By the Scruff of His Neck

Literotic asexstories – By the Scruff of His Neck by BunnyBoy9,BunnyBoy9
This is a kinky story about a submissive man and a dominant woman and the night they spend together, finding themselves experiencing a wide range of tones as their evening builds…silly, serious, cute, intense, primal, playful, tender, harsh…two people rushing into kinky fun just a bit too fast together, but also finding some human intimacy through the clashing of their imperfections.

In a nutshell I would say it’s (just barely long enough to be) a Gentle Femdom Romance Novella, but as the heroine of our story is a bit of a sadist in spite of her nurturing tendencies, it’s not a COMPLETELY gentle ride…

So you have the eager and cute–but nervous and inexperienced–young-at-heart subby male, our primary character since the story is told from his perspective, and then the smirking lioness Femme Domme, who plucks him up in her jaws and proceeds to maul him, lick his wounds, dominate him, and love him.

Our hero is a late-blooming neurotic subby guy with mommy issues, who, after a life of repressing and not understanding his desire to be sexually submissive to women, has finally seen, scrutinized, accepted, and embraced the feelings he’s always had deep down. However, he has yet to have a real encounter with a Domina, and has been fantasizing about it for months now, and so the desire and eagerness within him have reached an utter breaking point and are driving him insane. When he finally musters up the courage to go to a kinky event and runs into the heroine of our story–a confident, playful, feminine, strong, sadistic–but ultimately tender and loving–Domina who takes what she wants, he unexpectedly experiences the best night of his life.

P.S. I don’t discuss the age of the characters in the story because I think they could be adults of any age, and actually of a relatively wide possibility of age relation to each other as well, and I encourage you to project the adult ages you like onto the characters. Similarly, you will note that ethnicity is not mentioned. All of the physical descriptors of the characters can be applied to any ethnicity.

P.P.S. The story starts a bit silly during the initial courtship but quickly ramps up into a night of increasingly adventurous kink after the first couple of chapters. Feel free to skim or skip ahead if you aren’t enjoying some of the weird metaphorical conventions I hesitantly experimented with in the earlier sections, but that I mostly leave off with after the story picks up speed.

Finally, I would like to dedicate this story to my future (hopefully gentle!) Mistress, may she sniff me out and lay claim to me!

CHAPTER 1 — APPROACH

Exhaling the last puff of smoke, I stamped out my J in the little makeshift ashtray in my car’s cupholder. Then three more breaths in, three more breaths out, just for good measure. Ok. We were as relaxed as we were going to get. It was time to go in to the restaurant.

On the inside of me, Brain and Mouth sat side-by-side in the central control room of my being:

“Sigh. I love these precious, peaceful moments where it’s just us, Mouth. Me sitting here doing my thing, planning and scheming, and you not getting us into any trouble, simply because there are no other humans to talk to, ya know?” Mouth just yawned in response to this. “Unfortunately, you’re about to be up to bat. Are you ready for this? I’m gonna help you out as best I can, so try to listen to ME and not that trio of knuckleheads that are sure to make an appearance…” Mouth gave a silent thumbs up to Brain. “Ok, good,” Brain confirmed.

Back in reality, I got out of my car and walked towards the restaurant, looking around the parking lot to see if there might be others like me heading inside.

The host greeted me with a smile, “just you, or?”

“Actually, I’m here for the uh…”

“The Munch group?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Of course! Right this way; I’ll take you back.” We walked back to the large room at the back of the restaurant. “Anywhere back here is where you all have reserved, so just sit wherever you like.”

I thanked him and he left, and I stepped past the threshold and into the room. I quickly scanned my eyes to the right…hmm…there’s what looks like a couple having a pretty spirited conversation, maybe I shouldn’t bug them? Or should I? Isn’t making friends sort of the point of this?

…Brain was furiously typing away at his keyboard trying to assess our options, all six of his monitors displaying a variety of information, both new and old. Suddenly, back in reality, we were interrupted by a voice both strong and feminine:

“Well, aren’t you cute as a button.”

My head swiveled towards the voice in an instant. I paused briefly, slightly shocked, the utter perfection of her beauty certainly hit my eyes, though I hadn’t yet really had time to process it given the immediacy of this suddenly very real, very terrifying social moment that we knew might be impending but were never-the-less not prepared for.

I looked behind my right shoulder, followed by my left.

“Yes, I’m talking about you sweetheart,” she giggled at me.

“Oh.” My eyes immediately dropped to the floor instinctively, my hands fleeing behind my back. I could feel myself blushing. “Thanks,” I stammered, looking back up at her. In my defense, I WAS pretty cute. I’m very short, big-eyed, petite but with a little bit of muscle, with a handsome, boyish face and a nice little haircut that suits me. Best of all, the very spankable bubble butt that looked great on my little body. I was wearing black jeans, like her apparently, with my black t-shirt with the bunny and the lioness on it.

Her, on the other hand:

Whoa. Holy shit. She was gorgeous. A goddess. Everything I wanted in a woman.

She was tall enough that you could easily tell she was, even though she was sitting down. Certainly, she had at least several inches on little ol’ me. Big, almond-shaped, dark brown penetrating eyes. Healthy eyebrows. Overall, her face was feminine in shape, size, and…angularity? even without much makeup. Straight dark hair that she wore down, reaching the middle of her back, and a tight black tank top with some sort of cute looking skull design on it, not to mention her sizeable breasts pushing and stretching the fabric into those lovely horizontal lines.

…But her shoulders and arms. She wasn’t built like the short and stocky ‘muscle mommy’ that had grinned hungrily at me in the sex shop last week (which had utterly turned me on, not that I ever would have had the courage to approach her in a trillion years in that setting), but more like Wonder Woman with just a little more body fat; she was an amazon. Oh God, I could have died.

Suddenly on the inside of me, Heart, Self-Loathing, and Penis-Butt–the other three internal drivers that informed my every action in this life–came bounding into the control room where Brain and Mouth sat, running at top speed:

“ABORT! ABORT! ABORT!” Self-Loathing was screaming in an utter panic.

“NO, NO, DESTINY IS AT HAND!” Screamed Heart in a half-crazed refutation, like the desperate poet that he was.

…Penis-Butt was just running around the room in circles at top speed, like the helpless dog that he was.

“CALM THE FUCK DOWN YOU MORONS!” Brain shouted back, backhanding Self-Loathing like the little bitch–and not the good kind–that he obviously was. He furiously swiveled back to his keyboard, typing out words for Mouth to be prepared to say.

Her voice, the utterly perfect blend of tenderness and authority, teasing but affirming, cut through the madness:

“Are you just going to stand there? Or do you want to sit down?”

Silence in the control room inside of me, while my internal drivers processed the ramifications and possible ramifications of this question. “Hmmm…” Brain said. “What should we do?”

A pause. Then Self-Loathing offered:

“RUN AWAY SCREAMING!!!!” Heart, Penis-Butt and Self-Loathing again began running around the control room like lunatics. Heart quick enough ended up on his knees next to Brain: “Maybe he’s right, Brain! Run away screaming, it’s the only path forward that we have! The only path we have, damn you!”

Mouth grabbed the controls:

“We would love to sit down! I mean, I would.”

“YOU FOOL!” Brain screamed at him. “Why didn’t you wait for me to type it out for you!”

Muting his IRL-microphone, Mouth shouted back at him “There’s no time damn you! And I can’t process your instructions properly with these three spazzoids going ape shit!!”

“Sure, all of you are welcome to sit down,” she giggled at me. “Do you have multiple personality disorder or something? I mean, it’s ok if you do, I have a lot of, ya know, neurodivergent friends…” she giggled again. It was the best sound I had ever heard!!

I quickly responded: “No! I’m just…a bit anxious, I’m sorry, I just moved here.”

“That’s ok…and take a seat already! I’m Donna.”

Heart tugged on brain’s sleeve vigorously “Write this down, write this down! ‘Oh nice, I’ve been LOOKING for my Donna!'” Brain gave Mouth the death stare: “Do NOT say that.”

Mouth to reality: “Oh nice, I’ve been looking for my Donna!”

Donna rolled her eyes at me. “I hope you can do better than that. Also, noobie, be careful that you don’t cross the line between plausibly deniable flirting and hitting on someone, you know the difference between a Munch and an orgy I hope.”

“Sorry. I’m really sorry. I do.”

“It’s ok. It was a cute line…”

I started to smile, until she finished–

“…the first time I heard it, which was about a thousand times ago.”

