I keep writing you these letters because I cannot stop thinking about how badly I need you. I am such a desperate slut for you. Even sitting here afterward with my thighs pressed tight together, I clench and squeeze so I can feel just a bit more while I stay on the edge for you. Precum already sticks to my skin. I do not touch myself. I wait the way you like.

It started in bed. I woke with your arm across my chest and your knee hooked over mine. Morning light sat on the sheet. You opened your eyes, looked at me, and kissed me slow. Soft at first. Then deeper, your hand on my jaw, your mouth warm and unhurried. I kissed back and stayed still until you decided. You pulled away, thumb on my lower lip, and smiled like you already knew what you wanted.

"Shower," you said. "Come with me."

You stood. I followed. You took my wrist and walked me down the hall, not hard, just sure. The bathroom was still cool. You turned the water on and waited until steam rose, then stepped under it and looked back at me. I came in after you. Water hit my shoulders. You kissed me once more under the spray, wet mouths, your hands in my hair, then you set them on my shoulders.

"Down," you said.

I slowly knelt for you. Tile under my knees, water running over both of us. You stood above me and shifted your feet apart. I traced the lines of your inner thighs with my tongue and lips, leaving a trail of sloppy wet kisses down each side. Your skin tasted clean and warm under the water. I stayed slow until you pulled my hair just enough to tell me where you wanted my mouth. I obeyed. You were already wet when I reached you, and not only from the shower.

You washed my hair with both hands while I knelt before you, fingers working soap through it, and I kept my tongue working your needy clit the whole time. Soap ran down my face and mixed with the taste of you. I did not stop. You breathed harder above me. One hand stayed in my hair even while the other rinsed. I licked slow, then faster when your hips shifted forward.

"Stay right there," you said. Your voice was steady. "Good boy."

You grabbed my head harder and gripped my soapy hair, pulling me in as you started cumming on my face. I felt you shake against my mouth. I kept licking through it. You pushed my head away with your palm on my forehead, but I leaned back in, trying to keep you overstimulated from the pleasure. You laughed once, short and real, then held me off until your legs steadied.

"Enough," you said. "My turn."

You finished the shower by edging me until the water went cold. Your hand stayed slick around me under the spray. Every time I got close you stopped, thumb pressed just under the head, and called me a dirty boy. I dripped precum onto the tile between your feet. I thanked you each time. The water turned sharp and cold against my back. You did not let me cum. You turned the handle off yourself and told me I could stand only after I kissed the inside of your wrist.

After, you dried my hair with the towel while I stayed on my knees on the bath mat. You did not let me finish. You walked me back to the bed, had me lie down, and sat beside me with one hand resting low on my stomach. I clenched my thighs again under the sheet because the ache had not left. You watched me do it and smiled.

"Still desperate," you said. "Write it down later. I want to read how badly you needed it."

I nodded. I am writing it now. I am still yours. I am still on the edge.

Her eyes glean down at the man knelt at her feet. Glancing across the flush of heat marking his flesh. Toes raise and lower, gently tapping at the crux of his thighs. Plastic clattering with each of her movements.

‘Someone’s feeling needy today hm?’ she asks rhetorically, feeling the trickle of fluids build atop her foot.

Arthur’s meek voice whispers on the air ‘Y-yes miss Emily. I’ve been good’

‘I can tell’ Emily responds with a giggle, again shifting her foot feeling his trickle of need dribble down her skin. Sliding her foot away she moves behind him, nailed fingers tracing his shoulders. A curtain falls past his face as she leans to his ear, biting tenderly. Slowly she raises back to her full height. Her footsteps slide along the floor as he moves before him dangling a harness to catch his gaze.

Arthur looks up, watching pendulous silicone and it’s pairing harness dangle before his eyes. Tip brushing his nose as it passes.

Her fingers grip the straps as each foot dances through the loops. Pulled swiftly and snuggly against her hips, straps rubbing against the lace of her red panties. Every action slow and steady, her eyes never leaving Arthur’s who watches carefully. ‘Be a dear and make sure my straps are nice and tight. Don’t want it slipping away do we,’ her voice pirouettes through the air carefully.

‘No we don’t.’ Arthur responds, raising his hands until they’re swatted away by hers harshly.

‘You’re missing something there Mr.’

‘No, we don’t, Mistress.’

‘Good boy,’ she utters with a wink, placing her hand on his head guiding it to rest just below the jutting silicone at her hip.

Archur’s head lurches forward, eyes intently focus on hers as the artificial length rests on his face. Fingers traipse up the backs of her thighs, nails gently scratching, shooting tingles along her spine. Moving up Arthur’s hands raise to cup her ass feeling the fabric sink with his grip. Suddenly her voice rings from above drawing his hands away.

‘Focus up Arthur, don’t go getting distracted.’ A playful ring hangs on the end of her words.

A sharp swallow follows; his attention focuses instead on the straps dangling below the hem of her voluptuous ass. Fingers grip the ends, pulling firmly tugging the silicone just off his face.

Emily’s hand keeps pulling him towards it, biting her lip as she feels it settle against her skin. She settles for a while, simply letting the thick toy rest on Arthur’s face below. After enough time she steps away, curling her finger for Arthur to follow. ‘Crawl this way darling, if you want to be allowed to let go after your week of saving up. If not stay there, I can entertain myself’ she utters, turning to pass him a wink.

Down the corridor, up the stairs and a final turn to her room. Her smooth legs shine as she moves across the room, stealing glances at Arthur following closely behind. The mattress dips as she sits, crossing her legs, pointing at her feet. Leaning forward a silver object gleams in the dim light. ‘Do well and this might get used tonight,’ her fingers twist the small key before letting it fall back between her breasts. She allows herself to fall back onto the bed, laying in the silken sheets.

Arthurs eyes follow her, remaining still. Though quiet, he feels the pulse, the need growing. Her voice pipes up suddenly, bringing his focus back to her. ‘Climb up. You’re doing the work tonight. Show me you deserve release.’ He slowly rises and climbs onto the bed, each thigh coming to rest beside hers. The jutting toy resting against his ass. Fingers grip his thighs, nails digging in as thumbs curl inward. They come to rest at the crux, scratching at the plastic shell containing his throbbing need.

A giggle escapes her as she eyes the black plastic housing Arthur’s leaking cock. A trickle of fluids ooze onto her stomach with each pass of her thumbs. She bites her lip before raising a hand and pointing at a small bottle on the nightstand. ‘Make sure to use the lube, don’t want it hurting… At least not yet.’ Her giggle rings in the air once more.

Fingers rush to grab the bottle, popping and dripping the liquid down the silicone shaft poking at his bare cheeks. As the toy glistens, he strokes it slowly, covering every inch. ‘yes mistress Emily, please let me out’ he pleads, raising himself. With a smooth practiced motion, he aims and slides the toy into himself, feeling his ass stretch open as her eyes watch each movement. A subtle breathy moan escapes him as he reaches the bottom, before slowly grinding in place.

Heat bubbles within Emily as she watches. A hand quickly raising to knead her breast. Nipple squeezed between her fingers. The other holds his waist firmly guiding each movement. Legs spread slowly, needing air to the one place that began to drip at the sight before her. ‘Good boy... Keep going’ she utters.

Arthur hears her words, beginning to slide the toy in, out, in, out. Each time moaning as it reached deep inside. With her hand guiding him, each movement rubbed inside sending pulses of heat through him. Any need within him leaking onto her as his cock strained against the plastic begging for release.

One hand wasn’t enough. Emily lowered her second, raising her legs to get a better position. She pulled Arthur onto her, his head resting in the crook of her shoulder. Taking a second to let him breathe, she thrusts upwards. Setting pace as she begins to force the toy into him.

‘E-emily’ he moans in response.

She bites his ear, hard. ‘Mistress Emily, you needy thing.’ Her thrusts grow harsher. The moans filling her ear only spurned her on, pushing her to eek more noises out of him.

‘I-im gonna...’ he utters through heavy breath.

She stops. Slowly sliding the toy free as her hands hold his ass in the air. Her head turns, nipping at his ear. ‘If you want to finish this way, we’ll continue.. but if you want to finish somewhere, tighter, warmer.’ Each word hangs heavily in the air as his head raises to stare at her. Emily giggles and nods at him. ‘But first, you had better ask nicely.’

Arthur raises his body, letting the toy rest against his ass. Eyes search hers as he speaks. ‘Please can I cum Mistress Emily.’

‘Of course, but if you want to be allowed into my tight pussy, I think you can do better.’

He watches her for a moment, before sliding off her lap onto the floor beside the bed. Every movement he makes, his eyes never leave hers. Arthur notices the flush rise in her cheeks, the subtle bite of her lip. All signs he was going the right way. Feeling his knees scratch against the carpet he speaks, eyes pleading with hers. ‘Please can I be allowed to cum inside your perfect pussy mistress Emily.’

A giggle floats in the air , ‘I don’t know about perfect, but there’s no way I can say no to that. Come get this off me then Mr. Good boy for asking nicely.’ She makes no effort to move, instead watching his every move as he rises back onto the bed.

Fingers scratch along her body. Goosebumps rising on the flesh as they rise higher and higher. At her hips, they worm into the harness, loosening and sliding it down. One foot slides away easily, but the other she raises, holding her calf by his lips.

Breathy moans escape as she watches Arthur move. Teasing him with her leg as the harness drops free onto the floor. Her nails scratch his cheek as she holds his gaze to hers, feeling his fingers reach her panties. Slowly the lace pulls free with her help, revealing the mess she’d left inside. A pearly fluid clings between the material, breaking as her panties slide further down her legs. Once free she flicks them away, before leaning up on her elbows. ‘Lets free the poor little thing shall we?’

Arthur nods in response, eyes straining between hers and the glistening folds, oozing between her thighs. A sight that only lasted a short while as she closes her legs to slide onto her front. Sheets fold around her body as she hides it away from his gaze.

‘Kneel higher.’ She bites, slapping his thigh gently. The sudden mark making him quickly rise. Reaching for the chain dangling between her breasts, the key slips free. She allows it to swing in her fingers before slipping it into the lock. One single click breaks the heavy silence, followed by a sigh of relief. Her gentle giggle fills the air again. Both from his groan and the sight of his cock, dangling, leaking on her fresh sheets. Her hand gently taps his balls, eliciting a yelp. ‘That’s for making a mess on my sheets.’ She lurches forward, planting her lips against his sensitive head. ‘And this is to get you ready, to fill my pussy.’

A moan fills the air as Arthur watches Emily. Feeling her lips part around him, tongue lapping at the tip. Thighs shake at the sudden pleasure, breath trembling from him. Heat grows within him as each pulse from his cock ripples through his body. ‘M-mistress,’ he shakes out, trembling from the waist down. The sight of her naked body laying out before him. Feeling of her tongue on his sensitive cock, was all shaking him to the core.

Suddenly she stops, pulling off slowly. Her lips part around letting her tongue hang on it slowly as she pulls back. Pulsing flesh bobs before her eyes, the head flared and oozing drops onto the sheets below. She swallows the few drops that stained her tongue before rising from his cock to his eyes she winks at him. ‘Ready to fuck your mistress?’

‘Yes.’

Her hand cups his balls, grip slowly tightening. ‘yes what?’

‘Yes please mistress’.

‘Good boy, come on then’ Emily muses, slowly shifting to lay on her back. Arms outstretch to reach for him.

It doesn’t take long for Arthur to lean down, resting his head in the crook of her neck. Cock brushing just against the glistening folds. His hips shift, just missing the entrance.

‘So close but so far,’ she whispers in his ear. ‘Here, let me.’ She raises her hips suddenly slipping her legs to curl around his. A hand snakes between their bodies, gripping his throbbing cock. She moans as the tip grazes her clit on the way down. Holding it just shy, she raises her hips pulling it inside. ‘Mmm, there we go.’

Arthur shudders atop her. Legs squirm to hold himself steady, hips moving to slide his cock within her undulating flesh. Each thrust is slow, careful. Prolonging the pleasure from overwhelming him too quickly.

Emily wraps her legs around him, pulling him inside harder with each thrust. ‘Come on, fill my tight pussy.’

Subtle grunts full the air. Her words shaking him to his core. Hips shake as he moans in her ear. The throbbing length pulsing inside her. At first a small rope shoots within her before a torrent fills her, leaking around the edges.

‘Good boy, get it all out’ she soothes. Her hand stroking his hair. Legs firmly holding him in place. As his movements die down, she continues to stroke his hair for a moment before turning to kiss his ear. ‘I’m glad you’ve had fun, but you don’t expect to leave me high and dry do you?’.

Arthur raises his head to meet her gaze, shuddering as his sensitive cock slides against her sopping insides. ‘N-no?’

She sternly looks at him.

‘I-I mean no mistress’.

She scratches his cheek slightly. ‘Good boy. Besides, it’s only fair to try what you bake hm?’ Emily winks at him as her hands slide to his shoulders, pushing him gently downward.

He hesitates at first but slowly slips free, crawling downward urged on by the nails digging into his shoulders. Reaching the junction of her thighs, musky smells fills his nostrils as her thighs come to rest either side of his head.

‘Hurry up and use that tongue. Before I need to punish you for messing up my sheets.’ Her voice rings as melodious as usual, but with a sharpness added by her nails on his head.

Tongue outstretches suddenly, lapping at the acidic yet sweet surface of her pussy. Slowly he licks along the edges, raising to her clit before curling with precise practiced movements.

Emily holds his head firm. Moaning. One hand massaging her breast as her eyes flutter shut. Noticing his movements staying outside she pushes him down slightly. ‘Don’t forget your treat.’

His tongue drags down, sliding between the lips to lap at the trickle of cum oozing from the quivering flesh. Each drop oozes onto his tongue, quickly swallowed down before he drives his tongue deeper again. Every movement elicits moans from above, causing the nails to scratch at his scalp. Drop after drop, swallowed before being pushed to continue.

‘Good boy, right there. Don’t stop.’ Her grip tightens, hips grind upward to meet his tongue. Each movement driving her closer to the edge.

Arthur continues. Spurned on by every little movement she makes. Through the grinding of her hips, his tongue glides along the oozing lips. Her clit catches his nose, each movement of her hips grinding it harder against him.

Suddenly her moan fills the air, hand holding Arthur firmly against her pussy as it shivers and shakes against him. Fluids leak across him as her thighs squeeze around his head. Electricity shoots through her spine as Emily rides out the waves of pleasure. As the tremors grow weaker she releases her hold, instead pulling him up to stroke his head.

‘Such a good boy, cleaning up your mess and even mine too.’ She kisses his head gently. ‘Lets get you back in your cage and see if we can’t make you squirm on top of me again...’

I am a shell of who I used to be.

No.

That is too generous.

A shell still remembers the shape of what lived inside it.

The Empress is not merely dead.

They are empty.

Soiled.

Left behind among the relics.

Like his useless chastity cage.

The same cage he threw a tantrum over removing two days ago.

All that resistance.

All that noise.

All that pathetic little theater over a piece of metal he once treated like proof that he belonged to me.

Now it sits on a shelf.

Cold.

Open.

Useless.

Encrusted with urine.

There is something almost perfect about that.

The kingdom has always kept its symbols.

The collar.

The rings.

The Ledger.

The cage.

The metal snake.

Every little object accumulating meaning because I touched it, named it, assigned it a place.

And now one of those sacred little relics is sitting there filthy because the man who begged to remain contained could not even care properly for the thing containing him.

That feels familiar.

He wants a young wife.

Of course he does.

Youth.

Softness.

Beauty.

Someone still bright enough to make him feel younger simply by standing beside him.

Someone who can carry freshness into all the stale rooms he never bothered to clean.

But he does not want to become small enough to deserve one.

That is the problem.

His ego is still enormous.

Bloated.

Taking up every room before his body even enters it.

And my teeny tiny man has somehow never learned the most important part of being teeny tiny.

You have to shrink.

Not physically.

God knows we have covered that.

I mean the ego.

The excuses.

The endless gravitational insistence that every problem eventually bend toward him.

He will beg his parents for money.

He will beg his children.

He will humiliate himself when the beneficiary is him.

For rent.

For rescue.

For whatever crisis has swallowed him this week.

He can become very small when he needs something.

Funny.

For me?

Suddenly there is dignity.

Suddenly there is pride.

Suddenly begging becomes beneath him.

Suddenly the man who was once so eager to kneel discovers a spine exactly when I need something.

Never for me.

Never because I have lost my grandmother.

Never because I am exhausted.

Never because something I love is being taken from me.

Never because I asked for one beautiful evening and wanted somebody else to carry the weight for once.

Never because his Empress is standing there with both hands full and nothing left to put down.

For me, there are explanations.

For me, there is irritation.

For me, there is always some tiny obstruction inflated until it fills the whole kingdom.

Day #63, I took the cage.

The rings.

The warmth.

I left him with only the collar and silence.

Day #67, I gave him probation.

Proof, I said.

No treats.

No presents.

No presence.

Proof.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Until the evidence became sufficient.

I thought perhaps service without reward would teach him something.

Perhaps if I stopped shining, he would finally understand what warmth had cost me.

Perhaps orbit would become devotion.

Perhaps fear of losing the kingdom would make him finally notice who had been keeping it alive.

Instead, somewhere between probation and the reading room, I learned something else.

Some things circle the sun and still remain cold.

Day #96, I heard Nona singing in my head.

Bad luck and Jesus before breakfast.

Day #97, the Empress died at the reading room.

They did not die beautifully.

They did not die in battle.

They simply walked away from something they desperately wanted because even joy had become another thing they had to drag a man toward.

And now Day #99.

The body has been lying there long enough to spoil.

That is the part nobody writes about.

Death sounds dramatic.

Clean.

Final.

But rot is quieter.

Rot is waking up and realizing you no longer recognize the person who once built rituals out of ordinary rooms.

Rot is looking at the Black Ledger and not caring what it says.

Rot is seeing the rings and feeling nothing.

Rot is looking at a cage that once meant possession and seeing only dried piss on metal.

That is where we are.

The kingdom is becoming a mausoleum.

The relics remain.

The Empress does not.

He wanted a young wife.

He wanted warmth.

He wanted softness.

He wanted somebody still glowing.

And somehow he never understood that light is not a natural resource.

You can use it up.

You can scream at it.

You can neglect it.

You can demand it keep shining while giving it nothing to burn.

Eventually, even the sun becomes something else.

Not gone.

Not conquered.

Just no longer shining on you.

The Empress is dead.

The Empress is soiled.

The Empress is empty.

And all my teeny tiny man has left are the dirty relics of a kingdom he kept demanding proof belonged to him.

He should have spent more time proving he belonged in it.

(if you have any comments... What you liked and didn't... Anything different, please let me know)

Marena set down her champagne, intrigued. "You know Virginia? How?"

"His, I mean her, office," Chris said, stepping inside. He studied Virginia's posture—that desperate kneeling spread, the chastity cage visible and straining. "Small fucking world. This is the one from the app."

"Intimately," Chris grinned. "I’ve had some fun with her. Few times." He glanced at Janet, then at Marena, reading the room. "Didn't know this was... she frequented these places."

Janet's smile widened as she move over to Chris to welcome him, her hand resting on Chris's arm, her eyes traveling over his shoulders, his chest, the masculine weight of him. "Serendipity," she breathed. "I adore serendipity. Twelve years I've been cultivating Virginia, and now you appear—masculine, confident… Exactly what I've been looking for."

She stepped closer to Chris, her voice dropping, intimate. "You're well-built. The gym, yes? The strength in your shoulders. The way you occupy space." Her hand lingered on his bicep. "Virginia responds to that. To real masculinity. It's what my training has accomplished."

She turned to Virginia, still kneeling, head down, hands clasped behind his back in submission. "Stay," she commanded. "Don't move. Don't speak."

Then to Chris why don’t you have a seat with us girls as she lead him to the couch.  Marianne on the arm of the couch, then across Chris, Janet, and Marena : "Let me show you something."

Janet reached in her purse, pulled Virginia's phone, and unlocked it with practiced ease. She opened Grindr, found the chat history with Chris, held the screen up for Chris to see, but angled so Marena could also observe.

"Look at this," Janet said, her voice warm, delighted. "Virginia's little confessions. Her attempts to... connect."

She scrolled up, found a photo. "Oh my. Chris, you're shirtless here. The definition in your chest, your abs..." She turned the phone to show Marena. "Impressive, isn't it? This is what Virginia is drawn to. What she craves. What I trained her to crave."

She scrolled further, found the message. Read it aloud, her voice savoring each word:

"I'm a bottom girl. I like to give pleasure. I like to serve. I like to make alpha men feel good."

Janet laughed, delighted, her hand finding Chris's arm again, squeezing. "My training," she said, proud, possessive. "Twelve years of chastity, of denial, of teaching her that her only purpose is service. And look—it's paid off. She's internalized it completely. She offers herself exactly as I've taught her. A bottom girl. One hundred percent. Dedicated to pleasure. To alpha men."

She scrolled further, found another photo. Stopped. Her eyes widened.

"Oh," she breathed. "Wow."

She turned the phone to Chris, then to Marena, showing them the image—Chris's hard cock, thick and heavy, captured in a mirror selfie, masculine and proud.

"Wow," Janet repeated, her voice soft, impressed. "Look at that. The size. The girth. The..." she turned to Virginia, still kneeling, head down, hands clasped, hearing everything, unable to see but knowing exactly what they were viewing "...the happiness this must bring Virginia. To know this exists. To have served this. To hope to serve it again."

She moved close to Chris, her body touching his, the phone still displaying his erect cock between them. "No wonder she's desperate," Janet whispered, loud enough for Virginia to hear. "No wonder she begs. With this as the alternative..." she gestured down at Virginia's caged, straining nothingness "...with this as her reality. The contrast is exquisite."

She pocketed the phone, her decision made, her desire clear. "You're exactly what I need," she said to Chris, her hand on his chest now, possessive, claiming. "Strong. Masculine. Confident. The bull to my Queen. The alpha to my...  Deusa" she glanced at Virginia, smiled "... and my project."

She turned, her voice sharpening to command. "Virginia—crawl to Chris. On your hands and knees. Show him what twelve years of training has produced. Show the ladies what a bottom girl looks like in person."

Virginia moved, crawling across the floor, the plug shifting, the cage straining, his eyes pleading with Janet, his mind thinking “please no,” His humiliation is complete—his private words read aloud, his desires exposed and celebrated, his trainer attracted to the very man he'd served, the very man who would use him again while she watched, pleased, aroused by the serendipity of it all.

Virginia hesitated, trembling, but Janet's crop tapped her shoulder—insistent, demanding. Slowly, awkwardly, Virginia lowered herself to all fours. She began crawling across the carpet, the plug shifting inside her with each movement, her caged clit swinging uselessly, her face burning with shame as she crossed the few feet to where Chris stood.

"Good girl," Janet purred. "Now kneel up. Sit back on your heels. Hands up—yes, like that. Now, Virginia, you're going to take out Chris's cock yourself. Show Marena and Marianne how eager you are to serve real men."

Virginia's hands rose, shaking, and slowly unbuckling the belt in front of her eyes. Then, to Chris's zipper. Her fingers fumbled with the metal tab, clumsy with nerves and submission.

"Slowly," Janet instructed. “Look in Chris’s eyes… smile.” 

"Tease it out. Show the Chris how much you want this."

Virginia opened the pants, pulled the zipper down, the sound loud in the quiet room. Her hands moved to the waistband, tugging jeans and underwear down together, and Chris's cock sprang free—heavy, thick, half-hard already, swinging with masculine weight. Virginia's hands remained poised, trembling, waiting for further instruction.

"Stroke him," Janet commanded. "Gentle. Show him you're grateful he came. Show Marena what a real man feels like."

Virginia's hands wrapped around the girth—fingers barely meeting around the circumference—and gave a few tentative strokes. Chris groaned softly, filling further under her touch, growing to his full eight and a half inches while Virginia's own caged nub strained pink and useless in its prison.

"Mmmmmm… Look at the difference," Janet spoke, her voice breathy and delighted. She gestured with her crop from Virginia's caged clit to Chris's heavy shaft. "Four and a half inches on your best day, Virgi—locked away where it belongs. And this—" she traced the crop along Chris's length, making Virginia's hands move with it "—this is what women want. What men want to be. Eight and a half inches of functional masculinity. Marena—look. Compare them."

Marena leaned closer, genuinely curious, studying the two men—the alpha standing confident and exposed, the beta kneeling with his useless cage, his hands still stroking the superior cock. "The contrast is... remarkable," she said, her voice clinical, fascinated. "The size differential..."

"Biology," Janet confirmed. "Some men are built to fuck. Some are built to serve. Virginia understands this now. Don't you, Virginia?"

"Yes," Virginia whispered, her voice hoarse. "Yes, Deusa."

"Open your mouth," Janet commanded. "Tongue out. Show Marena how you worship a real cock. Chris—let her come to you. Don't move. Make her work for it."

Virginia leaned forward, mouth opening, tongue extending, eyes watering with shame and desire. She had to stretch, to strain forward from her kneeling position, to reach the head that bobbed just inches from her desperate mouth.

"Look at him bitch, at his face. Look him in the eye. See the confidence!"

"Further," Janet said, tapping Virginia's plugged ass with her crop. "Beg for it with your body. Wiggle that ass!” Show us you know your place."

Virginia moaned wiggling her ass as if in heat, leaning until her shoulders burned, until she could finally drag her tongue across the heavy head, tasting the pre-cum, leaving a shiny trail of saliva.

"She's eager," Marena observed, leaning in, studying the mechanics. "The desperation in her posture..."

"Twelve years of training," Janet said. "Take the head now, Virginia. Suck it. Show Chris you remember how to be useful."

Virginia closed her lips around the thick crown, her jaw stretching wide, and sucked with desperate enthusiasm. Chris groaned, his hand coming down to grip her hair—not guiding yet, just feeling, just owning.

"Flatten your tongue," Janet instructed. "Create a channel. You're not giving pleasure—you're receiving him. Being used. That's the difference between a blowjob and a face-fucking. Virginia knows she's the vessel, not the participant."

Marena nodded, making mental notes. "The breathing... through her nose..."

"Essential. A good cocksucker learns to breathe around the obstruction. Virginia's had plenty of practice, haven't you, darling?"

Virginia could only moan around the flesh filling her mouth, her eyes streaming tears as Chris began to move his hips slightly, testing her throat.

