Slave docilebrat

The Fall - Chapter 22:

I woke up before the plug buzzed. I'd begun rising early ever since she ordered me to keep the morning diary. I had to write down my thoughts, feelings, any dreams I remembered, no filters, no omissions. That was the rule.

I lit the small lamp, careful not to disturb her and reached for the notebook beside my blanket on the floor.

There wasn't much to write that morning, no dreams, no confessions, just the quiet ache of submission. Just the usual quiet ache, the low throb of submission, the feeling of being owned.

I jotted a short note anyway. Consistency pleased her.

Then I set the diary aside and waited.

At exactly 7:00 a.m., the plug began to buzz, soft at first, then deeper. A signal.

I moved immediately.

I crawled forward, kissed her feet gently, one after another, then took her toes into my mouth, as she had trained me to. Worship was not a task anymore. It was the only way I knew how to start the day.

She stirred.

"Go make my coffee," she murmured without opening her eyes.

"Yes, Mistress."

The day passed uneventfully. I kept busy. Cleaning. Folding. Moving around the house as needed. The rhythm of life under her rule was strict but familiar now.

Later that evening, as I prepared dinner, she watched me silently from the counter stool.

I didn't speak unless spoken to. She liked it that way.

Then, out of nowhere, she said, "You're coming along."

She took a sip of wine, eyes still on me. Then:

"I think it's time I take you further.”

My heart skipped. I stayed quiet.

"You've been walking around with that plug in your ass for months now. It's time that hole starts serving a purpose.”

She said it so casually like she was noting the weather.

She let the pause stretch.

"You've been my bitch in every way that matters. Figuratively.”

She paused.

She tilted her head. "Maybe it's time I make you my bitch literally.”

The word hit harder when she said it.

"I've already ordered a strap-on,” she continued. "It'll arrive soon.”

She continued, sipping her wine like nothing had changed. "It'll be here soon. I want you ready.”

There was no question in her voice. No need for confirmation.

Just a statement of fact. Like this was always part of the plan.

And maybe it was.

She didn't say anything when the package arrived.

But I saw it left casually on her desk, the box unopened, the label revealing nothing. Yet I knew. I didn't need to ask.

That night, during my silence ritual, she stood in front of me as usual, elegant, calm, with a strange patience in her eyes.

"You know what's in the box.”

I nodded slowly, eyes down.

"Then get up. Go to the bathroom. Empty yourself. And give yourself a full enema. Make sure you are clean. Thoroughly.”

My stomach fluttered. The order was simple. It left no space for misunderstanding. Or resistance.

"Yes, Mistress.”

I moved, slow and obedient, each step feeling heavier than the last. The enema process had been part of training before but this time, it felt different. I was preparing for her not just for obedience but for something irreversible.

When I returned, she was waiting.

The strap-on was out of the box now, lying neatly on the bed. Black. Smooth. Striking. She stood beside it, arms crossed, watching me approach.

"Kneel and hands behind your back.” she said.

I did, facing her, the strap-on resting ominously behind her.

She stepped aside and picked it up. She took her time fitting the straps, adjusting them with quiet efficiency, like lacing up boots before war.

When she was finished, she stood tall, dominant, unflinching.

"You're going to suck it first. Because that's what bitches do.”

Her words weren't cruel. They were final.

I looked up at her, at the shape, the power, the inevitability of what I had asked for without fully understanding it.

She stepped forward. "Open.”

I opened my mouth, surrendering to the inevitable and leaned in without even realizing it. She took hold of my head, firm and deliberate and began moving, thrusting into my mouth with smooth, practiced rhythm, using me like a whore.

She started to moan, low at first, then deeper, fuller. The sound stirred something primal in me. I began moving my head in rhythm with her thrusts, eager, unprompted. She noticed.

Her moans grew louder.

Encouraged by my obedience, she let herself go, letting me serve her the way I was meant to. But just as she reached a peak of arousal, she suddenly grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me off her strap-on.

A wet, obscene sound echoed as my mouth released her; a gasp, a pop, like a toy discarded. My mouth hung open, drooling, aching, desperate. I looked up at her, lips parted, still panting.

Like a cheap whore who didn't know when to stop wanting.

Then, she led me to the mirror.

"On all fours,” she ordered. "I want you to watch.”

I moved into position, trembling, still reeling from everything that had already happened. The mirror showed my flushed face, the curve of my back. My body responded to her hands instinctively now, tense with anticipation but no longer resisting.

She leaned forward and began to push the strap-on inside me, slow and deliberate. I let out a tense, involuntary sound, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper as my body strained to accommodate her. But she didn't stop. Inch by inch, she filled me, relentless but controlled, until she was fully inside.

Then she started to move.

At first, her thrusts were measured, exploratory and I moaned, soft and startled, the sound slipping from my lips before I could catch it. As she pushed deeper and faster, the moans came louder, raw and unfiltered. I couldn't help it. My body responded on its own, hips twitching with each thrust, breath catching in needy gasps.

Every motion seemed to strike deeper than the last, until I was crying out, shameless and helpless beneath her.

She adjusted her grip, grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back.

"Look,” she said.

