The Countdown My Mistress Imposed on Me That Night

Bruno had spent years looking for someone who understood what truly turned him on. Not by-the-book sex, not the lukewarm routine of the couples he knew. He was looking for a woman who enjoyed having him on his knees, who found pleasure in humiliating him, who treated him like what he felt he was when he was aroused: a small, obedient object. It took him a long time. And when he had almost given up, Vanesa appeared.

She understood right away what he needed, and discovered that giving it to him aroused her just as much as it did him. It was no effort, no concession. It was power, and power suited her. From the first night she knew how to speak to him, how to look him up and down and leave him trembling with a single sentence.

The first rule she imposed a week after they got together.

—You don’t touch yourself again without my permission —she said, sitting on the edge of the bed while he looked up at her from the floor—. That’s mine now. You decide whether to obey or leave.

Bruno didn’t leave. That same night he bought the first cage.

It was small, made of cold metal, and it locked with a padlock whose only key Vanesa kept on a chain around her neck. He learned to live caged for days, sometimes weeks, with the arousal building and no possible release. That constant tension made him docile. And she loved seeing him like that, pleading for something she knew she still wasn’t going to give him.

There was one detail she had turned into a ritual. When he wore the cage, Vanesa went naked around the house. She walked past him shamelessly, letting him see what he couldn’t have, deliberately swaying her hips as she passed him. By contrast, the few times she allowed him to be free, she covered herself completely. It was her way of telling him who was in charge: he only deserved her body when he had been reduced to the minimum.

—See what you have and can’t use? —she would say, brushing his lips with a finger—. That’s not for you. That’s for looking at and wanting.

***

Together they found a passion neither of them had confessed before. They read stories. Tales of women who dominated their men, who played with them, who punished them. There was one author they especially liked, a certain Selva Mendoza, whose texts had exactly the tone both of them were after: cold, cruel, and exciting at the same time.

They read them in bed at night, with the phone lighting up their faces. Sometimes he got so aroused he had to ask permission just to breathe спокойно. Vanesa, on the other hand, allowed herself everything. She touched herself without asking anyone for anything, reading aloud the passages that turned her on most, while he watched her clenching his fists.

—This is what you should be able to do to me —she would murmur—. But for that you’d need things you don’t have.

Bruno would nod. He liked hearing her say it. Every humiliation was one more step in the only direction that made him happy.

***

One of those nights, Vanesa had gone out. Bruno had been locked up too long, days without relief, and when he was left alone he couldn’t hold out. He took off the cage with the spare key she allowed him to use only for hygiene, and started masturbating in front of the computer, reading the forbidden stories. The urgency was brutal. He hadn’t finished in weeks and everything in him was begging for release.

He didn’t hear her come in.

By the time he realized it, Vanesa was behind him, watching him in silence with her arms crossed. Bruno froze, his hand still on himself, waiting for the shout.

The shout didn’t come.

—Don’t stop —she said, in a low, almost amused voice—. Keep going. I want to see you.

He obeyed, confused and aroused. Vanesa came up behind him, bit his earlobe, and whispered in his ear while she read on the screen one of his favorite stories, the one about a man who lost control and lost everything. One of her hands went down and grasped him at the base, squeezing just enough so that he couldn’t finish.

—Not yet —she whispered—. You haven’t asked permission.

Bruno moaned, trapped between pleasure and frustration. He’d gone weeks without release and she had him on the edge, not letting him cross over.

—Please —he gasped—. Please, let me.

—You? —Vanesa let out a soft laugh—. Do you think that ridiculous thing can ask me for anything? The men in the stories actually have something to work with. You’re only good for entertaining me.

—I know —he moaned, shaking slowly—. I’m useless. I’m yours.

—That’s the only true thing you’ve said today.

She let him go for a moment, just long enough for him to breathe, and leaned back into his ear.

—I’m going to give you a chance. A countdown. If you come at the exact second, when I say zero, I’ll let you do to me what you’ve been begging for these past weeks. But if you go early or if you’re late, tonight you sleep on the floor and with the cage on for another week. Deal?