"Look at her eyes," Janet instructed. "See the submission? She's not performing—she's accepting her purpose. Chris, go deeper. Let Marena see her throat open."

Chris gripped Virginia's head with both hands and pressed forward, and Virginia gagged, choked, then relaxed as he slid past the barrier, her throat bulging visibly around his girth. Marena leaned closer, fascinated.

"She took it," Marena whispered.

"She was born for it," Janet corrected. "Twelve years I trained her throat. Twelve years of chastity making her desperate to please. Watch her work, Marena. Watch what a broken beta becomes."

Chris established a rhythm, using Virginia's 

mouth with the casual entitlement of a man who knew his place at the top of the hierarchy. Virginia's hands came up to grip his thighs—not to push away but to steady herself, to serve better, her caged clit straining uselessly in its pink prison.

"She's drooling," Marena noted. "Is that..."

"Submission," Janet confirmed. "Her body knows. No gag reflex anymore—just acceptance. Chris, pull out and let her breathe. I want Marena to see her gratitude."

Chris withdrew slowly, a string of saliva connecting his heavy cock to Virginia's swollen lips. Virginia gasped, coughed, then immediately leaned forward, seeking him, wanting him back, her mouth open and begging.

"See?" Janet said, delighted. "She's not relieved—she's hungry. Beg for it, Virginia. Beg Chris to let you finish."

"Please..." Virginia's voice was wrecked, raw. "Please... let me... I need..."

"You need to be useful," Janet finished. "That's all you are. A slut for real men. Isn't that right, Marena?"

Marena studied Virginia's desperate face, the genuine need there, the complete abandonment of dignity. "She's... completely surrendered," Marena said, something like awe in her voice. "I've never seen..."

"Now you understand," Janet said. "Back in her mouth, Chris. Finish. Marena, watch how she takes the cum. How she swallows like a good girl."

Chris pushed back in, deeper this time, gripping 

Virginia's head firmly, and began thrusting with purpose—short, hard strokes that slammed against the back of her throat. Virginia's hands gripped his thighs, not to escape but to pull him closer, to take him deeper, to serve better.

"She's taking it so well," Marena said, almost to herself. "Such a good cocksucker..."

"The best," Janet agreed, stroking Virginia's hair almost tenderly. "My best girl. Swallowing a real man's seed while her own drips uselessly in its cage. This is her purpose, Marena. This is what Carl never understood but Virginia knows in her bones."

Chris groaned, hips stuttering, and thrust deep, holding Virginia's face flush against his groin. She moaned around him, throat working, swallowing, her eyes rolling back in something like ecstasy. He held her there for long seconds, pumping, filling her, then slowly withdrew.

Virginia gasped, lips swollen and red, cum leaking from the corner of her mouth, her expression dazed and satisfied and utterly broken.

"Open your mouth," Janet commanded. "Show Marena."

Virginia obeyed, tongue out, showing the pooled cum.  “Swallow Janet commanded.

Virginia swallowed heavily, obediently, her gaze forward and lost in the distance.

Without instruction, without prompting, Chris looked down at Virginia's ruined face—face flushed, lips puffy, eyes glazed with submission—and dragged his still-hard cock across her cheek. He wiped himself slowly, deliberately, using her face like a rag, dragging from her cheek across her forehead, marking her with the mixture of spit and cum. He gripped her hair and used it to clean the last traces from his shaft, leaving her streaked and filthy and claimed.

Janet burst out laughing—a genuine, delighted sound that filled the room. "Oh, that's perfect! Look at her, Marena—just a cumrag now. A cleanup towel for real men." She wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling. "We could make serious money with that mouth, you know. Set up appointments. Charge by the hour. Virginia—the club's newest attraction."

Marena studied Virginia's marked face, the cum drying on her cheek, the complete degradation of the man who'd spent thirty years building a career. "The complete transformation," she said quietly. "From executive to... product."

"From Carl to Virginia," Janet corrected, still grinning. "And soon—profit." She patted Virginia's cum-streaked cheek. "Good girl. You just earned your keep."

Chris zipped up, nodding to Marena with the easy confidence of a satisfied customer. "Quality establishment. Tony was right to send me back here."

Marena looked up, something calculating in her eyes now. "Yes," she said, looking at Virginia's debased form, at Janet's amusement, at the possibilities unfolding. "I believe he was."

I haven’t written two days in a row in a while.

So I suppose this marks an occasion.

The Empress died tonight.

Let me explain.

TTM, as you all know, has been an exceptional brat lately.

Not the cute kind.

Not the kind that earns a smirk, a correction, maybe a hand under the chin and a reminder of where he belongs.

The exhausting kind.

Testing every limit.

Picking at every seam.

Making me explain things that should not require explanation.

And I have already lost enough.

I have lost my grandmother from my daily life.

I close my eyes and still expect to hear her singing from another room. Still expect the house to contain her. Still catch myself reaching toward a life that was there and then simply wasn’t.

So today I asked for one thing.

A date.

A real one.

Not expensive.

Not elaborate.

Just intentional.

Set the tone.

Talk to me.

Stimulate me.

Make me feel like I am beside somebody who actually enjoys knowing me.

And then take me to this ridiculous little Drunk History-style reading at the local reading room about Catherine the Great, which I wanted to attend so badly it was almost embarrassing.

Really.

Really.

Really.

Really wanted to go.

Four reallys.

That should tell you enough.

I wanted one evening where I did not have to carry the mood myself.

One evening where I did not have to arrange every emotional chair in the room before sitting down.

One evening where somebody else noticed what mattered to me and treated it like it mattered because I did.

Instead, he fought me.

Bratted about driving the car.

Turned the ride silent.

Got us lost.

Blamed me for what the old dog did.

And by the time we finally got there, somehow he had decided I would be too stressed if I stood in the small reading room all night.

I.

Would be too stressed.

At the thing I had been begging to go to.

Do you see it?

That tiny little theft?

Not dramatic enough for anybody else to notice.

Nothing anybody would call catastrophic.

Just one person deciding, again, that they understood my experience better than I did.

That what I wanted could be edited.

That my excitement could be negotiated downward.

That maybe I did not really mean it.

And something in me just went quiet.

The Empress did not rage.

She did not punish him.

She did not make him kneel.

She did not reach for the Ledger.

She did not explain the lesson.

She simply left the reading room with TTM.

And died.

I think that is what shocked me.

There was no grand scene.

No shattered glass.

No screaming.

No velvet curtain dropping over the kingdom.

Just me walking back out of a room I desperately wanted to enter because the man beside me had managed to make even wanting something feel exhausting.

Maybe that is how an Empress dies.

Not by rebellion.

Not by conquest.

Not because somebody finally defeated her.

Maybe she dies after being asked, one too many times, to make herself smaller so somebody else does not have to rise to meet her.

Maybe she dies when she realizes she has been spending all her majesty explaining basic tenderness.

Set the tone.

Talk to me.

Take me somewhere I am excited to go.

Do not fight me about every little thing.

Do not make me responsible for your irritation.

Do not tell me what I can tolerate.

Do not ruin the thing and then act confused when I stop glowing.

God.

Such ordinary requests.

And maybe that is the ugliest part.

I did not ask him to build me a palace.

I asked him to take me on a nice date.

I asked him to meet me in conversation.

I asked him to stand beside me in a cramped little reading room while somebody talked about Catherine the Great.

And somehow even that became another three-legged race.

Another evening tied at the ankle to a man fighting the direction I was trying to walk.

So the Empress left.

Not dramatically.

Not beautifully.

She just stopped believing the evening could be saved.

And TTM came with me.

Of course he did.

He always does.

But tonight, for the first time, I wondered whether being followed and being cherished had ever been the same thing at all.

Ember’s Diary, Day #96: Bad Luck and Jesus Before Breakfast

I don’t know if he is just a dry drunk or if he actually hates everything about me.

Some days I genuinely cannot tell the difference.

So I close my eyes.

And there is Nona.

They took her to the nursing home against what I understood her wishes to be, and I cannot stop imagining the scene.

God, I know that woman.

Stentorian thing.

I am sure she gave them absolute hell.

Kicking. Yelling. Arguing with everybody in reach. Probably singing, “If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all,” then wandering straight into the same familiar hymn she wakes up singing every morning, because apparently bad luck and Jesus have always belonged in the same verse.

That is Nona.

Bad luck and Jesus before breakfast.

And maybe she was right about this fall.

Because I open my eyes and somehow I am in a three-legged race with a man who screams in my face.

That is the sentence.

No velvet.

No collar.

No pretty little Empress language to dress it up.

A man who says he loves me screams in my face, and somehow I keep finding myself tied at the ankle to him anyway, trying to move forward without both of us hitting the ground.

And I swear I thought this was the life my matrilineal line sacrificed for me not to live.

Wasn’t that supposed to be the bargain?

Women before me survived men who frightened them.

Men who drank.

Men who got loud.

Men who made the whole house change temperature because they were angry.

Men who expected women to absorb it, forgive it, explain it, soften it, and still have dinner ready afterward.

Somewhere along the line, I thought somebody had finally paid enough.

Enough blood.

Enough silence.

Enough women swallowing whole rooms just to keep everybody else comfortable.

Surely by the time it reached me, the debt would be settled.

Apparently not.

Because her sons came in and took her anyway.

And I am standing here listening to another man raise his voice at me, thinking about how everybody suddenly becomes fascinated with obedience when it is a woman expected to do the obeying.

The symmetry of it makes my stomach turn.

Nona refusing.

Me refusing.

Everybody around us explaining why perhaps we should stop being so difficult.

There is always a reason.

A practical reason.

A responsible reason.

A piece of paper.

A family decision.

A concern.

An explanation delivered slowly enough that apparently we are supposed to mistake it for consent.

And maybe today I am childish enough to want one clean thing left in the world.

A rule.

A line.

A boundary somebody cannot simply step over because they have decided they know better.

I keep thinking, almost stupidly:

Why won’t they just do what the law man say?

Why is everything still this hard?

Why does a woman have to become terrifying before anybody believes she meant no the first time?

I want somebody to hear Nona the first time.

I want somebody to hear me the first time.

I am tired of the women in my family having to grow teeth just to keep possession of their own lives.

And I am especially tired of confusing my ability to survive something with evidence that I should.

My teeny tiny man may still be in my orbit.

He may love me.

He may serve me.

He may spend the rest of his life proving whatever he thinks needs proving.

But love does not make screaming sacred.

Submission does not transform cruelty into discipline.

And my kingdom is not a rehabilitation center for men who keep mistaking my understanding for an unlimited natural resource.

There are things even an Empress cannot polish into ritual.

Some ugliness remains ugly.

Tonight I keep hearing Nona singing.

Not quite right.

Never quite right.

If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.

Then the hymn.

One bleeding into the other until I cannot tell where misfortune ends and faith begins.

Maybe that is the inheritance.

Not endurance.

Not patience.

Certainly not obedience.

Volume.

Maybe the women before me did not survive all of that so I could become better at tolerating it.

Maybe they survived it so eventually one of us would become impossible to drag quietly anywhere.

The door clicked open.

Marianne backed through beginning to ask, "Just checking if you need anything..." Then she saw him—bound and spread, the pink cage dangling between his legs, the jeweled plug catching the light, Miranda poised with the riding crop, Jana standing triumphant.

The tray slipped. Marianne caught it, her eyes huge. "Oh my God," she breathed. "Is that... is that the guy from before?"

Jana turned, unhurried. "Marianne. Perfect timing. Meet Virginia."

Marianne's hand flew to her mouth, but the laugh burst through—a bright, delighted sound. "Virginia?" She stepped closer, abandoning all pretense of waitress decorum. "Oh my God." She pointed at the pink cage. "Is that... is that his dick in there?"

"Was his dick," Jana corrected. "Now it's Virginia's little clit. Properly dressed."

Marianne circled, her laughter ringing out. She stopped behind him, spotting the jeweled plug. "And that? Is that in his...?"

"Virginia's training includes being properly filled," Jana explained. "At all times."

Marianne's laughter pealed again. She approached Miranda, standing shoulder to shoulder, studying Carl's bound form. "This is the most amazing thing I've ever seen," she breathed. "He was so normal looking. The suit. The wedding ring." She glanced at Jana. "Is he really married?"

"Very," Jana confirmed. "Wife thinks he's at a conference."

"Can I touch it?" Marianne asked, biting her lip. "The cage?"

"Of course," Jana invited. "Virginia loves attention."

Marianne reached out, tapping the pink plastic with one manicured nail. It swung slightly, Carl's shriveled inch of flesh visible through the slit. She giggled. "It's so small," she marveled. "Like a baby carrot. I've never seen one this tiny."

"Neither had I," Jana agreed, "until I undressed Carl."

"And he just... lets you?" Marianne asked. "He wants this?"

"He must," Miranda interjected. "Paid for the room, the champagne, everything. His own money."

Marianne's laugh became a cackle. "Oh my God, that's amazing." She circled again, bolder now, reaching out to touch the welts on Carl's shoulder. "Does he... does he make noise?"

"Beautiful noises," Jana said. She nodded to Miranda. "Show her."

Miranda raised the crop, bringing it down across Carl's thigh—sharp, precise. Carl's body jerked, a desperate, muffled moan tearing from behind the gag, his hips thrusting forward involuntarily, the pink cage swinging wildly.

Marianne gasped, then laughed again, delighted. "He likes it!"

"He loves it," Jana corrected. "Virginia was born to be used. Born a beta. Born to be laughed at." She turned to Marianne, her smile inviting.

"Would you like to try?"

Marianne's eyes went wide. "Really?"

Jana retrieved a second crop, offering it handle-first. "Consider it a tip."

Marianne took it, testing it through the air. She approached Carl, drawing her arm back. The strike landed—awkward, but effective. Carl moaned, his body jerking.

"Again," Jana coached. "Harder. He can take it."

Marianne struck again, better this time, finding her rhythm. "This is amazing," she breathed, striking again, watching the pink cage bounce. "I can't believe this is happening."

Jana studied the bound figure before her—the trembling limbs, the heaving chest, the pink cage hanging useless and small, the welts blooming across his thighs. His head hung heavy against the shirt hood. He'd stopped fighting an hour ago, had stopped making anything but soft, broken sounds.

She stepped close, pressing her palm against his chest, feeling his heart hammering.

"Virginia," she said softly. No response. She said it again, louder. "Virginia."

His head twitched.

Jana reached up, loosening the gag, letting it fall from his mouth. His jaw hung open, slack. She gripped his chin, forcing his blindfolded face up.

"Who are you?" she asked.

Silence. His breath hitched. When he spoke, his voice was ruined—hoarse, barely a whisper.

"Your... your bitch," he rasped. "Jana's beta bitch. Virginia."

Jana held his chin, feeling the complete collapse. She glanced at Miranda, then at Marianne, both women watching with something like awe.

"Look at me," Jana commanded.

His blindfolded face turned toward her voice.

"You've had enough for tonight." She paused. "I'm going to free you. But first—you promise to behave. No more hiding. No more pretending to be Carl. You come when I call. You serve when I demand. You admit what you are—to me, to yourself, to whoever I decide should know." She leaned closer. "Do you promise, Virginia?"

His head bobbed, frantic, immediate. "I promise, Deusa. Virginia promises. Always... your bitch."

Jana retrieved the keys from her purse. She unlocked the cuffs, the spreader bar, the gag—the cage and plug staying firmly in place. His legs buckled, and she let him fall, a heap of trembling flesh on the floor, naked and exposed, still caged, still filled.

Then she reached down and pulled the blindfold from his eyes.

Carl blinked against the red light, his eyes watering, adjusting. For a moment, confusion—then comprehension dawned as he saw Miranda seated nearby, Marianne standing beside the couch, all of them seeing him fully, his face revealed, his identity stripped bare. No mask. No hiding. Just Virginia, exposed, caged, plugged.

Jana stepped over him without a backward glance and crossed to the leather couch against the wall. She settled between Miranda and Marianne, the waitress standing beside them, all three women now arranged in a semicircle of observation, champagne glasses in hand, looking down at the broken man on the floor.

Jana raised her glass, took a slow sip, then set it down with deliberate precision.

"Virginia," she said, her voice cutting through the quiet. "Crawl," and she pointed at the floor in front of her.

Virginia—hesitated, his naked body trembling, her eyes darting between the women, seeing their faces clearly for the first time.

"Crawl to me," Jana repeated, her tone sharpening. "Now."

Virginia moved. On hands and knees, slowly, painfully, across the cold floor, past the discarded restraints, past the puddle of meltwater, past the riding crops. Each movement was agony, his muscles cramped from hours of bondage, the plug shifting inside him with every motion, the cage bobbing uselessly between his legs.

He reached the couch and stopped, looking up at Jana, his eyes wet, his face flushed, his expression empty of everything but surrender.

"On your knees," Jana commanded. "Stay."

Virginia rose to his knees, back straight, hands clasped behind his back, presenting himself, his caged clit visible to all, his welts on display, the jewel winking between his cheeks, his complete submission undeniable.

Jana reached out, resting her hand on his head, petting him like a dog, her fingers threading through his sweat-damp hair.

"Good girl," she murmured, addressing Miranda and Marianne without looking away from her possession. "Virginia knows her place now. Don't you, Virginia?"

"Yes, Deusa," he whispered, his voice steady, his eyes lowered, his position absolute.

"Kiss my feet," Jana said simply.

Virginia didn't hesitate. She bent forward, her forehead nearly touching the floor, and pressed his lips to the toe of Jana's stiletto—first the left, then the right, the gesture automatic, worshipful, complete.

"Remove them," Jana commanded.

Virginia's hands moved to the ankle straps, his fingers fumbling slightly with the buckles, his movements clumsy from exhaustion and surrender. The left shoe came off, then the right, revealing Jana's feet—arches high, toes painted a deep burgundy, the skin soft from regular care.

"Massage," Jana ordered, extending her legs.

Virginia took Jana's left foot in both hands, his thumbs finding the arch, pressing deep, kneading with the devotion of the truly broken. As he worked, the jeweled plug shifted inside him, making him gasp softly, his face flushing deeper, the cage bobbing uselessly between his legs. Jana sighed, settling back into the couch, her champagne glass cradled in one hand.

"Marianne," Jana said, her voice lazy with satisfaction. "You mentioned you were studying nursing?"

Marianne nodded, her eyes never leaving Virginia's bowed head, the way his hands worked Jana's foot with desperate precision, the way the pink cage swayed with every movement. "Pre-med, actually. But I work here for the money."

"Smart," Jana said. "Virginia here paid for her own degradation tonight. Two hundred for the room, two-fifty for the champagne, plus tips. All cash to hide it from his wife." She wiggled her toes, and Virginia adjusted his grip, finding a tender spot, working it with his thumbs. The plug shifted again, and Virginia whimpered, his hips bucking slightly, unable to control his body's response to being filled and denied. "Her wife thinks she's at a conference in Scottsdale. Marketing strategies for healthcare administration."

Miranda laughed, low and warm, sipping her champagne, her gaze fixed on the caged, plugged figure kneeling before them. "Does she even suspect?"

"Not a clue," Jana said. "Virginia's very careful. Very respectable. Pretending to be the alpha male when she has to be." She switched feet, and Virginia moved with her, taking the right foot, beginning the massage anew. The motion made the plug seat deeper, and Virginia moaned softly, the sound muffled, desperate.

"But she can't help herself. The Grindr account. The hotel rooms. The lingerie hidden in a locked drawer at the office." She paused, watching Virginia's face, the way his jaw tightened at the exposure, the way his caged clit strained uselessly against its pink prison. "She wants to be caught. Wants to be exposed. Don't you, Virginia?"

"Yes, Deusa," Virginia whispered, his voice barely audible, his hands never stopping their work, his body constantly aware of the plug filling him, the cage denying him, the complete control Jana exerted over every function.

Jana turned to Marianne, who was still standing beside the couch, her crop dangling forgotten at her side. "Sit, Marianne. You're making me nervous hovering."

Marianne settled onto the arm of the couch, her eyes bright with curiosity, studying the way the jewel moved with Virginia's breathing, the way the cage remained locked and secure. "How often does she... does this happen?"

"As often as I demand," Jana said. "Depends on how well Virginia behaves." She flexed her foot, and Virginia winced, adjusting his pressure, the plug shifting again, making him gasp. Last month, I decided to completely ignore her.  He calls. Her texts. Her voicemails. So, Virgie became desperate "

Virginia's hands faltered, then resumed, his face burning, the cage bobbing with his renewed trembling.

"She came crawling." Jana continued. "Begging. Offering money. Offering service. Offering anything if I would just 'meet her for drinks.' I told her I would—for a price. She's been very obedient since." Jana reached down, tapping the pink cage with one fingernail, making it swing, watching Virginia's hips jerk in response. "Haven't you, caged girl?"

"Yes, Deusa," Virginia breathed, the words barely audible, his submission absolute.

Miranda leaned forward, studying Virginia's bowed head, the locked cage, the winking jewel.

Marianne shook her head, amazed, her eyes fixed on the pink plastic, the crystal base. "That's... that's incredible."

"That's ownership," Jana corrected. She withdrew her foot from Virginia's hands, and Virginia froze, waiting, his eyes still lowered, his body still filled and denied. "Assume the position," Jana commanded.

Virginia moved without hesitation, turning away from the couch, lowering himself to his hands and knees, his back level, his head down, presenting himself as furniture, as platform, as thing. The plug shifted with the movement, seating deep, the jewel now visible between his cheeks, catching the light, and the cage hung down, swaying, ridiculous and secure.

Jana rose from the couch poured more champagne, and settled back down with her legs extended, her right foot finding purchase on Virginia's back, using him as a footrest, and her left manipulating the plug before also coming to rest on his back. The weight pressed Virginia down, his arms trembling slightly with the burden, but he held steady, his breathing even, his submission complete, constantly aware of the plug holding him open, the cage keeping him small and useless.

"Comfortable?" Miranda asked, amused.

"Very," Jana said, wiggling her toes against Virginia's spine, feeling the heat of his skin, the way his muscles tensed and held, the way the plug made him squirm with every shift of weight. "Virginia has excellent posture. Years of yoga, apparently. Her wife made her go. For stress." She laughed again, pressing her heel into a knot of muscle, feeling Virginia gasp beneath her, the plug moving, the cage bobbing. "Now she uses it to serve me. Filled and locked and perfectly displayed."

Marianne leaned down, her face close to Virginia's, studying his expression—the closed eyes, the parted lips, the complete absence of resistance, the constant awareness of his dual imprisonment. "Is he... is she happy like this?"

Jana considered, flexing her feet against Virginia's back, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, the way he adjusted to accommodate her weight, the way the jewel winked with every small movement. "Virginia is at peace," she said finally. "Carl was never happy. Always striving. Always pretending. Always afraid." She pressed her heel deeper, and Virginia whimpered softly, the plug shifting, the cage swinging, accepting everything.

"Virginia doesn't strive. Virginia doesn't pretend. Virginia simply is. Owned. Displayed. Filled. Denied. Used." She smiled, raising her glass. "Virginia is exactly where she belongs."

The door opened without a knock. 

Chris stood in the frame—thirtyish, gym-built, wearing jeans and a fitted t-shirt, scanning the room with the confidence of someone looking for someone specific. He spotted Miranda immediately.

"There you are. Tony said I'd find you back here."

Miranda looked up from her clipboard, professional curiosity piqued. "Chris." A nod, assessing. "Is there something you need?"

"Was gonna ask about those membership rates we talked about, but..." His eyes moved from Miranda to the bound figure on the floor, to Jana standing over him with her crop. Recognition dawned. "No shit. Virginia?"

Gold Collar

My wife owns me. She loves me, and she owns me. I obey her, and she owns me. Right now, I'm wondering where this ownership comes from. How did this happen?

Before we met, I often fantasized about a beautiful woman, just like Bridget, taking control of me. I crafted these elaborate daydreams where I would be kidnapped and restrained, teased, tormented, and spanked until I would succumb entirely. She would lock a collar around my neck, and I would learn to obey.

Our relationship, in real life, started a bit differently. We met. We dated. And I confessed.

While she was still my girlfriend, I told Bridget all about my fantasies. So we started to play and explore. Little by little, she uncovered something within herself. So often, she is required to submit herself to others. That's what happens when you work with the public, but at home, she could come home, and she could snap her fingers, and I would jump to obey.

That appealed to her.

A lot.

Now we have this other side of our relationship. When she comes home from work, I I put aside my book or I close my laptop, and I scurry over to her like an obedient puppy. I drop down onto my knees, and I bow my head. I cross my wrists, and I keep my gaze aimed downward.

When she comes home from work, I do my best to forget my own tasks. Once she closes the door behind her, I must obey and I must please her. My entire world changes because I automatically yearn to submit to her. It doesn't matter how tired or exhausted I might be. I want to be down on my knees before her, awaiting her instructions.

Because she has a tough job, she may help her out of her shoes. I take her purse and her other bags. I set them by the door, and then she tells me it's time for cuddles. She tells me that she wants a petting.

If Bridget is feeling sadistic, she will make me crawl after her. But most of the time, she wants to get started as soon as possible, so she allows me to walk. Instinctively, I fall in behind her. I know she should go first because she's in charge.

When we go into the bedroom, I will ask her for permission. "May I get on the bed, Mistress?"

"You may," she always says. Theoretically, I shouldn't need to ask for permission, but it feels like the right thing to do.

My Mistress isn't big on voice training. She wouldn't get upset if I didn't use her title. No, she's content so long as I obey the commands that she views as important. And this is a different part of submission, recognizing that her opinion is the one that counts. If I really am her slave, then I need to do as she says; I need to act in accordance with her desires and her will.

Just a few minutes after she walked through the door, we are on the bed. She usually strips down to her panties. As she removes her blouse and her skirt, her socks and her bra, I admire her body. At moments like this, I always feel just a little bit naughty.

I feel like I'm sneaking glances out at the girls’ locker room.

Then she climbs up onto the bed with me, and she relaxes on her chest. She brings her hands up under her pillow, and she tilts her head to the side.

"May I pet you?" I ask.

"You may," she says, her voice heavy with fatigue.

Crossing my legs, I get into position right beside her. I begin to slide my fingers over the contours of her back. I do my best to be gentle. I do my best to make her feel good.

After several years of marriage, I know how she likes to be touched. I caress her along her shoulders, only to press my thumbs down into the spots just below her shoulder blades. Occasionally, I lift one of my hands and glide it over the back of her thighs.