“Right, that makes sense,” I said. Mouth looked at the rest of the crew with grimace emoji and shrugged, while Heart face-palmed. Penis-Butt, who had been standing so close to the view-screen he was almost touching it, suddenly turned around and grabbed Brain by the ears– “BRAIN! I NEED THIS WOMAN! ALL WE’RE DOING IS BORING AND OFFENDING HER, FIGURE SOMETHING OUT, MAN!”

“We’re not good enough for her,” Self-Loathing offered matter-of-factly.

“WE HAVE TO BE!!!!!” Screamed Penis-Butt, dropping to his knees and screaming upwards dramatically.

She kept looking at me, letting it be more and more visible on her face that she was sizing me up, considering me. Then, she sort of cocked her head to the side.

“Anyhow…since you still haven’t bothered to sit down yet, and you appear to need a trip to the bar yourself anyways, want to make it up to me and buy me a drink?”

“WE’RE SAVED!!!” Penis-Butt shouted, as Heart concurred with “YES! YES!! A THOUSAND TIMES YES!!!” and started shaking Brain by the shoulders so hard he couldn’t think straight.

“Get off me you idiot!” Fortunately, well-timed backhand number two from Brain snapped him out of it.

And so, gathering their composure mutually for once, liberated from the chaos of their simultaneous desire and lack of confidence, or at least, perhaps, their general social ineptitude, by the clear and easy-to-follow suggestion of this amazon queen, Heart, Brain, Penis-Butt and Self-Loathing said in totally converged harmony with Mouth:

“Yes, Donna, I would love to buy you a drink.”

CHAPTER 2 – COURTSHIP

A couple drinks later, I was feeling a bit tipsy, definitely very horny, utterly eager to offer my total submission, and still generally giddy from my recent loss at arm wrestling with this amazon beauty, a suggestion she had made after giggling about my “cute little arms.” Of course, I reminded myself to keep my expectations in check. This was a Munch (not an orgy), and it was meant to be a socially platonic space for connecting with other kinksters, which made sense as a tacit rule to be honored in a strict way. Hell, the way I understood it, one might even worry that it’d be frowned upon to sexualize a Munch in the context of say, one’s own erotic literature, let alone IRL.

“Did you get to talk to enough other people?” she offered, lowering her chin and smirking ever so barely perceptibly at me. The question caught me off-guard.

“I…” I stammered, trying to figure out the ‘right’ answer. “I said hi to this dominant guy at the bar, and I, I met a couple of people. But. I, do you, I can go if, or if–”

“You’re so adorable. You know that? And also, I don’t know if I’ve ever met ANYONE as desperate as you are in my LIFE.”

My entire body stiffened at this brutal call-out. What the hell was I supposed to say?!

“I…I…” I stammered like an idiot, but she cut me off:

“But you’re in luck, because unlike most women I like desperate boys…”

“I…you do? Isn’t it gross?” I asked in surprise.

“Oh, utterly, it’s disgusting.” She said matter-of-factly. Then she just sat there, staring at me intently.

I had no idea what to say, but she remedied that for me by suddenly narrowing her eyes and sneering at me:

“Actually, ya know what? Why don’t you just leave me alone.” Her words hit me like a Mack truck.

“I…,” I half wanted to cry, half wanted to die. “But I thought you said you like–”

“Well, I changed my mind,” she hissed. “BYEEE!” she waved at me exaggeratedly like I was an idiot. What the hell just happened?

I was overcome with sudden embarrassment, and I was utterly confused.

“Ok. Sorry. Thanks,” I stammered out sheepishly as I quickly stood up. Again, what the fuck just happened??? I shoved my chair in and turned around, half stumbling when the chair leg hit my foot, turning quickly to get away. I couldn’t remember which way the exit was. I could feel my anxiety starting to quickly crawl out from where it had surprisingly remained so quietly dormant for most of the night. I took a step in a direction, then stopped, unsure, looking around wildly.

Then I heard her giggling.

I whirled around, wondering what was going on.

“You goose, I’m just messing with you.” She laughed as I just stared at her wide-eyed, my mind in a total spin.

“You are??” I asked.

“Yes, duh…why do you think I’ve been talking to you all night if not because I’ve been enjoying it.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“You are enjoying it??” I asked stupidly.

“Is it that hard to believe?” she laughed. “Are you really lacking self-confidence that badly?”

I broke eye contact with her, contemplating her question…but she interrupted me:

“Anyways we can talk about it later slash never…I’m ready to get out of here. We’ve been here far too long. If you want…you can come back with me to my place,” she said, standing up and walking over to me. “No expectations or uh, strings attached of course,” she smiled at me playfully and reached down, tugging lightly on my ear lobe. Another wham kind of moment, and this one was the most exciting, tantalizing, and terrifying in terms of ‘I might fuck it up’ yet.

I was literally frozen with desire and fear, feeling like I was at the precipice of everything I had been obsessively fantasizing about to no result but the loss of my sanity for FAR too long now.

“But…but,” I stammered–and for God and the Devil know what reason–said: “aren’t you supposed to not say that to me because we’re at a Munch?”

Silence.

She just stared down at me. Then she blinked twice deliberately, clearly not pleased. What had I done?! Oh lord God in HEAVEN what the flaming actual FUCK had I DONE!? She could have been sexually abducting me from my dear mother’s FUNERAL and I would have wished for the grace to not question it!

I thought I was doomed, but then:

“Oh sweetie,” she said, looking right through my eyes and into my delicate little soul, “the Munch ended 45 minutes ago. You’re all alone with me now, out in the wild. Look around you.” She stared at me while I did. It was true, I was just now realizing that there was literally nobody in the entire back room but us, not even a waiter at the moment. I suddenly felt strangely vulnerable; it scared me and turned me on at the same time.

“I, I, we’re the only ones here?” I dumbly stated the obvious, having no idea what else to say.

She stared into me and smiled playfully, just a bit coyly, cat-like: “I don’t think you could run away from me if your life depended on it.” Then her smile turned hungry, challenging me, and she lowered her voice: “But you’re welcome to try, with those little legs of yours…”

I just stared at her, wide-eyed. I had nothing. At this point I couldn’t even stammer out a word. So, she continued, leaning down a little, getting closer to my face and lowering her voice again, and she gently placed her hand on my cheek as she continued, a wave of mostly pleasure but also fear coursing through my body:

“At this point, sweetie, you’re just a cute little bunny who’s wandered into the den of a hungry lioness. And right now you have to decide, do you want to go home…with me… or not?” She emphasized those words, tenderly, knowing what I so badly needed. Then she increased the intensity of her gaze, which I managed not to break from. I knew I had to say something, but what?

“I…I…I…” I couldn’t find another word. She released me by cutting in:

“I know you’re feeling a bit helpless, pet.” My brain melted that much further at all of the implications of the word ‘pet,’ as she took her hand off my face.

“I’ve got you absolutely in my jaws, don’t I?” it seemed like she was fully realizing the truth of the fact at the same time I was. And then she reached over and, sating my overwhelming starvation for touch once again, put her hand on the side of my neck and gave it a gentle rub. She sure did have me. I closed my eyes, unable to offer any other reaction to the feel of her hand, which felt like some radiant light piercing the cloud of a profound loneliness that had been obscuring my zest for life for years. For me it was immense, anyway for her it may have just been a giggle. Oh, how I loved that giggle.

Raising her voice again a bit and now stroking my cheek she said, “Do you want me to release you, baby boy? Or do you want to come with me? All I need is for you to muster up the courage to give your verbal consent for me to take you, cutie, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

My insides were on fire at hearing her words! How did she have the balls to be hitting on me so flagrantly, saying such wild stuff to me? Wasn’t she worried about someone hearing her? I was as aroused and excited as I was terrified. How confidently, sexily, predatorially she had control of our interaction! Pouncing on me after hours of restrained courtship, reading me the whole time like an open book, teasing my insecurities with her well-calibrated words, coaxing me to accept her subtle dominations with her irresistible tenderness, toying with me in every way, all possible because of her utter and accurate confidence in my already tacitly given submission!

I gathered myself. I wanted this. This was happening. Time to own it:

“Yeah, I will. I…consent.” It sounded ridiculous, and saying it out loud freaked me out a bit. “To go home with you at least!” I cried out desperately as an addendum to my signature, suddenly wondering what the hell she might have in store for me.

“Good boy.” She said, instantly and rapidly releasing her hand from me, as at the same time the waiter walked into the room and towards us, breaking the spell she had cast.

To my surprise he continued right past us and our table, but she said loudly “Check please,” and literally stopped him with an arm grab, much to his obvious startlement.

After a second of looking back at her, surprised, he smiled and said: “Yes ma’am. Right away.”

…I think he liked it.

