The promotion that ended with him on his knees before me

Your arms were covered to the elbow in long black latex gloves. A heavy metal collar hung around your neck, the kind that reminds its owner with every movement. Over your eyes, a tight blindfold cut you off even further from the world outside. The rest of your body was naked, exactly as I wanted to see it.

Men tend to have that mistaken impression that the entire universe revolves around them. And yet they hide their own center, their cocks, because deep down they know all their privileges are fragile. That afternoon you had received a promotion and decided to spend the entire difference in your salary on a session with me.

I thought it was an interesting idea. Aside from a prior appointment I wasn’t going to move, I canceled the rest of my plans and prepared something special for you. I didn’t want you to leave my apartment feeling satisfied or proud. I wanted you to leave humbled.

The shortest path to humility always runs through humiliation. As soon as you crossed the door I ordered you to strip and throw yourself onto the cold floor of my kitchen. The icy tiles shrank you in a matter of minutes, exactly as I had planned.

I watched you fold your clothes with ridiculous care, as if those garments still mattered, as if the man who wore them still existed inside my house. I didn’t rush you. Anticipation is part of the punishment. The longer you spend thinking about what’s coming, the softer you become inside, and I enjoy every second of that waiting of yours.

When you were finally naked, I made you stand in the middle of the kitchen, arms at your sides and eyes on the floor. I walked around you without touching you, letting the sound of my heels against the tiles set the rhythm of your nerves. Every time the echo came near, you held your breath. Every time it moved away, you let it out slowly, grateful for a truce that never really existed.

—Crawl to me without lifting your stomach off the floor —I told you.

I was several meters away, seated in my leather recliner, watching you the way one watches an animal that still hasn’t learned its name. For the occasion I had chosen the full outfit: a fitted leather jacket, unzipped halfway to create a neckline so you could imagine what my breasts would look like free. My legs covered in latex leggings, black riding boots up to the knee, and heavy jewelry decorating my neck.

I wore the same red lipstick you once told me your childhood teacher used, during a previous session. I did my eyes to add a few years to myself, to look harsher, more unreachable. Every detail that would make your insignificant brain perceive real authority.

—Lick —I ordered, when you finally reached my feet.

As soon as your tongue touched the leather of my left boot, I set the sole of my right one on your neck and pushed. It feels good to crush insects. But that afternoon I wasn’t aiming for your skull, but lower, at what you really wanted to protect.

Then I dressed you properly, in the uniform I assign to all my slaves, except for one piece I was still saving for the end. When I saw you ready, kneeling and trembling, all that crossed my mind was your promotion. Your place in the company hierarchy, your little victory over your coworkers, the praise, the congratulations, the pats on the back. None of that means absolutely anything when you’re in front of me, your Goddess.

***

I leaned over you just enough for you to catch my perfume, that scent you associate with me and no one else. You felt the brush of my jacket’s leather against your shoulder and knew, without my saying a word, that the real part of the afternoon had only just begun.

I took your cock in my hand and squeezed. You felt the tips of my nails dig into it as, betraying you, it began to harden.

—Today you’re leaving here knowing exactly where you stand.

I tugged on your shaft while you sobbed. Your tears, instead of softening me, fed my sadism. I laughed in your face, as I usually do, and shoved you back to the floor.

Slowly I rested the soles of my boots on your testicles.

—Next time I want them shaved, slave —I said.

Between whimpers, you nodded.

—Speak up, trash! —I insisted, and stepped down harder.

My neighbors must have heard you scream. Probably for a couple of blocks around, they could hear your “Yes, Goddess,” broken and shrill like a child’s.

I stepped a couple more times, measuring the pressure with the precision of someone who’s been doing it for years.

—See? That wasn’t so hard. You need to learn manners if you want me to accept your presence in my sanctuary again, idiot.

I stepped with anger. I stepped thinking of all the men who at some point in my life thought they could stop me, correct me, put me in a place they had decided for me. If I could, I’d wake up every morning crushing the balls of little men like you.

After a few minutes I let you go. I moved away as silently as I could and stayed watching you from the other end of the kitchen. A small lagoon of tears ringed your face against the tiles. Through the sweat, the perfume you’d probably bought on impulse still hung in the air, in a pathetic attempt to rise above your own mediocrity.

I wondered whether you had managed to get a girlfriend. Whether some woman could make you feel what I made you feel. I don’t think so. No one touches your soul the way I step on it.

***

I came back to you carrying a bucket full of ice cubes. One by one, I began placing them on your dick. I couldn’t hold back the laughter when I saw you jerk your hips at the first one. I grabbed you by the balls and growled in your ear.

—Still. Don’t wet my floor.

Your cock shrank down to a size I didn’t remember seeing in a long time. I dug my nails into you again, but this time into your balls. I know exactly how much pressure to use without drawing blood, though I never promise you won’t leave hurt.

You started up again with your spoiled-brat howls, so I decided to shut you up in the most humiliating way I know. I sat on your face. I rubbed my latex-clad ass against your open mouth while continuing to squeeze what little masculinity you had left, until I’d reduced you completely to nothing.

—Your time is running out, bitch —I said, without getting up—. And that means you need to be stored properly.

From the inner pocket of my jacket I took out the piece I had saved: a metal chastity cage, flat, the kind that squeezes without leaving room for dignity. It had cost me a considerable part of what you paid, but it was worth every cent. If I managed to turn you into a regular slave, I could stop worrying about a couple of bills a month.

—I’m going to seal you up so no one else can touch you —I explained while I closed it over you—. I want you to come back, understand? I want you to return begging me to free you. You decide when. I’m not going to crawl for you. But if you ever want to see your micropenis free again, you’ll have to earn it with your Goddess.

The metal was cold when I locked it over you, and you felt the click of the padlock like a sentence. That little piece was worth more than any speech. As long as it existed, I would live in your head every hour of the day: in meetings, in your office elevator, every time you thought of another woman and desire slammed against a steel wall.

From beneath my thighs I heard you thank me, your voice muffled and wet. I tapped the cage lightly, like someone leaving a parting gift, and dressed you again with calm.

***

You paid your tribute with a more than considerable extra. I imagine your lunches for the week will suffer, but I didn’t care in the slightest. The only thing I could think about was which new toys I’d try with you now that I had that budget entirely at my disposal.

I ordered you to leave and you obeyed with the docility of prey that knows there’s no escape. You walked out thinking about your schedule, maybe calculating whether you could take a whole day just to see me. Already imagining the excuse for canceling the date with that girl who had treated you so well in the previous days, all so you could be tortured again by your Goddess.

You felt the pressure of an erection trapped by metal and almost let out a moan as the elevator descended through my building. Every floor you went down took you farther from me and, at the same time, tied you tighter. That’s the trap they never quite understand: they think they’re leaving, when really they’re only just beginning to belong to me.

However, as you crossed the elevator doors, one single image was enough to shatter your ecstasy. Your boss, the same man who that very afternoon had signed your promotion, was coming in through the other entrance to the building. With a smile just as stupid as the one you had arrived wearing an hour earlier.

And then you understood everything. The promotion, the salary difference, the privilege you’d boasted about so much in front of your coworkers: none of it was truly yours. Like you, he had also come to learn what humility means. And like you, he would do it on his knees, on my cold tiles, begging for something only I can grant.