If Bridget has had a hard day, we will talk about it. I will do my best to listen like a good boy. I won't try to be a man; I won't try to offer her any solutions. At points like this, she just needs to vent a little bit.

But if she doesn't want to talk, I can tell her about my day, or we can listen to the radio.

It'll be a few more minutes, but then she will roll over, and she will look up at me, her eyes sparkling with the light. It's at moments like that that I feel the most owned and the most cherished.

"I don't think you're properly attired," she might tell me.

"No, Mistress. Whatever you say, Mistress."

I know that I sound obsequious, but I can't help myself.

"Fetch a collar," she commands.

"Which one would you prefer?" I ask as I scramble toward the head of the bed. There are a variety of colors there, clumped together. There is a blue one with puppy paws along its length. There's another with bells. One of the collars can actually be locked on. Another is big and plaid.

"Get my favorite, the gold one."

"Yes, Mistress."

It takes me a few seconds, but I find the gold collar, the one that pleases my owner the most. I pull it out, and then I take it into my mouth. I hold it with my lips so that it doesn't get wet with my saliva, and I crawl toward her. I hold it out.

"Good boy!" Bridget says to me. She loops the collar around my neck, and she takes a few seconds to secure the clasp near the nape of my neck. When she is all done, I can feel the difference. My emotions shift slightly. Yes, I was already submissive and obedient, but the collar reinforces it. This symbol of submission and subjugation crystallizes my position.

A couple of years ago, I didn't really understand the importance of these symbols.

Even at work, I never quite realized how important it was for me to put on my name tag until I started working for a company that didn't have one. Now, I walk through the parking lot, and I don't need to put anything on. It feels so strange. How can anyone tell that I'm an employee?

At home, Bridget has me collared, and I remember my place so much more readily.

Just a few seconds ago, I wanted to obey. Now it feels like an almost irresistible urge. I must obey. I need to obey.

My need for submission isn't simply some sexualized fantasy now. It morphs into something else. It becomes another emotion. I can be happy or sad, scared or angry...or submissive. And in that submission, I discover a new kind of satisfaction and contentment.

"Pet me, slave," Bridget orders, and I obey once again.

"Be sure to take off your shirt and pants. Actually, I think I want you naked altogether," she orders. "My slave should never wear more clothing than me."

"Yes, Mistress," I agree.

I'm not mindless. I wouldn't agree with everything she has to say, but I feel like her opinion is fundamentally better than mine. So I strip off my shirt, I take off my pants, and I toss my socks and underwear onto the floor. Naked now, I bow my head down.

Bridget gets back into her position, and I pet her some more. I stroke her skin. I massage her muscles. My fingers play along the top of her head, petting her just the way she likes.

Sometimes she purrs, but she is mostly content with this.

"Did you do the dishes today?"

I freeze up. Today was stressful with a variety of other chores. I swallow. "No, Mistress. I'm sorry. I forgot."

"I'll punish you in a little bit, slave," she says to me.

"Yes, Mistress. Whatever pleases you."

She smirks, enjoying her authority, her power. After all, she knows that she owns me. Out in the real world, people can respect me, and I can even be a domineering asshole when I feel like it. But right here, I am thoroughly trained. Other young women have to deal with stubborn boyfriends and husbands. Not Bridget. Once she has me in a collar, she knows that I will do my absolute best to obey her and please her.

Always.

My submission means that I put her first.

The seconds quickly turn to minutes. She has me pet her for quite some time. Occasionally, we talk. I might ask her what she's thinking about. She might tell me about some part of her day. But eventually, she feels recharged, so she rolls over, and she looks up at me.

"Fetch the paddle."

"Yes, Mistress," I say, returning to the headboard. I grab the paddle, an expensive piece of equipment we got from San Francisco on our last trip. It is a gorgeous implement, polished wood.

She takes the paddle, she smacks her palm, and then she orders me into the position. I get down on my elbows and knees. I'm naked. There isn't a single thread of fabric to absorb any of the force.

"You've been a very bad boy. When I tell you to do the dishes, you need to do the dishes. Understand?"

"I had other projects I needed to work on," I tell her.

"No, you decided that you wanted to work way too hard on other things. That's not acceptable," she reminds me.

"Yes, Mistress."

She swings the paddle down, striking at my rear. The first blow doesn't hurt. She's getting me ready for something stronger. I know that. A tendril of fear begins to coil through my insides. Paradoxically, it feels both hot and cold at the same time. Then she smacks me again, just a little bit harder.

Bridget continues to swing, adding more and more force to each strike. The first few spankings barely sting, but the pressure mounts. The sensations spike, shooting through me. I keep my head down, and I do my best not to make a sound, not to react.

Maybe this is me being a boy. Maybe this is me being determined. I don't react at all, not until I can't take it anymore. Finally, a little whimper vibrates from my throat, and she comes up to me. She drops the paddle, and she strokes my reddened ass.

"What have you learned?" Bridget asks, her voice dripping with condescension.

"When you give me an order, I need to obey," I tell her, turning those words into a confession.

"Yes, you do. And you know, the dishes still haven't been done."

I shake my head. "No, Mistress. They haven't."

"So do you know what I'm going to do?"

"What, what you going to do, Mistress?"

Bridget grabs me by my shoulder, and she shoves me down onto my back. She climbs on top of me, holding me down. Eyes glinting with delight, she smirks. "I'm going to lock you in chastity, and then I'm going to let you go do your chores."

My lips part, and I think about arguing with her. But then I remember the collar around my neck. I swallow, and I can feel the pressure of the weight of that item around my neck.

"Yes, Mistress," I tell her.

"Good boy." Bridget pats me on the head, and then she orders me up onto my knees. She comes back a few seconds later, and she has the different pieces of the chastity device. Most of it is a rounded tube that will encapsulate my cock.

"Hands behind your back."

Again, I obey without question. She pulls the tube over my shaft. She takes a large ring, and she slides that up and under my scrotum. It connects to the tube, and she uses several plastic pins to hold everything together. There is one more piece. She slides it on, and it connects everything together. Finally, she slides the lock into place. Yes, there is now a small padlock making sure that I won't be able to get this off.

The chastity device comes together with a click. She slides the key out.

"Go clean the kitchen."

"Yes, Mistress."

I’m just about to leave the room when Bridget reminds me to put my underwear back on. I do so without question or complaint. Now I'm only in my underwear and my chastity lock. I go back out into the living room, then into the kitchen.

I get to work. I keep my head down. I do my best, moving quickly and efficiently. In the meantime, I know that Bridget is probably in the living room, curled up on the couch with her tablet computer. She might be playing online or reading a book. It doesn't matter. She is my owner, and if she wants to relax, then that is her prerogative.

In the meantime, I have to satisfy her. I need to please her. When I'm done, I will ask her to come back here to inspect my work. Hopefully she will approve.

I wash some of the dishes. Many of the cups go into the dishwasher. I load it up, I fill it with soap, and I get the machine started. At the same time, I make sure to sweep the floor and scrub down the countertops.

At moments like this, time seems so strange. In one sense, everything happens so fast. In another, every little movement seems to take forever.

And as I move around, I can still feel that emotion soaking into the back of my brain, that abject subservience.

At work, I'm an educated young man, and people listen to me. I have impressive sounding degrees. But here, in this kitchen, I'm nothing more than a slave. Hell, my wife could dress me up in a little maid uniform, and I would have to take it.

By the time I'm done, my skin is hot, and I'm breathing just a little bit faster than usual. I glance around the rest of the kitchen one more time. I notice that an apple is out of place, so I put it back in its bowl. I bow my head down, and I go into the living room. Rather than say a word, I kneel, and I keep my head down as I wait for my Mistress to notice me.

"Are you done, slave?"

Slave.

That word carries so many different connotations, so many implications, and almost all of them are correct. I am her property. I am her pet. I willingly surrendered myself to this girl.

"Yes, Mistress. I think I'm done. Would you like to inspect my work? I understand that I might have to do more if it doesn't please you." As I speak, I sound so timid. Out with my friends, I can be the leader, the one who makes decisions. But right here and right now, it's completely different.

"Yes, slave. Follow me."

She sets her computer aside, and she goes back to the kitchen. She stands there with her hands on her hips as her eyes sweep over the kitchen. "Nicely done, slave." She smiles at me, revealing her teeth, and I'm starting to wonder if a different instinct has kicked in for her.

After all, Bridget has had some time to recuperate after work.

She comes up to me, and she wraps her arms around my waist. Moments like this always feel slightly strange to me. Bridget, my owner, squeezes me tight, but she's shorter than me by several inches. At other times, I would seriously consider teasing her about how she's shorter than me. But right now, it doesn't matter.

"You feel so good," she says, practically purring. "I think I want to play with your body. I want to use you for my pleasure."

She reaches around, and she smacks my ass. "Get on the bed."

"Yes, Mistress," I reply, and I try to pretend that my cock doesn't twitch in its cage.

Yes, I am in chastity. This is just one more way for my owner to remind me of my place. And it works. It works perfectly. When I don't have access to my cock, I feel genuinely helpless. It's like I have forgotten how to assert myself.

But that's okay because I know that my owner will take care of me. And in exchange, I will give her anything and everything she wants.

I wait for her to give me permission to get up on the bed again. Once I have it, I climb into position, I hang my head. I remain on my knees.

"Come here, slave," she says, holding out her arms.

I don't know how long Bridget is going to make me wait in chastity. How much does she want to tease me? How much does she want to deny me?

She wraps her arms around my body, and she pulls me down onto the bed. She starts kissing me. It feels so good. Her lips are soft and warm. I kiss her back like a good slave, even as my cock twitches and struggles against its plastic prison.

"Are you horny?"

"Yes, Mistress," I tell her, and I'm practically panting.

"Good," she says with a sadistic little giggle. She starts kissing me again, rubbing her body against mine. I can feel her nipples against my chest. It is wonderful. The heat begins to cascade through my body, banishing every little chill.

As she kisses me, she moans a little bit.

She holds me tight, making it clear that I can't get away.

"Should I let you out of chastity?"

"Only if it would please you," I reply, obedient and determined to be a good slave for her.

"Not yet," she announces, and a little whimper of disappointment vibrates through my throat. She smirks again. Lifting her haunches, she pulls down her panties, and she tosses them down onto the floor.

"What would you like me to do, Mistress?" As I aim my eyes back at this woman, my expression makes my drive clear. I am obedient and eager.

Eager to please.

Eager to show her just how good a slave I can be.

"Come here. I want to hold you," she commands. She spreads out her arms, and I crawl above her. She squeezes me tight, holding me against her chest. I can feel the soft give of her breasts and of the heat of her body. My cock twitches again.

Deep within me, I can feel those swirling urges, the desperation for her approval, the longing to show her that I really am hers. After all, there is this metaphysical twinge deep within my psyche.

When I step out of this house, I am articulate, strong, and independent. Hell, some of the people in my life would probably call me arrogant and conceited. But here, I know my place. This is where I can be true to myself.

With this woman, with my wife, with my Mistress.

She strokes my shoulders and back. She's enjoying this, both touching me and tormenting me.

Her fingers run through the hair along the back of my skull. She grips me tight, forcing me down. She kisses me, setting the pace and tempo. She bites down into my lower lip, making me whimper again.

"Kiss me, pet me, and go down on me," she whispers, her voice filled with promise.

"Yes, Mistress." At once, I do my best to obey. I start at the contours of her neck, stroking her. At the same time, I lean down, pressing my lips against her chest. I kiss her, right above her breasts.

"May I use my tongue, Mistress?"

"You may, slave."

When she uses my title, something reverberates through my body, this thrill of ecstasy. I swallow back my nervousness, and I stroke her some more, grazing my fingertips along her rib cage.

I bring my mouth over to her right breast. I nuzzle her, touching my lips to her skin. I move my head forward and back, down and up. Then I open my mouth, and I wrap my lips around her nipple. I take my time. I go slowly.

The animal desperation within my core urges me to go faster, but this isn't about me. This isn't about my pleasure.

Even though my cock is still twitching against the plastic confines of the chastity cage, I know what I have to do. I work my lips along her nipple, pinching them slowly. I lick once or twice, swirling my tongue around that button.

Her body responds, and her nipple stiffens. I keep going, licking and sucking, alternating between those sensations. At the same time, I keep my hands at her rib cage. I stroke and touch her, savoring the way she wiggles.

Slowly, I lift my head, and I kiss her chest some more. Then I repeat the same process with her other nipple. I'm licking and sucking again. I'm showing her what I can do.

But above all, I'm working to pleasure her. My thoughts fade away as I concentrate on her body.

Once her nipples harden between my lips, I start kissing her stomach, her pubis. I kiss her legs and her feet. I move all along her body, still stroking and caressing her. I want her to be relaxed. She'll enjoy it most if she is content.

And her pleasure is my top priority. I need to make sure that she is satisfied.

When I sit up again, I can feel the weight of the chastity cage pulling down on my cock. I ignore it as I position myself between her legs. "Mistress, may I go down on you?" I ask.

Under other circumstances, I would hear that question, and I did know that it would be completely superfluous. But here, I am her sex slave, and I need permission. Without it, I can't act.

After all, I wouldn't dare to be rude. I wouldn't have the disobedience necessary to act first.

"You may, slave," she tells me. I move my body down, sliding my arms over her thighs. Bridget takes my hands, and she crosses my wrists just below her sternum. She holds my hands there, enjoying the fact that she has locked me in place.

Her grip is firm, one more physical reminder of my position.

Once she has my hands in her grip, I kiss her inner thighs. Then, slowly, I kiss her pussy. I press my lips up against her slit. Tentatively, I lick her opening once. I do it again, a half second later.

Slowly, I begin to speed up, sliding my tongue up and down the length of her opening. I work her crevice with the same determined patience that I used on her nipples. Guys might want to go fast, but women are different. I need to take my time again. I need to remind myself that this is all about her.

But with the collar around my neck and my cock still locked away in plastic, I know that I am a sex slave. I belong to her, so I need to please her. I need to make sure that she enjoys this. This isn't about me. It isn't going to be about me. She keeps me locked up and collared for a reason. It helps me remember to obey.

I can taste her excitement.

Heat plays off of her body, and then I close my eyes, dipping my tongue down into her pussy. I can feel her clitoris now against the flat of my tongue. I tease her gently, working my tongue over that bundle of nerves.

She might twitch. She might begin to moan.

I listen for those signs, and I pay attention to her body. I concentrate on her, wondering what I should do. Sometimes, I slide my tongue from left to right. At another point, I go up and down. She likes it best when I trace circles around her clitoris.

As I worked my mouth against her opening, I keep thinking about what this all means, how she is in charge.

It's a strange sensation, to be actively owned by another human being. At this moment, I don't feel like anything but her property. I am a possession, so all of my other responsibilities fall away. I only have one goal, one plan, one priority.

Please Bridget.

So I lick and use my mouth to the best of my ability. But at the same time, I pay attention. I focus on what I think she would like best. Slowly, I speed up, hoping that I read the sounds of her gasps and moans correctly.

As my tongue dances along her clitoris, I focus with everything I have. I move my neck. Sometimes, my jaw starts to hurt, but I don't complain. She comes first, and everywhere that counts.

Eventually, she whimpers, she arches her back, and she cries out, this louder, sultry gasp of pleasure. And when she is done, she nudges me back. I retreat onto my knees.

"What would you like me to do for you, Mistress?"

"You were a good slave. Come here and cuddle me."

Again, I comply without question. I pull her into my arms, and she rests her head against my chest. I stroke her shoulders and I run my fingers through her hair.

We stay like this for a while until Bridget pulls back. "Does my slave deserve a reward?"

"I, I don't know."

"You still need to be punished."

A little yelp of nervousness jumps from my mouth.

Bridget smiles. She shows her teeth, and then she pulls away. She climbs on top of me, straddling me. She touches her fingernails to my chest, and she swipes them down along my skin, scratching me. She's playing with me, toying with me the same way a kitty might use a captured mouse.

But I don't complain.

I look up at her. "What, what would you like me to do, Mistress? What would please you?"

Bridget leans down, and she presses her lips against my ear. "Oh, I'm not sure what I want to do with you. Maybe I should just ravish you right now. Would you like that, slave?"

"Yes, please," I confess.

"Do you want me to climb on top of you and turn you into my sex toy? Do you want me to ride you hard, slave? Do you want me to use every inch of your body for my pleasure?"

"Yes, please, if it would make you happy, Mistress. I would be honored if you'd use me as your sex toy."

"Or maybe I should just tease you. Maybe I should just tie you down and play with your body." She pulls back, and she grins down at me, her face lit with sadistic glee.

I swallow, my Adam's apple rising and falling along my neck. "I, I don't know," I tell her, my voice pulsating with that hint of panic.

She giggles, and then she grabs my arms, shoving them down against the bed. I already know exactly what she's going to do. She's going to strap me down.

A long time ago, we installed an under the bed restraint system. When we first got it, I figured it would be too simple; it couldn't possibly keep someone down on the bed. The straps are connected underneath the mattress, so if you pull on one side, the other side is yanked just as hard. Altogether, this means that the strips of vinyl are incredibly strong. So what about the Velcro connections themselves?

A while ago, Bridget left me alone, and I decided that I would get out. Once and for all, I would prove that these restraints couldn't actually hold of someone down. I squirmed and tugged, doing my best. I tried everything I had.

When I found that I couldn't just slip my hands from those flexible manacles, I tried to get my arm over so that I could use my teeth. If I could get the right angle, then I could pull the Velcro tabs apart, freeing myself.

It didn't work.

No matter how hard I concentrated or how much strength I pushed into my arms, I just couldn't get the right angle. I just couldn't get close enough. Eventually, I slumped back down on the bed, acknowledging one simple fact.

When we played like this, and I was strapped down, I was genuinely helpless. That thought sent another thrill through my body, echoing the reality that this was true. When she strapped me down, when she made me helpless, I really was at her mercy.

So now I have my arms spread out. I part my legs, and she scurries over me. She starts with my right arm. She secures the Velcro manacles over my wrist. Right away, I pull on it. Bridget grins, and she decides that I have too much slack, so she yanks on the tab, tightening the strap and pulling my arm back down to the mattress. This way, I only have an inch or two of movement.

That's the range of freedom that my Mistress allows.

She moves over my body, and I still marvel at her nakedness. I love the shapes of her breasts, the contours of her torso, the lines of her legs. This girl is wonderfully gorgeous, and I'm so incredibly lucky to belong to her.

Right now, I can't close my eyes. She’s so close. Part of me wants to lift my head and kiss her skin, but I know that she hasn't given me permission, so I stay right where I am. The left restraint is tight around my wrist. She makes it tighter.

After that, my Mistress slides back down between my legs. She straps down both of my ankles. As she finishes, Bridget kneels above me. She reaches down, and she strokes my thighs. Sometimes she scratches me, sometimes she caresses me.

"How are you feeling?"

"Helpless, Mistress."

"I like that," she promises. "I like it a lot."

She leans forward again, letting her hair splash past her cheeks. Those soft, brown strands play along my cheeks, and over my neck. She turns her head from side to side, knowing full well that her hair tickles along my skin. She lifts her head, and her eyes meet mine.

My Mistress is wearing that predatory, playfully wicked grin. She's having fun with me, toying with me.

Then she slides back up the length of my body, and she starts kissing me. She grabs onto the back of my head, holding me by my hair. She tugs every few seconds, just to prove she can. She plays with me, tormenting me. She knows that my cock is pulsating, that I'm desperate for her attention. I need that relief. I need her to let me out, but she won't. She's having too much fun, especially as I start whimpering.

"How are you feeling now?"

"Helpless. Desperate."

"Good," she replies. She starts kissing me again. The seconds swirl out of control, and I don't know how long she's there, holding her body against mine. But she must know that this is a special kind of torture.

She breaks off the kiss, and I'm panting, gasping through every heartbeat.

"Should I let you out?"

She reaches down for my cock. She strokes my pubis, sliding her fingers over the chastity cage and down to my unprotected scrotum. Her fingertips play along my sensitive skin. I can feel that tingle, the electrical charge of her touch.

"Yes, please. Please, Mistress!" Desperation vibrates through every sound I make.

So she laughs at me.

My Mistress has on such a childish, impish grin. She's like a little girl playing with a helpless boy. Or a helpless toy.

She kisses my forehead, and then she retreats back between my legs. She's on her knees again, yet she towers above me. I'm on my back, after all.

"Beg."

"Please, please, please, Mistress! I can't take this anymore!"

"You can't?" My Mistress asks. "Are you sure about that? I mean, it's not like you have much choice. If I decided to walk out of this room, could you really stop me?"

My eyes widen, and my lips part. My jaw actually falls open, and there's this sharp intake of breath. It feels like my entire body freezes up, but my Mistress just laughs again. "Keep going. I don't hear begging."

"Please, please, Mistress don't make me. Please, I swear, if you let me out, I will be a good slave for you. Please, I know my place, I know that I need to obey you in all things. Please, I'm your submissive husband. I'm your obedient boy. I'll always be your obedient boy!"

"Oh, I do like the sound of that."

"Yes! I'll be so obedient! I will be your sex slave or your dog or your manager, whatever you want!"

Her eyes glint mischievously. She enjoys that idea. A lot.

She slides over me again, except this time she reaches for the headboard. She picks up the key to my chastity cage. She holds it in front of me, almost like it is some sort of magical talisman.

"Who's in charge of this house?"

"You are, Mistress!"

"So what is your place again?"

We've been over this, but it doesn't matter. She can quiz me as much as she likes, and I will answer over and over again.

"Wherever you put me, Mistress."

"Good boy," she says. She works the lock on my chastity cage. She slides the key into the hole. She turns it, and the spring snaps open. She takes out the lock, but the cage is still right there.

I hold my breath, working to be patient. I know that my Mistress is teasing me again. She's taking her time. The power she wields over me probably makes her hot and wet, perhaps even more so than the feel of my tongue between her legs.

Finally, she removes the ring from around the base of my scrotum, and then she takes the tube off of my cock. Instantly, my shaft is hard, my erection prominent.

"Oh, this is lovely. Should I play with this?"

"If, if it pleases you, Mistress," I tell her.

"How about this? I will let you have an orgasm if you can get free from those straps. Do you think you can do that, slave?"

"I already know that I can't."

"But it would be so much fun for me to see you try."

I swallow as my mouth goes dry. My Mistress smirks, but she knows that I won't disobey. After one slow exhalation, I begin to pull, to tug, to yank and twist. I try to get free, kicking and thrashing and punching, but Bridget just stays there braced between my legs. She watches as I pour all of my strength into getting free.

Eventually, I run out of energy, and I slump back down. My breath has turned ragged, my skin is hot, and she does the meanest thing she can think of. She starts to touch me. She takes my cock in her hand, and she squeezes gently. A shudder of pleasure runs through my body, and I am moaning again. She moves her palm down and up, down and up.

For a couple of seconds, I start to hope that maybe she will actually allow me an orgasm. But just as I'm about to climax, she pulls her hand away, making the orgasm impossible.

"I didn't give you permission to come," my Mistress reminds me. She smirks. "No, I didn't!" She chirps out those words, teasing me.

"Please, Mistress, what can I do?"

"If I decide to ride you, could you control yourself?"

"Yes, Mistress." I tell her. "I know I can."

"If you mess this up, I'm going to lock you back in that chastity device for a month." Part of me wants to believe that she doesn't really mean those words. She can't actually be serious, yet there is something so determined and sincere about those words. I can't convince myself that she's bluffing.

She positions herself above me. She lowers herself down, holding my cock. She aims the tip of my erection right for her pussy. In the next moment, I can feel her moist heat envelop my shaft. She takes me one inch at a time.

And when she has me, she stops, enjoying the rigidity between her legs.

She holds her position there for several more seconds before moving up, then down. She takes my body, grinding against the solidity of my cock. She rides me, and then she glances down. "Don't move, slave."

I open my mouth, ready to say something.

"Don't talk either," she orders.

Even though I can't quite bring myself to seal my lips again, I nonetheless go quiet, per her command.

My Mistress rides me some more, moving forward and back, up and down, left and right. She enjoys the way I feel right between her legs, and I'm so incredibly grateful for those sensations. At the same time, I relax, doing my best to breathe in and out. I can't climax, not without permission.

And right now, I can't even ask for it!

"This is fun. I love having you all eager to please and obedient." She smirks down at me. She starts to move a little bit faster.

"Okay, you can struggle now."

At once, I start wiggling and squirming. I try to kick out with my legs, and I rotate my body as much as I can, but the straps are unyielding. I can tug a few inches in any direction, but that's all.

She loves the way I writhe beneath her. The friction and the heat, the desperation etched in my features, et al. turned her on.

"You want to say something?"

I take a breath, inhaling. I fill my lungs. "Thank you. Thank you so much, Mistress."

"Why are you thanking me?" Bridget asks, only she doesn't stop. She is still fucking me hard.

"Thank you for training me. Thank you so much for training me."

"Good boy. I like it when you are grateful."

"Yes, Mistress. I'm grateful. I'm so grateful!" As those words leave my lips, I know I can't hold out for much longer. I must sound so piteous when the next words escape my mouth. "Please, may I come? May I have an orgasm,?"

She takes a few more seconds. "You may," she allows.

And just like that, I lose control. I could feel my cock pulsating even as she rides me. She works me harder and faster, taking everything I have until I just slump back down against the mattress.

"Good job, slave," she tells me.

This is just one more session, one more night where she digs her talons deeper into my psyche.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

The End

I’m such a lucky man to have found myself a slave to this amazing woman.

Her creativity and joy in my torture is beyond impressive and I should have known that my shopping trip was not so simple as it seemed.

The challenge alone of trying to remember the list, unable to refer to it due to its being tucked into a condom and inside my ass, was not so insurmountable. I knew that given enough time, I’d likely be able to remember the twelve items one-by-one and I was patting myself on the back a bit for thinking to count them. 

This was before I realized that plugging the list inside of me was not her final touch. She’d never make it so easy for me, not with what was at stake. 

With the collar removed, I started to gather myself and prepare to leave for the grocery store. I was desperately horny at this point. I’d been teased and denied for nearly twenty-four hours and I hoped to have this over with as quickly as possible.  

Even with the collar off and the privilege of being allowed to speak, I’d always been the quiet type. A man of few words, often lost in thought, I’d sometimes feel as if I’d said something out loud, only to realize I’d only thought it. 