In the mirror in front of us, I saw everything. My own flushed, desperate face. Her behind me, relentless and in control. I was moaning now openly, like a bitch in heat.

She leaned in close, her voice thick with contempt and amusement.

"Look at you. Moaning like a bitch in heat. Getting fucked like one. This is who you are now."

I moaned again not from pain, not even from the thrust but from the words. From what they did to me. I could feel my body shaking, my knees trembling beneath me, the mirror reflecting a version of myself I no longer fully recognized. Open. Owned. Fucked.

When it was over, she pulled out slowly, deliberately and I collapsed onto my forearms, gasping.

My legs were shaking. I didn't even know if I wanted it to stop.

She didn't say anything right away.

The sound of the harness being unbuckled was oddly loud in the quiet room. She removed the strap-on with a calm efficiency, as though she'd done this a hundred times before.

She went to the shower while I remained still until I heard the water running. Then Her voice echoed from the shower: "Clean your mess. Plug back in after.”

"Yes, Mistress,” I whispered hoarsely, dragging myself to my knees.

I gathered what I could, tissues, towel, the shattered pieces of my pride and wiped away the mess that marked what I'd become. I felt her eyes on me as she stepped out of the shower minutes later, drying herself leisurely while I finished the last of it. She didn't speak again.

Just as I turned to leave, she added one more command; calm, cold but unmistakably final:

"And write. I want it all in your diary. Every detail. Every feeling.”

"Yes, Mistress.”

I reached for the plug, the one that would buzz again in just a few hours for me to wake her. And as I pushed it in, still sore, I realized something:

I wasn't just her bitch now.

I was exactly where she wanted me and maybe, deep down, exactly where I wanted to be.

The Fall - Chapter 21:

Sleeping on the floor had become my norm.

There was no transition anymore. No hesitation. After my nightly ritual of kneeling, eyes low, hands behind my back, I simply bowed, kissed her feet and laid out the blanket beside her bed in silence.

What once felt like a punishment had settled into routine.

It was humiliating.

And still, she pushed me deeper.

One morning, as I rose to make her coffee after the usual wake-up ritual, she stopped me.

"From now on," she said, "you'll keep a diary."

"A diary, Mistress?"

"Every morning, before you wake me, you'll write in it. I want your raw thoughts, your shame, your arousal, your dreams, your confusion. No edits. No pride. Fill a page. Leave it on the tray with my coffee."

"Yes, Mistress."

"And if I think you're hiding anything," she added, "I'll punish you."

That first morning was the hardest.

I woke up early, still plugged, stiff from the floor. My body ached but my mind felt more vulnerable. I sat cross-legged, naked, hunched over the journal on the wooden tray she'd left me. The page blurred as I wrote my thoughts.

I miss your bed. I hated how natural it all became. I don't want to need this as much as I do. I feel disgusting and I'm so hard all the time. I haven't touched myself in weeks. I dreamt last night that you made me crawl in public. I woke up leaking.

I stopped. Swallowed. Wrote more.

I heard the faint buzz inside me. The plug had begun its morning hum.

My cue.

I placed the tray with my journal on the nightstand, crawled to the foot of her bed and began to worship. First kisses, then slow, reverent suction. One toe, then two. My lips obeyed. My body, as always, followed her silent command.

She stirred minutes later.

No good morning. No acknowledgment.

Just: "Go make my coffee."

That rhythm became my mornings: waking early from the floor, still plugged, aching and raw, sitting in silence with a pen in hand, pouring out the twisted thoughts she had put there. My craving for her. My dread. My guilt. My near-constant arousal. Then crawling to her bed, taking her toes into my mouth, gently sucking them awake until her voice summoned me to fetch her coffee.

And through it all, I counted.

Every slap, every silent day that earned me few desperate points. I knew exactly where I stood. I recited the total to myself before sleep, like a prayer.

Five hundred and ten.

Thirty-seven days.

It had taken thirty-seven days.

That evening, she was reading on the couch. I was kneeling at her feet, still silent, trying to act normal, trying not to let the trembling hope inside me show.

I waited until she set her book down and sipped her wine.

Only then did I find the courage.

"Mistress..." I began, voice low, almost shaking. "I've... I've reached five hundred and ten points."

She didn't look surprised. Of course she wasn't. She had been reading every diary page. She knew.

But she smiled; not wide, not cruel, warm. Just a little.

"Oh?" she said, her tone light, teasing. "And what does that mean?"

I blushed. She knew what she meant but still she wanted to hear from me.

"It means... I've got enough points for a release, Mistress."

She set the glass down slowly and looked at me really looked. And for a moment, the air shifted. I saw it in her eyes: something softer. Knowing. Not mockery, not coldness. Just complete control.

She stood.

"Come."

My chest tightened.

I followed her to the bedroom, barely breathing.

She took her time tying my wrists behind my back, not with haste but with deliberate care. She picked up the gag and held it just a second longer before pushing it between my lips.

"Always drooling for it by the end, aren't you?" she said, her voice low, amused. "Pathetic little thing."

I moaned softly behind the gag not in protest, not in denial. I was drooling for it. For her. For the smallest sign that she approved.

She knelt beside me, brushing a finger down my chest.

