My Mistress Locked Me Up and Humiliated Me on Christmas Eve

On Christmas Eve, I waited for her on my knees beside the door, my back straight, my hands behind my neck, and my ass burning around the plug she herself had forced me to put in two hours earlier. Under my clothes I wore the chastity cage, locked tight, squeezing my cock with a discomfort that had already turned into filthy arousal. I hadn’t eaten all day. She hadn’t allowed me to come all week, either.

Before leaving the office, she sent me a brief, curt voice message, in that tone that undoes me more than any blow. —I want to find you clean, shaved, and ready to serve. If I have to repeat anything when I arrive, you’ll pay for it. I listened to it five times in a row, my mouth dry and my cock uselessly trying to harden inside the cage.

I had left the living room spotless, the lights low, and dinner almost ready. The only thing missing was her. I wore a tight-fitting T-shirt and shorts that barely concealed the line of the anal harness and the ridiculous bulge of the cage, more humiliating because it showed so little than because of what it suggested.

When I heard the key in the lock, I felt a tug in my stomach. I lowered my gaze before I saw her come in.

Camila pushed the door open with her shoulder, set her handbag on the console, and let out a long sigh. She looked tired, still wearing her coat, her hair half pulled back, and those tall dark-leather boots she knew would end up on my face. The cold from outside clung to her clothes, but her expression was pure control.

—Look at you —she said, closing the door calmly—. So obedient when you want to be.

I bent down to kiss the tip of one of her boots. —Good evening, Mistress.

—Louder. I want to hear you.

—Good evening, Mistress.

She held my chin between two fingers and forced me to raise my face. Her eyes dropped to my chest, my spread thighs, the useless bulge between my legs. She smiled faintly. —Have you touched your cage?

—No, Mistress.

—Have you eaten?

—No, Mistress.

—And your ass? Is it open as I ordered?

I felt heat rising to my ears. —Yes, Mistress. I’m wearing the plug.

Her thumb brushed my lower lip. —Good. Then start where you know to.

She dropped into the armchair and stretched one leg toward me. I understood the order without needing any more words. I carefully removed one boot, kissing the leather instep first, then the ankle covered by her stocking, and finally the sole of her foot when she left it bare in front of my face.

It smelled of the street, of the stale sweat of a long day, of skin shut away for hours. A thick, intimate smell that struck me like a direct charge to my trapped cock. I whimpered softly, unable to stop myself.

—That’s what you are —she murmured, turning on the television with the remote—. A grateful pig.

I stuck out my tongue and began licking her sole slowly, from heel to ball, leaving a shining trail of saliva wherever I passed. She rested her other foot, still inside the boot, on my shoulder and used me as a footrest while she checked messages on her phone. Whenever she found a rougher patch or a damp edge between her toes, she lingered there, sucking harder, as if my mouth could erase all the fatigue she had brought home.

—Don’t just run your tongue over it —she said without looking at me—. Clean it properly.

I obeyed. I opened my mouth wider and took her toes one by one, sucking them until I heard the little pop when I let them out. She gave a low, dry laugh and pressed my cheek with her foot.

—You have such a slut’s face when you taste my sweat.

The cage was already hurting me. My cock pushed against the metal, dripping. I felt the sticky fluid run underneath it, unable to relieve anything. She saw it when she lowered her gaze.

—Look at you, leaking without me even touching you —she said—. And you still haven’t done anything useful.

She removed the second boot and threw it at my chest. —Clean these too.

I knelt on the floor and began with the leather, licking the toe, the sides, and the sole. It wasn’t just a game. She wanted to see me genuinely humiliated, reduced to a household object, an animal that served with its mouth. I knew it, and that was exactly why it made me even harder.

While I worked on her boots, she went to the kitchen and began finishing dinner. I heard her opening drawers, banging plates, and stirring a pan. I followed her on my knees when she snapped her fingers.

—Here. Beside me.