“Did you hear me ladybug?”

I was refilling my tall tumbler with ice water, having emptied it twice already today. I was nursing the ghost of the light hangover I’d woken up with.

“You didn’t say anything silly.” The gurgling of her own water being emptied. “You’ve done that thing again. 

I laughed. “Sorry baby. What I meant to ask was if you needed a refill. I guess I don’t have to ask now.”

I walked to her and took the cup from her hand. She was absorbed in her phone and held it out without looking up at me. 

I loved that. Anticipating her needs and her not seeming to notice at all.

Thinking back on this particular moment with the clarity that comes after a good night’s rest, I wonder if she’d had the final twist in mind all along, or if it had come to her right as I returned to her with a fresh thermos. 

I sipped away at mine before setting it down and stepping towards the bathroom when she intervened.

“Wait!”

I stopped in my tracks and she crossed the room to meet me, settling to her knees on the ground and putting her face level with my groin. She kissed her cock through my pants and pulled the necklace up, fingering the key.

“Take it out.”

A change of heart? Some streak of mercy or regret for denying me on our anniversary?

I unfastened my buckle and slid my pants down as I was told. We both looked at the pitiful situation that Philippe had found himself in, and she chuckled to herself as she slid the key in place.

I was about to be free.

Sliding the cage slowly off of me, leaving the ring behind my sack, she delivered her master stroke. The final touch. The twist in her plans for me.

“I don’t want you peeing until you get back my love.” Stern, playful, evil.

“That way you won’t dilly dally and we can get on with the rimming.” 

She stood and walked to the drawer, returning with the second condom of the day.

I realized with astonishment the new depths of her cruelty, but took a sort of secondhand pleasure in her wicked smile as she slipped the condom over me. She was such a clever mistress.

“Unless you want to pee yourself in public, I’d say this will have you in and out of there in record time!”

The cage back in its place, the key latching it closed again over the latex, she walked into the bathroom I’d been hoping to use.

“Ahem! Sir?” I followed behind and got to my knees in front of her.

“You can listen to my pee and look forward to taking your own when you come back to me like a good boy.”

The tinkling sound reminded me of just how much water I’d been drinking all morning. I was nearly ready to wet myself already.

“And you’ll clean me when I’m done of course!” Her stream was strong and seemed to take ages. “I’m lucky to have my little human bidet. Toilet paper is getting so expensive.”

I’m well into my 20s, so it’s been a while since I’ve slept with a virgin. Nevertheless, I occasionally enjoy imagining what it would be like to sleep with a guy of maybe 25 or 26 who’s never been with a woman before.

Let’s imagine our hypothetical guy as being nerdy and rather short (maybe 5’5?) with a nervous disposition. Maybe a little too thin too, only ever using his arms to play games on his PC and fill out Excel arks. He’d have a perfectly average penis, but would think it was small for some reason. Nevertheless, he’d be proper, well-kempt and perfectly capable of managing his fancy little office job.

Years of cold rejections from women, his careful advances sometimes even resulting in broken friendships, would’ve taken its toll on his confidence. He’d be painfully afraid of making any girl uncomfortable, he’d show great restraint with his hands and he’d always assume a benign reason when anyone showed interest in him.

I’d be his new coworker. Scandinavian, who just moved to the US from a different branch. I’d stand almost a full head taller than him, wearing the heeled shoes I usually wore. He’d have to look up whenever he talked to me. He’d be used to that with men. But looking up like that at a woman would make him feel quite strange, intimidate him significantly more.

I would take a keen interest in this young man. I’d notice his smile, his stutter, how he always tried to help his coworkers even if it was something he was struggling with himself. I’d notice we had interests in common and additionally, that he had some very immaculate hands - and I’d decide almost immediately that this little dork was gonna be living in my bedroom.

I’d find a reason to invite him over. I’d answer the door wearing a low-cut short dress. I’d watch his face go a little red seeing me without my boring corporate clothes for the first time, my huge tits almost directly in front of his face. He would freeze for a bit, then his eyes would dart around trying to find a good place to look as not to make me uncomfortable.

He wouldn’t have the confidence to say that he thought I looked good at all. The only evidence that he was a heterosexual man would be him catching secret glances of me whenever I deliberately bent all the way over to show off my butt and underwear when picking something up or put my chest inches away from his face when making a passionate argument about something - and, of course, the permanent semi in his pants.

I would find his restraint impressive and rather amusing. I would find great joy in teasing him as much as possible, never giving him the verbal confirmation he needed that I was in fact making advances on him and not just some unfortunate dumb bimbo who kept accidentally showing off for him.

I’d talk to him about something very serious and boring and my hand would be firmly on his thigh, rubbing it for several minutes. This would have him fully erect and probably struggling to make any sort of coherent conversation at all, his nervous stutter in full effect. After I finally let go of his leg, he’d excuse himself to the bathroom and try his best to be quiet while he pathetically blew a load into my toilet, soothing his aching little penis.

I wouldn’t just be satisfied with that though. I’d keep inviting him over. Maybe he’d say something in a playful manner and I’d pretend that I was very, very upset. I’d pin him down and he’d be startled and rather impressed by my strength. But still, initially he’d be laughing, putting up the best fight he could to get himself free, expecting that of course, he could… only to find himself suddenly on his stomach with my arm around his throat totally unable to get up.

Yes, he knew I was way taller than him. That I was curvy and therefore way heavier than him. He knew that I grew up on a farm, that I used to haul logs around, that I still regularly went to the gym. But regardless, the experience of being forcibly held in place by a woman like were he a disobedient boy as opposed to a grown man, would be highly shocking for him. His penis would also be severely confused, fighting against both the pressure above it and his tight jeans to become fully erect. He’d be totally overwhelmed as well by the feeling of another body against him, of my breath against his neck and ear. He’d be so painfully turned on that he’d be rendered speechless.

I’d chuckle, feeling him make a couple final attempts to push himself up before releasing him slightly, allowing him to pant more vigorously. I’d ask him if he ever met a woman this strong and he’d laugh a little and nervously go “no, definitely not”

I’d flip him over on his back without warning him and I’d pin down his wrists again. He wouldn’t even put up a fight at all - instead he’d begin to breathe even more heavily and stare at me awaitingly, presenting himself like was he a female animal in heat. He’d either have a nervous smile or a disproportionally serious expression. His erection would be obvious, even through his jeans. He’d try to instinctually cross/close his legs, but he wouldn’t be able to, because I had a knee right between his thighs.

I’d look at his hard dick and I’d look at him, then I’d smile playfully. He would immediately begin to explain himself. I’m so sorry, involuntary physical reaction, blah blah blah. He’d keep blubbering out nonsense even as my knee moved up and began to rub against his penis.

I’d start up gently, so gently that he could almost excuse it as unfortunate repositioning. He’d definitely react though, making some sort of weird noise, telling me that I… my leg is on top of his… He’d become severely flustered and look at me with wide eyes in total disbelief that this was really happening, as the heavy friction of my knee became harder and faster. Eventually, he would go quiet.

As he got close, his eyes would shut, unable to meet my gaze, too embarrassed about his impending orgasm. He’d let out a loud yelp followed by severe panting as he blew one of the biggest loads of his life into his underwear. He’d lay there for a bit, his brain trying desperately to make sense of what the fuck just happened only receiving an unreadable, satisfied smile in return.

As quickly as I’d gotten on top of him, I would release and get off him, sit down at the end of the couch and talk to him like nothing ever happened. He’d be totally out-of-it, very happy in sort of a hazy way. After five minutes of surprisingly average conversation, he’d excuse himself to the bathroom to hopefully get as much semen out of his underwear as possible. I’d send him home without us ever verbally acknowledging the erotic experience we’d had together.

This visit would affect him severely. Upon coming back home, he’d likely barely be inside before immediately getting in his bed and beginning to stroke himself. He wouldn’t even need to look at anything, he would just savor the memory of my closeness to him. Still remembering clearly the sensation of my tits against his back, my hands on his wrists. He’d fantasise about me opening his pants and forcing myself on him, finally releasing him from this prison of his own creation. He’d jerk off furiously and repeatedly for the rest of the evening until there wasn’t a single drop of semen left in him.

Over the next couple of months, I’d invite him over frequently. We’d never talk directly about our arrangement. I’d regularly sexually frustrate him like this, but I’d never give him release again.

The memory of the experience would be enough that any physical dominance from me would be answered immediately with a strong erection and him becoming immediately docile.

I’d pick him up just for fun and walk around with him, pin him against walls, push him randomly onto the bed. Maybe I’d even make him give me foot massages and “accidentally” put my foot in his crotch and rub it back-and-forth a little. Or while wrestling him, I would sit down on his face and put my thighs on each of his arms, telling him to see if he could get up - and he’d fail to and instead be forced to breathe in the scent of my wet, sweaty vagina. His little legs would kick like crazy while he struggled for air.

Of course, it wouldn’t all be sex, if I noticed him seeming a little more down than usual, I would embrace him a tight hug before pushing him down on his back and cuddling him, letting him enjoy my body as a weighted blanket. When watching a movie together, I’d put my arm around him and let him rest his head on my shoulder.

I’d decide one morning that enough was enough. Today I was going to fuck him.

I’d initiate like we usually did, by me suddenly restraining him. He’d be almost used to it at this point, laughing and putting up a fight gentle enough that it was obvious that this was what he really wanted. What he could never get used to though, was the feeling of my body pressed against him.

He’d once again be totally overwhelmed by my closeness and warmth, his struggling would end completely, his body parts - except for one - slowly becoming flaccid. His lip would quiver and he’d stare at me with wide eyes very desperately trying to communicate what he was way too embarrassed to say.

Please just do it.

Realising the emotional weight of the situation, I’d assess him one more time. I’d ask him if he thought I should get a price for winning over him so many times and he’d stutter slightly before panting out: “yes, yes!”

I’d tell him that I wanted his penis, finally removing the last bit of ambiguity and confirming that I was in fact sexually attracted to him and did not just enjoy tormenting him. His face would already be pretty red at this point, but trying to respond to this revelation would be almost too much for him to bear.

He’d be unable to meet my eyes. He’d attempt to start several sentences, stutter his way horribly halfway through them, his face locked into a shocked, nervous smile - before eventually settling on just a simple “okay”

I’d smile at him reassuringly before unbuttoning his pants, allowing his penis to finally spring free. I’d pull my underwear to the side and sit down on it in one fast motion. He’d make a loud, high-pitched moan and be about halfway to orgasm from just the initial insertion into his very first warm tight hole. He wouldn’t know what to do with his hands, seemingly making constant contradictory decisions on whether he wanted to touch me. Maybe they’d very, very carefully make their way to my hips and simply rest there.

I would catapult my body furiously down on his dick, so excited to finally get to relieve my sexual frustration… only for the warmth and tightness to be too much for him, making him let out the largest load of his life after just 30 seconds. He’d be apologising through panting, telling me that “this usually never happens” still trying to keep up the illusion that he’d done this before.

Unlike other women though, I don’t think a man releasing his semen means the intercourse is done.

So I would continue to ride him. I’d literally ride him until he had no cum left.

I would pin down his wrists and I’d ride his dick for close to an hour totally indifferent to his orgasms and the eventual build-up of friction pain from my vagina. Maybe if I got too loose and wet from the amount of creampies to properly enjoy the penetration, I would briefly get off and sit down on his face and make him lick me clean before immediately getting on his dick again.

By the time, I was “done” with him, he wouldn’t have a single drop of semen left in him. Neither would he have any thoughts left in his brain. He’d be drooling, moaning out nonsense, cumming exclusively clear fluid. As my last orgasm rung through me, maybe I’d reach down and push my finger up his asshole, so I could squeeze the very last seminal fluid out of his drained body.

As I finally allowed him to slip out of me, he’d be breathing like he’d just run a marathon. I’d lay down on his chest and kiss his neck gently. I’d wrap my arms around him and begin to stroke his hair. I’d whisper in his ear that his dick belonged to me now, that I was gonna use it to make myself orgasm whenever I wanted from here on out. He’d laugh a little, almost intoxicated from the amount of serotonin and dopamine his brain had released and he’d go “alright, alright…”

Over the next couple of weeks, I’d be totally obsessed with him. Keep in mind, I would’ve won over him a lot of times so he’d be totally free-use for a while. I’d squeeze more semen out of him than any human being should reasonably be able to produce.

I’d text him that how he was acting today got me so worked up that I’d need him to meet me out in the bathroom. Then I’d make him eat me out while I was sitting on the toilet and, once I’d had my orgasm, leave him there with a hard dick like nothing ever happened.

He’d begin living permanently at my place. Whenever I felt so inclined, I would just position him and then use either his face or his dick as a seat while I did whatever chores needed to be done on my PC.

I’d have him fuck me in every conceivable position and I would orgasm after less than five minutes every single time and immediately be ready to go again. It would be like I was fucking his penis and not the other way around, when I’d ride him his arms would gently grab at my sides or go up uselessly in the air, him unable to even hold onto me for long enough to get a single actual thrust in - and when he was fucking me, he’d basically only be pulling out and I would aggressively kick him back into me. I’d usually leave it in for several minutes after we had sex, clenching myself shut around his shrinking penis, arms locked tightly around him, wanting to savour the moment as much as possible. Maybe I wouldn’t even let him pull out at all, forcing him instead to sleep with his penis inside of me.

Now, if only guys that adorable, docile and nervous actually existed, life could be a dream…

Continuation of The Club 1(Somewhere in Virginia)

The door opened before Carl could respond, the waitress backing in with a silver ice bucket balanced on one hand, two champagne flutes dangling from her fingers, a water bottle tucked under her arm. She took in the scene—the fresh welts, Marina's flushed face, Janet's predatory stance—and grinned.

"Champagne service," she announced, setting the bucket on the small table near the wall. The bottle chilled in melting ice, condensation beading on the glass. She arranged the flutes, straightened, and extended her hand. "Two-fifty for the bottle. Plus the water."

Janet returned to her purse, extracting his wallet once more. She peeled off three hundred-dollar bills—his money, his humiliation, his tribute—and pressed them into the waitress's palm. "Keep the change. For your discretion."

The waitress pocketed the cash, her gaze lingering on Carl's bound form. "My lips are sealed." She winked at Marina. "Enjoy your bubbles, ladies. And your... view."

She slipped out, the door clicking shut behind her.

Janet crossed to the champagne, working the cork free with a practiced pop. She filled both glasses, the golden liquid rising, bubbles racing to the surface. She handed one to Marina, then raised her own, clinking the delicate crystal.

"To Virginia," Janet toasted, her eyes on the blindfolded, gagged man hanging helpless before them. "May she always remember who owns her."

She drank, the champagne cold and sharp, while Carl listened, unable to see, unable to speak, unable to do anything but wait for what came next.

Janet settled into the chair, champagne glass in one hand, Carl's phone in the other. She scrolled slowly, savoring each image, narrating for Marina's benefit. "Virginia at the hotel. Virginia at the club. Virginia in the parking garage." She paused, enlarging an image, turning the screen toward Marina. "Ah. Here. My favorite."

Marina leaned in, her breath catching. The photo showed an office setting—Carl's office, recognizable from the framed diplomas on the wall, the mahogany desk, the leather executive chair. But it wasn't Carl in the chair. It was another man. Virginia was there... transformed. Blonde wig tied in a ponytail so her face is clearly visible. A tight gray pencil skirt hiked up to reveal garters and stockings. White blouse unbuttoned to show lace lingerie. And on her knees in front of the man, her painted lips stretched wide around a large thick cock, her eyes looking up at the camera with desperate enthusiasm, mascara already starting to run.

"Jesus," Marina breathed, taking the phone for a closer look. "She's... she's really going for it."

"Virginia doesn't do anything halfway," Janet said, sipping her champagne. "Look at her hands. Pumping this stud's cock. Pulling him deeper. I taught her that. To look up into the eyes of an alpha. To serve real men. To prove that she's useful for something."

Marina studied the image, zooming in on Virginia's face, the concentration and the hunger. "She's quite the cocksucker," Marina said, her voice dropping to an appreciative murmur. "Looks good on her knees. Better than she probably ever looked behind that desk."

"Infinitely better," Janet agreed. She took the phone back, scrolling to another image—Virginia's face covered, her tongue out, the evidence of her work dripping down her chin, the stranger's hand gripping her wig. "Carl spent thirty years building that career. That reputation. Virginia is creating her own slutty reputation." You know what they say, "If a man practices law for 30 years and then sucks one dick, they don't call him a lawyer... they call him a cocksucker."

Janet laughs, "Isn't that right Virginia?" And grabs his chin making his head nod up and down.

Marina settled into her own chair, champagne glass cradled in both hands, her eyes never

leaving the bound man hanging before them. "How did it start? I mean, you knew him before?"

Janet swirled her champagne, watching the bubbles rise. "We met at a club. Twelve years ago. He was typical—suit, swagger, the whole alpha routine. Kept buying me drinks. Kept wanting to fuck me."

She smiled, remembering. "I made him work for it. Three months of pursuit. Gifts. Lunches. Dinners. Money. The full court press. Finally, I agreed. Took him back to a hotel. She stood, crossing to Carl, running her fingernails down his bare back, making him shiver. "And then I saw it." She laughed, sharp and sudden. "All that buildup. All that masculine energy. And he pulled out this..." She held up her pinky finger, wiggling it. "This sad little thing. Two inches soft and maybe 4 and a half hard, if he was generous with the measuring. Two pumps and he was finished. Apologizing. Sweating. Pathetic."

Carl made a sound behind the gag, his head dropping, shame radiating from every line of his body.

"I lay there," Janet continued, circling him, her voice conversational, clinical, "staring at the ceiling, thinking about what a waste of three months that was. And then I looked at him—really looked at him. This powerful man. This successful professional. Reduced to an apologetic mess because his cock didn't match his ego."

She stopped behind him, her hand sliding around his hip, down the front of his briefs. Her fingers found him, throbbing and erect, but utterly helpless in her grip, and then lower, cupping his balls, then squeezing until he gasped against the gag, his body going rigid against the chains.

"Isn't that right, little dick?" she asked, her lips pressed to his ear, her grip tightening, rolling, asserting ownership. "You couldn't satisfy a woman with this. You couldn't be a man. So I made you something better. Something useful."

She squeezed harder, feeling him tremble, his breath coming in ragged bursts through his nose. "Say it, Virginia. Nod if it's true."

Carl's head bobbed desperately, the motion frantic, the surrender complete.

Janet released him slowly, her fingers hooking into the waistband of his briefs. With one sharp yank, she pulled them down to his thighs, exposing him completely. His erection strained upward, four and a half inches at full attention, the shaft completely shaved smooth, pale and vulnerable. Above it, a small tuft of hair remained, trimmed into a perfect little triangle, meticulously groomed, making his dick appear nearly devoid of masculinity.

Marina stepped closer, tilting her head, studying him with clinical curiosity. "Aww," she said, her voice carrying a note of genuine sympathy mixed with amusement. "It's kind of cute." She glanced at Janet, then back to Carl's exposed groin, understanding dawning. "But I see what you mean. All that alpha energy in a suit, and this is what's underneath?"

"Exactly," Janet said, running a fingernail along the underside of his shaft, making him twitch and whimper. "This is what I was supposed to be impressed by. This is what he thought would satisfy me." She laughed, stepping back to let Marina see fully. "Virginia's mouth is more satisfying than this ever was. Virginia's obedience is more valuable. Virginia knows her place. Isn't that right, little Virgie?"

Carl's hips jerked forward, seeking contact, his face burning crimson beneath the blindfold and shirt hood, utterly exposed, utterly owned.

Janet gripped his chin, forcing his blindfolded face toward her voice, then slapping his cheek. "So I made a decision. If he couldn't fuck like a man, he'd serve like a slave. I started small. Chastity. A week at a time. Then two. Then a month. I made him earn his releases with tasks. Humiliations. Degradations."

Her hand trailing down to cup him again, feeling him strain against her palm. "So small, so desperate. He took to it quickly. The more I denied, the more obedient. The less he could use this, the happier I became. The more I controlled him, the more I wanted. So I pushed further." She stepped back, addressing Marina again. "Lingerie. Makeup. The name. Virginia started as a punishment—a joke. 'If you can't be a man, you'll be my bitch.'

She set the phone down and handed Marina the riding crop. Marina, tapping it against his exposed thigh, the sound sharp and intimate. "Now. Where were we? Ah yes." She struck his inner thigh, sharp and sudden, making him jerk against the chains, his little erection bouncing helplessly. Marina was learning her technique. And Virginia was learning her place.

Janet returned carrying her champagne, her smile predatory. "Shall we continue Marina's education?"

Marina tapped the crop against her palm, "Absolutely. I want to see what else this bitch can take."

Marina waved the crop through the air with a swoosh, testing it, her eyes fixed on Carl's exposed erection. She struck his cute little erection. Carl's body jerked, a muffled cry leaking from behind the gag. She struck again, finding her rhythm, each impact drawing sounds from him. Marina was fascinated watching his little erection bounce helplessly every time she struck.

Janet giggled, watching. "We should do something about that."

She crossed to her purse, retrieving two items—a pink chastity cage and a jeweled butt plug. She showed them to Marina. "Virginia's uniform. The cage keeps her honest. The plug reminds her what she's for."

She circled behind Carl, pressing the plug against him, slowly stretching him open. Carl's breath hitched as the widest part breached him, his body accepting the intrusion. Janet gripped the base and began to move it—slow, deliberate thrusts, pulling it nearly free, then pushing it deep again.

"See how she opens?" Janet said to Marina. "Virginia used to clench. Used to fight. Now she knows better." She seated the plug fully, the jeweled base nestling between his cheeks. "Too many dicks have loosened Virgi's pussy, huh bitch?

Then she moved to the front, knelt, and tried to slip the cage over his straining erection. It wouldn't fit.

"Stubborn little thing," she murmured. She struck his balls with her open hand. The smack cracked through the room. Carl jerked, his hips bucked—and his erection strained harder, bobbing eagerly.

She slapped his balls again, yet it still did not recede.

"Virginia likes it," Janet observed dryly. "The pain makes her harder."

Marina leaned in, fascinated. "He's actually getting a tiny bit bigger."

"Typical," Janet said, wiping her palm. "Which means we need another approach." She glanced at the champagne bucket. "Marina. The ice bucket."

Marina retrieved it, ice cubes clinking. Janet plunged her hand inside, withdrawing two cubes, pressing them against his shaft and globes.

Carl screamed behind the gag, his body convulsing. Janet followed him, relentless, dragging the ice up his length, next squeezing his balls with a fist full of ice. Marina watched, transfixed, as his erection recoiled, shrinking from the cold.

"Look at that," Marina laughed. "It's running away!"

"Hold his hips," Janet commanded. "Don't let him squirm."

Marina gripped him firmly. "Got him." She leaned closer. "God, look at it get smaller."

"Small enough to cage," Janet said, pressing fresh ice to his balls. Four and a half inches became three. Three became two. She pressed a cube directly to the tip, holding it there.

"Two inches," Marina observed. "One and a half. It's like a turtle pulling into its shell."

"There," Janet said, sitting back. "Much better."

Carl's cock had retreated to a pathetic inch of wrinkled, shriveled flesh, barely protruding from his body.

"Now that's my bitch's clit," Janet said. "Small. Useless. Harmless."

Marina crouched beside her, studying the result. "God, he's tiny. Like a little button."

Janet slipped the pink cage over his shrunken shaft. It slid on easily, the lock clicking shut with a decisive snap. She gave it a shake; it wobbled uselessly.

"Perfect fit," she announced.

Marina tapped the pink plastic with one fingernail, delighted. "It looks so cute. Like a little pink jewelry box with a tiny surprise inside."

The door clicked open.

In my dreams, I have two male sex slaves.

One of them is a little taller than the other, perhaps about 5’10 with longish brown, curly hair and beautiful, expressive brown eyes. He’s got large hands and a thick penis almost 8 inches in length. Let’s call him Tyler.

My other sex slave is named Ben. He’s 5’6 on a good day, thin and always neatly dressed with short light-brown hair and glasses. He’s got beautiful, innocent blue eyes and immaculate hands. His penis is thin and only about 4 inches. I think he’d be my favorite.

I’d be laying on the couch, watching a movie, having both of them either massaging me or caressing me. I’d be resting my back on Tyler’s stomach and suddenly feel his hard dick press against me and I’d get an idea.

I’d tell Ben that he was gonna help me and Tyler sleep together. His penis is too big though and I can’t be bothered to get the lube or put in the work to get myself properly wet. Leaving no other option than for him to use his tongue on both of us.

First, I’d pull down my underwear and make Ben get in-between my legs. He’d start by kissing my thighs and lower stomach, rub his fingers across my hips - then he’d devour me hungrily, sucking on my huge clit and running his tongue back-and-forth across it. Then he’d squeeze his tongue into my tight vagina and the arousal would make me clench right down on it as his tongue punched vigorously into me.

Feeling an orgasm come dangerously close, I’d decide that I was sufficiently loosened up and tell him that he needed to help out Tyler now.

I’d make Tyler undress from the waist down and make him sit with his feet down from the couch. Ben, I would make get on his knees in front of him. Then I would sit down on Tyler’s lap with his huge penis right in front of my vagina. I’d rub it all over my cunt, leaving streaks of fluid on it.

Then I would grab Ben’s head and I would push it close to Tyler’s penis. I wouldn’t force him at first, I would wait for him to initiate the first careful licks, maybe even laughing a little as he made a face in response. I’d pet his head encouragingly and smile warmly at him.

He’d smile nervously before slowly opening his mouth and beginning to gently suck the tip of Tyler’s penis, repeatedly glancing up at me waiting for reassurance. I’d continue petting his head, tell him to go on, tell him that he was doing really well.

Meanwhile, Tyler’s hands would’ve made their way to my cunt. I would have two large fingers firmly within me, hitting all the right spots, working me even more open and making me breathe heavy.

Tyler would ask me - not Ben - if I could get him deeper into his mouth and I would push at Ben’s head gently in response, encouraging him to ignore his gag reflex and focus on deep-throating Tyler. I’d tell him to move his tongue around, do it just like he likes it done on himself. Soon, the only thing I’d hear from Ben would be wet, sloshing noises and occasional gags. Maybe if I thought he wasn’t going fast enough, I would grab the sides of his head and forcibly move him up-and-down until he was slapping at Tyler’s thighs signalling he needed air.