"You really kept count, didn't you? Five hundred and ten points." She smiled, almost fondly. "Such a desperate little thing, chasing numbers just for a chance to come."

I flushed with shame. I couldn't look away.

She ran a finger down my chest slowly. "You already know I'm not going to let you enjoy this the way you think."

My cock twitched at her words. I whimpered behind the gag.

Then she started the timer.

My breath hitched behind the gag.

She wrapped her hand around my cock and the touch nearly broke me.

I was too ready. Sensitive, trembling, my body already bracing for everything I'd been denied for thirty-seven days.

She started slow.

So slow.

And just as my hips tensed, just as I was about to lose control, she stopped.

Slap.

Across my face.

Sharp, not brutal. A jolt of heat.

"Mmmff!"

She waited for few moments for the build up to calm down.

She started again. Faster now. Her hand firm, expert. She knew how close I was, how impossible it was to stop myself from shaking in her grip.

Again just before I tipped, she stopped.

Slap.

Another on the other cheek.

I was trembling now. Everything was too much; the tension, the wait, the certainty that she could still say no.

But she didn't.

She grabbed me again.

I arched forward instinctively. My bound hands twitched. Every nerve in my body screamed to be touched, to be used, to be taken.

She watched me. She watched every twitch, every gasp.

"Look at you," she murmured. "Needy little thing. This is all it takes to break you?"

She stroked with purpose, slow at first, then faster, the kind of rhythm that was impossible to endure. I moaned behind the gag, thighs shaking, already on the brink.

I was close. So close.

"Come then," she whispered. "Come for me. Show me what thirty-seven days of frustration looks like."

And just when I hit the point of no return, when I was beyond stopping...

She let go.

She let go completely.

My orgasm started building up. As it was building...

Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap.

As soon as she started slapping me, my orgasm hit. My body jerked, cock twitching, come spurting without her hand around me.

"Look at you. Making a mess. Cumming like a bitch without any control."

She removed the gag, slowly. Untied my wrists.

I gasped for air. My cock was twitching uselessly, spent and aching.

She leaned in close, voice a whisper at my ear.

"Time to thank me, bitch"

"Thank you, Mistress," I whispered, trembling. Then, I bent down to kiss her feet.

She smiled.

"Sixty-five seconds. And still such a mess."

Then a pause, her eyes softened just slightly.

"Good boy."

She rose, leaving me kneeling in my shame with my face burning.

The Fall - Chapter 20:

She had set my vibrating plug to go off at 7:00 AM precisely when I was to wake her.

I was kneeling by the foot of her bed, naked, still, waiting. I didn't have a clock. I didn't need one. The plug inside me buzzed to life, Mistress's way of commanding me to wake her. The vibration started faint, then deepened, a low hum that pulsed inside me like a signal.

It was 7:00 a.m.

Without hesitation, I bent forward, lowering myself to her feet. My lips found her toes. I kissed her feet softly, reverently, one after the other.

Then, I took her toes gently into my mouth. One at a time, then two, I sucked them slowly, reverently, as the vibration continued deep inside me. I took my time, slow and careful, letting the intimacy of the act guide me.

It was strange how natural it had become. This strange ritual. My body alert. My heart thudding. My cock half-hard and aching but untouched.

After a few moments, she stirred.

Her leg shifted slightly. A sign of consciousness. She didn't open her eyes.

Then her voice came; calm and dry, laced with authority.

"Go make my coffee."

"Yes, Mistress."

That afternoon, she summoned me again.

I knelt at her feet, eyes low, heart already fluttering. I had learned to read the signs in her posture, her tone, the quiet anticipation that meant change was coming.

She set her book down and looked at me.

"How many points do you have now?" she asked, her tone casual, almost curious.

"Two hundred and eighty, Mistress."

"And how many days has it been since your last release?"

"Twenty-five, Mistress."

She nodded thoughtfully, her expression unreadable. Then, casually like she was offering me an extra chore, I heard her say:

"If you want to earn more points, you can sleep on the floor beside my bed. Fifteen points for every night."

Just like that.

My heart skipped. I felt it in my stomach first. Sleeping on the floor meant giving up one of the last comforts I had left: being near her. The warmth of her presence, even at a distance, even without contact, was still something. Just being near her was a privilege I quietly cherished.

And she knew exactly what she was offering and what she was taking away.

She always did.

But she didn't order me. She offered. Calm. Controlled. Like a lifeline. Like bait.

That evening, after dinner, I went through the usual ritual. Kneeling before her. Legs spread. Hands behind my back. Eyes down. Waiting. Submissive. Still plugged, still silenced, still burning with arousal I could never touch.

She didn't bring it up again.

But the choice sat between us like smoke.

I hesitated.

I swallowed hard.

Finally, I bent down and kissed her feet looking for permission to speak.

She knew. She smiled.

"You may speak."

Then I said it, soft, ashamed.

"Mistress... may I please sleep on the floor tonight... to earn fifteen points?"

I tried to justify it to her, to myself that I was only doing it for the points.

She looked up from her book, one eyebrow raised.

"So... you've chosen the floor, then."

I gulped. My face flushed with shame.

I nodded slowly.

She didn't tease me. Didn't praise me.

Then: "As you wish."

And that was all.

