when and how she would strike.
Her fist sliced through empty air.
A second later, she tried again.
And again.
And again.
Every single one missed.
The cafeteria noise blurred into the background. The only thing Vanessa could hear was the rush of her own blood in her ears, the quickened pace of her breath. This wasn't supposed to be happening.
She was a fighter. A state champion. People feared her.
But Ethan?
Ethan wasn't even breaking a sweat.
"Why?!" she burst out, her voice louder than she intended. "How are you doing this?!"
Ethan just stared at her. Silent. Composed.
And then--he smirked.
Not a full grin. Not mocking. Just a small, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his lips.
But Vanessa saw it.
Felt it.
And it made her stomach drop.
This wasn't just some fluke.
He was toying with her.
She stepped back, her fingers trembling before she forced them into fists. The cafeteria had gone quiet.
Eyes were on her.
She had never been the one people pitied.
Without another word, she turned and walked away, her entire body tense, her thoughts a storm of rage and confusion.
What the hell was going on?
Vanessa had never spent this much time thinking about Ethan William before.
For four days, she watched him. Every class, every break, every moment he walked through the halls. She observed the way he moved, how he reacted to things, looking for anything--anything--that could explain what had happened.
But there was nothing.
Ethan was still the same quiet kid who barely spoke to anyone. He still wore his black jacket with the hood up, no matter the weather. He still sat alone.
He never showed off, never acted different. Like nothing had changed.
But something had.
And it was driving Vanessa insane.
At first, she told herself it was just a matter of finding out who had trained him.
There was no way he learned how to move like that on his own. Someone must have taught him.
But by the third day, a darker thought crept into her mind.
What if he wasn't the one who changed?
What if she was the one getting weaker?
She had never doubted herself before. Karate was the one thing in her life she was certain of. She had worked for it, bled for it, earned her titles through years of training.
She was strong. She was fast.
She was better.
...Right?
But every time she replayed their fights in her head, all she could see was how effortlessly Ethan had dodged her. How he had stood there, calm, while she lost control.
She had thrown her best at him--and it hadn't mattered.
The thought sat in her chest like a stone.
And then there was the money.
Losing $50 a week didn't seem like a big deal at first. But as the days passed, the absence of it was noticed.
Her friends weren't the kind of people to ask where the money came from. They just expected her to have it--expected her to cover lunch, movie tickets, arcade games.
And when she didn't?
The looks started.
The whispers.
She didn't care what people thought.
Or at least, that's what she told herself.
But sitting at lunch with them, feeling their disappointment, their boredom when she wasn't the one setting the plans--it stung in a way she didn't expect.
She wasn't used to feeling irrelevant.
She wasn't used to feeling small.
And all of it--all of it--was because of Ethan.
By the time the weekend ended, she had made up her mind.
If he wasn't going to give her answers, she'd force them out of him.
Monday morning, Vanessa stepped into school with a different energy.
This wasn't about money anymore.
This was about her.
She needed to prove to herself that she was still in control. That she was still stronger.
That Ethan wasn't better than her.
So she had come up with a plan.
She wouldn't just fight him.
No.
If she wanted to truly see if he had been training, she needed to push him past dodging. She needed to make him fight back.
And she knew exactly how to do it.
She just had to break him.
Vanessa started small.
A textbook knocked off his desk. A shove into the lockers. A water bottle kicked over in the hallway.
Nothing.
Ethan didn't flinch. Didn't react. Didn't care.
So she pushed harder.
The next day, she grabbed his notebook right off his desk, flipping through the pages before ripping out a handful and crumpling them in her fist. She waited for the snap--for anger, frustration, something.
But Ethan? He just watched her, expression blank. Then he sighed, stretched, and leaned back in his chair.
"I'll just rewrite them," he said, tone completely indifferent.
Vanessa's jaw tightened.
The next day, she stole one of his pens--some expensive-looking thing--held it up between them, then snapped it in half. The ink leaked onto her fingers, but she barely noticed, her eyes locked on his face, waiting.