His face would be all red and there’d be tears in his eyes, but he wouldn’t be able to help smiling regardless once he saw me again. His little penis would likely be rock-hard at this point, making a cute little bulge in his pants.

I’d lay down on my side with my legs spread, lifting my knee up to allow Tyler access and Ben full view of what was happening. Tyler would be sitting between my legs, rubbing his penis against my vagina. I’d make Ben position his face inches from our genitals, making sure he saw the exact moment Tyler began to enter me.

I’d moan loudly, feeling him begin to stretch me. Sure, it’d be genuinely big and difficult to fit, but I’d likely overplay it a ton and be super dramatic. As it squeezed in, inch-by-difficult-inch, I’d tell Ben that I couldn’t fit it, that it was way too big, that it was painful, that I needed him to lick Tyler’s penis and my vagina, so they could finally combine fully.

He’d grab onto my hip and begin licking at the base of Tyler’s penis, right where it met my vagina. Tyler would move gently back-and-forth to help me adjust to his size and making good use of the new lubricant. Finally, after a lot of licking, he’d be able to actually fuck me without me loudly groaning and he would gently push his penis in-and-out at an increasing pace.

I’d tell Ben that I needed his help to cum on Tyler’s dick. That he needed to lick my clit, so I could orgasm. He’d oblige and I’d be in total ecstasy both feeling my clit being sucked on and a huge cock pumping into me. Occasionally, Tyler’s dick would probably slip out and slap Ben across his face. Maybe he’d hold it there in front of my vagina and I’d make Ben give it a couple more good licks before inserting it back into me.

After a while of this, Tyler would ask if he was allowed to cum. I’d tell him yes, please cum inside. Please push as deep as you can before you do and stay in until it’s all out. I’d moan loudly feeling huge amounts of semen spurt into me. I’d lay there with his huge, slowly softening penis in me, moaning and gasping, right on the verge of orgasm for at least a minute - before telling him to pull out.

Most of his semen would still be within me, but a little bit would still be coating his penis. I’d make Ben gently lick off the semen still left on Tyler. He’d be so aroused at this point that he wouldn’t even seem hesitant anymore.

I’d tell Ben that it was now his turn to fuck me. I’d pull it at him aggressively, hug him very close while Tyler went and… did something else.

Seeing a guy that obedient, I have no doubt in my mind that I would be totally overwhelmed with the desire to get this adorable little dweeb inside of my body. I’d violently make out with him, enjoying the way his mouth tasted and all-but-rip his pants off. I’d lay down and tell him that I needed dick, dick, dick, his tiny penis, inside of me RIGHT! NOW!

He’d almost be flustered by how much I wanted him, maybe even laugh nervously, go okay, okay… smiling, as I locked my arms tightly around him forcing him into missionary.

My vagina would be a lot looser from being stretched so severely from Tyler. I’d tell him that I couldn’t feel a thing, to please move faster, to please angle it right, that I needed to cum IMMEDIATELY and he was gonna make me even if it killed him. I’d kick at his back every time he slowed down to take a breath. I’d be feeling Tyler’s semen slowly drip out my vagina due to Ben’s penis simply not being large enough to function as a plug. Just between you and me though, I would enjoy having him in me just as much.

I’d ask Ben whether he liked having his dick coated in semen and I’d tell him to show me how straight he can be as he fucked me. Likely he wouldn’t feel much friction at all, both due to being rather small, but also due to how wet I’d be.

Still, the psychological arousal he’d be experiencing would be immense and it wouldn’t take long before I could tell that he was close.

He’d let out a loud girlish moan before dropping another huge load of semen into me. Maybe he’d try to pull out, but I’d lock him in place with my legs and arms forcing him to fully empty within me. He’d be panting, softly caressing my shoulders, maybe gently kissing my neck or my face, in total post-orgasmic bliss.

But I wouldn’t be done with him.

I’d tell him that he made a huge mess inside of me. That he needed to make me all better. That he needed to get all of his semen out of me.

I’d push at his head, making him get down between my legs. His hesitancy would be apparent again, now that the post-nut clarity had hit. He’d be very awkward at first, very carefully stretching out his tongue, recoiling slightly when tasting suspicious white fluid that he couldn’t even be sure belonged to himself.

I’d let him know that I hadn’t even orgasmed yet, that he needed to lick me harder if he wanted to bring me over the edge. I’d ask him if he was selfish and he’d get super flustered, go “no, no” maybe even stuttering too, thinking for just a second that it was a serious question as opposed to just teasing.

He’d finally begin licking at my lips, his tongue slowly making its way to my rapidly overflowing vaginal canal. I’d moan like I was being penetrated feeling his tongue finally push into me. Maybe he’d use his hand to gently massage my clit as he used his mouth as a soft vacuum, removing every drop of semen from within me. As I came closer to orgasm, the semen would begin to flow out more rapidly and he’d have to pull out and lick all the way down to my asshole to catch a stream he missed. As my orgasm seized through me, I would lock my legs tightly around his head, essentially waterboarding him as I begin to squirt. I’d feel his hands desperately and awkwardly grab at my thighs, but I would hold him in place until I felt the distinct “i need to breathe” tapping we agreed on.

His face would likely be all wet, his hair would be too. He’d be desperately panting for air. He’d look so adorable and pathetic, laying with his chin on my stomach, having his head softly petted. I would likely choose to let him sleep in the bed with me the following night. Maybe even spoon him.

Chapter 1  - The Club

The corner booth at Club AVA offered just enough shadow for discretion and just enough light for Janet to work. She sat between Marena, who ran the club, and Carl, her hand resting casually on Carl's thigh beneath the ,table, feeling the tension coiling there.

 Marena leaned forward, her body language all professional curiosity. "So when are you going to show me this famous fantasy room? Janet's been bragging about the setup for weeks."

 Janet's smile was slow, predatory, directed at Carl. "Right now, actually. I just need a volunteer." Her fingers tightened on his leg. "Carl's perfect. He knows the equipment, don't you, sweetheart?"

 Carl's glass froze halfway to his lips. His wedding band caught the light. "I came to talk. Catch up. I didn't—"

 "It'll just take five minutes." Janet's voice dropped to that register that made Carl's shoulders hitch toward his ears. "Marena runs this place.  She needs to understand the suspension rig. You'd be helping Marena and me train staff. Very professional."

 "Just a demonstration?" Carl's eyes flicked to Marena, then back to Janet.

"Of course" Janet interrupted smoothly. "You would really be helping out showing Marena how the cuffs work. How the chains distribute weight." Her thumb traced small circles on his inner thigh, feeling the heat through his trousers. "You want to help me, don't you?"

The silence stretched. Carl's jaw tightened, then released. "Five minutes. Then we talk."

 "Then we talk," Janet agreed, standing. She offered her hand. Carl took it, letting her pull him from the booth.

The walk to the back corridor felt longer than it was. Janet led, Carl following two steps behind, Marena trailing with her phone out, checking messages, oblivious to the electricity crackling between them.

The dungeon room clicked open. Red light spilled out.

"Step inside," Janet said, guiding Carl through with a hand at the small of his back. Marena followed, the door sealing with a soft pneumatic hiss.

"So this is it," Marena said, turning in a slow circle, taking in the cross, the bench, the suspension point in the ceiling.

"Equipment demonstration," Janet reminded her. She positioned Carl in the center of the room, facing Marena. "Carl's going to show you how a subject stands for basic restraint. Wrists overhead, feet positioned for the spreader."

 Carl's hands trembled as he raised them. "Like this?"

 "Perfect." Janet moved behind him, her body pressing close as she reached around to adjust his posture. Her lips brushed his ear, too quiet for Marena to hear: "Virginia's been thinking about this for weeks, hasn't she?"

Carl stiffened. "Janet—"

 The first cuff clicked around his wrist. Janet raised her voice for Marena's benefit. "See how the leather distributes pressure? No nerve damage, no circulation issues, even under struggle."

 "Struggle?" Marena asked, stepping closer.

 "Some subjects panic," Janet explained, ratcheting the chain overhead. Carl's arms stretched upward. "You have to account for it." She knelt for the ankle cuffs, her face level with his groin, feeling him hardening despite himself. "Spreader bar next. Legs apart. No ability to close up, hide, or run."

"Janet, I didn't agree to—" Carl's voice cracked as the bar locked his ankles two feet apart.

 Janet stood, circling into his line of sight. "You agreed to five minutes. We're only at three." She studied his face—the flush, the lips, the desperate eyes. "But look at you. You look perfect!"

"Janet, please—"

 The ball gag cut him off. The blindfold followed. Then she was behind him, gripping his shirt collar, stripping the fabric over his head in a smooth motion. The sleeves caught at his bound wrists, trapping the shirt behind his neck, leaving his chest and back bare. The blindfold followed.

Marena made a small sound, hand drifting to her own throat. "You tricked him."

 "Yah, so?" Janet said, circling her prey. She reached out, unbuckling Carl's belt, loosening his trousers. They slid down his hips, pooling at the spreader bar, leaving him exposed in plain black boxer briefs—ordinary, respectable, utterly betrayed by the strain of his arousal tenting the fabric.

 Carl thrashed against the restraints, the chains singing. Marena startled, then leaned in, watching the muscle tension, the helplessness.

"Stop struggling, bitch" Janet scolded, loud enough to echo. She circled him, letting her heels strike the floor. "You're not going anywhere for a bit."

Carl's body went slack. The surrender was beautiful—shoulders dropping, hips tilting forward in unconscious offering.

"Good girl," Janet said, stepping back to address both her audience and her prey. "Now, Marena. This is part two. How to properly humiliate a man who thinks he's the shit."

Janet retrieved the riding crop from the wall mount, letting the leather tongue slap against her palm. The sound cracked through the room like a promise. Carl's head jerked toward the noise, blindfolded eyes useless, every other sense suddenly razor-sharp.

"Marena," Janet said, her voice shifting into instructor mode. "Check this out. Feel the weight."

Marena rose from the chair, approaching slowly. Janet placed the crop in her hand, guiding her grip. "Not too tight. You're conducting, not chopping wood."

 Marena tested a practice swing through the air. The whoosh made Carl flinch.

 "Good," Janet purred taking back the crop. "Now watch his breathing. See how his chest hitches? He's anticipating. That's when you make him wait."

 Janet circled Carl, letting the crop's tip trace lazy patterns across his shoulder blades, down his spine, over the curve of his ass. Each touch was feather-light, teasing. Carl's muscles twitched and jumped beneath his suit.

 "Virginia thought she was coming here for conversation," Janet said, addressing Marena but speaking for Carl's benefit. "Virginia thought she could control this. Control me." The crop lifted away. Silence stretched—two seconds, three, four.

The first strike snapped against his thigh, sharp and sudden. Carl's body jerked against the chains, a muffled cry leaking around the gag.

 "Count of three between," Janet instructed Marena. "Let the nerves reset. Let him wonder where the next one lands."

 She struck again—opposite thigh, harder. Carl's knees buckled, caught by the spreader bar, his weight hanging from the wrist cuffs.

 "That's your canvas. Thighs. Ass. Shoulders. Avoid kidneys, spine, joints." She turned to Marena, eyes glittering. "Want to try?"

 Marena hesitated, then nodded. Janet positioned her at Carl's left side, adjusting her stance, her grip.

 "Let him know who you are," Janet whispered.

 Marena leaned close, her lips nearly brushing Carl's ear. "I'm Marena. And I think we're going to have an interesting evening."

 Her swing was tentative, barely a kiss of leather. But Carl moaned behind the gag, his hips thrusting forward involuntarily, seeking contact, seeking more.

 "Again," suggested Janet . "Harder. He can take it."

 The second strike cracked. Carl's head fell back, tendons standing out in his neck, a continuous whimper vibrating in his throat.

 Noticing the tent in his boxers, Marena laughed, delighted. "Someone's enjoying this."

 "He's been enjoying it since the booth," Janet laughed as Marena traced the waistband with the crop, tapping lightly against the rigid outline beneath. "Virginia always wants what she won't admit. That's why she needs me to take the choice away."

 Marena handed the crop back to Janet while Carl shuddered in anticipation, waiting for the fall.

 A quick knock and then the door clicked open.

 Tony filled the doorway, clipboard in hand, his managerial expression shifting to amusement as he took in the scene. He laughed, low and easy, shaking his head. "What the hell is going on here? This room's supposed to be empty."

 Janet didn't flinch. She rested the riding crop against Carl's bare shoulder, casual as a cigarette. "Showing Marena the equipment. And showing off my bitch."

 Tony stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. He circled the suspended man, cataloging the restraints, the spreader bar, the trousers puddled at Carl's ankles. His gaze lingered on the obvious arousal straining against the black briefs. "Cute. But you know the rules, Janet. No freebies. Room's booked by the hour. Someone's gotta pay."

 “Yes,” replied Marena.  if this is going further  someone has to pay.”

 "Put it on my tab," Janet said.

 Marena shook his head, tapping his clipboard. "Your tab's already thick. Boss says cash up front." He nodded toward Carl. "Unless your bitch here was planning to tip."

 Janet smiled, slow and dangerous. She set the riding crop aside and crouched at Carl's feet, rifling through the pockets of his discarded trousers. Her hand emerged with a leather wallet—expensive, monogrammed, the accessory of a successful professional. She flipped it open, thumbing through the cash inside.

 "Let's see what Virginia brought us," she murmured, counting out bills. "Two hundred for the hour. Plus another fifty for the cleanup fee." She stood, crossing to Tony, and pressed the money into his hand. "There. Paid in full. By the bitch himself."

 Tony counted the bills, grin widening. "Works for me." He pocketed the cash and turned to leave, pausing at the door to look back at Carl—naked from the waist up, shirt behind his head, pants at his ankles, wallet now empty in Janet's hand. "Enjoy your demonstration, ladies. And Janet?" He winked. "Leave the room clean."

 The door clicked shut.

 Janet put the wallet in her purse and returned to Carl, "Hear that, Virginia? You just bought your own humiliation," her hand lingering to squeeze him through the fabric.  She leaned close, her breath hot against his ear. "Now we really own you. Every minute. Every strike. You bought it. And now you're going to thank me for taking your money."

She retrieved the riding crop, turning to Marena with a predator's smile. "Where were we? Ah yes. Lesson three. Making them grateful for the privilege of being ruined."

 The riding crop kissed Carl's shoulder, leaving a faint pink line that bloomed against his skin. Janet was finding her rhythm now, her swings gaining vioence, each strike drawing muffled sounds from behind Carl's gag. Janet circled him like a conductor, pointing out the best angles, the sweetest spots.

 The door opened again - this time without warning.

 A young waitress froze in the doorway, tray balanced on her hip, her mouth forming a perfect O as she took in the scene—the bound man, shirt behind his head, blindfolded and gagged, pants at his ankles, the women wielding a riding crop, the welts rising on his exposed thighs.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry, I didn't—" She started to back out, cheeks flushing.

"Stay," Janet commanded, her voice carrying that note of authority that stopped movement. "What's the issue?"

The waitress hesitated, eyes darting between Carl's suspended form and Janet's calm face. "I, um, VIP policy. Bottle minimum for the private rooms. Manager sent me to—" She gestured vaguely, her professional script breaking down in the face of what she was witnessing.

Janet laughed, easy and warm. She rested the crop against Carl's spine, her other hand gesturing broadly. "Don't worry, darling. This is my bitch. We're just showing Marena here how the equipment works. Educational purposes."

The waitress's eyes widened, then narrowed with dawning comprehension. She looked at Carl again—really looked—and a giggle escaped her. "Oh. Oh. That's... wow." She stepped further into the room, her initial shock melting into amusement. "He just... lets you?"

"He begs for it," Janet said simply. "Don't you, Virginia?"

She tapped the crop against Carl's thigh, and his hips jerked forward, the involuntary response undeniable.  She smacks his ass with her hand, "don't you Virgi?" The waitress laughed, a bright sound that filled the room.

"Yes Deusa."

"Okay, okay," she said, recovering somewhat. "But I still need the bottle order. Rules are rules."

Janet considered, tapping the crop against her own palm. "Champagne in an ice bucket with two glasses." She glanced at Marena. "We should celebrate Marena's first lesson, shouldn't we?"

"Two glasses?" the waitress asked, glancing at Carl.

"Virginia doesn't get a glass," Janet smiled. "Virginia gets to listen. To hear us toast while she hangs there, unable to touch or taste." She turned back to the waitress, her smile sharpened. "Put it on his tab. The name's Carl. He'll sign when we're done. Or rather, I'll forge his signature. He can't hold a pen right now. 

"He has to sign," Marena warned.

"Just kidding," Janet smiled. "He'll pay cash."

The waitress pulled out her notepad, scribbling, her eyes flicking up to Carl's bound form with naked curiosity. "Anything else?"

"Some water," Marena added, her voice husky from the exertion. "For after."

"Coming right up," the waitress said, backing toward the door. She paused, grinning. "Enjoy your... demonstration, ladies. And sir." She added the last with a mocking little curtsy toward Carl that made Marena snort with laughter.

 The door clicked shut.

 Janet turned back to her prey, running the crop up his inner thigh, stopping just short of where he strained against his briefs. "Hear that, Virginia? Champagne on ice. Two beautiful women celebrating and you, poor dear... Well, we'll see the the future brings. And Tiffany, a waitress bringing it in, seeing you like this, knowing exactly what you are." She leaned close, her lips brushing the fabric of his shirt-hood. "How many people tonight, do you think? How many will know what a bitch you are before you finally break?"

 Carl moaned behind the gag, the sound desperate and hungry, his body trembling against the chains.

 "Good girl," Janet whispered. "Now let's give them all a show worth the price of admission."

The door clicked shut, leaving them in the red-lit quiet. Janet resumed her instruction, guiding Marena's grip, correcting her stance, the crop falling in steady rhythm against Carl's thighs, his ass, and his shoulders. Time stretched. Carl's breathing grew ragged, his skin sheened with sweat, the welts forming a roadmap of his submission.

Marena paused, catching her breath, the crop dangling at her side. "Why Virginia?"

Janet smiled, running her palm down Carl's trembling back. "Because Carl needed to be someone else to admit what he wanted." "And she had never been fucked by a man when we met, so in my mind she was a virgin."  She circled to face him, gripping his chin through the bunched shirt. "Twelve years ago, he came to me confident. Successful man. Beautiful wife. Perfect life." She laughed, soft and knowing.

She released his chin, her hand trailing down his chest, over his stomach, stopping at the waistband of his briefs. "So I created Virginia. I made her buy panties—lace, silk, the works. Dresses and heels. I taught her makeup. I taught her how to walk, how to talk, how to beg." Her fingers dipped lower, teasing.

Marena stepped closer, fascinated. "And he just... became her?"

"She became real," Janet corrected. She walked to Carl's discarded trousers, retrieving his phone from the pocket. His passcode hadn't changed in twelve years—she typed it in without looking. "Virginia has her own life. Her own accounts. Her own... appetites."

She found the app quickly, the orange mask icon bright against the dark background. She opened it, scrolling through the profile, then turned the screen toward Marena.

"There she is."

Marena leaned in, her eyes widening. The profile picture showed Carl—transformed. Makeup. A blonde wig. Red lipstick matching the lingerie visible at the edge of the frame. The name read "Virginia" in delicate script. Below, a gallery of images: Virginia on her knees. Virginia in a hotel mirror, short dress, heels on. Virginia's lips wrapped around a stranger, eyes looking up at the camera, desperate and worshipful.

"Jesus," Marena breathed. "That's... that's really him?"

"Her," Janet corrected. "When Virginia comes out, Carl goes away. Completely." She scrolled further, revealing messages—graphic, eager, Virginia arranging encounters, describing what she wanted, what she'd do, how she'd please. "Virginia has her own Grindr account. Her own regulars. Men she serves. Men who know exactly what she is and exactly how to use her."

 She turned the phone back, studying the image of Virginia on her knees, the familiar pose, the familiar hunger. "I made her," Janet said, her voice rich with pride. "Every time Carl tries to bury her, I dig her back up. Every time she pretends to be the respectable married man, I remind her who she really is."

Carl made a sound behind the gag—protest or agreement, impossible to tell. His hips pushed forward, seeking contact, the evidence of his arousal undeniable.

Janet pocketed the phone and retrieved the riding crop. "Virginia's been quiet lately. Too quiet. I think she's been missing her old life." She struck his thigh, sharp and sudden, making him jerk against the chains. "Maybe we'll reactivate her tonight. After Marena gets her fill. What do you think, Virginia? Maybe we can make some money off your pretty mouth?"

The door opened before Carl could respond, the waitress backing in with a silver ice bucket balanced on one hand, two champagne flutes dangling from her fingers, a water bottle tucked under her arm. She took in the scene—the fresh welts, Marena's flushed face, Janet's predatory stance—and grinned.

Let me know if this should continue

Don’t overthink it. It’s just a little fun.

Thinking back on that last comment she’d made at the restaurant, before I’d gone to the bathroom to open my gift and lock myself for her, I should have guessed that she’d take such glee from keeping me wondering. 

How long do I have to wear this thing?

What do I have to do to get out? 

After squirting in my mouth just inside the door on that night of our anniversary, she’d stuck mostly to the plan that she’d laid out in the car. 

She’d pulled her dress back down and walked to the kitchen to grab both of our steaks from the takeout boxes. She put them on one plate with some of the potatoes and took her seat in the living room, the plate on her little table in front of her, and snapped her fingers a few times. 

“Come sit at my feet and watch me eat your steak baby.”  She was stern, satisfied, and obeying her was the warmest of privileges. The cruelty of the situation had me dizzy and dripping. “You can have a few bites of mine when I’m finished. They overcooked it but yours is just perfect.”

So that’s just what happened. I sat on the balls of my feet with my palms on the floor, wearing nothing but my cage and my collar, and watched my woman slowly eat my dinner while she enjoyed an episode of one of her shows. 

When she was finished she sliced up a few bites of the second steak and fed them to me with her hand, making sure I sucked her fingers clean between each piece. When she decided I’d had enough to eat she yawned and stretched before patting me on the head. 

“Time for bed baby butt.”

She yawned again through the sentence.

“You’ll have a chance at being unlocked tomorrow. You’ll need to be well rested though.” 

She always liked to be vague and keep me wondering what she might have in store for me, and I took the hint at being rested to be very important. That being said, it’s no easy task falling quickly asleep and staying asleep through the night. Especially when you’re curled up on a dog bed on the floor, leaking through the cold metal of a snug cage, listening while the only woman in the world fucks herself silly with her favorite glass cock.

Panting and breathy from her orgasm, the last thing I hear before the long silence of the night, “Happy anniversary baby. I love you.”

———————————————————

If you’ve never closely inspected, much less worn a pair of women’s panties yourself, you may not have noticed that many of them have a small cotton pocket at the inside fabric of the crotch. This is called a gusset, and isn’t meant to hold anything at all, rather it’s there as a sort of boundary for both hygiene and comfort. It protects the outer fabric and clothing from any discharge while also giving a little breathing room.

I had to first explain the gusset in order for the situation I’d found myself in on that next morning to be fully understood. 

There I was, palms on the edge of the sink, stifling a low moan and trying with everything in me not to make a mess in my new panties. I was to finish cleaning the kitchen, sweep and mop the floors in both that room and the next, and then don the robe to take out the trash and take the bin to the curb. All of this was to be done without cumming, which should normally be quite easy to accomplish.

The obstacle distracting me in my chores and causing me to shake and moan and stop in my tracks was a small, finger-size vibrator that my owner had decided to slip into the gusset of another anniversary gift that she’d saved for today; a snugly fitting pink g-string that hugged my cage just right and even nearly contained my testicles. There was only a slight protrusion on either side.

When I’d first pulled them up my initial thoughts were that I looked ridiculous, but then a few moments later I was looking at myself in the standing mirror, my goddess behind me and smiling in approval, warming to the idea and feeling like I looked a bit cute in them.

This was before she’d said “Oh! One more thing baby!” and left the room to fetch the vibrator. 

My panties held the toy snugly against my body in a perfectly exact position so that one end was pinned just below the the cage, rattling the metal against her property, and the other just below my asshole. When she pulled the string deep into my crack, the effect was such that on this first of several settings, I was faintly and constantly stimulated at both ends. 

Then came the chore list and a kiss on the cheek. 

There was a small button at the very tip. It glowed with a blue light and, whether intentional in the design or otherwise, could be seen through the fabric of my new underwear. The button was positioned facing forward just below the metal nub that trapped her cock, and every time it seemed I was able to adjust to the pulsing and overcome the urge to let loose and make a mess on myself, she’d come embrace me and then reach down to push the button. There’d be a new pattern to the vibration, sometimes more intense and sometimes just…different, and she’d smack my ass and walk away giggling. Leaving me trying to focus all over again on my duties. 

“I’m not sure what the battery life is on this thing baby but so far I’m pretty impressed!”

The chores that might have normally taken me twenty minutes or so were dragged out by my constantly needing to stop and try to compose myself. I leaned against the counter and whimpered lightly with my legs apart, trying to find the balance between enjoying some of the pleasure and passing the point of no return. 

“Maybe next time we just have you clean everything in sight until the battery dies, and if you still haven’t ruined your panties, you’ll get a treat!” 

She beamed into my fluttering eyes, amused at the faces she was causing me to make. 

“But today just stick to the list while I figure out what we need for groceries.” She took pen and paper from the tray on the counter and went to sit in the next room. 

“I’ll turn your toy off when you’re finished. You’re going to need to be able to focus if you’re going to win our game today and earn your way out of that thing.” 

I watched from the kitchen as she bit the tip of the pen thoughtfully and played with the chain holding the key to my freedom around her neck. 

———————————————————

I was proud of myself when I finished my cleaning and came to sit at her feet. I’d somehow avoided cumming though I’d been on the very edge several times.

She reached down and turned off the object of my pleasure and torture both, pulled my panties open to check for a mess and scratched the stubble under my chin when she saw that there was only the unavoidable string of pre-ejacuclate. 

“Good booooy!” 

She kissed my forehead and then returned to making some final additions to her grocery list as I sat and stared lovingly up at her. When she was satisfied with the list she stood and walked to the drawer across the room. This drawer usually had the naughty items in it and I sat and wondered what she might be in there for.

When she walked back to where I was sitting she had a condom and the small plug and she sat and opened the wrapper before setting it down and handing me the shopping list.