No acknowledgment of what that choice meant. No comment on the humiliation. No comfort either.

She got back to her book again.

After a while, she finally said, "Bed".

That was my cue to get up and prepare my bed on the floor next to her bed. I kissed her feet, rose and moved to prepare my place on the floor next to her.

And as I arranged the blanket and pillow on the floor next to her bed, the distance between her bed and my place felt far greater than it looked.

She watched me prepare. No mockery, no sadism, just patient observation. Measuring me.

When I was done, I knelt next to the blanket, hands behind my back, head bowed, she stepped closer.

"Good boy," she whispered.

"Thank you, Mistress."

I kissed her feet and sealed my choice in silence.

I didn't want to do it.

But I needed the points more.

The Fall - Chapter 19:

I had barely sat on my knees when she looked up from her tea.

"No more points for most of the tasks," she said, as casually as if commenting on the weather.

My heart skipped.

She didn't even glance at me. Just continued stirring her tea, serene as ever.

"There are no point penalties for failing your tasks anymore, so there's no reward either. The plug? It's a rule now. You wear it because I want you stretched. No more ten points. CFNM is no longer a challenge, it's your default. Bathroom control? Rule. You'll still ask me, of course. But not for points. Because you need permission."

I felt my stomach turn. She was removing the scaffolding. The gamified illusion that I was playing at something. What was left... was just the truth.

She wasn't angry. She never was when she said these things. And somehow, that made it worse. Her decisions weren't emotional. They were deliberate. Considered. Unchangeable.

"You've outgrown incentives," she said softly. "Rewards are for pets in training. You're already trained."

I stayed quiet, swallowing the dry weight of those words.

She sipped her tea. "Now. A few things still give you points, if you earn them right."

She lifted one finger.

"Silence. Every week, two days will be assigned as mandatory silence. No talking. That's a rule. If you choose to do it on additional days, you can earn points but only starting from the third voluntary day. You understand?"

I nodded slowly, the knot in my stomach tightening.

Another finger lifted.

"Slaps. I'm still allowing you to beg for them. And I know you will," she added with a small, amused smile. "But only the sixth and seventh slaps each day will earn you points. You'll still kneel, kiss my feet, beg me properly. But you won't get rewarded unless you really push past comfort. Past shame."

And if you're foolish enough to go further, well..." she smiled, "I'm sure we'll both enjoy that."

My face flushed. Even before she had finished the sentence, I felt the heat of humiliation pressing into my cheeks.

Then she leaned forward slightly, elbows on her knees.

I hesitated at first. But then I bent down and kissed her feet asking for permission to speak.

She figured.

"You may".

"Please..." I said, my voice quiet. "It's just... some of these changes are... difficult. All the tasks. The silence. The slaps. Now this..."

I trailed off, unable to finish.

Her gaze was steady.

"You're struggling," she said, not a question. Just a fact.

I nodded slowly, lowering my eyes.

A long silence followed.

Then she spoke; quiet, calm, inescapable.

"I'm not doing this because it's easy. I'm doing this because you're ready."

She let that settle in the air before continuing.

"You begged for slaps without reward. You kept the plug in even when it gave you nothing. You kissed my feet after failing. Do you think I didn't notice? You think I didn't see you kneel lower each day, hesitate longer before speaking, squirm when I so much as look at you with disappointment?"

I didn't answer. Couldn't.

She set her cup down gently.

"You're not being punished. You're being shaped."

I felt something crack inside me. A tiny resistance I'd been clinging to, some rational thread that whispered I was still in control, that I was choosing this.

I wasn't.

She had already chosen it for me.

And yet... some part of me still hoped for softness. For a way out. A gentler version of what this was becoming.

She saw it. Of course she did.

So she leaned forward slightly.

"Let me be very clear," she said. "You will beg for silence. You will beg for slaps. You will tremble at the thought of disappointing me. And you will serve in silence, not because it earns you anything but because you are mine."

I felt my face flush with a dizzy mix of arousal and dread.

Then her tone shifted, ever so slightly.

"And I'm adding something new."

Then she stood, walked to the table and picked up a small black box. She returned and held it out to me.

"Your new plug."

I took it with trembling hands.

Her voice dropped, gentler somehow but no less firm.

"You're going to be my alarm clock."

I blinked.

"Your new plug. It vibrates. And I've programmed it to start at exactly 7 a.m."

"From now on, you'll kneel at the foot of my bed before seven. Plug in. Legs apart. Head down. Hands behind your back. Waiting."

I stared down at the box in my hands.

"When it starts buzzing inside you," she continued, "you'll know it's time. That's your cue to wake me."

My breath caught.

"How, Mistress?"

Her voice didn't waver.

"You'll wake me by sucking on my toes."

I didn't move.

"I don't want you watching clocks," she added, "I want you listening to your body. Because your body belongs to me now. Your morning begins when I make you buzz. Your purpose is to serve the very first thing I give you each day - my feet."

A pause.

"And don't be late."

She sat back, serene and certain.

I remained on my knees, stunned by the ritual I'd just been given. My insides coiled tighter than the vibrating core she'd placed in my palms.

No more justifications. No more illusions of control. I wasn't earning submission anymore.

I was living it.

