I want to share with you all today, a very hot story that was written for me by one of my submissives. I simply love the style of writing, the imagination and creativity as well as the passion of the kink of course. I hope you all enjoy it too.
This work has been published with the author’s knowledge and permission.
Balls out! That was her. A force of nature that held him the moment she breezed into the bar. She was loud, vivacious, dressed for a club rather than a bar and not a little drunk. He had been on his way out but as soon as he saw her, his rear dropped back down on his tall, padded bar stool and he ordered another bottle of Belgian beer.
She made her way around the customer base, caring not who she spoke to, nor for how long. She acted as if the place were a massive party held entirely in her honour. He watched her throughout, trying to look lost in his own thoughts but unable to refrain from ever longer glances towards her. He wondered what it was about her that held not only him but virtually the entire room in her palm. After an hour of working the room, she collapsed against the bar next to him in mock fatigue, clearly exhilarated and energized from the experience.
“I’m never going to sleep with you if you don’t make an effort.”
He turned to see her leaning towards him and he virtually spluttered his beer down her generous cleavage. Still he said nothing, even as her unblinking gaze bore into him. His own eyes kept dropping embarrassingly to her breasts, only serving to broaden her smile.
Her name was said with the certainty of granite as she proffered her hand. She held it in front of him, palm down, until he eventually took it and she didn’t let go of the handshake until he offered his own name in return.
“Well, Pat. If you want to get any, you’re going to need to grow a pair.”
His anger stirred a little at the jibe but he remained outwardly calm. “You’re very direct.”
“And you’re very passive, but who do you think has a fuller life? I mean, you only get one, so you may as well gorge on it, especially when there’s so much of it to feed on. So when was the last time you got laid?”
He spluttered his beer for a second time before she continued, appearing to ignore the reaction. “I mean, you’re hard right now, aren’t you?” His face immediately flushed a deep crimson.
“I tell you what, if you ask me to fuck you, before I count to five, I will… tonight.”
He looked down at her in shock. His gaze sought protection down at the floor but soon began to move up her knee length boots, her elegant bare legs to her short leather skirt. His eyes had reached her leather corset and were fixed on the breasts, still struggling to contain themselves, when he was shaken back into the real world by the sound of her voice. “Four!” There was a pause but he was frozen. “Five.”
His face conveyed nothing but devastation, unable to work out why he couldn’t say the words. She proceeded as if she had never made the offer. They chatted a little longer but his mind was entirely distracted by the lost opportunity. Eventually she stopped. He looked up to her face to see her a little disappointed but somehow galvanized.
“Look Pat, there is no point regretting anything in life.” She was at least 15 years younger than him but the wisdom in her words and the congruence with the way she lived those words was something he could only marvel at. She continued. “You either do or you don’t. And if you don’t, then you move on.” But she wasn’t getting through to him. “Pat, I’m going to help you. I don’t know why, but I like you. I think I’m a good judge of people and I think I can read people as well. I’m going to help you grow your pair.”
He struggled to throw a fifty down on the bar for his drinks as she yanked him by the arm, dragging him out onto the street and into a waiting cab. She gave the driver an address and picked up the conversation, keeping it on a casual level, while he wondered where they were heading. The conversation was relaxed, and so was she. He was not.
They reached the warehouse district and emerged from the cab under a rare street light. She fished out a large set of keys and let the two of them into a small but imposing, old brick building. The climbed the tall flight of wooden steps that immediately greeted their arrival and slung the keys and her bag down on a side table, draped her coat over the banister and waltzed through to the body of the open plan living area. He followed.
“Make yourself at home, I’m just going to the bathroom.”
The decor was heavily wooden: parquet flooring throughout and wooden screens were used to break the open area into discrete spaces. Heavy leather sofas, formed an L, were served by a large and low oaken coffee table. The decor complemented the structure of the building which was left with much of the original brickwork and heavy oak beams left visible. He was aghast. “Is this YOURS?!”
“No. It belongs to a friend. “She works part time as a business consultant. I forget what she does exactly but she has to fly around a lot. She’s out of town at the moment but I feed her cats.”
His drinks that evening began to make their presence felt. “May I use the bathroom?”
“Sure. Down the corridor, the door facing you, right at the end. Here let me get the lights for you.”
She flipped all five switches on the bank of lights and the corridor opened up before him. She turned to the kitchen area and he heard the sink going behind him as he passed an open door on his right, about halfway down. It was the smell from that that drew him in and his cock stirred in response. He peeked inside. Elizabetha seemed to have turned on all the lights in the entire house, this room included. What he saw before him hardened his cock like nothing before – a scene from a fantasy dungeon. Padded tables, padded racks, tools of metal, leather and rubber. The brick was gone from the walls in here and replaced by a fabric – he knew it was – soundproofing.
