The Day My Mistress Decided to Punish Me for Real

I got home like any other day, my body battered and my head still at the office. I closed the door quietly, expecting to hear her footsteps, her voice, any sign that she was on the other side. I heard nothing. Only the distant hum of the fridge and my own breathing.

My pulse shot up. That silence wasn’t just any silence. I’d learned how to read it over the months, the way you learn to read the sky before a storm. It meant Bruna was home, somewhere, waiting for me. And that something wasn’t right.

I went into the little room we had by the entrance, the one that any visitor would have taken for a simple storage room. Inside, I took off my shoes, my shirt, my trousers. I folded the clothes carefully, because even that was something she judged. When I laid my underwear over the back of the chair, the cage I’d been wearing for almost a month was left exposed. The cold metal against my skin was already part of me.

I took the collar off the hook. I looked at myself in the mirror for a moment as I fastened it around my neck. The man who had signed contracts all afternoon, who had given orders to half the staff, vanished with that click. Only what she had decided I was remained.

***

I came out of the room on my knees, my palms pressed to the cold tiles. And there she was, just as I knew she would be. Standing in the hallway, looking down at me.

One look was enough to tell me: she was pissed off. Her jaw was tight and her arms were crossed. I lowered my eyes at once, because I didn’t have permission to hold hers unless she ordered me to. She stepped one foot forward, encased in those high black boots that drove me insane, and set the toe a handspan from my face.

I crawled as best I could until I reached it and started kissing the leather, slowly, with parted lips, breathing in the smell of polish and street.

—You took your time today, didn’t you? —her voice was flat, emotionless. Worse than a shout.

—I know, Ma’am.

I didn’t make excuses. Excuses were expensive. She hooked the leash to the collar and, without warning, tugged, forcing me to follow her down the hallway on all fours.

As we went, the lights went out one by one. The house sank into a darkness broken only by a few candles burning on the floor. I knew the way before we got there. We were heading to the back room, the one she always kept locked in case someone showed up unexpectedly. The punishment room.

My heart was pounding against my ribs. What did I do wrong? I replayed the whole day, searching for the mistake, and I couldn’t find it. Her silence unsettled me more than any reprimand. Beneath the cage, my cock tried to harden and couldn’t, trapped, and that dull ache was almost a comfort: at least that part I understood.

***

She led me to the wooden cross propped against the wall. She tugged the leash so I’d stand up and, without a word, cuffed my wrists and ankles until she had me spread open like a star. Completely naked, the cage gleaming under the trembling candlelight, entirely at her mercy.

—I’m angry today —she said, bringing her face close to mine—. Do you know what that means?

I was looking at the floor, a knot in my stomach, not daring to answer. My hesitation gave me away.

—Look at me!

The slap landed before I could obey. She snapped my face to the side and left my cheek burning. The sharp sound echoed off the walls. I understood, from the weight of her hand, that tonight there was no room for games, and that made me even more afraid.

—No, my Mistress —I finally answered, lifting my gaze.

She stroked my testicles with two fingers, gently, almost tenderly, while a crooked smile formed at the corner of her lips. I knew that smile. It was the prelude to something.

Without warning, she drove her knee between my legs. If I hadn’t been tied to the cross, I would have collapsed to the floor for a good while. The pain shot from my belly to my throat. She burst out laughing, a clear, unrestrained laugh, and that, absurd as it may sound, turned me on. Thinking that my pain relieved her was all I wanted to be for her.

—Thank you, Ma’am… —I managed to whisper, my voice broken.

Another slap snapped me back to the present.

—Were you a faithful little dog? —she asked now in a sweet, mocking tone, fully aware of the answer.

—Yes, Ma’am…

My cock pushed against the bars of the cage, desperate to get out, and she noticed. She lowered her gaze to the metal, bent down, and whispered something to it that I couldn’t make out, as if she were speaking to a caged animal. Then she went back to stroking my balls.

***

Then, as if someone had heard my prayers, she took the key hanging from a fine chain between her breasts. She opened the cage with a curt gesture and flung it away. The metal clanged against the floor, and that echo was the promise of a freedom I’d been waiting a month for.

My cock pointed toward the ceiling as soon as it was free. My balls were throbbing, and I no longer knew whether it was from the knee or from the accumulated weeks of confinement.

—Looks like he’s had a rough time —she remarked, with that mocking tone of hers that melted me and terrified me in equal measure.

I hesitated for a few moments. Then I decided to go for it, even knowing it wasn’t a good idea.

—Please, Ma’am… —I looked her in the eyes, those feline eyes watching me from her height—. I beg you.

She came closer until her breath brushed my forehead. My breathing caught. What she was capable of provoking in me with barely a touch was unbelievable. My submission lived in my head before it lived in my body; she knew it and played with it like no one else. I lowered my gaze, unable to hold hers.

—No, no —she said, aggressively, gripping my chin hard—. Now you look at me. —And she slapped me again.