No choice. No negotiations. No turning back.

Only rules. Ritual. And her will.

And somehow, even through the fear and humiliation... I was hard.

The Fall - Chapter 18:

After that, the choice stayed for a while. I sometimes still picked the points. Other times, I chose the pain. But it didn't last.

The shift was subtle. I made a mistake, left a dish on the counter. I knelt before her as always, eyes low.

She didn't ask me this time. Just reached for the cane.

I blinked.

"Mistress...?"

She looked down at me.

"From now on," she said, her tone quiet and unwavering, "you don't get to choose."

She didn't need to say more. The words hit harder than the cane.

I had already been sliding deeper; every slap, every ritual, every humiliating task had softened my resistance. I had convinced myself it was all my choice. That I chose to kneel. That I chose to submit. That I was doing this because I wanted it.

But with corporal punishment, there was no more pretending I had control over my own discipline. That small illusion of autonomy was gone. Now, when I made a mistake, I trembled before she even reached for it.

Punishment wasn't a threat anymore, it was an expectation.

Mistakes had consequences. Immediate. Physical. Painful.

There were no warnings. No chances.

Just the whistle of the cane.

And my voice, cracking with each forced thank you.

And it changed something deeper in me.

Until now, I'd always thought I submitted willingly. But this was different. This was real D/s. I was afraid of her now, not because she yelled or raged. She didn't. She was calm. Collected. Absolute.

And that terrified me.

My respect for her became reverence.

My fear became obedience.

And obedience became identity.

I began to check my tasks three, four, five times. I found myself walking on eggshells in her presence, not because she was cruel but because she was serious. The line between game and reality was gone.

But the fear didn't kill my arousal.

It amplified it.

I started waking up hard. Staying hard. That sweet ache of permanent arousal stayed with me throughout the day. The sting on my ass made me flinch but it also made my cock throb. The memory of each punishment blurred into desire.

I hated it.

I loved it.

She noticed, of course.

She always notices.

One night, after a punishment, when I was still bent over and trembling, she leaned in and whispered:

"You're becoming exactly what I wanted."

The logic unraveled. The fantasy that I was still in control, that I was still choosing this path, collapsed beneath the weight of real fear.

I wasn't following her because I wanted to.

I was following her because she had broken me so thoroughly, I didn't know how not to. Because her will had become stronger than mine.

And in that terrifying, humbling realization...

I understood just how deep our power exchange had become.

And once that shift took hold, she gave me something new.

A position.

A nightly ritual.

Each night before bed, I was to kneel in front of her, legs spread, hands locked behind my back, eyes lowered in submission. I was to wait in silence. Completely still. Until she told me I could sleep.

She said nothing the first time she commanded it. Just pointed at the floor in front of her chair.

I knelt without hesitation. My body already understood what my mind still resisted.

She gave no timer. No signal of how long it would last. She simply sat there, reading, scrolling her phone, sipping her tea while I remained motionless at her feet. My thighs trembled. My erection throbbed. And I stayed.

Sometimes it was five minutes. Sometimes longer. But I never dared to guess.

When she was satisfied, she'd finally speak. A single command, soft and effortless.

"Bed."

I was then to lean forward. Kiss her feet. Thank her for letting me serve her. Only then was I permitted to crawl away and sleep.

It wasn't punishment.

It was presence. Ritual. Control.

An anchor at the end of each day to remind me who I was.

And slowly, night by night, I began to crave that stillness. That moment of helplessness before her. That silent reminder that my body, my rest, even the end of my day belonged to her.

And she never failed to notice how hard I was when I kissed her feet goodnight.

The Fall - Chapter 17:

For the first three days, I stuck to the rules. Two slaps per day. Morning and night. Ten points total. Easy to justify; shameful, yes but at least it had purpose. I could tell myself I was doing it to reach my goal faster. That it was strategic. A way to chip away at the 510-point mountain she'd imposed on me after the timer.

And at first, that's what they were.

In the mornings, I'd kneel, kiss her feet and beg for her slap. Eyes on hers. Breath shaking. She'd deliver it with calm precision, sometimes smirking, sometimes silent. I'd thank her by kissing the hand that slapped me, then her feet again.

In the evenings, I repeated the ritual.

Shame became part of my day, just like brushing my teeth or making her tea. Predictable. Contained.

But on the fourth day, something cracked. I couldn't contain it anymore.

I'd already asked for my morning slap and I knew the second one would come later in the evening. Those two earned me points. I could justify them.

That afternoon, I couldn't sit still. My thoughts circled. My skin burned. I wanted more. Not for points. Just for the slap. For the feeling.

I'd just finished folding the laundry when she walked past me in the hallway.

I hovered around her. Tried not to make it obvious. I kept glancing at her hand. My eyes dropped to her feet. I flushed. Looked away.

She noticed, of course. She always notices.

"Do you want something, pet?"

I shook my head quickly. But my body betrayed me.

She set her book down slowly. Walked over. Cupped my chin.

"You've already had your morning slap," she said softly. "And the second one's hours away."

I nodded, mortified.

She smirked. "You're thinking about begging for one, aren't you? Even though it won't help your points?"

I blushed crimson. Couldn't meet her eyes.