CHAPTER 3 – FAILURE

She closed the apartment door behind us and threw her purse and sweatshirt on the couch. She turned around and stretched her arms up, exhaling, her hairy armpits fully on display for me to melt over. Her powerful but feminine, thick looking thighs, wide hips and perfect ass filling out her black jeans to perfection. She lowered her arms and then sent them outwards, gesturing to her abode:

“Here we are cutie-pie, home sweet home.” God, every ounce of verbal affection from her was like a breath of oxygen for my suffocated heart.

It was a nice but simple one-bedroom, carpeted, with the spacious living room opening into a small kitchen, and a hallway presumably leading back to her bedroom and the bathroom.

“Would you mind taking off your shoes?” She asked.

“Of course,” I replied.

“Anything to drink? A glass of wine perhaps?” She trailed into the kitchen, leaving me near the entrance.

“A glass of wine sounds perfect!” I chirped.

“Coming right up…” she said, pouring each of us a healthy glass of cabernet.

She handed me my wine, looking down at me from her higher vantage point with a smile escaping her perfect face. “So…should we get started?”

Here I was. The dream. Finally. It was happening. Time to shine. Or, ya know, at least time to stammer.

“Sure, I should, er, I could get started.”

“Ok sweetness,” she giggled at me, as she put her hand first on my head, then caressing it down the side of my neck, then sliding it down my chest and tummy slowly before wrapping around to give my ass a little squeeze, all while I stood there stock-still. This was the best touch of the night yet. I felt the blood rushing to my penis, half erecting me.

“Shouldn’t we…change clothes first, or something?” I said, which segued into me suddenly being extremely worried she might see the little bulge poking out below. But she looked me right in the eyes:

“Leave it up to me, or leave it entirely.” She said, matter-of-factly.

“Sorry, I’ll leave it up to you,” I said, sheepishly.

“Firstly,” she said, assuming a slightly formal tone, “let’s discuss your limits and our safety precautions. Are you familiar with a basic traffic light system?”

I told her that I was, and explained to her my relatively predictable list of hard limits, with her reaction notably delighted at my confirmation that I was, in fact, ok with her feminizing me and dressing me up as she saw fit, should the night decide to take that turn.

On the other hand, she seemed very hesitant about my confessed desire and ability to receive “moderate, bordering on severe” emotional sadism, degradation, and humiliation, despite my professed eagerness. She said that it might catch me off guard, especially when mixed with her tenderness and affirmation. I told her I wasn’t worried.

“Ok…” she said, a bit hesitantly. “I’m going to trust you that you can handle the sadism then, but there’s no shame in stopping it or slowing it down if it gets too intense. Use your traffic lights the moment you need to and err on the side of caution. Remember, it’s just roleplay.”

“Yes, one-hundred percent.” I confidently affirmed her words.

At the end of the discussion, she finished with:

“From here on out, when I give you instructions, confirm in response with ‘Yes, Miss.’ Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss.” I replied.

“Good boy. I don’t like to waste breath, so try to listen and follow instructions the first time around, and use context clues when I keep the instructions brief, yeah?”

“Ok. I mean–yes, Miss.”

“Good. Ready to get started actually now?”

“Yes, Miss.” And as soon as I said it, without wasting an instant she said:

“Knees.” The word hung in the air, with a firm underline.

I stared at her blankly for a moment, then slowly started descending to my knees, waiting for her further affirmation that I was doing the right thing. Instead, she just stared at me, so I continued my descent, meeting her gaze the entire time. I came to a rest on my haunches, grateful that I was wearing my comfy, stretchy jeans. I sat back further, pressing the tops of my socked feet flat against the floor, with my hands on my thighs and my butt on my heels, looking up at her, awaiting further instruction.

“Good.” She turned and started walking down the hallway. Unsure if I should follow, after a few seconds I instinctively started to rise up a little, and almost as if she had eyes in the back of her head she called out “Stay…” without turning or slowing her gait at all. I eased back down.

She entered her room, and I could hear her rummaging around. She came back holding a chair, which she placed at the end of the living room opposite me and sat down in, maybe twenty feet away, with her arms crossed and her legs spread just slightly wider than shoulder width. Then I noticed she also held a black riding crop. Gulp. She looked like a queen. I wanted her to be my queen.

After looking at me for a few seconds more, she said: “Crawl to me.”

“Yes Miss.” Saying it, submitting to her command, already was turning me on as I leaned forward, putting my hands out in front of me and moving my gaze to the floor. I started into motion. “SLOWLY,” she added, causing me to pause, calibrate, resume slowly.

My mind raced, wondering how best I could turn her on, please her in this moment, wondering how brutal that riding crop was going to be. This was my first opportunity to prove my worth as her devoted servant; I did not want to let her down. I wanted to be perfect for her.

I arched my back just a bit, raising my lovely jean-covered ass into the air just a little, trying not to be cartoonish about it. Slowly, I put one knee in front of the other, one hand in front of the other, keeping my gaze on the floor, moving slowly and with purpose, trying to be meek, submissive, sexy, patient, eager…all of the things I already was, wanted to be more, and hoping she wanted me to be. I still felt like I should change clothes or something, I certainly at least wanted to take my shirt off, but it seemed like maybe that was to come later. I re-focused on my crawling.

I think she sensed the intensity of my purpose because she giggled when she said “a little to the left, goofball.” That giggle again, bright, high-pitched, feminine, beautiful. Like a mischievous flower in sound form.

I stopped, and I let out a giggle myself. My heart had a thousand boners for her in this moment. Who was this goddess who could so easily dominate me and intimidate me without even trying, and then bring me to complete ease by bringing levity into the situation? She always seemed to manifest some otherworldly intuition about what I was feeling. I couldn’t believe it. I suddenly felt so comfortable and it just made me want her so much more, to please her so much more, to love her so much more. I pivoted a few degrees to the left and resumed my journey.

Suddenly, her feet came into view. Her utterly lovely and adorable feet, which I was seeing for the first time. Cute little toes, and shapely, with a bright red polish. Hairless. I stopped and started instinctively looking up and sitting back, thinking I was done.

“No…” her voice cut through my action, causing me to immediately reverse course to crawl position.

“Wait for my command pet. You aren’t done with your current instruction until I say so, do you understand?”

“Yes Miss.”

“Good Boy.”

God, I think I could have died just to hear her say the words ‘good boy’ to me. There was no chance I could ever get enough of that.

“Now, without moving, tell me, how was that?”

“It was fine, Mistress.”

“Fine? Or wonderful?”

“Wonderful, Mistress.”

“I’m not your Mistress, pet, we’re just friends, if even that. ‘Mistress’ and similar titles are reserved for boys that I love. You will call me Miss.”

Just as much as my heart sang just seconds ago when she called me a good boy, so did it drop in the pit of my soul at hearing these words. A tiny part of me almost wanted to burst into tears. Of course, what she was saying made sense. She just met me. Of course she didn’t “love” me. I had nothing and she presumably had a million desperate boys who wanted to please her, and I was merely one of them.

“Sorry Miss,” I stammered out.

“Don’t let it happen again. It’s VERY important to me that you call me as I wish to be called. If you’re that desperate for me to play with your ass, the least you can do is pull your head out of it first.”

Ouch. I said nothing as I processed her harsh words, and the sudden embarrassment in realizing it was apparently apparent that I wanted to have my ass played with. Before I could formulate a response, she continued with:

“Helloooo? Anybody there? Earth to dip-shit? You want this more than anything in the world, don’t you?”

I did, which made her words sting that much more. The irritated casualness with which she suddenly derided me. What happened to ‘Good boy?’ Obviously she was deliberately toying with me, leading me along on some calculated roller coaster like the helpless puppet I was. I suddenly felt a wave of hatred for myself for my fragile, eager heart. I suddenly hated rather than loved that already I was utterly hers, hers to reject or keep, to hurt or to love, to do whatever she wanted with, on any level. It was pathetic. I had let myself become enthralled, in the most literal/etymological and the most figurative senses of the word.

Her piercing voice reminded me I had a reality outside of my internal monologue to attend to:

“I need a response,” she said tersely. I immediately acquiesced, instinctively:

“Yes, Miss.” Though I noticed my voice cracked a bit.

“Yes, Miss WHAT.” She demanded.

“Yes, Miss, I want this more than anything in the world.” I managed meagerly, recovering my vocal footing, trying to recover my mental footing as well. She continued:

“Good. Now, regarding the degradation we discussed earlier…are you, or are you not, actually prepared to learn the humiliating truth of your nature?”

A small wave of fear coursed through me. I took a second to contemplate her question. I was certainly no longer sure I was ready for whatever she had in store, but hey, now or never, right? I can do this.