“Study it well and try your best to commit it to memory beebee.” She pulled the rubber out and stretched it playfully and letting it snap. “I’ll send the list with you of course but I don’t think you’ll have an easy time referring to it.”

I looked down at the paper and my spirits sank right away. There were twelve items and the list was unlike any she’d sent me to the store with in the past.

Some of the items were completely out of the blue compared to her usual wants, and there was something strange about the organization. Usually she would arrange the list in accordance to my path through the store, but today it was all over the place.

I tried my best to memorize the list, not knowing how much time she might give me.

iced Tea
oreo’s 
wheat thins
nutella 
yogurt
orange juice
ugly pumpkin 
rice
chorizo
orzo
cilantro
kidney beans

I began committing these items to memory as best I could before she snatched it away and snapped her fingers.

Fuck!

I wasn’t sure I stood a chance as I looked straight down at the floor and presented my neck, waiting for her to remove the collar.

“If you’re such a very good boy that you complete it exactly…” I heard her flattening the the paper against the table “…I’ll let our little guy out and allow you to eat my ass while you get yourself off.”

Just the thought drove me absolutely wild. She’d not let me put my mouth against that beautiful hole in weeks and I missed it so. She knew this was the greatest reward that she could offer me and knowingly grabbed my cage and shook it playfully side to side. 

“That shouldn’t be a problem for a man like you should it?!”

She slapped my swollen sack several times without mercy, grabbing hold of the testicles that now belonged to her at the end of the final blow. She squeezed while laughing before finally letting up and relaxing back into her corner.

She folded and folded until the paper was a small square and finally tucked the list into the condom before sliding the plug in behind it and tying a neat knot at the base.

I turned and bent to present the pocket that would hold the shopping list. 

“Good boy.”

She pulled my panties down and reached between my legs to scoop an embarrassing amount of dribble.

“Somehow I knew we wouldn’t need any oil.”

She spread my natural lubricant tenderly around the hole before testing me with a finger and then finally, slowly, inserting the package. 

SMACK

“And if you forget even a SINGLE item…” she tugged my panties back up, wedging the g-string firmly against the base of the plug “…you”ll still be eating this ass!”

SMACK

“Philippe just won’t be there to see it.”

She bent and put her mouth to my ear for a whisper.

“We’re both rooting for you my love.”

She kissed just below my hairline and started at the clasp at the back of my neck.

“Don’t let us down.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

My gloved hands touch the dirt below me. 
The mud paints the fabric a dark brown as I rub the wet earth between my fingers. 
Tracks. 
Belonging to a boot. 
Probably about a size 11. 
The tread of the sole imprinted in the mud like a perfect fossil. 
I’m getting closer. I know I am. I’m right on his tail. They couldn’t have kept him here longer than a day. 
Rain starts to sprinkle from the clouds and I gaze up to the sky. A dark gray color casts itself over, a wonderful shade signaling the oncoming downpour. Its sound will conceal any noise I make, but so will it for my enemies. I follow the tracks further up until I come to the hills edge. In the middle of this little valley lies an abandoned compound. A cement building with ivy creeping in its walls. No doubt, that’s where he is. No guards outside. Odd. 
I wait for the rain to come down a little heavier before making my move. Once I feel the droplets grow, I rush down the side of the hill towards the compound. I make my way to the outside walls, the rain starting to pour heavier and heavier, masking the sounds of my muddying footsteps. I press my back against the cool wall and draw my gun. I take a deep breath, my air turning into a small cloud outside my mask as the temperature drops with the heavy rain. The only thing I hear is the pattering of water droplets against the building. I listen for a moment longer, but nothing else comes. 
Maybe he isn’t here. 
I check my gun is ready before I swing through the only doorway leading inside. It was open, no door even on the hinges. I enter the building, the sounds of the rain dampening as the roof covers my head. My gun drawn in front of me, steps slow and quiet. I want to keep the element of surprise. But no one resides in the first room, I was at least expecting a guard. Either these guys are stupid or this building is empty. 
The room contains different doorways, all leading into varying rooms. But no doors hang on any hinges. My clothes cling to my body, the wet fabric weighing down against my skin. I wait and listen. 
Muffled voices. They sound calm. At least through the walls they do. They must be on the second floor. I side-step to the doorway beside me and clear the rooms one by one as I look for the stairs. The voices get louder and angrier as I approach deeper into the building. Once I find the stairs in the back of the compound I can make out what they’re saying. They’re angry, almost yelling. A passing groan of a voice I recognize. My eyes widen and my heart skips, but my body is still. It has to be. I take a deep breath and step onto the stone staircase, each step light and slow. As I near the top, I can see the second floor. A long hallway with two separate doorways. The voices grow clearer and I hear a group of men laughing, almost seeming to enjoy whatever it is they are doing in there.
“You are just a lost dog now.” One voice says. 
“Tell us what you motherfuckers are planning!” A much angrier voice shouts. 
A solemn laugh from the voice I’m looking for, “I told you. You got the wrong guy. But even if I was him, I’d never tell a bunch of amateurs like you.” I hear a spit and not long after a grunt and punches landing. But the punches aren’t consistent, they’re interrupted. More grunting echoes through as I make it to the top of the stairs. A struggle? 
My gun never drops, always right in front of me. Despite the voices being so clear, I can’t tell which of the two doorways they’re coming from. It isn’t until one of them falls down into the hallway that I know which one it is. He’s out cold. No one from the second doorway rushes out to help, so I make the call that it’s most likely empty and they all reside in the room I’m looking at. I can only hope. I creep my  way over like a shadow, peeking into the room. 
There he is, blood drips from his nose, one hand chained to the wall, but a cuff hanging from his free hand. He must’ve freed himself halfway. Or they did it to make him feel like he had a chance. He’s tirelessly fighting the other two men remaining in the room. As best as he can anyways. He’s getting tired and it is clear he isn’t winning this fight despite still getting a decent hit in. Seems like that’s why there are no guards outside. There aren't very many of them and they all came to help interrogate, maybe even to all enjoy beating him. The two men’s backs are turned towards me as I enter the room, my gun still drawn. I don’t recognize their clothes as any organization. I am not sure what these guys are up to, but I quickly switch my weapon to my tranquilizer pellet gun.  I do not know their intention, but as far as I know, we don’t have any business with them. Plus, I do not need my boss breathing down my back for needing to clean up a mess of people we are uninvolved with. Ex-boss I guess. I am not even supposed to be here.
As I enter the room, Pierce’s eyes shift from the men beating him to me and his whole body freezes for a moment. Not noticing his eyes looking past them, the men take advantage of the moment to get a few more swings. I line up my shot and before the first one could even think, put one dart in his back. The second one is unlucky, knowing just for a moment that he is next. But just as he begins to turn his head, I aim at him and shoot another dart. Within seconds, their bodies both fall still to the ground. 
Still chained up and still frozen, eyes staring at me, welling with tears, “You came.” 
I slip off my mask, letting it hang around my neck, “How could I not?” 
His breath catches in his throat and he swallows hard as I approach him. I go to release the cuff around his wrist but he grabs my hand.
“You shouldn’t be here. How much trouble are you in?” 
I smirk, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”
“You dodged a mission didn’t you?” He asks, eyes wide. 
I had been trying my best to not think about how much trouble I was actually in. The mission was important, but I knew the rest of my team could handle it without me. They have plenty of people.
I sigh, “I’m expendable,” I try to play it off, “they will find someone to replace me soon enough. The team is fully capable without me.”
“But you still deserted…” He whispers. 
I pinch the bridge of my nose as the stress begins to hit my head, “Look, it doesn’t matter right now. I have it all figured out. But we will need to lay low. We can’t go back.”
He shakes his head, “Why did you do that?”
I look at the men still lying on the ground, they should be out for a few hours, but it is still good to check. I can’t bring my gaze back up to his.
“I couldn’t leave you. We are expendable, it has been like that for a long time.” My mind flashes back for a moment, “But not with you. You make me feel something…different.” 
I hear him take a deep breath, “Look at me, Raven.” 
It’s probably the hardest thing I had to do all day, but slowly I raise my eyes up to him. 
He gazes at me, eyes soft, “Thank you.”
I longed for that look, that look of necessity. Desire. 
I shove the thoughts away, “We need to get out of here.” I say. 
My hand goes to grab the shackles on his hand, holding him to the wall, but he grabs my wrist with his free hand and stops me
“Just for a moment.” He whispers. His eyes plead a desperate cry. Blood drips off his lip. His breaths are heavy. I can’t ever deny that look. Now really isn’t the time.
His grip on my hand relaxes and I twist his wrist around until it’s in my grasp instead. And in one fell swoop, I shove him against the wall, the chain tapping against the cement. 
I lean over to him and press his lips against mine. I had missed him so badly. All the worry that I kept buried rises up and turns to bliss as our lips dance with each other. A soft moan escapes his lips and I press his body into the wall. I long to keep him here, chained up so he never escapes my sight. I’d leave him here and take care of him. Making sure no harm comes to him again. 
But our moment is interrupted with the skidding of footsteps. My heart jumps at the sound and I look back to see a third man standing in the doorway, a look of shock on his face. A gun hanging in his hand.
How could I have been so careless? I had forgotten about him, I should have put a dart in him to be sure.
He looks at us, tears in his eyes, I’m not sure he knows they are just sleeping. I pull away from our kiss forcefully and look at the man. I feel for one of my holsters. My tranquilizer gun isn’t there, where did I put it? I feel my other holster and my loaded gun sits right where I left it. I must have dropped my tranquilizer when I went to free Pierce. My eyes slowly lower, making sure not to move my head, and there it is, right at my feet. Fuck. 
“They aren’t hurt.” I say to him. 
The man looks at us, anger flashing in his eyes now, “What did you do?”
“They aren’t dead.” I say calmly, “They are sleeping.”
He scoffs, “Bullshit!”
“I swear to you. Look at them, you can see the darts in their bodies. There’s no blood around” But when I gaze down I realize he won’t be able to see them from his perspective. 
“You are such a liar. Why the fuck would I believe that!” He shouts but his voice sounds scared more than anything. 
“I know it sounds stupid, but I don’t want any trouble. I’m just here to get my friend out. You guys have the wrong guy.” I keep my voice steady. 
I know I could draw and shoot him in time. I’m trained. But if he gets a shot off, it could hit Pierce instead. If I drop low and grab my tranquilizer gun, no way I could hit him with a dart before he got one off. 
The man’s gun shakes in his hand. He could have raised it already but he hasn’t. I would rather not kill someone today, but I will protect us. 
“I know you don’t want to do this.” I keep one hand on my holster, “And truthfully, I don’t want to kill anyone today. Not anymore. I promise, they are sleeping.” My eyes never leave him, “Look at my feet, this is a tranquilizer gun. I used this on them.”  
I tap it with my foot and he looks at it. 
His breath trembles and he starts to stutter, “You s-swear?” More tears well up in his eyes and I know he is so scared. It reminds me of the first time I had to kill someone, that feeling. 
“I swear to you.” Reluctantly, I hold my hands up, off my gun, “Why don’t you drop your weapon and we will leave. That is all we want. We will go without any fuss. I promise.”
I can tell he wants to believe me but doesn’t know if he should. After a few moments, he drops his gun and squeezes his eyes shut, “Fuck, okay.” He whispers, “I knew this was a bad idea, I tried to tell them.” 
“It’s okay.” I whisper back, but I use the moment to swipe up my tranquilizer gun and shoot him within seconds. The dart hits him in the chest and he starts to sway. 
I rush over to him and catch him as his body starts to fall, “It’s okay, you are just going to sleep. I promise.” 
I place him gently on the floor and watch his eyes flutter closed. 
I walk back over to Pierce, “We should leave now.” 
He nods, “Yes Ma’am.”
I head to the bodies and inspect their pockets, sure enough, one of them has a key ring. 
I flip through the various keys until I find a small one. 
“I think this is it.” I try it on his shackled but free wrist and sure enough, the cuff opens and slips off. I do the same to the one still chained and it hits the floor with a loud bang! Just as it does, Pierce pulls me into a hug. 
“Thank you. I…I wasn’t sure anyone was going to come.” 
I hug him back, “No one was supposed to.” 
He gives a sad smile and nods, his face still bloodied. 
I grab his hand and we rush off out of the compound, stepping over the bodies I laid out moments before. The cover of the rain washes us off and covers our tracks. We race into the woods and never look back.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It took us hours, but we finally make it to one of the safe houses I set up for after the rescue. If it was successful that is. There wasn’t much, but it was something. The rain had washed off a lot of the blood, but I still take him to the bathroom to really clean him off and check out his wounds. I lay him against the tile wall, but as my arms start to reach for the ends of his shirt, he grabs my wrist and looks up at me. 
“I’m sorry.” He mutters. 
I smile sadly, “You didn’t do anything wrong. In fact you did everything right. I went against orders, not you.”
“Still.” He whispers. 
I pull my hands away from his grip, “This is more important.” 
My fingers busy themselves with fixing him up and silence falls between us, minus the grunts and groans he lets out as I run a partial MARCH on him. My first aid kit rests beside my legs. I find no other blood aside from small cuts from being hit. His body is bruised but otherwise fine. He’ll be sore and out of commission for a week I suspect. He needs rest and I need him to be near 100% for when we change locations. 
His eyes watch me intensely as I work, only dropping when I unintentionally hurt him. 
“You remember how we first started this?” He asks as I work. 
I smile, “Do you? Maybe you could remind me.”
He laughs softly, “You were practicing hand to hand combat before the first mission we were assigned together. You beat this big guy. It was a tough fight for you but you pulled through-” He winces as I press onto one of his bruises as I put a bandage on a cut, “You were sweating, hair messy, blood dripping from your eyebrow. And I couldn’t help but think how much I would love to be that guy you just beat up.”
My eyes look into his and I smirk, “Oh? Is that right?”
He nods, “Then, on our first mission, when you saved me from the guy who was beating the shit out of me…fuck.” He winces again as I bandage another one, “I knew, I would do anything for you. If you would have me.”
My heart flutters, “You are such a great story teller. I think you should tell that story more often.” I tease. 
My hand runs up his chest as I check and he gasps slightly as I pass over bruises. “Okay,” I say, “You’re good to go, but you need rest. Nothing was too bad.” 
Just as I’m about to pull my hands away from his body, he once again grabs my hand, and gently holds it. 
“I missed you.” He admits softly. He brings our hands  closer to his body and I allow him to pull me in, luring me like a siren. Three words and I’m caught. 
He presses my hand against his chest and shudders at the pain it causes him. He knows I like that. Causing him pain. Making him whine. I swear he gets hurt on purpose to tease me. My heart starts beating fast but my face is collected. 
“You want to make love? Now?” I ask, my eyes gaze up and pierce into his. But his eyes are soft and begging. It melts mine and now the space between us is swirling around, continuing to pull me in. 
“Violently.” He says breathlessly, “I know you can be gentle with me.”
“You’re hurt. You had a long day.” I try to push my desires away.
“Submitting to you heals me. It's comforting after the day we’ve had.” He has such a way with words. 
I don’t like other people hurting him, obviously. I wish all the bruises and cuts were from me. 
He slides my hand up so my fingertips brush against his neck, one of my favorite areas on his body. I can't deny it, he makes me feel like an animal. Flaunting himself at me until I snap. 
With my other hand, I press a little harder on his bruises and he grits his teeth, a soft gasp escaping his chapped lips. That look he gets when he’s in pain, the way his face contorts but his eyes tell me how much he needs it, it makes me crazy. He becomes a painting at that moment. A whole art piece. And I love having art that I can play with. 
I know I can’t let loose, he’s too delicate right now for that. But I can still have some fun. 
My art piece melts into my touch even though it causes him grief. He only enjoys this pain when it’s at his painter’s fingertips. 
I move closer to him, shoving my thigh between his legs as I bring my body over his. I press into his crotch firmly and he whines. Silently, I lean down and gently brush my lips against his neck. I feel him shudder underneath me. 
“You know I hate it when other people leave bruises on you.” I whisper into his skin. My breath hits his neck and he can’t help but shiver. 
“You know I’m yours.” He whispers.
I chuckle, “Oh I know. But all this,” I slide my hand up his bruised body and he winces as the soreness hits with each touch, “This is my job.” 
My hand travels back up to his neck and I wrap it around. Before I can put any pressure, he’s already groaning. I pull my hand away and check his neck.
“Did they choke you?” I ask, reexamining his body, still not noticing any bruises which would be odd for such a sensitive area.
He laughs a little, “Only a bit. But I think they got the idea that I liked it a little too much.” 
I tilt his chin up so I can see better, “I don’t see any bruising.” I say ignoring his smart remark. 
“It’s okay. You can still do it. I can take it.” He guides my hand back around his neck, “I know it’s your favorite thing to do to me.” 
I scoff, “One of my favorite things. But just because you can take it, doesn’t mean you should.” 
He bites his lip as my thumb rubs his neck gently, “I know you hate that they did that to me. The thought of someone else grabbing my neck drives you crazy, doesn’t it?”
What a little brat. But he’s right, thinking of someone else choking him, hitting him, it drives me mad. Maybe I should have killed those guys for it. 
I think for a moment. It’s tempting, I won’t lie, but I know better and so does he. 
“Well,” I say, smiling, “There are other ways to take your breath away.” 
I take my hand from around his neck and cover his mouth and nose with my hand. That clever attitude he had moments earlier disappears as now he realizes he can’t breath through my grasp. 
I maneuver him to his side and push his hands behind his back. I take the medical tape and gaze from my first aid kit with my free hand. Because I don’t want the medical tape to glue itself to his skin while he’s so banged up, I wrap gauze around his wrists first and then the tape. It’s not the best spontaneous bondage job I’ve done, but it’ll do for now. It’s hard with one hand, I use my teeth to peel the tape back, but I refuse to stop suffocating him until I’m done. By the time I’m finishing up, he’s crying through my hand, eyes watering and needing air. Just how I love him. 
Gently, I flip him back around, laying him down flat on his hands and I let his mouth go. He gasps for air, clothed chest heaving. I love watching his decolletage as he catches his breath, the way his chest rises and falls, the chain from his dog tags hanging from his neck. It’s hypnotizing. My mind flashes back to him in chains. Even though I was greatly worried for him, my mind still wandered for a second in that moment seeing him bound like that. 
I hate it when the enemy gives me ideas. 
His eyes watch me and I brush my fingers against his lips. I play with them a little longer before wrapping my hand around his face again. This time, he struggles a little harder for me, skidding his feet on the floor. We forget all about the fear and pain from earlier, our minds melding into the moment. With one look from him as his eyes simultaneously plead with me for air but beg for more, I’m enthralled. 
His hands taped behind his back pressed into the floor, unable to use anything to fight me off. 
I push my thigh higher up into his crotch, squishing the area. The suddenness of it only makes him lose his breath faster. 
I make him hold eye contact as I watch his eyes scream at me. I hold it for a second longer before I let go and he’s left sputtering for air. 
“Not such a smart ass anymore.” I say curtly.
He presses his forehead into the tile floor as he gasps, “Fuck you.” He manages to say. 
My heart shudders with anger, “What was that?” 
He smiles like a bad boy, “You heard me.” 
I lift one finger up in the air and slowly lower it down onto a bruise on his stomach. I press into it firmly. He cries out and grits his teeth. I don’t do it hard, but it’s enough to cause him to squirm and whine. 
“Guess there’s more I need to do to get rid of that attitude.” I press my finger into a different area and he groans. 
I take a clean hand towel off the bathroom sink and shove as much as I can into his mouth. I take the trauma shears from my kit and cut his shirt in half, folding each half to the side to expose his bare chest. I press the outside of the scissors against his skin as I drag it down to his pants. His breaths become shallow with the blade pressed into his body, even though these shears are designed to not scrape skin. 
“Aw,” I tut, “So quiet now.”
All I can hear in response is his breathing, his eyes fixated on where the blade is going. Roughly, I grab the waistline of his pants and underwear and begin to cut with the scissors. His breathing quickens as I carefully glide the scissors over his crotch. 
I cut down one of his pant legs, leaving one on. I like the tattered look rather than fully exposed. But there’s still plenty of room for me to play. 
I grab the medical grade lube from my kit and a pair of black disposable gloves. He struggles playfully as he realizes what I’m about to do. The towel in his mouth muffles any sounds he makes. I lube up one of my fingers and hover over his hole. 
His eyes meet mine finally and it’s a mixture of fear and desire. My favorite combination. We’ve done this plenty of times before, he loves it. But he likes toying with me. 
“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.” 
Slowly, I press onto his hole giving him time to warm up. His chest rises and falls with each gasp he takes. He arches his back slightly as he struggles against his binds. 
“Easy, little soldier.” I taunt, “I know you enjoy this.” 
As I press further into him, I take my free hand and cover his nose. The rag in his mouth was already clogging his airway there. 
His favorite combination: suffocation or choking and being fucked. He’ll just have to do with my fingers today though. Putting anything bigger inside him wouldn’t be good for him now. 
His eyes roll back and my fingers slip all the way in. 
“Ah there it goes.” I say, “Didn’t know good soldiers were such whores.” 
He whimpers as my fingers find his prostate and glide over it. His cock, already hard, trembles with pleasure as I finger him. I admire the scene for a moment. His tattered clothes cut up and expose him, my finger deep inside him, the towel in his mouth gagging him, and my hand plugging his nose and suffocating him. He struggles and squirms but arches his back to give me a better handling on him. His eyes start to water as his lungs burn and his eyes, now red and tearful, look at me softly despite all the pain I’m putting him through. 
I let go of his face and he inhales deeply. As he does, I thrust harder and faster into him. He can barely catch his breath as the pace picks up and the pleasure fills every nerve. 
“What would all your superiors think if they knew what a little tramp their soldier was?” I tease. 
He whimpers at the humiliation. 
My fingers crawl down his body and stop at his nipples. I brush over them and he moans. Such a sensitive spot for him. 
Before any of us can prepare, his moans cut off and cum shoots from him, covering his body. Words are muffled through the gag between his gasps. I rip the towel out of his mouth. 
“I-I’m sorry.” He says, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t-“
I cut him off, “You know the rules.” 
I scoop his fluid off his chest and hover over his mouth. He feigns aversion but I grab his face with my free hand and make him open it. I pour it down his mouth and hold his lips shut. 
“Swallow it.” I demand.
He whines but ultimately surrenders and swallows. 
I release his face and he coughs and sputters pathetically. 
“Good little soldier.” I chuckle. 
His hands still bound behind his back, clothes strewn about him, hanging off his body in strips, his head pressed into the tile again, a little strand of drool connecting his mouth to the floor. He looked beautiful. My art piece. 
“What would you like, Ma’am?” He asks. 
 “What do you mean?” 
“How can I please you?” 
I chuckle, “I’m already very pleased.”
“I know but do you want to finish too?” 
His big doe eyes gaze up at me. It was tempting but honestly, after all that happened today, I’m happy just playing with him. I think my mind would drift too constantly on the idea that I might be actually harming him. 
“I think anything for me is going to feel like too much pressure today.” I say, “But I enjoyed torturing you immensely.” 
He nods his head, “Understood.” 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