"Tsk. So needy," she whispered, brushing her thumb across my lower lip.

Then slap.

No warning. No ritual.

Just her hand. Her choice. Her mercy.

I gasped. And she smiled.

"There. That's better."

Then she returned to her chair like it never happened.

The rest of the week passed in a haze of need.

The slaps, earned or not, kept me constantly aroused. They made me feel small, exposed, owned. That shame, that stinging heat on my cheek... it lingered in my body long after the pain faded.

I was always horny now.

Always desperate.

Tasks became harder to complete, not because they were harder but because I was constantly distracted by arousal. I found myself kneeling more, pausing mid-task, whispering her name under my breath.

I was sinking deeper.

And she noticed.

It was Saturday afternoon when I made a mistake.

I had vacuumed the bedroom but missed under the dresser. She pointed it out quietly, hands on her hips.

In the past, this would've been a 10-point deduction. She'd note it in the ledger and move on.

But this time, she tilted her head.

"Do you want the standard penalty," she asked, "or something else?"

I blinked.

"What... something else, Mistress?"

Her smile grew.

"I'll let you choose, pet. Ten points gone... or corporal punishment. No points lost if you take the pain."

I swallowed.

"What punishment?"

"Ten strikes with the cane," she said calmly. "Hard ones. You'll thank me after each."

My knees weakened.

She stepped closer, leaned into my ear.

"And I think you should choose it," she whispered. "Because I know you're too horny to say no."

She was right.

But the strikes were brutal.

I was bent over the bed, plug still inside me, trembling. The cane sang through the air; sharp, biting cracks that made me yelp into the pillow.

After each one, I had to rise slightly. Kiss her hand.

"Thank you, Mistress."

By the fifth, I was already crying softly.

By the eighth, I was shaking.

By the tenth, my voice broke entirely. Tears soaked the sheets.

She rubbed my back, slow and soothing.

"Good boy," she murmured. "That's my good little pet."

And I realized, through the pain, through the tears... I was more hers than ever.

Not because she hurt me.

But because I wanted her to.

The Fall - Chapter 16:

The days after the timer were quiet but not in my mind.

The number haunted me. Five hundred and ten.

I saw it everywhere. Felt it behind every task. It was more than a total. It was a sentence. A mirror held up to the kind of submissive I'd become.

I found myself working harder. Earlier. Longer. But even then, the numbers ticked up slowly. And the timer's echo stayed with me.

Then, one morning, just after the foot kiss, she paused.

"Stay there," she said, still seated at the edge of the bed. "I've been thinking."

My stomach tightened. I looked up. Her robe was slightly parted. Her feet warm under my lips. I stayed kneeling.

"I know how desperate you are to earn back those points," she said thoughtfully. "And I know how much you've come to enjoy... other things lately."

My cheeks burned. She was referring to the slaps.

"I think it's time we add a new task."

My heart jumped. I waited.

"I will allow you," she said slowly, "to beg for two slaps per day."

I flushed. My cock stirred helplessly in its cage.

She saw. She grinned.

"One in the morning. One in the evening. Five points each. But only if you do it properly."

I swallowed.

"When I say beg," she continued, "I mean beg. You will kiss my feet. You will hold eye contact. And you will ask me clearly and sincerely for the slap you crave."

I shivered.

"And if I decide to give you one..." she leaned forward slightly, "you will thank me."

I nodded, trembling.

"Not with words. With your mouth. First, you will kiss the hand that slapped you. Then my feet again."

I couldn't speak. She wasn't asking for obedience. She was outlining ritual.

She reached out and stroked my cheek gently.

"Only two a day will earn points. But..." she smiled now, wickedly, "you're welcome to beg for more."

I blushed so hard I thought I might melt.

"Oh, my sweet little thing," she added, voice like silk, "don't pretend you don't crave them."

I lowered my eyes, my breath shallow. I didn't need to answer. She already knew.

She tipped my chin back up.

"Well?" she asked, tilting her head. "Would you like to try earning your first five points?"

I nodded. Then kissed her foot. Then looked into her eyes.

Her expression was unreadable. Calm. Waiting.

I took a shaky breath.

"...Please, Mistress," I whispered, "may I have a slap?"

Her brow lifted slightly. "Is that begging?"

I swallowed. Heat flooded my face.

I leaned in and kissed her foot again softly, reverently. Then again. And again. My lips brushing against her skin like I could somehow apologize for asking too simply.

Then I lifted my eyes again, this time holding hers.

"Please, Mistress..." I said again, voice low, cracking slightly. "Please slap me. I... I need it. I want to feel your hand... I want to be reminded..."

I faltered, breath catching.

She said nothing. Just watched me. Studying. Measuring.

She raised her hand slowly and let her palm drift across my cheek.

The contact was deliberate. Not cruel. Just true.

It didn't hurt, not really. But my whole body flinched anyway.

The sound seemed louder than it was. My breath hitched.

Before I could think, I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, the same hand that had slapped me.

Then, still shaking, I lowered myself again and kissed her foot.

She smiled.

"Five points," she murmured.

I let out a soft, almost inaudible sound of relief.

She touched my cheek gently again, right where her hand had struck. A stroke after a storm.