“Yes, Miss.” I spoke, perhaps too confidently, as I tried to regain composure. I cleared my throat, as if to communicate regaining stability. But she only sneered.

“Ha! When I am finished with you, little boy, you will be TRULY aware of how worthless you are, not only how worthless, but also how weak, stupid, and aimless, how utterly little you are, with only the grace of my whimsy offering you hope to be anything at all of value to a woman.”

Wow. After a quick pause, she continued:

“Did you catch that, idiot? Or am I going too fast for your tiny brain? Do you actually understand what a worm you are, or are you too afraid to face it, or perhaps your hideous head is still in your ass?”

It was a lot. My brain and heart were swimming at her piercing words, seemingly dripping with more venom with each sentence she spat at me. The implications of each sentence stung a different part of my psyche, making me feel stupid, worthless, small, unattractive, in such fast sequence I could barely process any of it coherently. She was right–this was catching me off guard, and she had barely even begun degrading me. I tried to respond:

“I, no, my head…I mean, yes Mistress…Miss…I mean Miss!” I cried at her desperately, jolting a bit in my crawl position to emphasize my correction. Fuck. She wasn’t my mistress. She was just ‘Miss’. I wasn’t worthy of ‘Mistress’. I was just a worthless boy. A crappy sub. A piece of shit. Maybe even someone who should blow their brains out.

…but I was freed from the dawning of my darkest thought by the vicious crack of leather against my skin:

“It’s ‘MISS!'” She slapped me in the cheek with her riding crop, the hiss of her voice harmonizing with that of the slap, the ensuing crack echoing against silence. She struck me three times more, alternating rapidly between my cheeks with perfect precision: “MISS!” Crack. “MISS!” Crack. “MISS!” Crack.

My arms were shaking. My cheeks were burning like fire, searing pain. There was certainly no longer any question about how brutal the riding crop was going to be. I knew they probably weren’t but it felt like my cheeks were bleeding. My knees hurt too, but it was the least of my concern. I was starting to lose the ability to think straight, save for noticing that I was starting to feel like I wanted to cry.

“You haven’t forgotten your traffic lights, have you?” She called to me in a more neutral, but not exactly gentle tone.

“No Miss.” I replied, trying to sound as confident as I could.

“Good,” she said, “Just making sure.” She paused for a few seconds, as if to give me one last chance to issue a yellow or red light, before continuing:

“Now. Where was I. Ah, yes. You are shit.” She paused. “Do you understand? You are a disappointment to women. You are a disappointment to men. And you really don’t deserve to be here, do you?”

“No, Miss.” She strode right over the end of my words:

“You don’t deserve to be here with me, in my apartment like this. But I took pity on you. I saw a scared, stupid little boy and I wanted to take him home and see if I could make him my slave for a day, or at least maybe my pussy rag, because I was bored. But you obviously aren’t anywhere near that useful currently, that would be your maximum potential, which I’m starting to wonder if you’re even capable of reaching ever, let alone tonight. Currently, you’re not even close to worthy of being my pussy rag, being my slave is laughably out of the question, in case your little pea brain was fantasizing about it.”

My mind was reeling. Her words hurt so much. The way she referenced the night we had been having together made it feel like she wasn’t roleplaying, but that her words were real, genuine. The way she spoke them, they must have been. I felt so sad, so hurt, so worthless. Somehow I had believed that eager submission would be enough, but no, I wasn’t even worthy of offering that. Of course I wasn’t. Why was I stupid enough to assume that I was? I felt like nothing. I wanted to die. I wanted to not exist.

“The harsh truth of it is…that you’re really just a time-wasting worm. Unfortunately, after a couple of drinks I had the idiotic notion that I was in the mood to add to my gigantic worm collection today, but I’m starting to regret it.” And with her last words, she struck me the hardest she had yet with her crop, once again across my cheek.

I suddenly felt myself letting myself fall yet another rung lower, submitting to her indirect insistence that I do so. I felt utter despair, utter shame and worthlessness, intense and qualitatively nothing like I’d ever felt before. It was like I was a speck of dust. Like I barely existed. A worm. It was surreal. Painful, but also becoming numbing in a way that almost had a faint pleasantness to it.

Almost.

Ruthlessly she continued, warping my reality further:

“There is nothing special about you. Not one, single thing. Virtually worthless you are.” I winced and braced for another crack but it didn’t come. Then she paused, coming closer to me, and suddenly her voice turning to a pitying tone:

“And you know it, don’t you? Because, in fact, you’re so afraid of everything, and so aware of how worthless that makes you, that writhing around in the fact is the only thing you can even do with your little balls to turn yourself on, isn’t it?”

I had certainly gotten a little turned on at various points in her tyrade, including when she had said she maybe wanted to make me her pussy rag, but predominantly I was started feeling a desire to flee this exchange. The things she was saying to me, they hurt. They made me feel strange, fragile. And it was not the case, that my sense of my worthlessness was the only thing that turned me on…was it? Her voice snapped me back to reality:

“Well?” She demanded.

I suddenly couldn’t even remember the question. Something about me being worthless. I was starting to feel a bit exhausted, but I knew I had to say something:

“Yes, mi–” I started to whimper, but she trampled over my words with more of her own.

“You’re here, because your balls and dick are so tiny–I assume they actually are–that you need a woman to confirm for you just what a little pussy you are. Teeny tiny little guy like you? Huh? Answer me!” She thwacked the crop against my face harder than before, the sting of the leather against my skin harmonizing with the sting of her words against my psyche.

My arms were trembling. I couldn’t think straight.

“Yes Miss…” I mumbled out, her words still dancing like little demons through my mind. She had poked at all of my insecurities viciously, turning me on a little bit, sure, but also filling me with shame and overwhelming my tether to sane reality. This isn’t what I wanted. I wanted to please her, to serve her, to worship her. I wanted to be a good boy, not a worthless boy. Why on earth did I tell her I could handle this? Duh, I wanted to make her happy. But now I was feeling scared, vulnerable, confused, crazy, and I was even feeling like I was about to start to get angry. But her words interrupted my internal monologue once again:

“So once again, I ask: Are you SURE, little boy, that you actually want to learn all of this truth about yourself, or would you rather go home and masturbate to unrealistic femdom porn from a safe distance, like the sad, lonely little sack of cowardice that you are?”

“I–” I started, but again she cut me off before I could think or speak.

“Knees! And look at me. I can tell you’re about to fall over because you’re so weak.” She spat the last word at me, disgustedly.

I still couldn’t quite think straight, but at least I caught the relieving instructions to sit back onto my butt in my seated kneeling position, which I gratefully took immediate advantage of. As I did so, I’m not sure I had even processed half of the words she had said. But again, it was vicious. Actually mean. She was trying to hurt me, and she was. Or maybe she was ultimately just trying to control me? Whatever she was doing, it made me feel too fragile. A real part of me was loving it a little bit–it was intense, it made me feel submissive, emasculated, it made me feel worthless in an arousing way–but moreso it made me feel worthless in a way which made me feel genuinely bad.

As I sat back on my heels with my bum, hands again resting on my thighs, she came back into view. I was again stunned by her beauty, in awe of her gravitas. Terrified of her wrath. This recently exposed sadistic side of her was recoloring her appearance to me. She had seemed so warm and playful earlier, now she exuded only a cold harshness and a severe strength. Suddenly I realized I owed her a response, and tried to re-focus my mind on reality.

“I…yes, I mean, no, Mistre–” I fumbled out, having been more lost in my head than usual this time.

I swear she grew six inches taller and glowered at me like she was Medusa herself as she swiftly strode over and, kneeling down right in my face, gripped my hair with iron fingers and yanked my head ever so slightly, her other hand brandishing the crop in my face: “‘Miss,’ you idiot” she hissed at me.

“It’s ‘Miss.’ Call me ‘Mistress’ one more time and I swear on everything holy and unholy, I’ll send your sorry shit-for-brains ass home in an Uber, because you’re obviously such a useless boy that it isn’t even worth my time to beat you senseless for your insolence.” She released her grip harshly and stood back up. “Do you understand, shit-for-brains? All you have to do is listen and follow instructions and you can’t even get my name right, you moron.”

‘Idiot’ had already been getting under my skin…if anything was a source of self-confidence for me, it was my intellect. ‘Shit-for-brains’ hit me even harder, especially the viciousness with which she said it. I was very much starting to be NOT ok, but I couldn’t muster the courage or wherewithal to issue a safeword.

She continued:

“I bet you think you’re so smart, but you’re clearly not even smart enough to hope to be my pussy rag. You’re just a useless, clueless boy, with a tiny penis and a tiny brain to match your laughably tiny body.”

