Chapter 132: The Bottom’s Experiment -1

Riven Hale stared at the screen until the words started to blur.

He’d been stuck on the same fucking paragraph for almost two hours.

The scene was supposed to be simple. His character - the controlling bottom, the one who liked to watch men break for him - had the bigger, stronger guy on his knees. Hands tied behind their back with thick black leather cuffs. Mouth open. Eyes wet.

The whole thing should have been easy to write. Riven had written filth before. He’d written men crying while they came, men begging, men who looked like they could snap someone in half reduced to shaking messes.

But this time every sentence felt off.

He typed:

*He forced the man’s head down until his nose pressed against the leather of his pants. The larger man choked, throat fluttering around nothing, spit already dripping down his chin.*

Delete.

Too soft.

He tried again:

*Ethan yanked the man’s hair hard enough to make his eyes water and shoved two fingers into that open mouth, pressing down on his tongue. "Stay. Don’t you fucking move until I say." The bigger man trembled, cock hard and leaking against his own thigh, but he didn’t pull away.*

Delete.

Now it sounded like every other cheap BDSM scene on the internet. Overdone. Dramatic. Like the writer had never actually seen a real person take that kind of control and still look like they meant it.

Riven leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner. Outside the window the city lights blinked like they were laughing at him.

He knew what the problem was.

He’d never done it.

He’d read about it. Watched enough videos that his browser history could get him blackmailed. He’d even let a few guys dominate him years ago, back when he still thought he was a pure sub.

But he had never been the one holding the leash. He had never looked down at a bigger man on his knees and made him stay there until his legs shook. He had never tested how long someone could last when you kept them right on the edge, denied, used, ordered around like they existed only for your pleasure.

So every time he tried to put it on the page it felt like guesswork. Like he was exaggerating for the sake of the scene. And readers could smell that shit from a mile away.

He opened a new document and typed the same line three different ways. Each version sounded faker than the last.

"Fuck," he muttered.

He closed the laptop, stood up, and walked to the kitchen. Poured a glass of water he didn’t drink. Stood there in the dark with his hip against the counter, staring at nothing.

There was only one way to fix this.

He needed the real thing.

Not another video. Not another forum post written by someone who might also be making it up.

He needed a body in front of him. A real submissive top - someone bigger, stronger, used to being the one in charge - who would let Riven take complete control for as long as he wanted. Someone who would let him test every limit, every position, every order, just so the next time Riven sat down to write he would know exactly how a man’s voice cracked when he was told he wasn’t allowed to come yet. Exactly how long it took for proud shoulders to start shaking. Exactly what it looked like when someone who was used to topping finally broke.

Riven pulled his phone out of his pocket.

There were sites for this. Discreet ones. Expensive ones. Places where you could hire someone who understood the difference between play and performance.

He opened one of them, created a new account under a throwaway name, and started typing the ad with the same careful attention he usually saved for his manuscripts.

Looking for a submissive top.

Must be comfortable with full power exchange.

I am a dominating bottom. I will be the one giving orders.

This is for research. I need accuracy. I need to know how long you can last, how you sound when you’re denied, how your body reacts when someone smaller than you is completely in charge.

No limits conversation beforehand. Hard limits respected. Everything else is on the table.

You will be paid handsomely and you will not be allowed to disclose this to anyone.

One night to start. Possible extension if it works.

He read it twice, fixed two small typos, and hit post before he could talk himself out of it.

Then he set the phone face-down on the counter and went back to his desk.

The laptop was still open to the half-deleted scene.

This time, when he looked at the blank space where the next paragraph should be, he didn’t feel stuck.

He felt patient.

Soon he would know exactly how it felt.

And then he would write it down without guessing.

---

By the next afternoon Riven had forty-three replies.

Most of them were useless. Guys who clearly just wanted to top and thought "submissive top" meant they could still call the shots.

A few sent dick pics with no message at all. Two asked if he was actually a woman.

One long paragraph from someone who wanted to role-play as a professor and called him "sir" in every sentence like it was already decided.

Riven deleted them without answering.

He was looking for something specific. Someone who understood the job. Someone big enough that the power shift would feel real. Someone who had actually topped before and still chose to hand that over.

The message that made him stop scrolling was short.

*I saw your post.

I’m 6’2", 210, used to being the one in charge.

I’ve bottomed for control before. I know what you’re asking for.

Name’s Torren.

If the research part is real and not just dirty talk, I’m interested.*

No emojis. No dick pic. Just straight facts.

Riven opened a new chat and typed back.

*Research is real. I’m a writer. I just need my bdsm scenes to be accurate and not fantasy.

You’ll be paid well, but there’s is no limit. Everything else is mine for the night.*

The reply came in under a minute.

*Ok, but no blood, no permanent marks, no public play, no scat.

Soft limits: face-slapping, long-term bondage, heavy impact. I’ll take it if you ease into it.

I’m clean, tested last month. I can send results.

When?*

Riven leaned back in his chair. His pulse was steady, but his hands felt warm.

He answered:

*Tomorrow night. My place. Eight.

I’ll send the address after you confirm.

You arrive, you kneel, you wait for instructions. No talking unless I ask.

If at any point you need to stop, you say "red." That’s the only word that stops everything.

Understood?*

*Understood.*

Riven sent the address, then closed the app and opened his manuscript again.

This time the blank page didn’t feel like a wall. It felt like a countdown.

He spent the rest of the day cleaning the apartment like he was preparing a stage. Cleared the living room floor. Laid out the cuffs, the collar, the crop, the thick black rope he had bought months ago and never used. Put bottles of water and lube on the side table. Folded a clean towel and left it within reach. Everything exact. Everything ready.

At seven-fifty the next evening he sat on the edge of the couch in black jeans and an open shirt, bare feet on the floor, watching the door.

At eight on the dot the buzzer rang.

Riven stood, walked over, and opened it.

Torren Kane was exactly what the message promised. Tall, broad across the shoulders, dark hair pushed back from his face, jaw tight.

He wore a plain black T-shirt and jeans. His eyes moved once over Riven - shorter, leaner, clearly the one in charge - and then he stepped inside without being told.

Riven closed the door and locked it.

Torren didn’t speak.

Riven pointed at the center of the living room floor.

"Kneel."

Torren dropped to his knees without hesitation. The sound of his weight hitting the hardwood was solid. Real. He kept his hands on his thighs, palms up, and lowered his gaze to Riven’s bare feet.

Riven walked a slow circle around him. Looked at the line of his shoulders, the way his chest rose and fell, the thick muscles in his arms that could have easily overpowered someone Riven’s size. None of that mattered now.

He stopped in front of Torren and tipped his chin up with two fingers.

"You’re here so I can learn," Riven said, voice calm. "How long you last. How you sound when you’re denied. What your body does when someone smaller than you owns every decision. I will push. I will take notes after. If you need to stop, you know the word. Nod if you understand."

Torren nodded once.

Riven let go of his chin.

"Good. Hands behind your back."

Torren locked his wrists together at the base of his spine. Riven took the thick black leather cuffs from the table, buckled them tight, and clipped them together with a short chain. The metal clicked loud in the quiet room.

He stepped back and looked down at the man on his knees - big, strong, already breathing a little faster - and felt the first real spark of certainty he had been missing for weeks.

This was going to be accurate.

He picked up the collar.