—Deal —he said without thinking, because any game where she was in charge seemed perfect to him.

—Very good. —Her free hand began moving over him, setting the rhythm—. Pay attention. Five… four… can you hold it?… three… two…

Bruno clenched his teeth, holding back with all the strength he had. But his body had been at the limit for too long. On “two,” before “one,” he exploded. He soaked the whole table, splattered the keyboard, and almost knocked the laptop over with the jolt.

The pleasure lasted exactly one second.

—You failed —Vanesa said, and her voice had no game left in it.

***

She grabbed his arm and yanked him off the chair. Bruno fell to the floor, still trembling from the orgasm, and she stood over him, looking down at him with a triumphant smile.

—I gave you one simple rule. One. And you couldn’t even manage that.

—I’m sorry —he stammered, curling in on himself—. It had been so long, I couldn’t…

—“I couldn’t” —she repeated with contempt—. That phrase should be your name.

She left him there on the floor for a long while. Not to rest, but so that shame could do its work. Bruno stayed curled up, his breathing ragged, knowing that whatever she decided now he would accept. That certainty, of having no will of his own in front of Vanesa, was what turned him on most of all.

—Lift your head —she ordered.

He lifted it. Vanesa had taken off her clothes from the waist down and sat on the edge of the sofa, spreading her legs.

—Since you’re no use for the other thing, you’ll be useful for this. Come here and show me that at least your tongue is good for something.

Bruno crawled to her. The urgency of the punishment had erased any trace of pride. He began to lick her slowly, carefully, attentive to every reaction of her body. In this he was good. Years of training had taught him to read her, to know when to speed up and when to stop, to do with his mouth what she kept telling him he would never be able to do otherwise.

—Like that —she gasped, tangling her fingers in his hair and pushing his face against her—. This is what you’re good for. This is what I keep you for.

He held her, letting her use him however she wanted, until he felt her tense all over and arch her back against the sofa. When she finished, she shoved him away and left him on the floor again, panting.

—That was good —she conceded, catching her breath—. But it doesn’t change anything. You failed the deal. Another week with the cage.

Bruno lowered his gaze. He didn’t protest. Deep down, he preferred it this way.

***

That same night, already in bed, the heat forced them to sleep naked. Vanesa took the phone in one hand and kept reading Selva Mendoza’s stories, while with the other she touched herself slowly, oblivious to him. Bruno, still burning despite the punishment, tried to move closer, slide against her.

Vanesa’s hand stopped him cold, closing around the cage.

—Have you already forgotten the deal? —she asked, without looking away from the screen.

—No… sorry… mistress —he stammered.

—If you’re so desperate to put something in me, you know where it is.

He got up, opened the bedside drawer, and took out the harness. He strapped to his waist a dildo that was everything he wasn’t: big, thick, firm. He went back to bed and started penetrating her calmly, while she kept reading and breathing harder and harder.

—Much better —Vanesa murmured, closing her eyes—. Imagine this were you. Imagine for a moment that you were good for something.

Bruno thrust into her at the rhythm she set with her hips, giving her with a piece of silicone the pleasure he could never give her on his own. And, curiously, that excited him more than anything else. Being the instrument, not the protagonist. Letting the pleasure pass through him but not belong to him. While she moaned and imagined someone else, he felt complete in his smallness.

When Vanesa came for the second time that night, she put the phone down, gave him a distracted pat on the cheek, and turned over to sleep.

—Good boy —she said, and that was the last thing she said.

Bruno stayed awake a little longer, the cage tight on him and the desire intact. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to finish, that he would have to wait another week, maybe more. And instead of frustrating him, the idea comforted him. He curled up near her, listening to her calm breathing, already thinking about what new humiliation she would have prepared for him the next day.

In their own way, the two of them had found exactly what they were looking for. She, someone to command without limits. He, someone who enjoyed commanding him. Every night was a small negotiation of power in which both won by losing to each other.

They were, after all, the perfect couple.