It was too much; I did not like it. She continued:

“You aren’t worth my time. You aren’t worth anyone’s time. I bet absolutely nobody really loves you, because there is nothing lovable about you. To be honest, there’s not even a good reason for you to exist.”

I think the last thing she said caught even her by surprise, as she looked a bit horrified at hearing herself say it. Regardless, these last words from her had caused something to just snap inside of me. Some inner well of deep shame, or something, just broke to pieces. And I got angry. I got really angry. It was clear by the look on her face now that she was realizing she had overdone it. But it was too late. I was unsteady. I felt the tears welling up inside of me. My poor little boy heart, my mommy issues, my need for affection and validation from a strong woman, my shame, rage, and fear at having disappointed this goddess, my sense that she had just absolutely crossed the line and I owed it to myself to defend myself, even though she hadn’t technically broken a single communicated limit nor had I issued so much as a yellow light, it all came welling up, and the dam broke.

I immediately stood up from my kneeling position, still being forced to look up at her, and shout-cried “Then what are we playing for if I don’t have a reason to exist! I just want to please you and worship you and I’m trying my best! Stop being so mean to me, you’re hurting me!! You’re hurting me!!” I screamed it like a scared little boy, bursting into tears as I did so and shaking. I paused for a second and then I burst into tears all over again as I instantly dropped back to my knees and vocalized my latest realization:

“But I do need you and I don’t want you to throw me away so, so, I’ll figure it out! I’m sorryyy!” I wailed like a little kid, now also leaning forward and pressing my forehead to the floor and with my fists banging the ground beside my head. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry Miss! I’m sorryyyyy….” And then it broke harder. I sobbed uncontrollably, suddenly a wet, helpless, brainless mess. “Do whatever you want with me but please don’t make me go home yet, I just want to be here with you.” I threw my hands back behind me, towards my feet, and turned my head, putting my cheek to the ground, keeping my eyes closed to maintain my half-escape of reality. I just cried. And then I stopped, and just stayed there.

Silence. Several seconds passed and I opened my eyes. She was squatting next to me.

“Aw…fuck. It’s ok sweetheart. You didn’t technically do it so just to make it official I’m gonna call a redlight for us.”

“No!” I protested, sitting up, suddenly instinctively eager to preserve what we had now that I had gotten the chance to cry about it.

“Hey, hey!” she cut me off. “YES. Listen to me for a second. I’m sorry. I’m actually REALLY fucking sorry. I got so carried away–”

“No, I fucked up, I’m sorry!” I sobbed at her as I sat up, but she just said:

“No. Listen to me.” She transitioned from her squat to sitting down next to me, and gently guided me into her. She began to cradle me on the floor, stroking my head and shushing me. I curled up between her long legs, which she wrapped around me, as she held my body against her tummy and chest. She gave me a little squeeze and then began stroking my cheek with her hand. Then she put a hand on my curled-up thigh and began caressing it lovingly. I had just gone from almost the worst to almost the best I had ever felt, in the span of less than half a minute.

“No baby boy, mommy fucked up. It’s my fault sweetheart. I was too rough on you. I lost control. I got lost in the scene and I was no longer taking care of your needs, and that means I was a bad domme. I’ll be more gentle with you my little plum, I promise.”

“But…ok. But…” I paused. I felt some relief, knowing that everything that had just occurred wasn’t all my fault. I also felt relief just to be out of the scene. The half real, half role-play nature of what we had just been doing was so intense I felt high.

“I…” she continued, her voice tinged with guilt. “I suspected you were trying to push yourself further than you should, and I tried to warn you and you didn’t listen…multiple times. And I think I wanted to punish you for that. To rub your face in your overconfidence there. But that’s not being a good domme. Forgive me.”

Suddenly so much power had shifted back to me. I felt relieved, like I had just escaped the new reality I had been contemplating where I was, in fact, utterly worthless in the ‘for real’ way.

I knew it wasn’t the ‘right’ thing to say, but the question escaped me abruptly anyways:

“But, do you like me or you don’t like me?” I looked up at her, eager for a reply.

“Oh sweetie. Of course I like you. I think you’re adorable, and sweet, and eager to please, and those are all qualities I absolutely love in a man.”

My heart skipped about a thousand beats.

She rubbed her hand up and down my chest and arms. Then she pinched my nipple a bit hard.

“Agh!” my failed attempt to constrain my cry just made it even more (hopefully adorably) pathetic.

She continued, leaning over and putting her hand on my face, her mouth right next to my ear, and lowering her voice, so close I could feel the moisture in her breath, she said: “You know I don’t ACTUALLY think you’re worthless right? If I did I wouldn’t be spending my valuable time with you, sweetheart.”

“Oh…oh, thank you.” That was all I could manage. A surge of good feelings–affirmation, love, desire to worship pulsed through me at her words. I half swiveled my body towards her and clutched my arms around her waist like a little baby, curling up even more fetally.

“It’s roleplay, love,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“But it seemed so real,” I said. “You didn’t really mean those things you said?”

She giggled. “Well, yes and no, pet. I think it’s pretty complicated. We can unpack it together more sometime. But you should know that just because I like being mean to you doesn’t actually mean I don’t appreciate you, ok? I just said those things because I knew they were going to hurt you, not because I believed them. Or at least, not entirely.” She giggled mischievously as my mind raced and got just a bit fearful again, trying to gather a list of the things her clarifications could be implying.

“Part of why I want to make you feel worthless is so that we can both enjoy the thrill of me picking you back up again,” and she kissed me on the top of my head and sort of gripped my jaw as she said it, then sticking her hand through the collar of my shirt and giving my chest and nipple a little squeeze, blowing my mind.

“Ok,” I said, brain half-melty. Whatever. I wasn’t sure I was totally clear on everything yet, but…at least, her answer was good enough for me to happily descend into cuddles over, because at the least I felt clear in the obvious fact that she never really saw me as actually worthless, in terms of having a reason to exist. Or whatever. Bah. Thoughts.

She didn’t say anything more but continued to touch me, and after a few seconds I let myself presume that I was allowed to just collapse and relax into it, letting my mind go.

She caressed my upper body, she squeezed me, she ran her fingers through my hair, occasionally tugging on my ear or nipple, or kissing my head or ear, for maybe ten minutes. Every once in a while her hand lingered again to my thigh or the bottom of my tummy, causing massive blood flow to my cock. There was a point where I became worried at how apparent my erection was, even as the tight denim held it painfully and effectively at bay, but it seemed like she was ok with it.

At some point in the middle of this cuddle heaven I let my curled up legs splay out through the cocoon her body had formed around me. I would have signed away my rights to this woman without hesitation. I finally felt at peace. Like everything was ok. Like I was ok. I felt relief, release, bliss.

Finally she offered, “Ok pet. Are we feeling a little better now, now that we know back in reality how much mommy lion loves us?” and she kissed the top of my head again, emphatically.

“Yes, Miss” I offered meagerly, stirring from my blissed out cocoon.

She just held me like that for maybe a minute more, my head on her chest, her legs wrapped around me, her hands upon me. I loved the way she smelled. I was sad this was about to end but I was so grateful for it, so rejuvenated by it. Surely I was better after this then I was before the lashing she gave my heart. I felt so grateful for her…which evolved into wanting to please her…which evolved into wanting to be submissive to her while pleasing her…which evolved into:

…I suddenly had a deep, hungry, powerful desire to go down on her. Why not at least offer?

“Miss?” I prompted.

“No, we’re not playing right now. This is a timeout. We had a redlight. You can call me Donna.”

“Ok Donna…I–”

“I told you I didn’t think you could handle the degradation you goose. You didn’t listen to your Domina.” She suddenly had just a little bit of that firmness and irritation return to her voice.

“I’m sorry.” I conceded sheephishly.

“It’s ok,” she said, lightening again. “Sometimes you gotta break a few eggs to make an omelet.” She tugged on my earlobe playfully, making me giggle. “C’mon love, let’s take a breather and nurse our wine a little bit.”

She slapped at my legs a little to indicate she was getting up. I let her help me up, and we walked over to the Kitchen to get our wine. My heart had had about all it could take for the time being, and despite missing the moment to ask for a chance to worship with my mouth at the altar of Miss’s womanhood, I was grateful for the break.

CHAPTER 4 — REDEMPTION

We stood on her balcony, sipping our wine. She stared off into the city skyline. She had a nice view of the city.

“Hey…” I stammered. “I’m so sorry for pretending I could handle something I couldn’t.”

She gave a little half-smile and half looked at me. She seemed to have just a bit of sadness.