“You were a long time, did you get lost in her dungeon?”
He had just returned and instantly went red.
“She’s a dominatrix. Mistress Cara. I hope you left everything where you found it.” Elizabetha winked at him.
Pat’s ears perked up. So did his cock. He was certain he hadn’t touched a thing, but his mind instantly panicked that he might have done and his heart began thumping heavily in his chest.
“Errr, why did we come here?”
“Because I said I’d help you. Are you hard right now? Are you REALLY hard?”
“Here, come with me. “
She grabbed his arm in the same way she had in the bar and pulled him to the far side of the room, over towards a solid wood dining table. Chairs we scattered around, seemingly at random, each one different. She approached one, stood him behind it and placed her iphone on the table. Music began playing and she began dancing in front of him. Her slow writhing did nothing to dampen his ardour and as the track ended, she had hitched up her short skirt to reveal her lace thong, straddled the chair he was standing in front of, and lowered herself onto it. The dance was slow but she had thrown herself into it so much that she was breathless.
“Now do NOT move a muscle!”
She reached over the top of the ornate chair back and slowly unzipped his fly. Something stupid in him actually wanted to stop her; embarrassment; always his embarrassment and timidity. Even with the sexiest woman he had ever met in his life right in front of him; perhaps because of it. She continued speaking.
“You’re afraid. You’re afraid of acting. So don’t. Don’t act. Don’t do anything. Don’t speak. Don’t move. What is happening is not your fault. It’s all mine.”
By this point, his trousers were opened and the erection underneath his boxer briefs was apparent.
“Now take a deep breath, Pat.”
As he did so, she pulled down both his trousers and briefs together. They fell to his ankles and he felt her cold hands pulling on his hot erection. Her right hand reached over to take his balls and she pulled his sex over the top of the curve in the chair back and towards her cleavage.
“Looks like you do have a pair after all.” She laughed and he instinctively tried to pull back. “Oh no you don’t!”
She kept a firm hold on his balls. Her other hand left his cock and reached for something under the chair seat behind her and a small but thick steel ring emerged from the top of the heavy chair back, slid snugly over the top of his sex and disappeared back down the other side with an audible click. His sex was trapped. A second click followed. The front door!
Elizabetha stood up, pulled down her skirt and called out. “Hi Mistress Cara. It’s me, Elizabetha”, leaving Pat rooted to the spot in more ways than one; the chair was bolted to the floor. He had seen the catch under the chair seat, but it was out of reach. He heard stilettos on the wooden stairs. He tried to pull up his trousers but he couldn’t reach them either; they were stuck around his ankles.
“What have we here?”
The strange lady had stopped behind him and he didn’t even dare to turn his head to follow the sound; it was the only part of himself he all he might have been able to turn since the imprisoning metal bar was holding him vulnerably firm, and doing so in spite of his fear-induced softening. It was Elizabetha’s voice that responded to the new lady’s question.
“He’s a submissive. He seemed like your type so I wanted the two of you to meet.”
He heard Mistress Cara’s voice close in his ear. “Is that right pet?” The sobriquet sounded unnervingly close to his actual name.
He wasn’t sure if it was the smoky, whispering nature of the voice or the demeaning term but his cock began responding.
“Do you like a woman who likes to be on top?” He continued to swell. “Do you need someone to house-train that insubordinate cock of yours?”
Still he refused to turn his head. It took all his energy to just stand there. His whole body attempted to launch itself suddenly and violently against the ceiling when he felt a cold finger reach from behind him to make contact with his exposed, dripping tip. He head whipped round and he was instantly in love. The large dark eyes were full of beauty, intelligence, wisdom and mischief.
“Would you like me to own you? I can tell you now you would hate me on some days, but you will love me on all of them. But wanting me to own you is not enough for me. I need to be with someone who needs it. Do you need it?” His soul knew the truth of her words.
“You need to choose me. You need to make that active choice. If you’re one of those roll-over-and-domme-me subs, you can get out right now. If you want me to make all your decisions for you, you can get out right now. I want a slave with a brain, who is capable of thinking, anticipating, learning and being proactive. You have to show me you ‘need’ this. Press the insides of your wrists against the recesses at the top of the chair back. When you do, your hands will be held firm in the same way your cock is. But I need you to be honest with yourself as well as me. And every single thing you do with me needs to demonstrate commitment.”