I looked at her as ordered, but my eyes wandered from side to side, unable to focus on any one point. She parted her lips in a half-smile, as if the scene itself excited her, waiting for me to keep humiliating myself.

—Let me come… —I managed to ask, aware I was tempting fate.

She grabbed my face again and looked at me with icy seriousness. Then she spat on me. I felt the spit slide down my cheek, and far from disgusting me, it reminded me how little I was beside her. That was the idea.

***

She walked away, her boots’ heels clicking through the room. Every step was a foreseen lash. I knew my request wasn’t going to come free. She stopped in front of the shelf she liked so much, the one where she kept her toys, and hesitated for a moment, running a finger over the objects. I watched her from the cross, fearing and desiring what would come next in equal measure.

She came back with a crop in one hand and an anal plug in the other.

—Honestly, I don’t need pleasure right now —she said with superiority, letting the words fall slowly—. Do you remember that guy I had a few wines with the other day?

I nodded, a cold weight settling in my chest.

—You can’t imagine how well he fucked me.

Her steps crossed the room again until she was back in front of me. I lowered my head by instinct.

—Why would I let you do that? —she asked, now in a cold, almost indifferent tone.

She freed me from the cuffs, one by one. I stayed in the same position, sensing what she wanted. In response, she gave me another knee to the groin that sent me to the floor at her feet. She brought the tip of her boots to my mouth and I kissed them by reflex, without needing an order. When she moved away, I followed on my knees, kissing each tile she stepped on, as if her footprint deserved worship.

—Stay there —she said, pointing to the center of the room.

***

I stayed kneeling, my hands on my thighs, and she positioned herself behind me. I felt her part my ass cheeks, felt her spit, and then the cold plug brushing against me. I had never liked playing from behind, and that was precisely why she enjoyed it twice as much. Up until then we had only used the small one; the constant threat was that one day she’d bring a bigger one.

She shoved it in without ceremony, all at once, and I felt my strength drain away. A liquid weakness ran through me from head to toe. “That’s your little fox tail,” she used to say, and I knew, without seeing her, that she was smiling behind my back with that cruel streak of hers.

—Don’t move —she ordered.

I heard her moving, climbing onto something. Suddenly she was above my head. I didn’t understand what she intended until I felt the first hot thread fall onto my forehead and slide down my face. She laughed in a way I hadn’t heard in days, a broad, genuine laugh. I closed my eyes, licked up what reached my lips, and my free cock trembled, ready to explode. I didn’t care about anything except the moment she would let me touch myself.

When she finished, she stepped away and remained silent for what felt like endless seconds.

—Like that, on all fours —she said at last—. Begin.

***

Not quite believing it, my hand went straight to my cock and I started to masturbate. The first lash of the crop crossed my ass cheek before I understood what was happening. My skin burned, the still-warm drops sliding down my neck, and humiliation and pleasure mixed until they became indistinguishable. On my knees, I reveled in being completely surrendered to her will.

—You’re not coming tonight —and her words fell like a slab of stone.

—Please… —I begged.

Another strike, thrown with all her anger, jolted me again.

—Not please, and not a fucking thing. If you want to come, it’ll be the day you see another man fucking me —she said, and every word sank into my head—. When you feel you’re about to get there, you stop. You don’t have permission. Understood?

—Yes, Ma’am —I panted.

She kept flogging me while I worked my hand. By the seventh blow I had to stop, right on the edge, holding myself back with every muscle in my body. The crop hovered in the air.

—You’re a slut, aren’t you? —she laughed.

She let me start again when the heat subsided, and ordered me to stop once more just before the limit. Over and over. Edge and back, edge and back, until I lost count of the lashes and only her voice existed, setting the pace. We reached one hundred.

***

At that point, she stopped. She ordered me to look at her, kneeling, while she sat in the high armchair we called her throne. I obeyed. Her fixed stare made me more and more nervous. She saw the excitement slowly drain out of me, but she couldn’t imagine how much my balls hurt, swollen and abandoned.

Then she stood up. She picked up the cage from the floor, where she had thrown it, and caged my still-sore cock again. I put on a pleading, disappointed face and was left with desire intact, trapped once more. She grabbed my hair and dragged me to the barred cage she kept under one of the beds. She forced me inside, crouched against the floor, like the dog she had decided I was.

—You’re going to stay in there, so you remember what you are —she said, locking the bolt—. So you don’t forget where you belong.

I looked at my knuckles against the bars and shrank in on myself, afraid and absurdly devoted. The only thing I wanted in that instant was to lick her feet one last time, to thank her for every lash, every spit, every minute of her attention.

—I’ll be back in an hour for you to make me dinner —she added, already turned away—. And tomorrow we’re going shopping.

She left and switched off the light, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the throb of my sore ass. The marks from the crop lasted a full week, fine lines that for days were the exact reminder of who ruled that house. But that night, locked in the dark, my mind could fixate on only one thing: tomorrow was shopping day, and the humiliation had only just begun.