Hello, My Pet

I didn’t even bother knocking as I slowly made my way towards her door. It was always open, always inviting, always welcoming to my arrival. Like an evil mastermind, enticing new victims into their lair each day. Easy to enter, impossible to leave. Just like that, except theevil mastermind was a woman who looked more like a librarian than anything else, and thenew victims was just me. Always the same fool, entering willingly to the lair of his own frustration. His own denial.

Closing the door, my fate sealed for the evening until she released me, I quickly stripped. Jeans, shirt, briefs, and socks all in a neat pile by the front door.No clothes. This was the first lesson I had been taught by my Mistress. While I was in fairly good shape, I certainly took some time being so openly naked and exposed in front of her, having personal body images as we all do. But now, having a profound respect and trust for the woman I willingly submitted to, I happily disrobed.

Moving to her entrance carpet, I felt myself sink into the comfortable fabric, kneeling in place. Sitting on my heels, back straight, I held each elbow behind my body, presenting.Position, my second lesson. Each session we had together, this was how she found me, often left in place while she finished her dinner, or simply for her amusement. Countless hours I found myself in this position, Mistress ensuring I could perfect it in my sleep. Which, depending on how late she kept me, was often the case.

At first I hated it, kneeling in place endlessly was so boring! I wanted to be played with, used, feel her touch on my body, even punished. Anything was better than being left here, stuck in place from a simple command by my Mistress. But as our dynamic progressed, learning more about one another, I grew to understand the importance of what I was doing. Mistress was instilling discipline in her sub, absolutely, but it also gave me time for reflection.

Kneeling here, focusing on staying perfectly still, I felt the outside world melt away. No work, no stress, no internal struggles. One by one they, like my clothes, were piled at the door. I was here for one reason, to serve my Mistress. To have fun. To let go. Now, my time in position was something I looked forward to, even needed. My breathing steady, I focused on each aspect of my body, sinking into the role required of me for the evening.

I was ready.

Mistress, however, was not. Being ‘on time’ was not one of her skills. Somedays it was work, things put off, left to the last minute while she scrambled to finish the day. It always made me smile when she placed me under her desk, feeling those nimble fingers run through my hair, listening to her faintly mumble “what the fuck…” under her breath reading an email. Resting my head on her lap, I would simply wait, Mistress was always worth it.

If it wasn’t work, it was often cooking. In fact, it was usually cooking. I’d lost count of how many times Mistress had poked her head into the hallway, cheeks stuffed with food, trying to finish eating before I arrived. Often my first task involved helping with dishes that had piled up, rolling my eyes as I listened to her exclaim this was her plan for the evening all along.

Today must have been a good day, hearing Mistress walk past me in the hall. She rested a hand on my shoulder, that comforting touch of hers always radiating heat through my body. A phone in her hand, I heard a faint feminine voice on the other line, most likely her mother. Bending down to kiss my forehead, she continued on, leaving me in place.

I blushed, the feeling of her lips stuck to me, seeping into my mind. I’d never understand how easily she could do that to me, rendered feeling seventeen again, that nervous excitement coursing through your body. Resting her hand on my chest, cupping my chin, playfully biting my ear, Mistress seemed to be able to break me with the smallest gesture. I was hopelessly and completely devoted to her in these moments…her sly little grins confirming that she knew exactly what she was doing to me.

I knelt comfortably for another twenty minutes before Mistress returned, mouthing ‘sorry’ as she sighed, unable to end the conversation. I bit my tongue as her foot, covered in nylons hidden beneath her jeans, made its way up my thigh. Fixated, the brimming excitement in my body having an effect on my breathing, I watched as she slowly moved towards the third lesson Mistress introduced into my life shortly after submitting to her.

Cage.

Chastity…isn’t for everyone. And for the first few times she had me wear one for her, I was indeed everyone. Frustrating, impractical, punishing, and a giant pain in the ass, there were many downsides to wearing a cage. However Mistress took so much pleasure in it, knowing that throughout the week I could literallyfeel her control around my cock. A constant reminder, each morning groaning while I strained against my metal prison.