I positioned myself beside the counter, my face level with her thighs. She cooked as if I were just another extension of the room. She didn’t even need to look at me to give orders. At one point, she deliberately dropped a piece of bread onto the floor.

—Eat it.

I immediately bent down and picked it up with my mouth, without using my hands. The crumb had dust on it and a drop of sauce. I chewed it without lifting my head.

—Faster —she ordered.

Then she dropped a piece of meat. Then an olive. Then a few strips of onion. Each thing ended up on the floor, and each thing went into my mouth. I swallowed with genuine hunger and a shame that warmed my entire body.

—Open —she said suddenly.

I did. She slowly chewed a mouthful, leaned down slightly, and spat the warm mixture onto my tongue. I closed my mouth around it and swallowed, my eyes fixed on her legs.

—Good boy.

Those two words made me moan more than any caress could have. She noticed. She always notices everything.

Everything finished cooking in the oven, and she carried her plate into the living room. I followed behind, still on my knees. She sat in front of the television, crossed one leg over the other, and began eating calmly, ignoring me for several minutes. The silence was part of the punishment. I was there, hungry and hard, my ass occupied, my mouth still tasting of her saliva and the food she had chewed.

Every so often she dropped a scrap onto the floor. I waited for the order. When it came, I lunged forward to collect it with my tongue or lips. If I took a second too long, she clicked her tongue in contempt.

—You eat so inelegantly when you’re desperate.

—Sorry, Mistress.

—I don’t want apologies. I want obedience.

When she finished her plate, she leaned back and gestured for me to come closer. She unfastened the zipper of one boot, halfway removed it, and let it fall. Then she did the same with the other. Her feet emerged hot, marked by hours of confinement. No stockings. No perfume. Just tired skin and the raw scent that drives me crazy.

—To my face.

I lay on my back, and she placed her entire sole over my mouth and nose, crushing me. I breathed deeply on reflex, filling myself with her scent. My cock jerked inside the cage. A thread of fluid escaped and stained my shorts.

—Look at you —she said, watching the wet patch—. You’re so horny you’re pissing yourself with need.

She lifted her foot for a moment. —Stick out your tongue.

I stuck it out. She stepped on it with her sole, slowly dragging it from the tip almost to my throat. She repeated the motion again and again, and I kept my tongue out even as it trembled with exhaustion. Then she put two fingers into my mouth, deep, damp with her own sweat. I sucked them greedily, making noise.

—That’s it —she murmured—. Make yourself useful with that mouth.

She grabbed my hair and forced me upright. —Get on your hands and knees. I want to see the condition of your ass.

I turned around at once, supporting myself on my hands and knees on the carpet. I felt her pull the shorts’ fabric aside and tug on the harness. Cool air struck the damp skin between my cheeks. Then I felt her fingers inspecting the area around the plug.

—You did well —she said—. It’s in properly. Do you want me to take it out?

The question was a delicious trap. I swallowed. —Whatever you want, Mistress.

She gave my ass a sharp slap. —Answer clearly.

—Yes, Mistress. I want you to take it out.

—Why?

I closed my eyes. —So you can use me.

Her laughter returned, darker this time. She pulled the plug out slowly. It drew a low, prolonged moan from me, mingled with relief and emptiness. I felt the skin close around nothing for barely a second before she spat between my cheeks and pushed in a finger slick with saliva.

She pushed it in unhurriedly, burying it completely, while with her other hand she gripped the cage from behind and shook it. The metal tugged at my trapped cock in a way that was both painful and exquisite. I gasped.

—You love it when I manipulate you like this, don’t you?

—Yes, Mistress.

She inserted a second finger. She opened me, twisted, and searched for the spot that makes the body forget all dignity. She found it immediately. My hips responded on their own, thrusting desperately against her hand.

—Stay still —she ordered, giving me another smack—. You don’t fuck. You get fucked.

She left me burning and stood up for a moment. I heard the familiar sound of an app activating on her phone and had to hold my breath. The plug was no longer inside me, but the harness still held a small secondary vibrating bullet pressed against my perineum and the base of the cage. When she turned it on, the buzzing struck me right there, where she can undo me most easily.