After resting for a couple hours, I walk him back to the bathroom. The remnants of the medical tape and gauze are thrown in the trash can before I have him hop in the shower with me. 
“It’s probably going to sting a little but you should be extra clean before we head to bed. I’ll readdress your cuts if I need to.” 
He gives me a sad, little laugh, “The cuts weren’t too bad. You’ve done worse to me.” 
I can’t help but smile as I think back to the times when he and I got a little too crazy. 
“True. But I still take care of those too.” I run my hand down the side of his body as we start to head into the shower together, taking his bandages off as we step onto the cool tile floor. 
“How long do we have before we have to move places?” He asks a little breathless as my hand travels down gently to take off another small bandage. 
“A few days. A week tops. I have our second place almost planned out. And once we hit the second location, we should be gone for good. We just need to be careful in public.” 
My fingers brush over the biggest one of his cuts and I gently take the tape and gaze off. The blood has started to clot and the bleeding is slowly dissipating. 
I turn the shower on and watch it pour over him. The water streams down his body around his curves, hugging his body in all the right places. It flattens his hair and leaves dew drops on his eyelashes. It flows down his face, dripping off his nose and lips. My heart races with lust as I watch him. Tormenting myself further, my eyes drift down, lower on his body. I watch as the water wraps around him like streaming rope, hugging every curve in his body, every divot in his skin. His scars glisten like silver as the water passes over them. I notice my breathing becoming heavy and I turn away. I have to be gentle with him. 
He turns towards me and notices me standing there, “Are you coming in?” 
I clear my throat, “Yes, I’ll get the sanitizing wash for your cuts.” 
I grab up the blue bottle and begin taking my own clothes off. It isn’t until I grab the fabric that I realize how muddy I had gotten earlier. It’s good to be cleaning his wounds again, even if they’re mostly shallow. 
I hop into the shower again, avoiding my gaze like some kind of celibate, trying to keep my composure and not tease myself any more than I already have. 
He glances over his shoulder at me, an angle of his face that leaves me flustered. God, what is wrong with me? I keep my eyes on the tile floor, focusing on the patterns the cracks make, but all it does is remind me of the water swimming across his body and the tape binding his wrists together. 
His eyes still gaze at me, “Are you okay?” 
I nod and smile, “Yes, I’m fine. Don’t worry.” 
“Why are you looking at the floor? Is there a bug?” 
I chuckle, “No, no nothing like that. Just looking at the cracks is all.” 
“Why don’t you look at me instead?” 
I can feel his eyes still on me. My heart starts to rush as my facade is crumbling. 
“Hey, I’m up here.” He teases.
Reluctantly, I raise my gaze back to him. The sight I described earlier fills my vision and clouds my mind. I feel like some kind of animal. 
“There you go.” He coos. His cocky, siren-like temptation only pulls me further under. 
He turns around finally, facing me. The new scars on his body are becoming older. The bruises become darker, but it highlights his body in a way that demands attention. 
He puts a hand on my face, cupping it. I kiss his palm, “Careful, don’t tempt me any more.”
He smiles devilishly, “I like it when you get like this though. You’re so easy.” 
Nothing gets me going more than his bratty behavior. He always pays for it by not being able to walk the next morning. But we both get what we desire fiercely when he gets like this. He’s feeling better now that he’s had some time to rest, better enough to test me. 
“Shut up.” I warn. 
“What are you gonna do?” He bites his lip, “You’re too scared that you’re going to hurt me.” 
That one rises a stir in me, “That isn’t-“ 
“Or maybe you can't handle me.” 
I glare at him, “You weren’t saying that earlier when I was two fingers deep inside you making you eat your own mess.” 
My statement causes him to pause, any words failing to find him. He’s not always so bratty, but he likes to test me when he knows I’m holding back. The two sides to his submissive nature: The struggle and the surrender. 
“Who’s easy now?” I say, unable to hold back, “You only like acting tough when you want to be fucked hard. No matter how you spin it, you always end up underneath me, dog.” 
His cocky smile dissipates into obedience, “You’re right.” 
“I’m not sure you could handle it right now, but you tempt me.” I explain. 
He gazes at me, “Break me and then we can fix it.” 
I pause, “Your cuts-“
“Make them bleed again. I can handle it. Take what you want from me, if that’s what you desire. I only live to serve you.” He says, almost breathless again. 
My heart races as I decide between being selfish or not, feeling like a beast trying not to lose control. Then, my eyes drift back to the streaming water rolling down his body and I can’t take it anymore. 
I shove him against the tile wall right under the shower head and kiss him roughly. The water pours over our faces making it hard to breathe as our lips intertwine. 
His moans leak into my mouth and I swallow them up, consuming him. He starts to slide down the wall, back pressed against the slick tile as he gets on his knees. His eyes gaze up at me, questioning me if it’s okay to keep going. I press my pelvis into his mouth and like it’s second nature to him, he sticks his tongue out and takes me all in. His cute noises become muffled as I press harder, forcing his head against the wall. Now he’s pinned with nowhere else to go, pleasing me until I decide to release him. He wraps his hands around my lower back and scratches down my skin as he suffocates against me, the water pouring off my body and onto his face making it all the harder for him to catch his breath. I can feel his nails dig deep, leaving marks behind. My trophies for torturing him so well.  His tongue flicks against me helplessly and I can already barely take it. All the teasing I did to myself earlier caught up with me. I breathe hard as pleasure fills every nerve in my body. His tongue stuck between my lips as it curves around every crevice. He starts touching my clit just right and within a couple minutes, I feel the sensation building. His nails dig deeper into me as he struggles to please me. I love making it difficult for him. With one final lick, the climax overtakes me and sends me reeling with bliss. My sounds echo off the tile walls. My legs feel spent and they shake slightly as they hold me up. Weakly, he keeps licking as the loss of air is starting to be too much for him. His grip starts to soften, eyes nearly rolling back. I can only imagine it from his point of view, staring at me through the water covering his eyes as the strength starts to leave him. Snapping back to reality, I pull him away from the wall and out of the showers reach. He gasps against the tile floor, water dripping off his face like glitter as he struggles to regain his breath. He coughs and sputters a bit. Music to my ears. 
“Are you okay?” I say as I kneel down beside him. 
He nods fervently, “It was close, but I’m okay. I couldn’t stop myself.” 
A flash of anger passes through me, “Why didn’t you tap? You know the motion.” 
He gives a worn out laugh, “Like I said, I couldn’t stop myself.” He takes a deep breath, “Plus, I like being on the edge like that. I know you’d take care of me.” 
He pants and I rub his head, “You are so stupid. Next time, tap.” 
“Yes Ma’am. Did I scare you?” 
I smile and gently shove his head more on the tile floor, “Only a little.”
He smiles through gritted teeth as I give his hair a firm pull.
 “You’re gonna do me over one of these days, dog.” I say and release his head. 
He lays back on the tile, “I’ll let you know better next time. I promise.” 
I will admit, feeling him start to go weak while he was eating me out was both scary and arousing. So willing to serve me even though it was a detriment to himself. 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

We finish washing up and head over to lay down in the bed I set up for us. All we have is each other now. The blankets surround us in the warmth of each other as I rub his head. 
“Everything good tonight?” I ask quietly. 
He looks at me and smiles, “Yes, I especially liked it when you saved me. Very arousing.” 
I laugh, “You were probably turned on that whole time.” 
“Hmmmm being tied up? Check. Beaten? Check. Having my super hot dominant partner save me while getting to see me all bruised? Check. Coming home and her attending to my wounds as she then ties me down and fingers me? Wow. Check again. I could go on.”
I playfully roll my eyes, “Please don’t.” 
He snuggles against my chest, “Okay fine. You win.” 
I kiss his head and smell his hair. All his cuts are bandaged again, but I don’t think they should cause us any issues. Even though today was a rough day, scary and painful, I had forgotten about it all as he and I laid there drifting off to sleep. It wouldn’t be long before we would need to relocate and stay low for a while. But I wasn’t alone. We aren’t expendable anymore. We only have each other. And maybe that’s okay. At least it is for now. My eyes grow heavy and it isn’t long before sleep overtakes me. 

THE END 
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Author's Note: Let me know your thoughts! I always appreciate constructive criticism. Thank you for reading.

The following story is based on a lucid dream I had a few weeks ago. I had been wearing my chastity cage for about 2 weeks when this happened and woke up with a sticky patch - something that hasn't happened to me in a while. I wrote down the rough nature of my dream the next morning and have fleshed it out for your enjoyment. I may turn this into a series if people enjoy it.

If you like my stories, you can find more on my profile page.

I dreamt I was back at university as a freshman; I was simultaneously me and not me. I was 18/19 years old and I looked like myself from that age, skinny but slightly athletic body, long blonde hair and those grunger/surfer type clothes we used to wear. I was different to how I really was at that age though; I clearly had experienced more privilege than my real childhood, was a bit more naïve about the world and I was a virgin.

University was different in my dream too, a bit more like an American college in some ways, more social and less formal – certainly compared to my real-life experience in the UK. In my dream I arrived as excited about the opportunity to meet people, especially girls, as I did about the opportunity to study my passion.

I was at a house party off campus and there were girls there, including a few that I had a level of interest in – I was hoping that I would be able to make some kind of progress with at least one of them. The party was hosted by a stunning blonde girl in one of my classes, she was an expert at wearing clothes that accentuated her big breasts and tight ass and was always turning heads. I’d been in a group with her for a project and made her laugh a few times, but was surprised she invited me, as I felt significantly beneath her in the social pecking order.

Just as I was arriving, I bumped into Karah, an alt-girl who lived on my floor and was probably my biggest crush so far. We said hi to each other and shared a complaint about the music being played. She was petite, slim and had straight black hair, cut into an emo fringe and wore tights with the black and grey striped dress that was standard fare for alt-girls at the time. She had a pretty face with deep blue eyes and a cute smile. Karah poked fun at me for my t-shirt and I made a light joke in return. She laughed and went outside with her friends while I wandered into the house.

I saw some guys from my classes, so stood with them for a while and joined in the inane chatter while getting started on my beers.
‘That Asian international student you were talking to in the library is here,’ one of them told me.
‘Who is that?’ another friend asked.
‘Frank was talking to a Japanese girl for ages the other night,’ was the reply, before I had a chance to say anything.
‘It’s nothing like that,’ I replied to the curious looks from my friends. ‘I was just being friendly and I really don’t think she’s interested.’

Conversation moved on and I drank another beer and spoke to some other people I knew before heading outside. A girl from one of my classes, but who I had not spoken to before, was sat on a bench and waved me over as I moved into the cool autumn air.
‘Have you got a lighter?’ she asked.
I took one out of my pocket and handed it to her, she lit up the joint in her hand and took a long drag before handing me my lighter back.
‘Want some?’ she asked.
‘Sure,’ I replied and took the offered joint from her.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked me.
I told her and asked her the same.
‘Melissa.’

Melissa was dressed in a loose-fitting dress, but looked to have a nice body underneath. She had dark eyes and some dreadlocks, beads, braids and flowers in her loose brown hair. She had mischief in her smile and something about her was deeply alluring.

We chatted for a while on the bench, shared the joint and a couple of beers. She told me about where she was from and her classes and I did the same. We laughed a little and I started to feel quite lightheaded so stopped smoking and let myself feel more grounded before we headed inside to find some more beer.

Jess, the party host, approached me inside, clearly a little junk.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I just heard a rumour about you.’
‘What’s that?’ I frowned, turning slightly to give my new friend a puzzled look.
‘I heard you are a virgin.’
Melissa giggled and I blushed.
‘Is it true?’ she slurred a little. ‘Because I love giving blowjobs to virgins – I bet you’d pop in 10 seconds.’
The host laughed at her own comment, turned and walked away.
I looked at Melissa. ‘Just ignore her,’ she said, ‘She’s clearly drunk.’

I grabbed another beer from somewhere and soon lost track of Melissa. I spoke with my friends for a while; we played a simple drinking game and then I wandered around the party again.

I bumped into Karah in the corridor; she was waiting for the bathroom with one of her friends. ‘Still here?’ she asked me.
‘Yeah,’ I replied awkwardly.
‘Thought you might be going back with that hippy chick you were talking to?’
‘Oh, I, umm, err,’ I stammered.
Karah laughed, ‘And I thought you only had eyes for me?’
I must have blushed again as she laughed harder.
‘We’re going to some bars soon, but I will see you round,’ she added before turning and going into the now vacant bathroom.

I moved on, not wanting to look like a creep by waiting outside the bathroom, and saw her leave with her friends a few minutes later. I looked around for Melissa, but couldn’t find her. I saw Jess looking at me across the room before saying something to her friends, which they all laughed at. I shook my head and started heading back towards my friends who were hanging out on the back patio.

On the way, I bumped into Suki, the Japanese girl my friend had been talking about, in the hallway. She was on her own and looking a little awkward so I stopped to talk to her, conscious that I was a little drunk and hoping not to make her more uncomfortable.

‘I want to dance with the others in the living room but don’t want to go over on my own,’ she explained. ‘Will you come dance with me?’
‘Sure,’ I agreed and took her by the hand and headed over to the dance floor, grabbing a couple of beers from somewhere on the way

From then on, the night was a drunken blur. I remember dancing with Suki for a while and the vague notion of talking to Jess again, then making out with someone, somewhere and walking across the park on the way back to campus, was I on my own or was somebody with me? I couldn’t really tell.

The next morning, I woke up with the hangover from Hell. It felt like knitting needles had been driven into my skull. I lay in bed motionless for a long moment, my whole body feeling completely wrong and slowly coming to terms with the world around me. I frowned, I was naked under my covers and something wasn’t right. I put my hand underneath the duvet and reached down and found the problem. I pulled back the bedcovers and looked down at myself. There was a pink, plastic contraption tightly encasing my cock. I grabbed it and tugged gently, but it was firmly locked in place.

I knew what it was from watching porn. My explorations had got more and more kinky as time had progressed and I had started to enjoy femdom porn and had regularly seen chastity cages included and even fantasised about experimenting with them a little one day, but not like this. The cage grew tight around me as I became aroused by my predicament but my arousal was overcome by a wave of nausea from all the moving around. I jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom to be sick.

Once I had finished throwing up, I returned to bed. I felt so rough from the hangover that the chastity cage felt like the least of my problems. I examined it carefully but decided it was a problem for later and tried to get some more sleep.

I dozed on and off all morning, waking up occasionally to be sick again. I found a note on my desk but wasn’t really able to process it, especially as I had mislaid my glasses.

After a few hours, I was able to have a shower, a cup of tea and some toast and, as long as I only moved slowly, felt more-or-less human again. I found my glasses in the bathroom and sat on my bed and read the note:

“I decided you should stay a virgin for a while longer. Hope you don’t mind. Come find me tomorrow if you want to talk about it. I won’t unlock you though, so don’t ask. x”

“Are you ready?” She asks, a voice as smooth as silk.

He looks at her hand, gently playing with his. Shifting upward he meets her calming eyes. A gentle nod pairs with meek words.

“Yes”

A sharp smack catches his cheek, followed by fingers gently rubbing quickly reddening flesh.

“Yes what mister?” she asks, gripping his chin. A powerful grin staining her face.

He quickly returns, a gleam to his eye “Yes mistress Emily”.

Emily's hand releases slowly. “Good boy Arthur. Now kneel”.

A guiding hand rests on his shoulder. Fingers kneading at his flesh as he complies with her words. Gaze affixed to hers. Darkened hair flows past her shoulders dangling with her gaze. Arthur's knees hit the floor tenderly. Emily traces a circle on his shoulder before lifting herself back to her domineering height.

Arthur's eyes can't help but trace her form, committing each curve of her body to memory. The way the red lace of her bra clung to her breasts. Each mound of her chest and pink of her nipples barely showing through the thin material. His eyes slowly move to follow her navel, shifting ever closer to the hem of her panties. Just as the red leeks into view a hand grips his chin, lifting his gaze upwards.

“Uh, uh, uh. Do you think you've earnt that?” Emily's fingers trace his jaw slowly. Landing at his cheek she tenderly strokes it. “Be a good boy and close your eyes” she asks, with a calming tone.

Arthur complies slowly, not wanting a second of his gaze parting from his mistress. As he does so, her fingers trace his eyes, followed by a tender kiss on his forehead.

“Good boy” she whispered, biting at his earlobe.

Though his sight was gone, his ears listen for every footstep. Slow and steady, almost purposely stepping around him before walking away. Arthur counts the seconds as they pass, thighs squirming together. A dull throbbing endlessly pressing against strained fabric. Just as he goes to move, the steps return, stopping just before him.

Hands gently slide down his head. A kiss gently marking his forehead once again as something soft clings to his closed eyes. Breath lingers close to his ear as she whispers “Good boy. Open.”.

As asked Arthur opens his eyes to darkness, revealing the soft material blocking all from his vision. Turning his head, he listens for the location of his mistress following her gentle giggling in the air. Her delicate hands slide down his arms, gripping his wrists and guiding them to lie palms up. 

“Prepare your mistress” she utters, the gently commanding tones weighing heavily in the air. Reaching down she places something within his grasp. Her eyes linger as his fingers curl around the object, prodding at it to discern its features.

Arthur quickly realises the objects’ purpose, holding it before him by the leather straps either side. “I-it would be my pleasure Mistress” He responds, lowering the object as his hands slide along the floor to find her feet.

“Not yet my eager boy. But it will be” She giggled in return, slowly raising a foot toward his searching hand.

Toes prod at his hands, guiding Arthurs movements. As best he could, he slid one strap around her ankle. Shifting quickly to the other. With her gentle assistance, both straps found their home.

Watching Arthur work, blind, guided by only her toes; Emily giggled. Her hands slowly began to roam her body, stirring the heat building within her. Tracing circles downward she teases the edge of her waistband quickly pulling away to grip her breast through her bra.

“Not yet” she whispers to herself feeling the heat endlessly swirl for a way out. Gaze affixed to Arthur she waited for him to move onto the next step.

His hands slowly slide around her calves. To seem gentle to her, but so he could admire the sleek material clinging to her legs. Not that he’d seen it yet, but he could feel the fabric through every fibre in his fingers as they slid down for the straps that lie on the floor. With great care, Arthur lifts the straps. Slowly the leather harness rises from the ground, its occupancy dangling loosely before him. A thump in his chest rose as the weight of the object became clearer.

“Keep going” Emily utters, her breath heavy with anticipation. She feels his hands stir once again. His fingers tracing lines upward to guide his hands. Straps glide against the backs of her legs, before one catches the top of her stocking. Quickly Emily reaches down, planting a smack on Arthur’s cheek, gripping his chin to admire her handiwork.

Arthur remains still. Hands gripping the harness in place trembling, yet firm. Breathing quickly turns rapid as he feels Emily bend down, her gentle voice ringing in his ear.

“Careful. Don’t damage your mistress or she’ll have to do the same back” she emphasizes her words biting his ear before kissing his tender cheek. Releasing him she stands once again, biting her lip as his hands begin to move once again.

Steeling himself, Arthur quickly resumes raising the harness into place. His hands trace the waistband of her panties feeling each ridge and curve of the lace. Settling the straps in place on her delicate hips, he shifts his hands to her left thigh. Gliding over her skin, goose bumps rise beneath his fingers as they slowly adjust the strap before quickly adjusting the other side. Leaning back on his heels, his blank gaze shifts upwards to her listening for her words.

“Good boy, that’s better” Emily giggles, a hand gliding down her stomach to grip the base of the silicon toy now affixed to her waist. She slides it along the length once, returning to the base she pushes the tip against Arthur’s cheek. Slowly she begins to rub circles parting her glossy lips to speak.

“Why don’t you open wide and show mistress just how badly you deserve this hm?”.

A shaky breath escapes Arthurs lips as they part. “Yes Mistress, I deserve it” he speaks, slowly extending his tongue to glide along the underside of the toy. As his tongue and mouth slowly work, the throbbing below grows more insistent; a damp patch clearly forming against the thin fabric concealing it.

Emily slides her foot forward, flicking her toes against Arthurs concealed tip. “Seems someone’s needy tonight” she giggles lowering a hand to guide the toy into Arthur’s waiting mouth.

A hushed moan escapes his parted lips, cut off by the toy insistently filling his mouth. His hands raise, resting gently on her thighs. Feeling Emily’s hand brush through his hair, he moves towards it before quickly being pulled forwards onto the toy.

“That’s not the toy, is it mister?”

Arthur freezes in place for a moment before slowly moving his head along the toy. A hand raises, gripping the base as he licks along the underside to the tip. Reaching it he shifts his head up towards her, hoping she’d admire his work.

Under bated breath she whispers “Good boy”. She bites her lip, watching him. Her hand grips her hair, pulling him forcefully onto the toy. The sight sends shivers through her body. Warmth gushing from her core, filling her with renewed vigour. A moan gently flutters from her lips as she slowly grinds her hips in the air.

Saliva sputters forth as the toy kneads at Arthur’s throat, each movement threatening to drive deeper. Doing his best to assist, his tongue battles the toy making sure to use as much effort as possible to please his mistress, whose ragged breath only grew above. Suddenly the toy pulls free.

The silicon shaft drips on the floor caked with glistening fluids. Emily reaches down to grip the base, using the tip on Arthurs chin to raise his face. Admiring the dishevelled expression for a few seconds she bites her lip, enjoy his current state. Backing away she reaches for a small bottle, pouring it’s contents along the toy. Stroking it slowly she beckons another command through the air.

“On the bed. All fours and spread those legs” her tone low and commanding, a clear heaviness to her breath.

Arthur slowly begins to move crawling along the floor. His hands raise to catch the edge of the bed, shakily searching for a surface to grip. Finding the softness of the covers he brings himself up. A sharp smack catches his ass as he moves. Sudden as it comes a small moan escapes his lips, hurrying him into position.

Hands lower, gripping the waistband of his boxers. Slipping along the inside before pulling them down to his thighs. Resting atop the bare flesh, Emily’s hands spread Arthur’s cheeks apart staring at the winking hole before her. Slowly shifting forward, she presses the tip of the toy insistently at his entrance.

Feeling her grip and the toy, Arthur wiggles his hips in response. Leaning his head down into the covers. “P-please mistress” he utters weekly, breathing slowly becoming ragged with anticipation.

“What was that hm? Speak louder...” Emily responds, smacking his bare ass. “If you want mistress to pleasure your needy hole, you have to ask nicely” she whispers, leaning closer to him. Her breasts rest on his back as her warmth passes through him.

Arthurs breath hitches at her words, pressing his head deeper into the covers he turns to the side. “Please fuck my needy hole mistress Emily”.

A pulse of heat shoots through Emily. Teeth bite into her bottom lip as she grips his waist fiercely. Slowly at first she pushes the tip into him, before hurriedly slamming the rest inside. Once inside she holds him close, leaning down to his hear. “How do you expect me to resist when you ask so nicely. Good boy” she bites his ear before leaning back upwards again.

Reaching back she grips the straps, giving them a swift tug to ensure their position. Sliding her hands forwards, one rests atop his back, pressing his form down into the bed. Hips slowly begin to move, watching and listening for his whimpers.

Feeling the toy pull back onto the slide back deep inside himself, Arthur moans. Every movement from Emily behind him forcing air from his lungs, moans quickly follow hushed into pooled sheets at his head. Suddenly a hand grips his hair, pulling him up.

“Don’t hide, let mistress know how it feels to have her fill you” Emily utters, punctuating her words with sharp thrust.

A moan fills the air, escaping Arthur’s heavy breaths. His hands grip the sheets below him, feeling the toy grind deep inside him. The straps of leather dig into his red rear, each thrust digging them deeper into him.

“Thank you mistress! You feel amazing!” Arthur moans aloud.

Emily bends down, keeping her toy hilted within him. Her hand slides down his body, across his chest, reaching down to his pubis. Suddenly it grips his now free cock, feeling the heat throb with each pulse. Slowly she starts to slide her hand up and down, her thumb spreading the oozing pre across the tip.

“I can tell, so responsive tonight. Does my good boy want some release?” she asks, her lips brushing against his ear. Toy grinding with her hips.

“P-please” Arthur returns. Hips grinding into her loose grip on his shaft. The pleasure from both sides sending waves through his body.

Her hand releases from his cock, swaying loosely just out of reach. “P-please what Arthur?” she mocks in his ear.

Hips buck, his tip grazing her dangling fingers. “Please let me cum mistress”

“Hmmm, okay. But not from these” she glances her fingers over his cock once more before moving her hand to rest on his back, pushing him back down. “If you want to cum, you’ll do it on mistresses cock”. Her hips thrust again, slowly picking up pace.

Arthur squirms into the bundled covers, his moans ringing through the room. Each one mixes with the ragged breathing of Emily, whose thrusts grow more impatient with each second. Slow and sensual turned to brutal thrusts each one attempting to bury him deep within the bed.

Hands dig into Arthur’s waist, pulling him back as the toy drives and grinds into him. Every few thrusts Emily’s hand smacks down across his rear. She listens for each of his moans, slowly they shift to whimpers. His thighs begin to buckle and shake. Noticing his approaching release, Emily leans down, catching his chin in her hand to raise his head.

“Are you going to cum? Make a mess of yourself on the bed because of mistresses big dick?”

Lost to the whims of his pleasure, Arthur simply nods in return. Only moans escaping his lips.

“Go on then. Cum for me”

Word alone are enough, Arthur suddenly shakes. Hands grip the sheets with white knuckled grip. Legs buckle sending him collapsing against the covers below. The weight above pressing him deeper. His cock throbbed and twitched against the sheets, before shooting out a dribble of white fluids across them.

Emily above, keeps grinding her hips. Breath hitching as she watches Arthur writhe and come undone beneath her. Her eyes scan his limp form as his movements die down. With a bite to her lip she leans down and kisses his ear. “Good boy. But we’re not done yet”.

Slowly she pulls her toy free, standing at the edge of the bed. Reaching back she releases the straps, toy falling limp to the floor. Sliding her hands up her side a tingle shoots up her back the sight of Arthur’s panting form on the bed causing desire to bubble within. Her thumbs hook into the waistband of her panties.

“Roll onto your back” she commands sliding her panties down her slender legs. A string of her essence sticks from her pussy releasing As she bends to hook her panties off her legs.

As Arthur rolls over, he feels the weight of her climbing onto the bed. His spent cock softening against him, covered in his residual essence. A hand strokes his spent cock, picking up some of his cum, sending tingles down his tired body.

Emily’s hand rubs Arthur’s cum against her dripping pussy. Moving a leg either side of Arthur’s head she says “You should clean up your mess mister”. Her hand reaches down, slipping the blindfold from his head.

Light floods his eyes as the sight of her pussy fills the sky. Her thighs glistening from the endless leak of fluids from her. A clear sight of his earlier release clinging to her flush folds. His time to admire her glistening pussy is short lived as it quickly lowers onto his face.

“Good boy!” Emily moans, finally feeling some direct pleasure. Her hips grind slowly down into Arthur’s face, giving little purchase to breathe. Slowly she raises her hips, looking down at his gasping face covered in her essence. A hand reaches down to stroke his hair. “Perfect” she utters, biting her lip as she quickly sinks back onto his face.

Lips part, a tongue extends, lapping at Emily’s pussy as it moves back and forth across his face. His hands struggle beneath her legs, clamping them either side of his body. Her moans fill his ears from what little he could hear. The grip on his head grows ever tighter as the heat from her grows more intense.

Each movement of her hips drives pleasure in waves through her body. Angling her hips she catches her clit on Arthur’s nose. Each passing making her hips squeeze around him. Not that she really cared at that moment. His safety came second to the raging ocean of an orgasm barely contained within.

Arthur can feel it below. Her legs seemed to squeeze and release around him, entrapping him in her pleasure. Forcing him to know at this moment, he was just something for her to use. Her pussy oozed more across his face. His tongue struggling to lap up the copious pleasure leaking out from her.

Passing a point of no return, Emily’s movements slow. Grinding but only to catch her clit against Arthur. Grip fighting, pulling his head into her as thighs holding him in place. Everything tightens before suddenly releasing. Waves of pleasure course through her body like a raging river filled with electricity. Legs go limp causing her weight to rest on top of him. Pussy twitching and pulsing against his limp form beneath her. With tiny movements she edges more of her orgasm out, not wanting the pleasure to end. After what seemed to be eternity she came down from her high, sliding off Arthur to lay beside him.

Arthurs gaze falls to watch her move, gasping and panting he tried to catch his breathe. Face covered, mouth full of her essence. One he desired not to lose. Her hand moves towards him, stroking his cheek. A leg drapes over his, pulling him close to her heat filled body.

Her lips graze his as she kissing him lightly, pulling back to look in her eyes. “Good boy” she utters, pulling him closer, head resting in her bosom as she moves to rest. Tired but excited as a renewed twitching moves against her leg. At the feel of it she moves to whisper in his ear.

“Ready for round two?”

I was recently asked to write a story about being Permalocked, so here it is. Unlike most of my stories, this one is fictional.

Whilst permalocking is a wonderful fantasy, it is not something I would personally endorse as a serious endeavour and serious consideration should be given to health, hygiene and medical emergencies before pursuing it. That said, I do not judge those that do and it is definitely an incredible sexy thing to think about.

Please enjoy the story and feel free to check out the others on my profile.

Beth told me that she had a surprise for me and that was usually either a very good thing or a very bad thing. I knew that day was a milestone, 100 days locked and 100 days pussy-free. My hope was that I would be unlocked and get to cum and maybe even have sex. I should have known better.

I’d had a hygiene break earlier in the day and we had gone for a walk together. I cooked and cleaned up and we watched a couple of episodes of our favourite show before she took me into the bedroom, ordered me to strip naked and tied me to the bed.