"You'll get better at begging," she said.

I nodded, ashamed and aroused all at once.

She leaned down then, her mouth close to my ear.

"And remember, my pet... you're always welcome to beg for more."

The Fall - Chapter 15:

It took me twenty days to reach 150.

Fewer than last time. I was both proud and ashamed at the same time. Proud because I learnt the system better and this time, I completed the goal much quickly but also because I came too fast now. That's why the final score needed this time was lower than usual. It was a proof of the prejac i had become.

And the faster I came, the shorter my wait would be. That's how the system worked.

I was her little prejac.

And I didn't know if I'd won... or lost.

She came to find me just after sundown.

I was kneeling in the corner of the bedroom; plugged, collared, naked. My hands folded in my lap. Breathing shallow. Waiting.

She moved with calm, feline grace. She opened the drawer. Took something out. Then turned toward me with a quiet smile.

"Up."

I rose immediately, heat blooming in my chest.

"Kneel here." She pointed. "Hands behind your back."

I obeyed, settling into position.

But something was different this time.

She came behind me with rope and tied my hands there.

She'd never bound me before not like this. Not silently.

I blinked, startled but said nothing. My cock was already aching, my breath shallow. I was too scared. Too horny. Too obedient to ask why.

When she stepped in front of me again, she held the gag in her hand.

I moaned through my nose. But opened my mouth.

She inserted it gently, strapping it tight behind my head, then crouched beside me and raised a small digital timer.

She didn't explain. She didn't need to. She then removed the cage and set it aside.

"I'm curious," she said, voice low, playful. "Now that you're my little prejac... I wonder just how broken you really are."

She pressed the button.

Beep.

The timer began.

And so did her hand.

I gasped into the gag. My hips jerked forward. Her grip tight, focused, merciless.

8 seconds.

My whole body burned. My cock throbbed helplessly in her hand. I was already whimpering.

10 seconds.

The gag muffled my moans. My eyes rolled back. I was right there. Right at the edge.

15 seconds. 16...

She stopped.

I froze.

Everything inside me collapsed. My lungs locked. My thighs trembled. I leaned forward as far as I could, wrists bound, mouth gagged, eyes pleading.

But the timer kept ticking.

20.

Each second hit like a hammer. Each tick was ten more points.

21.

I shook my head, desperate. Tried to move my hips. Anything. Anything to finish. To fall.

22.

Tears burned behind my eyes. My body was trying to cum without permission.

23.

I whimpered again, begging her with everything I had.

24.

She just watched. Amused. Calm. Untouched.

25.

I leaned forward. Chest heaving. My cock throbbed uselessly in the open air.

26.

I was broken. Not from the denial but from the ticking.

27.

Then her hand returned.

And I almost collapsed.

She stroked again. Slow.

34.. 35.. 36..

I was on the edge again. Shaking. Groaning into the gag.

She paused.

I whimpered.

Then slap.

One.

Slap. Two.

Slap. Three.

My head spun. My cock pulsed.

And I came.

A ruined, helpless mess.

The orgasm tore through me, stuttering and dry. I twitched, collapsed, knees weak, eyes unfocused.

"Well," she murmured, tilting her head, "I guess that answers my question."

Beep.

She clicked the timer.

51 seconds.

She let me slump against her thigh. I stayed there, gagged and limp.

Her hand held the timer in front of my face.

"Awww... Fifty-one seconds... poor baby," she said brightly. "Which means..."

She ran a finger down my chest.

“...five hundred and ten points, my sweet little toy."

My eyes widened in horror.

She gave a soft, sympathetic pout.

"Oh, poor little thing. That's so many points," she whispered.

Then her voice dropped. Darker now. Playful.

"Who did this to you, hmm?"

She untied the gag. My jaw ached. My tongue heavy.

I sobbed into the gag. My head shook softly.

"I... it's not fair..., Mistress."

"Excuse me?" she said calmly.

"Fair?" she laughs. "You still think this is about fair?"

She grabbed a fistful of my hair, forcing me to look up.

Slap.

I gasped.

"Try again. Show me your gratitude, bitch."

I slid to the floor.

Kissed her feet.

She held my head there.

Then tapped my cheek, lightly.

"Again."

I obeyed. Lips pressed to the top of her foot.

"Again."

I kissed slower this time.

"Again."

Until I wasn't just showing gratitude, I was confessing defeat.

And I already knew I'd never forget the sound of that timer.

The Fall - Chapter 14:

It was the second morning after I'd crossed 180. My journal lay on her nightstand closed but not forgotten. I'd written something risky in it the night before. Something that made my stomach turn when I clicked the pen closed.

She hadn't mentioned it yesterday. But today... I could feel it. Something had shifted.

She sat on the couch, sipping her coffee. I was kneeling by her side, plug already in, naked, collared, silent. The way she liked me lately. The way I liked myself lately.

She reached over without looking, picked up the journal and flipped to the most recent entry.

I lowered my eyes. My heart thumped.

She read slowly. Patiently. Then, without any change in expression, she read it aloud:

"Before the cage, I used to cum to videos of women dominating men. One of the videos showed a woman slapping the guy while he begged to cum. I came before the video even ended. I hated how fast I came. I hated how much I liked it.