Pat was unmoving for a long while. Terrified of acting. Terrified of not. He knew he needed this – but he was distraught that he might fail, that he wouldn’t cope, that he didn’t know himself as well as he thought he did. He heard a shuffling behind him. The threat of this being over too soon, as if the ladies were now bored of a puppy who didn’t want to play and were about to turn their back on it; he took a deep breath and jumped in. Click-click! Metal bands had emerged from the chair to hold his wrists firm.
“Good boy. Now you need to remove your pants and your underwear.”
He panicked. He had already tried to pull them up once before but now without use of his hands, it was impossible. He tried to stomp them off over his shoes but after several breathless minutes of comical failure, he slumped. “I can’t.”
“I CAN’T?! Those first words I ever hear from you?” It didn’t occur to him that he hadn’t spoken a word until that point and he was crestfallen at the reproach.
“ ‘I’ speaks of ego and ‘can’t’ speaks of a negative attitude. Elizabetha – he’s not going to work out. Unlock him, put him in a cab and send the idiot home.” Elizabetha moved instantly to comply.
“PLEASE! No! Don’t unlock me!” She paused and looked to Mistress Cara for guidance as to what to do next.
“Better, boy. Finally SOME indication that you really do want this. But what now?”
Despite the encouragement, Pat’s face fell. “I need help”, he mumbled.
“NOW you’re getting the hang of it, and I’m getting wetter as a result. After you got that filthy ‘c’ word out of your system, you have begged, told me you don’t want to be unlocked and admitted you need our help. MUCH better. But if you EVER use that ‘c’ word in my presence again, all of this really will be over. I promise you now that I will never EVER ask you to do anything you cannot do!” Pat felt his hopes soar. She repeated her question. “So now what, pet?”
He thought frantically. “Elizabetha. Will you please help me? ”
She had caught Cara’s infectiously mischievous mood.”How?”
He didn’t think he was able to feel more vulnerable until he felt his only potential ally align herself with the domme. “Please will you take off my underwear?”
She disappeared behind him for a moment. She returned and he felt her drop behind him. His head grated from the unexpected sound of metal on metal and she bounced up in front of him with a pair of scissors and his boxer briefs in shreds, clearly enjoying herself. Pat’s was horrified.
“Well how else was I going to get them past your pants and your shoes?”
He was still looking at her in shock when she moved back in towards him. “Oh don’t worry, they weren’t very good quality anyway. Now for the pants.”
She disappeared below him and Pat could barely get the words out fast enough. “Please no. Please don’t use the scissors.”
“Cut them off with the scissors, Elizabetha.” Cara leant in close to Pat. “Next lesson, pet: NEVER tell me what I must not do. Only EVER tell me what you think I SHOULD do. I WILL break that negativity of yours.”
Pat was shaking in fear, in anger. He had begun to soften.
“Elizabetha. Leave us. I will see you tomorrow.”
“Yes, Mistress Cara.”
When they heard the sound of the front door closing, Cara held up his shredded pants. Pat’s shaking had subsided, confusion diluting the cocktail of anxiety and fear.
“I told you there will be times that you hate me but you can see how I’m doing it for your own good.“
A look of puzzlement glazed over him. She moved around behind him, taking hold of his softening cock. Her touch instantly reversed its decline and he grew appreciatively in her hands. She slowly began to stroke him and he was unable to do anything but groan. Using his hardness as a barometer she began to question him: when was the last time he came – that morning, how often did he cum- several times a week, how would he feel about another man’s cock in his mouth – he’d hate it, how would he feel about dressing up in women’s lingerie – he’d hate it, how would he feel about being told he had no choice but to wear lingerie – he’d hate the lingerie but love the control, would he like to lick up his own cum – no, would he like to lick her out – he’d love it, would he like to lick another man out of her – he’d hate it…
He hardened and softened in response to her probing questions until she had exhausted her inquiry. He felt he had learned as much about himself as she had, probably even more.
“You ARE submissive. And you’re my kind of submissive. I can guarantee that you will adore me, crave me. I will respect your real world commitments; I will do nothing to harm you but I will break down any limiting boundaries and despite my best efforts, there will be times where you will hate me more than anything. But I will do this for your own good – to make you better. And you will have learned to trust me by that point – mostly.”
She walked around in front of him before continuing. I want 30 days. No backing out if it gets difficult. I would love it if you wore lingerie, or licked up your cum, or sucked another guy off, or any of the things you hate. But you will not do any of them unless you beg me to do so.”