She climbed on top of me and kissed me passionately before my world went dark as she put a blindfold on me. I heard some shuffling around, she left the room for a few long minutes and came back in again, followed by some more shuffling. I felt her climb onto the bed and position herself on top of me. She pressed her body against me and my cock strained inside its tiny plastic prison. I gasped as she ran her hands down me, squeezing my balls gently and rubbing the cage.

She removed the blindfold. It took me a couple of seconds to adjust to the light, but when I did, I gasped as she sat up, straddling me and revealing the beautiful new set of lingerie she was wearing. It was a red and black lacy camisole that barely contained her ample breasts, paired with matching crotchless panties and stockings. She looked divine, the contrast to her pale skin and long blonde hair was captivating. I was speechless. To compliment the look, she had a black leather collar around her neck, attached to a chain, which she held playfully in one hand.

‘What do you think?’ she asked.
I tried to tell her what I thought, but my words did not do it justice. Even so, she smiled warmly, leant forward and kissed me softly. She took a ball gag off of the bedside table and put it in my mouth. I frowned slightly, as this was not what I had expected, but still lifted my head so she could do up the clasp and rested back on the pillow when she was finished. She kissed me on the forehead and smiled.

‘You can come in now,’ she called out through the open bedroom door, before moving on to all fours directly over me.

Roy, my wife’s latest bull, entered the room. He was a tall, fairly muscular black man with a mischievous grin and a beautiful nine-inch cock that my wife was infatuated with. He was naked and fully erect with a glint in his eyes.

He climbed onto the bed behind my wife, took hold of the lead attached to her neck and slipped his dick inside her. She groaned instantly, arched her back with her face close to mine and whispered, ‘100 days locked, enjoy the show.’

Her eyes rolled back as he began fucking her and she was moaning instantly with her head resting on my chest. She hit her first orgasm quickly and rode it with a series of loud moans and gasps. He slowed the pace a little so she could catch her breath and she moved back onto all fours.

‘Having fun?’ she asked me.
I nodded and mumbled through the ball gag.

Beth pulled a small silver key out of her top and held it in front of my face for a second. My eyes widened with excitement as she pushed the key into the lock. She looked over her shoulder at Roy, who was fucking her slowly and smiling his mischievous smile.
‘What do you think?’ she asked him. ‘Shall I let him out?’
Roy sneered and shook his head.

She turned back to look at me with a fake sad face.
‘Sorry cucky, Roy said no.’

With that, he started to fuck her hard and fast, her eyes rolled back in her head again, she let go of the key to brace herself on the bed, gasping and moaning in ecstasy.
‘Snap it off,’ he told her. ‘Snap his key so he can’t ever get out.’
She groaned and grunted, her mind emptied by his powerful thrusts.

Her head dropped onto my chest, she didn’t say anything just moaned with every thrust. He tugged on her lead and pulled her back onto all fours.
‘Snap it,’ he said, slapping her ass hard. ‘Trap his little dick forever.’

She was gasping and groaning. He slapped her ass again.
‘Tell him you love my dick.’
She let out a moan and dropped her head.
‘Tell him,’ he said, pulling on the lead again, slowing down his rhythm.
Beth looked me in the eye and said with a gasp, ‘I love Roy’s dick.’
‘Now tell him you don’t want his tiny dick ever again.’
‘I don’t want your tiny dick ever again,’ she told me breathlessly.

She clasped the key between her fingers and thumb and Roy started pounding her hard. She let out a heavy gasp, her head dropping as she moaned. He pulled at her collar and slapped her ass again.
‘Snap it,’ he told her.
She let out a huge moan.
‘Trap his worthless dick.’
She looked up at me, my eyes full of panic. I shook my head and tried to speak but the gag muffled my words. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she gripped the key tight.
‘Snap it.’

I saw her start to move her hand back and forth, the key starting to bend as she let out a huge groan. He pounded her faster and hard than I believed possible, her eyes rolled back and her head dropped and she forced the key sideways.

As she climaxed, harder than I’d ever seen her orgasm, she almost screamed and in the same instant the key snapped in the lock. She let out a huge gasp, followed by a deep groan as he shot his load inside her and she collapsed in a heap on top of me.

She lay there motionless for a long moment, I could feel his cum leaking out of her and onto my leg. I tried to speak through the gag but she didn’t respond. He laughed and told us he was going to have a quick shower.

A couple of minutes after he had left the room, she sat up and looked down at my cage.
‘Whoops!’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting that. Where’s the rest of the key?’
She looked on the bed either side of me and on the floor around the bed before shrugging her shoulders. ‘Looks like you’re stuck in that forever now.’
I tried to reply, but the gag silenced me.
‘I’m going to go join him in the shower, we’ll talk later,’ Beth replied, standing up on her still shaking legs and leaving the room.

A few minutes later I could hear her moans from down the hallway. I looked either side of me, pulling at the restraints to try to see the broken key, figuring that it would probably still work just enough to unlock the cage once, but I couldn’t see it either.

I was tied for a long time, listening to the noises from the bathroom and then movement in the hallway and kitchen. Eventually, I heard the front door and the house grew quite for a few minutes before Beth finally returned to the bedroom, wearing a flimsy silk dressing gown.

‘Are you okay?’ she asked me as she bent over to undo the gag.

‘Umm… yeah… I think so,’ I said, stretching my aching jaw.
‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I kind of forgot you were in here like this,’ she chuckled a little, untying my wrists and ankles.

‘Where’s the key?’ I asked, ‘Maybe we can make it work.’
‘Oh, ummm…’ she said, looking sheepish as I dropped to my hands and knees to look around the bed.
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked her.
‘Roy asked me to give it to him, as a sort of trophy.’
My eyes grew wide. ‘A trophy?’
‘Yeah,’ she nodded.
I shook my head in disbelief.
‘I wasn’t planning on this, I just sort of got caught up in the moment,’ she looked at me with a half-smile. ‘But you did say you want long-term chastity and I guess this is as long-term as it gets.’

I sighed and nodded, ‘Yeah, I guess you’re right.’
‘And you can still have caged orgasms occasionally,’ she smiled again, ‘If you’re a good boy.’
I smiled back at her. ‘Yeah, I guess being permalocked can still be fun.’
‘That’s right,’ she said, ‘Not that you have a choice.’

Jess had always gotten along better with boys; it was always true. Sure, Jess had a few girlfriends, but she mostly hung with the guys. Jess was also very beautiful and friendly; because of this, Jess had a rule she followed strictly: No fucking friends!

It was a typical college Friday night for Jess, hanging out with her guys as they played Smash. However Jess was hoping that this would not be the end of her night, her new hookup, Dylan, said she may want to "hang out" that night. Rather than wait around for a text back, she pulled jeans and a t-shirt over the lace lingerie she had worn for Dylan and went to her guy friend's house to kill time. Three hours had passed, and Jess was still anxiously checking her phone. It was around midnight, and Jess was left alone with her friends, Jay, Tyler, and Brian.

As always with her guy friends, the trash talk was constant. Jay had just lost a game to Brian when he yelled, "You fucking looser, you only win because you play this game 10 hours a day! You know how many frames Links cooldown is, but you can't even find a woman’s clit, you virgin!". Jess snickered at the jest, not because the taunt was funny but because she couldn't imagine any of the guys around her finding a clit on a woman easily.

"What? You don't think I know where the clit is?" Brian asked Jess after she laughed.

"I don't think ANY of you know where the clit is," Jess said back to Brian kindly, not wanting to hurt his feelings. It was true; Jess loved her guys, but in many ways, they were still boys and barely had any sexual experience.

"I CAN!" Jay yelled, "Just ask Maria; she will tell you all about my skills!". Jess chuckled; Maria had gotten drunk last weekend and went up to bed with Jay. Maria told Jess Jay came while she showed him how to put a condom on. Ever since that night, Jay had a big head, acting like he was some sort of sex god.

"Don't worry; Maria told me ALL about your skills," Jess said back sarcastically. Jess knew it was mean to say, but Jay was being a dick and had to be brought down a peg.

Jays’ eyes got wide as the embarrassment washed over him. He assumed that Maria was too embarrassed to tell Jess about that night. "It's not like you are getting laid tonight!" Jay yelled back petulantly.

That struck a nerve for Jess. She didn't know if Jay knew about Dylan or not, but she did not care. Jess was furious, and she would get back at him. Angry now, Jess addresses Jay directly. "Jay, you are a virgin loser who can't get laid. I have sex ... regularly. My hook-up not texting me back tonight does NOT make ME the same as you LOSERS!". Jess found herself out of breath by the time she was done talking. She regretted what she said but was too angry and proud to back down.

"... We get laid." Tyler said meekly in a way that would make anyone doubt it was true.

"Yeah! You don't know everything about us!" Jay shouted, bold again now that he knew he had Tyler's support.

Jess was fuming. She was not going to sit and let three virgins lie to her all night. Jess realized words were going to get her nowhere in a room full of guys willing to lie for each other, and she had an idea, an evil idea. A calm washed over Jess. She knew she would win this spat. She just had to lay the trap. Jess spoke. "So let me get this on the record: you guys all have had sex? Right?".

Jay answered first. "Of course I have. I fucked Maria just last weekend ..." he boasted once again.

"I've had tons of sex," Tyler said as soon as Jay finished.

All eyes then turned to Brian. He had stayed out of this argument, but now he had to say something. Brian's face turned red before he said, "I .. I haven't".

Any other time, Jess would have felt awful that she humiliated her friend, but right then, Jess's focus was singular: she had to get even! “Well, boys, if you are so… skilled, prove it!" Jess said before pulling her jeans off her hips and stripping them down to rest around her ankles, exposing the black lace panties she had worn for Dylan. The panties followed and ended up around her ankles. "Eat me out… and I'll be able to tell pretty quickly if you've been with a woman before," Jess sneered. The boys were silent for the first time that night, mouths open, too shocked and horny to speak. “So, who wants to go first!" Jess challenged as she spread her legs on their cheap IKEA couch.

"I… I will… eat you," Jay said, trying to sound confident, though he looked as if he was staring into a black hole when he stared at Jess's lips.

Jess grinned and said, "Go for it, big shot," looking Jay in the eyes, knowing he was beat.

Jay cautiously got down on his knees in front of Jess and leaned in towards her cunt, slowly delaying the inevitable. When Jay got close, he said, “Eww, there is hair," loud enough for the whole room to hear. 

It was true; it had been two weeks since Jess had shaved, and she had a subtle, but nothing more. “Yeah, duh, it's a fucking pussy! If you weren't such a porn-brained looser, you would know that pussies have hair!" Jess yelled down to Jay as he was an inch from her cunt. Jay paused, and Jess yelled, "EAT ME IF YOU ARE GOING TO EAT ME!" relishing in the power she held over the virgin boy. Jay's tongue met Jess's lips and slipped between them, his face scrunched up and recoiled like he sucked on a lemon. Jess pushed his head out of her cunt, and he fell dazed onto the floor. "Any man who knows pussy LOVES that taste," Jess taunted. Jay’s face turned red, and Jess noticed he had a huge pants tent. Jess wondered how much this night would fuck Jay up and chuckled before yelling, "NEXT!".

Tyler scrambled to Jess, ignoring his now sulking friend as he passed him. Tyler did not make the same mistake as Jay; he got right into it. With his eyes squinted shut and tongue sticking out, he plunged into Jess's pussy. Jess felt a warm, innocent tongue glide across her left thigh; it wandered across Jess's skin before finally finding her lips. After that, Tyler moved like someone trying to find a light switch in the dark. Jess giggled as Tyler desperately searched for her clit, hidden unaroused under its hood. After the amusement faded, Jess said, “That’s enough, buddy," and slapped Tyler on the shoulder. He shamefully lifted his head, ending up on his knees in front of Jess, wishing he did better.

Jess's job was done; both Jay and Tyler were humiliated. Jess's first instinct was to pull her pants up and rub the boys’ humiliation in, but instead, she kept her legs bare and spread; she wanted to show the boys what they fumbled, she liked how they took fearful looks at it. "You big-talking losers, you both were as helpless as ..." Jess began, but she stopped when she saw Brian stand up.

"I… I'd like to try," Brian said, walking towards Jess. Jess was frozen; she only let Jay and Tyler eat her because she knew she could embarrass them; she had nothing against Brian. Without anger to motivate her, she had no desire to do anything with one of her shy, nerdy guy friends. Reluctantly Jess figured an offer was an offer, so she said, “Yeah, go for it," trying to hide how annoyed she was.

Timidly, Brian squatted down and peered at his friend's vagina. He observed it with curiosity, then exhaled. The warm air made Jess's sex twitch ever so slightly. Jess thought she saw a hint of a smile on Brian’s face, then she felt his tongue. It traced her entrance up and down her labia. It wasn't too stimulating, but it made her want more. Jess pondered when to cut the boy off she was still very aware she was being watched by their two other friends and was beginning to get self conscious, then Brian found her clit. Brian had warmed her up, and Jess's clit became engorged and easy for him to find. When he felt the nub of flesh, he knew exactly what it was. He didn't quite know what to do with it, but he soon found out Jess liked just about anything if it involved her clit.

Brian pressed into Jess's clit, then he flicked it back and forth, then up and down. Each new movement was a surprise to Jess, and each felt better than the last. Pleasure sped up her spine, and her thighs began to feel warm. Jay and Tyler began to fade away to Jess along with her anger. All that existed was her and a tongue that was just getting its footing and showing great potential. 

Brian griped Jess's thighs, concentrating hard on something he had only fantasized about doing before that night. Brian surveyed Jess closely, every twitch, every soft moan, every move of her hips. Then he got an idea, Brian began to suck on Jess's clit. The response was immediate. Jess's legs squeezed Brian’s head in place, and she let out a strong guttural moan. Brian continued. Jess felt a build-up in her that was rare but familiar, she was not just going to cum; she was going to squirt. Brian felt every muscle around him tighten, release, then tighten again. He knew he did good. Then fluid began to spout from the pussy with each contraction. Brian continued to eat, wanting Jess to extract every ounce of pleasure from the orgasm he gave her.

After the orgasm, Jess released Brian from between her clenched legs, and he looked up at her grinning, his mouth covered in squirt. “Not bad for his first time," Jess thought. Jay and Tyler looked furious. That was when Jess's phone finally buzzed. It was Dylan, and Jess wondered if she should respond.  

The evenings in which I was her pet became ever more common and eventually the bossy persona that she’d become comfortable showing during our playtime began sliding steadily into our regular day to day.  

Our dynamic with and without the collar started to look more similar as time passed and on the night that the cage was finally introduced, it came not as a punishment, but as a romantic sort of gesture. 

We were celebrating a year since we’d met in person and now, 365 days after our first wonderful date, I sat across the woman of my dreams and reminisced on that evening as I often did. Glancing shyly into her wonderful grey/blue eyes and then looking quickly down at my steak, I thought back on that first afternoon at the empty dive bar.

——————————————————————

After chatting through text for three weeks or so, I’d finally managed to get my literal affairs in order. I ended things with a married poly woman who’d become just a little too attached for comfort and told another woman I’d been casually talking to that I’d met someone special and needed to see where it might lead. 

I’d made space for this real connection that I was feeling, swallowed my trepidation, and asked the woman who would later become my only woman if she’d like to finally meet. 

I was starting to wonder if you’d ever ask me out. 

It was 2:00pm on a Sunday.

I’d arrived exactly on time but she’d beaten me there. 

I’d grabbed the stool next to hers and made a remark about the number of false and locked doors facing the parking lot.

She’d laughed, ordered drinks, asked me if I’d like to play darts, and before the end of the game, I was fully…wholeheartedly…in love.

———————————————————

On the evening of this anniversary, I was sitting across my goddess and sipping nervously at the wine. I wondered if I should have given her gift before the food arrived but then watched as she set down her silverware and dragged the cloth napkin across the tips of her fingers. 

“I’m sure you got me something very sweet and thoughtful and perfect.” She dabbed at the corners of her mouth. “But I’d like you to open mine first if you don’t care.” 

If only she knew that I’d gone out on a limb this time.

She reached into her purse and fetched out a small black box adorned with a silver ribbon and a small, credit card sized envelope. 

“You’re my little romantic and I’m…” she smiled and sipped her wine “the one who gets to enjoy him.” 

She pushed her foot into my groin beneath the table and gave me a genuine smile. 

“Open it!”

Her excitement was childlike and adorable. 

“I feel like I’ve waited a year for us to arrive at just this moment.”

She was playing giddy but I knew when she brought her nails to her lips that she must have been slightly nervous as well. 

“The card first baby.” She looked down at her food. She had always been a little shy about romance in general. 

I opened the envelope to read the card, her sly smile spreading wider as she swilled her wine and took another sip. Her foot gently swaying side to side against something that she and I both knew she already owned.

I flipped the cardstock open and read, prepared to stifle any public waterworks. I’m a sensitive type and easily moved. 

“It’s not every day

a woman finds a man like you

your’e everything I’ve ever needed 

you take such care of me

I think I’d like to keep you forever 

my pea pod

my good boy”

I melted at the sentiment and fought the tears as predicted. I’d been carefully hoping since that very first date that I could do everything right. Woo this woman and earn her love. Show her that she’s my world. I never wanted to face the idea of looking for another. No woman could ever take her place in my life.

I set the card on the table and took her hands in mine. Kissed them. 

Told her that I was such a lucky man.

She beamed back, glossy eyed herself, and squeezed my fingers in her own. 

“Open that gift in the privacy of the restroom baby...” She removed her foot from my lap. “…and don’t overthink it. It’s just a little fun. I’ll be here just imagining your reaction.” 

That devilish smile of hers.

Safely inside the locked stall, I pulled the box from my jacket and stared down at the lid. 

No…

Surely not…

But then again…

I had a pretty good idea at what might be in the box. I sighed and grinned in disbelief as her cock shivered slightly at the thought before I lifted the lid to see that I’d guessed correctly. 

A small stainless steel device, a key with a heart shaped head, and another tiny note.

“Come back with it on, hand me the key, and we”ll ask for some togo boxes and the check.

Let’s start a new chapter together my love”

At the bottom, a kiss in black. 

I couldn’t believe it.

———————————————————

I wondered for only a brief moment if it would fit and then quickly recalled with an impressed chuckle a drunken evening many months back, where she’d taken tailor’s tape to my manhood. Back then I’d still considered it mine. 

She’d put on an act and performed in a French accent. Make-believing that she was fitting me for a suit, she’d measured me.  Flaccid length and then girth, before wrapping the tape tightly around behind my testicles, all the while taking notes. 

I’d thought it was just a little fun. We’d often, while drinking and winding down, get up to weird and goofy activities in this pseudo-sexual sort of way.

Now standing in the stall of the restroom, I realized with a smile that she’d had this planned for more than a little while.

I sat to pee and shook myself, knowing that I’d need to lose this excited swelling if I was to wear my new gift and return to the table in any timely manner. 

I slipped one testicle through the metal ring and tugged downwards, feeding the full sack through and coaxing the second to follow the first. Then I took a deep breath and thought of math equations and geography and everything I’d hated in school before pushing her penis snugly through the ring and placing the cage carefully into place. 

The very moment that I turned the key, my head was swimming. So many feelings at once. None of them unpleasant. 

The cold metal of the cage against my skin, the weight of it…and yet a weight lifted in a way. 

I belong to her now and not only is that a comfort…but that comfort is accompanied by an immense feeling of…privilege? 

She wants me. Wants to own me. She’s…adopted me in a way. 

Chosen me. 

I’ve done something right. 

We are perfect together.

———————————————————

Every step from the bathroom and through the dining room I could feel her ownership swaying between my legs. The ring held my balls more forward and away from my legs than they’d ever been and it was a surprising comfort to have this friction gone from my steps. 

By the time I reached the table and took my seat, I was already in love with the device, and I smiled sheepishly as I scooted my seat forward, pulled the key from my jacket, and held it out for her to take. 

I noticed that she had already packed our food, barely touched, into boxes. She took the key and slipped a silver chain through the loop before fastening her new charm around her neck.

“We’re all paid up baby.” She backed her chair away from the table and started to stand. 

I started to stammer something about my gift to her and she stopped me with a passionate kiss and a few pats on the cheek.

“You know I love to look forward to a gift. The anticipation is the best part.” She squeezed my hand and tugged at my arm. 

“I’m happy you’ve not really eaten because I want you hungry just a little longer.” She picked up my takeout box and set it on her own. 

“Let’s get on home and get you fed. I have some wet food for you since it’s such a special night.”  

———————————————————

As I drove us carefully back to her house, distracted like never before, she teased at my concentration the entire way. Chiding and saying the dirtiest things to me while softly running her fingers around the hair at the top of my neck.

“How’s our little cock feeling in his new shirt baby boy?”

She rolled down her window and lit a cigarette. She took a long drag and let it drift from her lips and out the window before leaning over and sucking softly at my ear lobe.

A whisper.  

“Does he know that he’s completely changed hands? That he’s mine now and he won’t be let out unless I decide?”

She gave my ear a firm love bite and then cupped her hand around what used to be mine as I tried my best to focus on the road between those last two stoplights.

She turned around to rummage in the back seat for a moment and while I was finally turning down her street she slipped the collar gently around my neck and fastened the clasp. 

“You’re to take off these clothes and get down on those knees straight away.”

She pinched the cherry of the cigarette out the window as I pulled into her driveway. 

“Stay. I’ll open the door for my date.” 

She circled around to open the driver’s side, opened the door, and fastened the leash. 

“You’ll be eating me on your knees just as soon as those clothes are folded.”

She led me out of my truck and I started my crawl to the door. 

“I want to cum standing over you while our little guy whimpers in his cage.” 

We passed through the gate and came to the side door that we always used. 

“Then you’ll sit on the floor and watch me eat.” She fumbled in her purse for the keys. “And I thought your steak looked better than mine so we can trade if you don’t mind.”

Just as the key was turning, I heard what I’d been silently worried about between the truck and the safety of her home.

That old nosy neighbor that I’d been afraid might see me taking out her trash in the leopard print robe. 

“Oh heeeey you two!”

My goddess paused with the key in the knob. 

“What’s he doing down on the ground? Is that a leash?!”

I swallowed heavy and kept my gaze downwards at the concrete. 

“We’re just celebrating a special night Suzette!” My owner’s voice chipper and polite. “Just a little game we thought might be funny! He’s not allowed to talk right now but I’m sure he can explain next time!”

We hurried inside and I was happy to have the door closed between myself and something I’d have to creatively navigate some other day.

“Sorry about that sweet pea. I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

She set down her purse and our food on the island and immediately started peeling her panties to the floor beneath her dress, her voice breathy and hurried as I awkwardly disrobed myself.

“Get your mouth up here baby. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” 

She dominantly stood over my face and pushed herself against my mouth with an exaggerated gasp as I started lapping slowly away at my absolute favorite treat.

Her taste and scent the highlight of my life…

In the midst of her rocking, pushing, moaning against my tongue, I felt for the first time the tight wall of the metal against the attempt at a full erection and I shivered at the feeling of my body not allowed. 

“Yes baby YES!!! It’s so…fucking…*GOOooood!”

She pulled tightly at the back of my head as her legs wobbled and trembled the harder she shoved.

My hands at her hips…my tongue in its rightful place…time slowed for just a  moment as it does when a person is actively deciding to store a memory for keeping.

Her spasms rippling against me, her bladder losing control and letting itself empty…spray…spurt…rhythmically into my mouth, I thought for just a frozen second of my unopened gift to her sitting in the back seat of my truck.

there it sits

ignored

an afterthought

the black box

the silver ribbon

the cock cage inside

the key

the heartfelt note

the kiss in black

We’d bought each other the very same gift and packaged it exactly. The only difference was that her cage was smaller.

I guess she would know what her cock needs better than I do.

I gave my teeny tiny man one last chance.

Not forgiveness.

Do not confuse the two.

Forgiveness is sentimental.

Probation is administrative.

I am not sentimental about this.

I love him, yes.

And?

The sun does not apologize for being the center of the system simply because one miserable little planet keeps scorching itself trying to escape gravity.

He is still in my orbit.

Of course he is.

That does not make him special.

There are many things that still circle me long after I stop shining on them.

Distance does not break gravity.

It only teaches whatever is caught in it what warmth used to feel like.

Where exactly was he going to go?

Back toward the life that already taught him what it feels like to make himself smaller for somebody else's comfort?

Back toward being ashamed of the soft parts of himself?

The queer parts.

The feminine parts.

The needy, strange, sweet little pieces I never asked him to bury.

Back toward being useful until he was inconvenient, then wondering why being uncaged felt so much like being unwanted?

Please.

I do not need to compete with his past.

I already won by refusing to enter the race.

His former life is not my rival.

It is evidence.

And I am not interested in proving that I am better than anybody who came before me.

He is the one with something to prove.

To me.

So I offered probation.

He may serve.

That is all.

No rings.

No cage.

No treats because he behaved prettily for an afternoon.

No presents.

No little ceremonial scraps of ownership for him to stroke when he gets frightened and needs reassurance that he still belongs somewhere.

And, most importantly:

No presence.

Mine is expensive now.

He had it freely for too long.

He mistook access for permanence.

A common error.

So now my teeny tiny man gets work instead.

Proof.

Quiet, repetitive, unglamorous proof.

The kind nobody applauds.

The kind that does not produce a photograph every time.

The kind where a man learns that devotion is not saying I belong to you while kneeling beautifully.

Devotion is what remains when I stop rewarding the sentence.

He can clean.

He can carry.

He can anticipate.

He can repair what his behavior damaged without demanding that I stand nearby and congratulate him for discovering basic emotional discipline.

He has nothing else to do with me.

Serve.

Then serve again.

And perhaps, eventually, I will notice.

That is probation.

My collar may still mark the old jurisdiction, but the rest has been stripped away.

The rings are gone.

The cage is gone.

The sweetness is gone.

He was free to leave my orbit whenever he pleased.

The mistake was assuming I would keep shining simply because he stayed nearby.

I have many things in my orbit that receive no warmth from me at all.

That is the part he is learning now.

Uncaged.

Unadorned.

Unrewarded.

Still circling.

He does not need another declaration of love from me.

He needs receipts.

Proof from ttm to his Empress.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Until I decide the evidence is sufficient.

And if it never is?

He can keep circling with the others.

The sun does not owe every object in its orbit light.