With sparkling eyes she would listen each week, one hand gently cupping my stretched and near swollen balls as I described how frustrating it was. How much I felt this ache inside of me, this endless and ceaseless desperation. Almost like a drug to her, she drank it all in, giggling at the pictures I’d send at her “request”. It was not a request.

Yet, as with my position, and most of the lessons Mistress set before me, I grew to love it. The aching feeling I at first dreaded became a companion of mine, the familiar metal cage resting between my legs a part of me. Straining, my cock desperately trying to break free from this almost self-imposed prison, became a sensation I welcomed. Feeling trapped, wanting a release, but simultaneously knowing that this made Mistress happy.

Holding back my moan, Mistress shot me a knowing smile as her foot rubbed my cage. Those friendly, intense eyes staring down at her toy, almost daring me to make a noise, to break position as I was teased. My body tense, I resisted, trying desperately to ignore how wonderful her tormenting felt. The familiar ache in my cock, the constant frustration of a release stolen from me. Wearing a cage was one thing, but combined with the fourth lesson I’d been taught, it was often close to unbearable.

No cumming.

I remember the first time she had said it, I was almost sure she misspoke. But no, all four lessons Mistress put forth were mandatory. Required. Unnegotiable. Firm. I had never once been allowed clothes in her home. Breaking position was destroying the trust we had in one another. Removing my cage without her would shatter any hope I had of remaining as her sub, of serving this wonderful, intelligent, kind, caring, and beautiful Domme.

And in the year I had been with her, I had not cum. Once.

This was, understandably, the hardest lesson I had to learn, and the most difficult one to follow. Denial was a completely new world for me, an aspect of bdsm I had never experienced. So used to gratification, whether on my own or with others, coming to the agreement that it was no longer allowed was…almost something I could not handle. It took many weeks of being with her, crying in her arms, broken from the frustration I felt inside of me, before I finally accepted it into my life.

Even now, feeling her foot gently rubbing against my cage, that creeping sensation built up inside of me to resist. To demand my key, to sate the urge that never seemed to lessen, never seemed to lose its intensity. But I did. Each and every time I won the battle raging inside of me, falling under the protective control of my Mistress. Because she wanted it of me. Because I wanted it. Because I needed it.

Because she was right.

That intense, aching denial, always on the surface, so easily brought forth. Mistress knelt down, seeing the internal struggle through my eyes, watching intently. As I calmed down, my breathing returning to a shallow, controlled state, I returned her stare with one of resolve, blushing from the prideful smile spread across her face. Yes, denial was hard. But seeing that smile made it all worth it.

I heard Mistress say goodbye, the phone placed down for the evening, listening as her tiny footsteps returned to my side. A collar, thick padded leather, wrapped itself around my neck, the welcoming sound of a lock behind me. Tracing a finger along my body, she slowly walked in front of me, the same finger making its way underneath my chin. Crotch directly in front of my face, her legs pressed tightly against my chest, Mistress slowly raised my eyes to hers, that familiar steel, dominating glare behind black-rimmed glasses. I gulped, my heartbeat wildly increasing, waiting to hear the words that began each of our sessions.

“Hello, my pet.”

She held me there, not daring to break eye contact, seeming to drain all the strength from my body, making me feel small. Weak. A woman I outweighed by nearly 50kg, one that I towered over when permitted to stand, and one who I could (and had) lift with one arm. Yet, as always, there was no dispute which one of us was in charge. Next to her I felt helpless, desperate, and hopelessly in need of her control.

Smiling, Mistress playfully smacked my cheek, taking one of my hands in hers, leading her shaking and excited sub downstairs. As her phone call had eaten into part of our evening already, she wasted no time in guiding me into the metal ring she’d prepared hanging from the ceiling. Carefully, I stepped through the bottom, a metal bar splitting the ring, as I’d done many times in the past. Next my upper body went through, groaning from the tight fit, feeling the encouraging spank on my ass behind me.

I felt stuck, wedged in place, bent over and exposed. Exactly the point of her little contraption, strapping two separate leather harnesses around my head and chest to hold them in place as well. Mistress fussed around me, adjusting minorly until she was happy that I was comfortable, an excited smile spread over her face. I whimpered slightly as she placed a ball gag in my mouth, my cooperation earning me another kiss on the forehead.