“It’s ok sweety. This kind of play takes us to intense places sometimes and it can be hard to anticipate. You need to know your own limits…but you told me at the Munch that you were new to exploring your submissive side, I knew what I was getting myself into. I’ve been trying to explore my sadistic side, and I haven’t figured it out yet perfectly either. It was genuinely starting to piss me off that you weren’t following my instructions but that’s no excuse for me to lose control. You messed up, sure, but I did even more so.”

“I get it,” I offered.

“So, it’s not on you,” she finished. She looked back out across the view from her balcony, quiet, still, contemplative. Not the playful ball of enthusiasm turned dominant ball of enthusiasm she had been earlier…

I wanted to help, I wanted to say the right thing. But…what was the right thing? Was it whatever came naturally? Whatever turned her on? Whatever made me a good submissive?

“…But, I guess you would have had more fun playing with someone who didn’t fall apart like a fool, right?” I half-laughed at her, nervously, suddenly reverting to my de facto validation-needing state.

“Yes and no,” she said. “I like getting to be your first real experience with a Domme, that’s something.”

“Thanks!” I said. “I’m grateful for it.” I tried to add earnestly, sincerely.

“I think you’re very sweet. And cute….and…” she took a moment to sigh. “I think you’re very emotionally needy, and fairly inexperienced, and can’t handle some things that I wish you could, and I think you talk too much and overthink things even way more too much, but hey.” She paused, then “I guess that’s me too sometimes, and I guess I’m attracted to that maybe so, yeah…whatever, you’re alright kid, everybody’s alright.” She seemed almost like she got a bit emotional at the last part there. It was an awkward moment for her, only the second moment where I had seen her seem a little bit uncomfortable or vulnerable, or anything less than perfectly poised, frankly.

Suddenly…I realized what a jackass I had been being. I wanted to try and level up my perspective on this dynamic. The right thing to say was whatever a good friend would say.

I said abruptly and declaratively: “I’m sorry, I just realized what a jackass I’ve been.”

She laughed out loud. The first time I heard her really laugh, even though she had giggled several times through the night. “And why’s that?” She asked, innocently, earnestly, turning to me with a bit of new energy.

“I’ve been taking for granted this notion that you’re the dominant and I’m the submissive and that that means I can just flail around like an asshole and let you manage the entire interaction, and, and I want to take care of your needs as an actual person, too. And be a good communicator, or listener, or, take responsibility for burdening you, or…maybe not exactly any of that exactly as I described it, but–”

“Apology accepted. I appreciate it. I do. Hug it out.” I feel like she might have been stifling some amount of what she might have wanted to express to me in this moment, but she also seemed genuinely defunked at least a little by my neurotic quasi-apology, so it seemed like a win.

We hugged. Like acquaintances. And then broke the hug and came apart, just standing there. Sipped our wine.

I suddenly felt filled with dismay. It was over. It was DEFINITELY over. I had killed the mood, then butchered the killed mood. Then farted on the butchered, killed mood. Then rolled around in it. Then killed it again. There would be no more play tonight. Hell, maybe not any night EVER AGAIN with her, hell maybe not with ANY–

“So…do you still want to play? Or is that enough for one night?”

My heart leapt into action. She was giving me another chance! And here I thought we were done!

“Yes!” I said, quite a bit too eagerly. “I would love to.” Calibrating down.

“Ok” she giggled.

I hoped, for about the tenth time tonight, that that giggle indicated she was charmed by the painful obviousness of my neurotic eagerness, especially when it stood juxtaposed with my pathetic self-loathing, and not just, I don’t know, amused by my actual worthlessness or whatever. It would be great to unpack all of this further with her someday, like she said. When we’re married. When we’re playing all the best co-op games on Steam, when she loves me, maybe when we have cats and kids and–

“Pet? We’re gonna work on staying in the moment and not getting lost in our heads just a bit, yeah? So we can remember what to call me?” She smiled at me and raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. Yes. I am committed, I am going to do it. Mindfulness!”

“Ok…” she giggled. God, I loved the sound of it.

“What else can I do better?” I offered, as we moved back in from her balcony.

“Well, for starters,” she said, “I will say to your point about crying like a jack-ass, that I don’t exactly have a fetish for my subs bursting into tears, so if we think we’re headed for more of that, let’s ease up for the night…”

It stung my heart a little to hear again what I already knew to be true, that I had disappointed on some level, but I was filled with vigor in the percolating new knowledge that she obviously still was open to play. I still had plenty of questions. For example, suddenly, wouldn’t it make SENSE if she liked her subs bursting into tears? Regardless, as long as there was to be no more over-indulging of the self-loathing voice, then we should be ok, and GOD I don’t think I could stop myself from trying to win her desire to interact with me, even to save my life, anyway. Her implied statement here was gentle, but firm and clear–enough drama for tonight, so if we’re gonna have fun, let’s just have fun. I was up for the task.

“I totally get it, sounds good. I’ll yellow or red light this time, and look, if it happens again, we can just stop and call it, but I’ll try my best to avoid any of that and be on the lookout too,” I said.

“Ok…sounds good…and…I’ll probably just generally leave off the heavy emotional sadism for tonight. I have plenty of other fun plans for us anyways,” she hinted with a wink that gave me a giant heart boner.

“Ok. Awesome. Yeah, I get it. Thanks for walking through that with me. If I’m going to get emotional again, I’ll stop us. I…still want you to put me in my place, Donna, I still want to submit, serve, and please you.” I felt myself immediately blushing as she repositioned slightly to show she was listening to me.

“But yeah, I am sensitive, and if you dial down the sadism and give me a little more reassurance and affection, it might be smoother. I want you to dominate me as much as you want, treat me like a little bitch if you want (blushing harder). And…you can still feminize me if you want (she smiled at this while at this point, I felt like I must have been beet red)…anyways, I am not trying to dictate your plans, I am ready to serve, let’s go!” I threw a little clap into the air, trying to end my rambling and escape my shame, bounding back away from her towards our mostly empty wine glasses, instantly worried I was not looking like the adorable puppy I wanted her to see me as.

“Well hold on, hold on. Take it easy. Let’s take a breath,” she called, causing me to turn. “Everything you said sounds good; I’m taking a moment to process it. Why don’t you go pour us another glass of wine,” she said.

“Yes Miss” I said, leaping up and bounding over to the side table where we had left the bottle, then doubling back to take her glass, trying to remember I was still exuding a little too much enthusiasm and not quite enough care, eager to have even the smallest task to show my value with.

“Sorry.” I said, returning.

“For what now?”

“I don’t know, just, I’m trying to be a good listener and not be too…”

“Too what? Just be yourself.”

“Too enthusiastic? Too much, myself? Or, that’s not quite what I mean.”

“I brought you back home with me because I LIKE YOU dude, RELAX.” She grabbed my head again like I was a little brother or something, and half pulled me towards her before letting me go. Then she stared at me dead in the eyes, grinned, and gripping the back of my head and pulling me towards her as she leaned down, kissed me on the mouth. Aggressively. For several seconds. Our first kiss. I nearly died.

She released me and I said… “oh…oh god. Thank you, Miss…Miss Donna.”

“Ok goober,” she giggled. “Relax. Drink your wine and calm the eff down so we can have some fun without any more drama.”

“Ok ok, thanks, sorry.”

“And STOP SAYING SORRY.”

“Sorry. Sorry! Ok. No more ‘sorry’. I swear.”

“Well, just so you know I love it when you say sorry while we’re playing…” she raised an eyebrow at me and I nearly died. “But while we’re taking care of each other as friends you don’t need to say that, yeah?”

“Ok. Sounds good.”

“Do you pinky promise?” she said with raised brow, offering her pinky.

“Pinky promise,” I said, entwining my notably smaller pinky with her own. My heart came twice but I insisted on remaining calm.

“Ok. Well I’vvvve gotta go to the bathroom, so while I do that, why don’t you sit in that chair, sip your wine, and try not to think about anything, ok?”

“Ok.”

“Oh. And pet? We’re playing again, so please acknowledge your acceptance of your status utterly beneath me, as my adoring pet?”

“Yes Miss. Affirmative!”

“Two things.”

“Anything Miss.”

“One: Let’s leave off with the weird and corny English. I don’t want to hear ‘affirmative’ come out of your mouth again as long as I live, do you understand?”

“Yes Miss.”

“And second…I’ve suddenly changed my mind about you sitting in the chair, instead you better be completely nude and kneeling on the floor by the time I come back. You can still drink your wine. Understand?”

My heart was racing. Fully nude?! “Yes Miss.”

She stood up and walked out, taking her wine with her.