She spoke a little longer, he listened and she gave him a chance to ask questions of his own, much of it logistical. He remained locked and naked from the waist down throughout. The deal was sealed very simply when she asked him, “after everything you have heard and with no chance to back out, do you agree to submit yourself to my care and my rule for the next 30 days?”
He responded with three simple but heavy words. “Yes Mistress Cara.”
“Good boy. After the 30 days are up, we will have another opportunity to declare ourselves to one another, on a longer term basis. For now, let’s make the most of this deflating opportunity. “
She disappeared for a moment. When she returned, she flipped catch under the seat in the chair, freeing his cock but leaving his hands secure. Flaccid from the more mundane conversation they had just had, she swiftly looped a lace around the crown of his cock several times, deftly manoeuvred his balls through a narrow steel ring then slid a snug steel cage onto his cock. The shoe lace fell through the end of the cage and she used it to pull his cock down to the end of the bars. Her dexterity was so accomplished that it was only after the ring had been locked to the cage that his cock even began swelling in appreciation from the attention she was giving to it. She pulled down on the lace to free it but doing so caused it to tighten around him briefly, stimulating his swelling until the flesh of his partially engorged cock was pressing through the bars of its new cage. She freed his hands, leant him a pair of pants and packed him off home, caged and confused.
The lessons began slowly but took off like a rocket within 3 days. By that time, he was already begging her to fuck him in the arse with her strap on. She teased him that he’d be begging for a real cock one day. The few days he’d had with her were enough for him to understand that there were some things she was unprepared to compromise on – pretty much anything she wanted. She hadn’t forced, coerced or threatened but it was simply said as a statement of fact; ‘if i make you cum, that cum needs to go back inside you.’
She had already said that his cage wasn’t coming off for at least 7 days so he had no idea how she was going to get his cum out of him. She had slid a condom over his cage and his unfeeling cock, completely confusing him. She probed around in his arse and although he felt a sensation, he was shocked beyond belief when that previously empty condom was peeled from his prison, full of his cum. Dipping a finger in, he eventually mustered the courage to open his mouth but she didn’t make it easy for him by simply popping her finger in his mouth; he had to move his mouth to her. The face he screwed up immediately afterwards, more from the distaste at what he had done than the distaste of his own emissions, she felt, filled her heart with joy – he was doing things he hated, for her.
“Don’t worry pet, soon you’ll be begging me to lick it all up. But let’s save the rest for later.” She took the condom off to her fridge and stored it in there but unlike him, later never came.
Within seven days she had broken another taboo and he spent an hour of their evening together in stockings held up by a garter belt. When ten days were up, he was begging for many of the things he hated. All the while, she kept probing for his limits, pushing on them, reminding him of how far he had fallen. He was reminding himself every morning and every evening – 7am and 10pm; when he was required to call her and say his prayer to her.
Mistress Cara, collar me
Mistress Cara, control my cock, control my cum
My cock is yours, my cum is yours
Sculpt me, mould me, free me from my limits
That I may better pleasure You
Occasionally she would answer those phone calls but the rest of the time she let it go through to voicemail. She checked some of these but deleted most, though he knew none of that.
She had kept her promise and had not interfered with his work or personal commitments. The cage remained on and within a week, no underwear was allowed. He hated that he was leaking into his clothes and worse, that the wet stains might be visible to others so he hit upon her idea of the condom over the cage. She was livid when he turned up at her place one evening and she saw what he had done. She made sure that he never repeated the mistake
He found that his caution around her increased afterwards. He was even more respectful, watchful and careful to beg for everything. He had only known the carrot up to that point; the stick scared the shit out of him. For the next week, and to act as a reminder of her displeasure, he was also to refer to his cock as a clit – even in his prayer – and to wear the stockings and garters daily. When that week was up, he waited to be told to go back to the old way. That instruction didn’t come and he was too afraid to question it and so what had begun as his punishment became his norm.
At the end of every visit with her, she showed him a list of the limits he’d given her, with red lines through the ones that were broken through. She had highlighted the ones that meant most to her and continued to add to that list as new ones became apparent. Through the course of the four weeks, he had come to adore her, lover her, hate her, fear her, crave her, need her. What began as a D/s relationship evolved into dating but she never resisted the opportunity to remind him that he was there for her pleasure. He wanted that so much anyway.
He was the perfect gentleman outside and the near perfect sub inside. He was her puppy, her cum-licking slut. When he had been very good, he was allowed to hump his cage against her leg, but only if he also begged, by barking. He even allowed himself to be used as a guinea pig for Elizabetha, who wanted to learn to how to prostate milk. He felt like a prize cow but he knew it pleased his Mistress. He added to her pleasure where he could by bringing her favourite flowers, cleaning up while she was in the bathroom, all unbidden. He simply adored her appreciation.