I curled up with a broken moan. —Mistress...

—Shut up and take it.

She increased the intensity. The vibration traveled through my empty ass, my tightly squeezed balls, and my imprisoned cock, which could neither grow nor release. I felt an orgasm coming like a wall of heat, but there was no clean escape. Only pressure, spasms, and more fluid running inside the cage.

She sat down again and spread her legs wider. —Come here. If you’re going to come, I want to see your face.

I crawled over until I was between her feet. She put one sole in my mouth and the other over the bulge of the cage, pressing just as the vibration continued tormenting me underneath. I sucked her toes desperately, drooling. The foot on the cage pressed harder, and I came without touching myself, shaking like an idiot, moaning against her skin.

It wasn’t a clean ejaculation. It was a series of dry spasms, spurts of semen and pre-cum trapped in the metal, running underneath it and wetting my thighs. The pleasure was brutal precisely because it didn’t bring complete relief, because it left me tense, empty, and still needy.

She lowered the vibrator’s intensity and looked at me with a crooked smile. —That’s how I wanted you. A complete mess.

I breathed heavily, my forehead resting against her ankle. —Thank you, Mistress.

—I haven’t given you permission to rest.

She stood and pulled me upright by my hair. The movement left my mouth inches from her lips. I thought she was going to kiss me, but she spat directly into my mouth and forced me to swallow. Then she finally kissed me, briefly and dirt­ily, just long enough for me to taste what we shared.

—Now follow me to the bedroom.

I followed her unsteadily, the vibrator still buzzing faintly against my body. In the bedroom she had already prepared what she used when she wanted to take things a little further: a strap-on dildo, black gloves, and a bottle of lubricant on the dresser. Just seeing them made me squeeze my thighs together.

—Get undressed —she said.

I took off my T-shirt and shorts. The cage was exposed, ridiculous and wet. She ran a finger along its lower edge and collected the sticky semen. She examined it with amused disgust before smearing it across my lips.

—Taste what you let out for nothing.

Licking my own remains in front of her finally completed my descent into the role we both wanted. I was her toy. Her aroused servant. The man she reduced to a useless cock and an available ass.

Camila removed her dress slowly, without theatricality, and was left in elegant dark underwear, even more authoritative like that than naked. She positioned the harness in front of me, adjusting the straps around her hips with an efficiency that made me tremble. The dildo hung firmly in place, shining with lubricant after she covered it with her hand.

—On all fours on the bed.

I climbed up as best I could. Behind me, she spread my cheeks and spat into my hole again before adding cold lubricant. Then she thrust two fingers into me at once, without the patience she had shown earlier, making me gasp into the sheets.

—Relax that ass or I’ll open it anyway.

I nodded, breathing deeply. Her fingers moved in and out faster, preparing me properly this time. She slapped one cheek, then the other, until my skin burned. Finally, she placed the tip of the dildo against my entrance and left it there, pressing without advancing.

—Ask for it.

—Fuck me, Mistress.

—I can’t hear you.

—Fuck me, Mistress. Please.

She pushed. The tip entered slowly, thick, stretching me with a filthy mixture of burning and relief. I moaned with my face buried in the mattress. She didn’t stop. She kept pushing it farther and farther, one hand on my lower back to hold me still, until nearly its entire length was buried inside me.

—Fuck —I blurted, trembling.

—That’s it. Feel me open you.

She pulled back almost until it came out and then thrust it in again with a hard smack that tore a cry from me. The sound of the harness striking her pelvis set the rhythm. This wasn’t a gentle fantasy or a delicate scene. It was use. Domination. My ass taking every thrust while the cage denied me any decent friction.

She grabbed the back of my neck and began fucking me with a firm cadence, faster and faster. I could only moan, instinctively pushing back, and feel the dildo striking me inside exactly where it makes me lose my mind. The bed creaked. Her breathing grew heavier. One of her hands moved down to the cage and began tugging it in time with her thrusts, multiplying the torture.