I stood up, sighing, exhaling. Ok. No matter what, I told myself, as I started undressing, this had been a good night. I had first succeeded in slaying general inertia, bonus points for the result of that being a social outing, main quest points for that being pursuit of the dream life as a subby kink boy, and somehow we not only met the girl of our dreams, we sort of learned to calibrate ourselves at least a little bit and…I dunno, all we have to do is stay calm, not give her any stress or drama, at least no matter what, if we can’t be a good sub, be a good, I dunno, person. And if we never see her again, we feel grateful for the blessing that she has been. Gratitude. Peace. Acceptance. Of whatever may be.

Anyways. Hmm…this is nice, this…nakedness, is nice…I feel free, vulnerable, submissive, kinky! And I like being on my knees. Anyways, no stress. I’ll just wait here…

…er…and wait here…

…and wait here?…

…for I have no idea how long, but what FELT like 30 agonizing minutes. I started wondering if I should investigate, or call out to her? It’s been forever. What if she was passed out?

“I’ll be right out pet; I hope you’ve stayed in your position!” she suddenly called out to me. Was this woman a psychic?

“Yes Miss! I haven’t moved a muscle!” I called back, suddenly proud of myself and my obedience.

“I don’t need the clarifications pet!” she called back, lightly admonishing me. “I expect…perfect…behavior…already.” She continued more slowly, clearly doing something to slow down her speech in the middle of her speaking.

“Yes Miss.” I called back. Ok. I could take notes. I didn’t have to melt down. I’m Ok. I mean, yeah, I’m ‘OK.’ Not amazing. I mean, I have to do what she says…that’s the only way I can bridge some of the gap. The only relationship even possible between a peasant like me and a goddess like her. I mean, she’s obviously not just any woman either. She’s gorgeous, smart, confident. She’s a very nice person. Well, also a very mean person, technically. But SHE obviously has enough empathy and self-control to fucking play with someone without breaking down and sobbing like a lunatic. Agh. Ok. Right, it’s ok. That’s the whole point, it’s ok. She said she LIKES YOU and STOP apologizing, you loser! She likes me! Go back to not thinking. No more thinking…but, oh she’s so wonderful. Too wonderful for words. She’s so…nurturing. So perfect. I want to give her every last ounce of me, perform perfectly for her. No more crying no matter what she gives. Can we promise that? She said she would ease up on the degradation, thank God, I think. She’s not going to hurt us or maim us or whatever we were afraid of when we firs–

“Hello, pet. Thinking too much again?”

My mind stopped as my heart raced, but I stayed looking forward, not sure if I was allowed to turn my head. In the welcome dispelling of my neurotic internal monologue, I also realized I was getting really drunk, and really horny, and really happy, and wanting to be as submissive as fucking poss–

I felt her hand on my chin. She moved my head, gently, towards her.

And when I looked up, way up, and saw how she looked now, I thought I was going to faint.

CHAPTER 5 – LEARNING TO LISTEN

She stepped back a few feet away from me and folded her arms as she looked down at me. I looked up to her before, but she towered over me now. She wore stunningly unique, tall, black furry boots styled to look like the legs of a lioness–for the feet, massive, wide paws with several wide, sharp looking claws poking out from the ends. The bottoms must have been padded or something because I hadn’t heard her slink back into the room at all. I was so turned on, and I couldn’t believe it–just like my favorite t-shirt that I had very deliberately worn tonight, I was the helpless bunny, she the prowling lioness, and she had me firmly in her jaws–by the scruff of my neck. Out of the tops of her boots just a few inches were visible of her fishnet thigh-highs, leaving plenty of her utterly divine thighs fully exposed. She wore black lacy panties, rather traditionally feminine, after the boots the most surprising part of her outfit to me in a sense. God, her legs were amazing, especially where they crashed into her pantied pubic area. Her mound pushed ever so slightly against the tight-fitting delicate fabric, taunting and teasing my grateful eyes. She was strong, smooth, feminine…I began hungrily imagining kissing, sucking, licking her thighs, then her inner thighs, then the treasure that lay between, or her ass and anus if she would prefer, suddenly fantasizing again about tasting her. I was so eager to do whatever she would let me do to worship her perfect body, realizing instantly how gratefully and hungrily I would have licked every inch of her.

Continuing upwards in describing the most wonderful, mind-blowing visual experience of my lifetime, I was also seeing her bare stomach for the first time, atop which her ample breasts practically escaped from a black bra top, the pink edge of one of her nipples just barely peeking out to tease me. The straps of her bra graced and accentuated her shoulders perfectly. Her neck and collarbones somehow seemed to lend her both further delicacy and further strength, and her face was the familiar beauty I had been falling in love with all night, yet still newly transformed by wild make-up that gave her an almost otherworldly and primal appearance, she had thick mascara, heavy dark eye shadow, and eyeliner, her already gorgeous big eyes looked like something out of my wildest dreams. I helplessly allowed my eyes to roam up and down her lengthy figure, the image of her filling me with love, desire, and an intense craving to both submit and worship, especially, I continued to hope, with my mouth. She stared at me stoically for several seconds while I adored her with utterly grateful eyes; I felt relieved when I wasn’t punished for this, sensing she was allowing me this moment on purpose.

Suddenly she spoke: “Are you going to be my complete and utter slave for the rest of our night together?” She stared at me.

“Yes Miss.” I spoke. I had never been as sure as now that I wanted to be. I was so unworthy of even being in the presence of this utter Goddess that I would have to be literally insane not to want to be her slave.

“And what do you think of your Domina’s beauty, slave?”

‘Your Domina’? But I had to answer the question, as truthfully as possible, which happened to be as emphatically as possible, and she hadn’t exactly told me to CALL her Domina so maybe I should stick with ‘Miss’?

Looking into her eyes with total adoration I said “I think you’re the pinnacle of beauty, Miss. It is the greatest privilege of my life so far to look upon you as I wait to serve you.” I felt immediately a bit embarrassed because it sounded so over-the-top, but as soon as I had said it I also realized it was literally true. Speaking my intentions made me feel that much more adoring, that much more grateful, loving, submissive, eager to please. And, also, damn! Where did those words come from anyways?! Suddenly I felt like I was the goddamn Shakespeare of subby little bastards. I think she felt some of the truth of my words too, because she straight up exposed a gigantic smile, I think a bit more than her dominant veneer wanted to.

…But just as suddenly her face hardened, and she glared at me hatefully. She advanced towards me, giant paws striding silently but menacingly across the ground, and leaned way down and grabbed my hair in one fist and jerked my head back, getting right in my face.

“Are you trying to emotionally manipulate me?”

I was terrified. “No Miss Domina, I just want to speak my truth, the truth of my total adoration for everything about you!” I plead.

“DON’T lie to me worm.”

“Never Miss, I would never! I worship the smell of your breath, Miss.”

“Do you really?” she asked simply, but pulling the fuck out of my hair even harder with her unwavering grip.

“Yes Miss, yes!” I cried.

Easing off a bit on the tug on my hair but not loosening her grip, she took a huge and audible inhale and HUGHHH she breathed in my face, very close to my nose and mouth.

So much for performance, I literally involuntarily moaned. Fortunately, she liked it:

“Good boy,” she said. Victory!

She stood up again and walked a few feet away from me. “Now boy,” she began, almost regally, her back still turned to me, “I am going to give you a reward in advance, for your total submission to me through the night. Do you accept this reward?”

“Gratefully Miss, thank you!” I fussed out, wondering what she could mean.

“I won’t make you grovel, since you’re being such a good boy now.” She ended her sentence with an uncharacteristic breathiness, femininity, still firm, but oh-so-tender. And she turned her head, looked behind herself at me, for a moment she seemed almost submissive, utterly feminine, with a sexy, flirty smile plastered on her face, her butt beautifully positioned angled up a bit at me, and she reached back and unhooked her bra, wriggling her shoulders to let it fall to the floor. The big breasts I had been politely trying not to ogle all night like the manic, horny little goblin that I was were now exposed…and then she turned around so that I could see:

Her breasts were bare alright. I wasn’t picky, but they were perfect. Big, with a medium-sized nipple that sort of perked upwards just a little bit. It made me want them in my mouth that much more. I took in her entire upper body again. Her collar bones were simply pulchritudinous serving as accompaniment to these perfect breasts. Her shoulders were shaped by the divine Goddess herself, strong, protective, sturdy, healthy, yet somehow only to the utter point of retaining a stark femininity as well. Once again, I drunk in with my eyes how perfectly her arms showcased muscle, but also with the perfect smudgeon of fat. Her forearms were a particularly masculine part of her arms, while her hands were the most feminine part. I tell you if I hadn’t been spiritual already, it would have happened in this moment, seeing the object of my heart’s most maddened desire in her heightened personal sexual expression, a sort of total femininity undergirded by an almost masculine, no–a primal–strength. I greedily let my gaze follow downwards again, once more drinking in the sexy, wild lioness boots flanking her perfect legs against fishnets and lacy black panties. It was almost too much to take. She was a goddess, and I was in heaven, simply by being allowed to look at her. Which, it turns out, I no longer was.