Ethan blinked at the broken pen, then tilted his head slightly, smirking.
"That was a limited edition."
Finally.
For a second, Vanessa felt a rush of satisfaction--until he shrugged and muttered,
"Guess I'll buy another one."
The words hit harder than she expected.
Guess I'll buy another one.
Like it didn't matter.
Like she didn't matter.
The next day, she upped the stakes.
Ethan's headphones--another expensive-looking thing, probably some high-end brand. She grabbed them from his bag, held them up high, and snapped them apart in front of him.
The cafeteria went quiet.
This had to get to him.
But instead, Ethan exhaled through his nose, barely reacting.
"Wow," he said, shaking his head. "You really don't get it, do you?"
Vanessa's hands clenched around the broken plastic. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Ethan grabbed his tray, standing up. "That none of this is going to work," he said simply. "You're trying to break something I don't care about."
Vanessa's face burned. "I just destroyed your--"
"I'll buy another one," he interrupted, giving her a small, infuriating smirk. "That's what rich kids do, right?" raising his hands and forming the universal colon sign for sarcasm.
Her breath hitched.
He wasn't just brushing her off.
He was mocking her.
Before she could come up with a response, Ethan turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, seething, hands trembling at her sides.
For the first time in her life, she didn't know what to do.
She had always relied on her fists, on her presence, on her ability to take what she wanted. But Ethan had taken all of that and flipped it back on her.
He had made her feel...
Powerless.
And Vanessa couldn't accept that.
If breaking his things wouldn't get a reaction, she'd have to find another way.
Something deeper.
Something he couldn't ignore.
Friday afternoon.
Vanessa stood in the parking lot, running a key slowly along the side of Ethan's bike, the sharp metal screeching against the paint.
She didn't rush it.
She wanted him to hear it. To see it. To feel it.
When she finished, she stepped back, admiring her work. A deep, jagged scar ran along the side of the frame.
This wasn't something he could just shrug off.
Ethan arrived minutes later, his hood still up, hands in his pockets.
He slowed as he reached his bike, staring at the damage.
And for the first time all week--she saw it.
Anger.
It was quick, barely there, but she saw the way his shoulders tensed. The way his fingers twitched. The way his jaw clenched.
Finally.
Vanessa smirked, crossing her arms. "What's wrong, rich boy? Can't just 'buy another one' this time?"
Ethan exhaled through his nose. His hands clenched for half a second.
His eyes darkened.
She took a step forward, tilting her head, waiting.
Come on. Hit me. Fight me. Show me I matter.
But then--he closed his eyes.
A deep breath in. A slow breath out.
When he opened them, the anger was gone.
Not buried. Not hidden.
Gone.
His lips curved into something almost amused, and he shook his head.
"Guess I'll have to get a new one now."
Vanessa felt her stomach drop.
No. No, no, no--this was supposed to be it.
Her nails dug into her palms as Ethan walked past her, completely unaffected.
Like nothing she did mattered.
Like she didn't matter.
The thought sent a sick, twisting feeling through her gut.
She had lost.
And for the first time in years, Vanessa had no idea what to do next.
The week dragged on, and with each failed attempt, Vanessa's frustration grew.
Every shove, every insult, every broken belonging--nothing worked.
Ethan refused to fight her. Refused to give her the reaction she needed.
It wasn't even that he ignored her.
He acknowledged what she did--looked at her, saw her--but then he would just breathe.
A slow inhale, a slow exhale--and it was gone.
She had never felt this kind of helplessness before.
Fighting wasn't just something she did--it was who she was.
It was how she controlled things, how she won.
And now?
It was failing her.
And worst of all?
She was starting to feel like it was failing because of her.
Her punches weren't slow.
Her kicks weren't weak.
She wasn't losing skill.
So why couldn't she hit him?
Why couldn't she break him?
The thoughts haunted her, digging under her skin like splinters.
And with every failed attempt, the desperation clawed at her harder.