On the 28th day, he was going to get to climax. He cage was finally coming off. It was her who made tea this time, a treat for him, but since his hands were cuffed behind him and attached to a ring on the leather collar at the back his neck, it would have required a miracle for him to have been able to attend to the refreshments himself.
Smalltalk followed, ludicrous as that might sound, as she sat on the sofa and he knelt next to her. Pat was just anxious to get on with it. He was so nervous that he had a flashback to his first day at school. She placed a tatty piece of paper, face down, on the coffee table in front of them. He knew what it was, even before she spoke.
“Can we safely say that after 4 weeks with me, you don’t have any limits?”
He looked up at her in shock and horror.
“Ok, let me re-phrase: have I ever harmed you?” He shook his head. “Good. Do you trust me to look after you?” He nodded. “Good boy, you KNOW I will. I know there are some things you don’t want to do but I also know that you will do them simply because they please me. If all of that is true, and if you trust me to decide on your limits, then you will tear up that piece of paper, without looking at what I may or may not have added, and eat it for me.”
He knew every word she said was true. He didn’t even think. He began to tear off small pieces of paper and used the tea, which he licked up from his doggie bowl, to down them until nothing remained.
She moved off the kitchen and returned with a large plate. Four large cubes.
He was confused but eventually he settled on one he liked the look of and picked it up in his teeth for her, barely able to do so without dislocating his jaw. The relief he felt when she turned it over to show him a key frozen into the base was palpable.
“Lucky BOY! So this is a test of your limits. The key is frozen into a month’s worth of cum. I said we’d save it until later. You’ve only licked odd spots up until now. You need to get through all of this before you get to the key.”
She took the block and placed it, key-side down, on the darkened surface of his bowl. He was horrified at the size of the thing. She clipped a leash to his leather collar and got up to lead him to the milking area. He didn’t move.
She turned and looked down at him, sat on his haunches. “No limits! Remember?”
He looked up at her, pleadingly but she was equally unmoving. Tears began to well up in his eyes but still she failed to be moved.
“There are two more days to go before the original 30 are up. I need to know, by the end of that time, that you will do anything for me.”
He finally spoke, his voice packed with misery. “I don’t care about my orgasm anymore.”
She sat back down on the sofa next to him and put her finger under his chin to lift his eyes towards hers.
“Baby baby. I don’t care about your orgasm either. You’re doing this to please me. You want to please me. You NEED to please me. You can’t help yourself – we both know it.”
She licked a tear from his cheek, kissed him affectionately on the forehead and slowly stood up again. There was no tug, she simply stood and waited until he began to crawl until, side-by-side, they made their way to the milking area.
He waited at his spot, on all fours. She placed the bowl with the ice cube directly underneath his cage. “I think the only thing missing now is to drizzle the dessert with some fresh cream.”
He was beyond emotion and all though the milking, he was slowly zoning out. He could hear her teasing him that it could be a real cock inside him now and he’d do it for her. There was pure unadulterated joy in her voice and he knew it was he who had given her that joy that but he began to distance himself from the moment. She had gone too far but he also knew she was right –he had to do this, for her.
He decided to remain safe, unfeeling, until the whole sordid thing was over, but she didn’t give him the choice.
“Beg for it, puppy.”
Shaken back and out from his own protected cave, with his tender soul laid bare in the moment, tears welled up once more.
“Good boy. Now lick it all up and bring me the key when you’re done.”
He nearly gagged on a couple of occasions. He kept pausing to look up at her to see if she was satisfied with how much he had gotten through.
“All of it. I want the bowl clean.”
When he had eventually licked the plate clean to her satisfaction, he crawled over to where she was sitting and looked expectantly up at her with the key between his teeth.
“If you still want to be with me after all of this, you will not only beg harder but you’ll be more enthusiastic in the consumption as well. But only if you love me more than you hate me.”
She took the key from his mouth and put it in the lock. It wouldn’t turn.
“I think it’s just a bit stuck”, he encouraged.
“No, I think you’ll need to stay locked up a bit longer.”
“But that’s the key!”
“Now calm down. And I thought we agreed that you didn’t care about your orgasm anyway. We’ll just try again the next time you’re ready.” Pat’s assertion that he was WAY beyond ready stuck in his throat when he heard her next words. ”There was always a good chance that it wouldn’t be your own key that you picked out.”