—Look at the slutty face you make when you’re impaled —she said, forcing me to turn my head toward the wardrobe mirror.

I saw myself sweaty and disheveled, mouth open, my captive cock dripping uselessly. The image humiliated me so much that it aroused me even more.

—Say it.

—I’m your slut, Mistress.

She slapped my ass hard. —Clearer.

—I’m your slut, and I love having my ass fucked.

The next thrust was brutal and deep, celebrating the words. I nearly collapsed. She held me by the cage’s belt and kept driving into me without mercy, until the words stopped coming and only hoarse moans and the wet sound of lubricant remained.

At one point she pulled me upward and made me kneel on the bed. My back pressed against her chest, the dildo still inside me. She wrapped one arm around my torso and gripped my jaw with the other hand.

—Open.

I opened my mouth. She pushed two fingers in until I drooled, then kept them there while she fucked me from behind, using my mouth as another way to hold me in place. I felt her breath against my ear, her breasts against my back, and the harness strap tightening with every blow. It was a complete invasion.

When she pulled out her fingers, she whispered: —Suck.

I took them hungrily, full of saliva and lubricant mixed with my own scent. She let me suck them while the dildo continued moving in and out. Then she pushed me back against the mattress and sped up, harder and shorter, striking the spot that turns an ass into an absurd center of pleasure.

I no longer had control of anything. My body moved on its own. The cage shook, my balls were tense, and my abdomen contracted as though I were about to come again. She noticed immediately.

—Don’t even think about coming without permission.

I tried to hold back, but an orgasm like that isn’t decided. It builds. Rises. Burns. She reached between my legs, activated the vibration again from her phone, and the buzzing tore through me while she continued fucking me without slowing down.

—Now you can —she said, practically spitting the words into my ear—. Come for me.

I came with a muffled howl, empty and violent, shaking around the dildo. I felt small hot spurts trapped inside the cage again, sliding underneath it and staining the sheets. She didn’t stop when I began to come. She continued for ten, twelve more thrusts, wringing every spasm out of me until I was trembling from head to toe.

Then she pulled out of me in one motion. The emptiness made me moan. I collapsed facedown, strengthless, my ass throbbing and my legs spread in utter surrender.

There were several seconds of silence. The only sounds were my ragged breathing and the distant television still playing in the living room.

Camila gave my ass a gentle, almost affectionate slap. —We’re not finished.

I climbed down from the bed as best I could when she ordered me to. On the floor, between my feet, I could already see some of what had dripped from the cage and the lubricant running down my thighs. She placed a bare sole in the puddle and slowly spread it across the wood.

—Clean up what you dirty.

I immediately knelt and began licking the floor. First I collected my own semen, salty and warm. Then I licked the damp print of her foot, running my tongue wherever she stepped, like a trained dog. The act was degrading even by our standards, and that was exactly why it made my pulse race again.

She made me clean her toes too, one by one, until they shone. Then she gripped my chin and forced me to look at her.

—Do you regret anything?

I shook my head, still panting. —No, Mistress.

—Did you enjoy serving?

—Yes, Mistress.

—Did you enjoy being humiliated?

I couldn’t help a tired smile. —Very much.

Her expression softened slightly. Nothing cloying; just that minimal change that makes it clear to me that behind the game there is something solid, something chosen. She stroked my hair once and then pointed toward the bathroom.

—Go wash yourself. Then come back, give me a foot massage, and sleep at the foot of my bed. The cage stays on tonight.

That last sentence shook me with a mixture of frustration and gratitude. I remained hot, used, denied. Exactly where she wanted me. Exactly where I needed to be.

Before leaving, I carefully kissed the instep of her foot. —Merry Christmas, Mistress.

She gave me a crooked smile, tired but satisfied. —Merry Christmas, pet. And don’t take long. My feet still belong to you.