“Look DOWN.”

There was no “pet” at the end of THIS sentence. She was firm as thunder, and I obeyed swiftly just as my heart immediately began racing, remaining utterly still in terms of my seated kneeling pose, but shooting my eyes completely downwards and my head slightly so, as I also shot my hands from the tops of my thighs to behind my back for good measure. The 3.3 seconds I had been rewarded with being allowed to see her perfect breasts was over and I was fully back in slave mode. Instinctively I called:

“Sorry Miss!”

“No Pet,” she said, very gently “you didn’t do anything wrong,” I could hear her walking closer and closer to me as she continued to speak: “I wanted to share my beauty with you because I like you. I feel an intimate connection with you, and I want to dominate you, hurt you, heal you, and love you.” When she said ‘love you’ she put her hand on my head.

I was hers. I was so utterly hers. I wanted to do everything she wanted me to do, then help her dream up new things for me to do just so I could serve her that much more.

“Thank you, Miss,” I said, almost getting emotional in the love and desire to submit and serve that was now starting to overwhelm me, “you have no idea how grateful I am to serve you.”

“Yes, I do.” She said swiftly, admonishing my naiveite gently, once again. “But that’s ok.”

“Sorry Miss.”

“That’s ok, shut up now. You talk too much. Do you understand?”

“Yes Miss.”

“Good. I’ll remind you one last time that I like you pet, but the more you talk the more you risk ruining it, understand?”

“Yes, Miss.” She began pacing while I retained my floorward stare. Definitely did NOT want to risk ruining her liking me. Time for me to STFU.

“Good. So, you’ve matured a little bit already on our journey together, and now that you’re a big, self-actualized boy, you want to make mistress happy, right?”

(Note: While we obviously haven’t checked in on our internal-driver friends in the central control room in a while (Heart, Brain, Mouth, Self-Loathing, and Penis-Butt), rest assured they’ve been neurotically fighting for control of how the hell to handle the scariest, highest stakes feeling moments of the scariest, highest stakes feeling day of an already scary, high stakes feeling reality the entire time. In this particular moment, I wanted to briefly revisit the control room to explain how Mouth suddenly went full rogue, and, without consulting literally ANYONE else in the room at all, said the following in response to Miss’s most recent words):

“But…I thought you said you weren’t my mistress?”

…It was like time stopped. Brain opened his jaws in slow motion, screaming “N O O O O O O O OO O O!!!!” Penis-Butt shriveled up into a ball, and Heart literally fainted. Then two seconds passed.

“What. Did you just say?” She stared at me, her disbelief thinly veiling her boiling agitation.

“I’m sorry mistress!” I begged. “Miss! Whatever you want me to call you. My head wasn’t on straight. I mean…yeah. Sorry. I’m grateful for you mistress, and I’m sorry!” I begged out the end in climactic desperation. Right…she LIKED it when I apologized for fucking up when we were playing. Hopefully I did ok.

“That’s ok.” She moved next to me and again placed her hand under my chin, and tilted my head up so that I could make eye contact with her. I melted. She was still ok with me. But what was I supposed to call her?! I still didn’t know. Miss? Mistress? Domina? Fuck!

“Now pet,” she began, “My desire is to take care of all of *MY* needs, as permitted within our agreement that my reign is unlimited outside of our discussion of your hard limits, which to my recollection was plenty detailed and thorough. And we agreed to tone down the degradation after our initial mishap, so that should cover everything, yes?”

My heart started beating a million miles a minute. What was she going to do to me? Was I supposed to cover decapitation in my hard limits that I had been carefully thinking about for so many years while I patiently prayed for this, the best moment of my life that I thought would never come? Was I destined to burst into tears again? Am I about to die? All of this lust for a dominant woman just to be chop–

“Pet? Hello? Earth to Pet? I thought I told you that part of being a good pet is listening.” She was actually annoyed. Fuck.

“Sorry. I know we just went over this. Ah, yeah, I think I will be ok, as long as, like I said, whatever, uh, thing you might use on me is small and gentle, and, I guess, ah, I can always just yellow or red light and so I should be fine, to proceed. Yeah.” Cool. Real smooth, Cyrano.

“Good. I like you pet, I really do, but I’m going to like you more when I’m done with you, when I’ve sculpted you a bit, and shaved off some of your rougher edges. Isn’t that what you want darling? For me to sculpt you a bit so that I like you more?”

My heart, my Penis-Butt, all of it skipped a beat, especially at the word ‘darling’ which somehow felt even more intimate and tender than the other names I had been eagerly receiving all night, even collecting the non-mean ones to reminisce about later, like they were Pokemon: ‘Goose,’ ‘Goober,’ ‘Good boy,’ ‘Sweetie (which I fancied as evolving into Sweetheart),’ Cutie (which evolved into Cutie-Pie), Pet, Slave, and my personal favorite, ‘My Little Plum.’ Anyways: Yes, yes, I wanted this opportunity for her to sculpt me into being more appealing to her more than anything, obviously.

“Yes, Miss, I do. I really, really do. Thank you for being so patient with me, Miss.” She smiled when I said this, a small victory. It felt wonderful to feel like I had likely pleased her in any given moment, even when it was just a small victory.

“You can call me by my true title, my preferred title, ‘Domina,’ that I normally reserve only for pets that I truly love, but will make an exception for you because I like you so much already. It’s a special treat for you tonight, for you being such an earnest and eager boy, and such a sweet and good boy, do you understand?”

“Yes Domina!” I said gratefully.

Chaos inside. Mostly pleasure, but still chaos. There it was again, the emotional pain, the emotional pleasure. She was giving me a reward because she ‘liked me so much’ already…but it was normally reserved for the boys she ‘truly loved’, implicitly not me. This complex cocktail she kept serving me, getting me drunker, drunker, drunker even as the wine had a different effect with the same name.

She had obviously figured out how much of a slut I am for hearing ‘good boy’ over and over. It stung me to remember yet again that while I was utterly head over heels in love with her and would have signed away anything I ever could have owned or achieved to guarantee my position as her beloved pet, she by very nature was above me in this regard, and it would have to be only by grace and good behavior that I could per chance someday become “truly loved” by her. Of course, who knew what she was exaggerating or flat out making up, I suppose, just to manipulate me, but when I was so utterly at her mercy anyways, without her even really trying much, and so utterly in love with BEING at her mercy, I suppose it didn’t really matter much anyways, did it?

“Ok pet, so the good news is, you don’t have to do too much darling. You just have to follow simple instructions. I know you want to please me, right?”

“Yes, Miss. I mean yes, Domina. Oh yes Domina I do, more than anything, I truly do.” I said it like a desperate confession.

“Good. So. I want you to listen. Just sit, and listen. You don’t need to verbally respond, just nod your head for right now, ok?”

I nodded up at her. She started walking in a circle around me, slowly, methodically, while she spoke her prescriptions, her remedies, for me and my behavior out loud:

“Good. So, no speaking except for the words ‘Yes Domina.’ ‘Yes Domina,’ any needed traffic lights, and other than that you just listen. Listen, and–I don’t care–I don’t think you’re disciplined enough yet to look where I want you to without fucking something else up (note: ouch), so for now look wherever you want. Look at the floor, ogle my body like the little pervert you are, whatever is going to help you listen better and say nothing beyond ‘Yes Domina.’ Ok?”

I could hear the genuine but contained frustration in her voice, her need to vent. I felt some emotion, but was learning to find some sort of calm. There was no call for me to speak, so I didn’t have to perform intellectually, at least for the time being, at least beyond listening…

“Are you listening pet?”

Suddenly I was again. Right, there was a call to speak ONE thing. I looked at her and nodded. “Yes, Domina.”

“Good.” She kept circling me. “I need you to understand. I desire both to love and to hurt you. For a variety of complex reasons. Mostly I want to love you, but I give you so much and yet you frustrate me and let me down as well. In order to feel like I can love you, I need to also be able to punish you for your transgressions. More to the point, I’m a bit of a sadist, and while it’s more important for me to nurture you and yes, even give you pleasure (“!!!”), I also want to hurt you, like, just for fun. So, if you want to make me happy, boy, and if you want me to like you, all you have to do is follow all of my instructions, and swallow a little bit of pain. Understand?”