When you threatened to start slapping me the other day for forgetting my place, I immediately remembered that video and it aroused me. You obviously noticed."

She paused. I felt her eyes on me before I dared to look up.

"So," she said gently, "you've been broken longer than I thought."

My mouth went dry.

"If I'd known this part of you already existed," she continued, sipping again, "I would've taken a different path. Sped things up. Turned the screws earlier."

I blushed so hard my ears burned. She wasn't angry. She sounded almost... disappointed that I hadn't confessed sooner.

"You poor thing," she said, smiling now. "You've been wired for this the whole time, haven't you?"

I couldn't speak. She didn't expect me to.

She set the journal down and reached for my chin, lifting my face toward hers.

"I'm not going to slap you just yet," she said softly. "Not because I don't want to."

She let that hang in the air.

"I want you squirming with the anticipation of it. I want you remembering that video. Wondering when your Mistress will finally treat you the way you so obviously want to be treated."

I swallowed. My cock twitched in its cage.

"See?" she said lightly, brushing a finger along my jaw. "Already hard. Such a horny slut you are."

Later that evening, she gave the signal.

I had reached 190. Just over a month of service, strain, denial. And now I was kneeling by the bed again, waiting.

She looked down at me, amused. "Well earned."

I flushed.

She crooked a finger. "Up here, pet."

I climbed up onto the bed and positioned myself as she liked. I expected the handjob. Although I wanted to be inside her but didn't want to annoy her begging for that. But I hadn't expected what came next.

"I have a little surprise for you," she whispered.

She unlocked the cage slowly, deliberately and wrapped her hand around my already hard cock with practiced ease. Her strokes were gentle. Controlled. Cruel in their precision.

I moaned softly into her neck, already teetering. She always knew just what rhythm would break me.

And then, just as my hips twitched forward, she slapped me.

Not hard. Not angry. But sharp. Right across my cheek.

My eyes flew open. My cock pulsed.

Another stroke. I whimpered.

She leaned in, breath warm at my ear.

"You like that?"

I couldn't answer.

She slapped me again, this time while I was cumming.

It hit like lightening.

I came in fifteen seconds.

I groaned, my whole body trembling, twitching in her hand while my orgasm flooded out of me faster than I could understand. I was breathless. Broken. Blushing.

She held me there, stroking me gently as the last pulses faded. Not rushing me. Letting me collapse fully into the moment.

Then she leaned down and kissed the top of my head.

"Fifteen seconds," she murmured, brushing my hair back. "My sweet little pet... that's a new record."

I flushed deeper, hiding my face against her thigh. I didn't know whether to be proud or ashamed. She didn't let me decide.

Her fingers found my chin, lifting it softly.

"You came so fast... just from a couple little slaps." Her voice was velvet now. Delighted.

She smirked, then gently patted my still-twitching cock.

"My little prejac," she said softly. "Using your shame as fuel. Turning your skill into your advantage."

I whimpered against her and she kissed my cheek just beneath where she'd slapped me.

"That means just one-fifty for next time," she added, clearly amused. "Though honestly..."

She trailed a finger down my chest, thoughtful.

“...at this rate, I might have to start tweaking the system a little. Wouldn't want you getting too quick release cycles. You could end up earning releases too quickly for my liking, the way you're going."

Her tone was teasing but her eyes said she might not be joking.

I swallowed.

She didn't send me away right away. She let me linger. Held my head in her lap while my breathing slowed.

When she finally spoke again, her voice was soft. Measured.

"I think I deserve a little gratitude," she said, tilting her head. "After all... I did just bring one of your fantasies to life. Don't you think?"

I nodded, still trembling. Still reeling. And not from the orgasm but from her.

I rose slowly, knelt before her and pressed my lips to her feet with reverence. Not just obedience but devotion. Grateful. Humbled.

She let me linger there.

Then her hand came down, warm and gentle, stroking my hair.

"There's my good boy," she murmured.

"I'm enjoying the way your face looks after a slap... I might want to keep you like this a little longer tonight."

She cupped my chin again, turning it slightly in her hand like she was admiring her own work. Her eyes lingered soft, pleased, possessive.

"Stay right there," she whispered. "Let me enjoy what I've made."

From the touch of her hands. The sound of her voice. The mark she'd left on something far deeper than my skin.

And I already knew I'd be dreaming of it. Craving it. Until she gave it again.

The Fall - Chapter 13:

I was doing everything.

Naked from the moment I woke. Caged. Collared. Plugged.

Kissing her feet to start the day. Kissing them again before bed. Asking permission each time I needed the bathroom. Staying silent unless she allowed me to speak.

None of it was required. I could've skipped any of them.

But then I wouldn't earn the points.

And right now, I needed every one of them. On top of that, I needed to give her orgasms too via oral to avoid the penalty of 50 points.

There weren't many tasks left. She'd removed nearly all points for chores. Doing them perfectly didn't earn me anything. Doing them poorly meant losing ten.

So the progress was slow. And painful.

I was earning points. But I was losing them too. Small mistakes. Little slips. The kind that used to feel minor. Now they cost me everything.

The plug had become routine. I'd worn it long enough that walking felt natural again. It didn't make me clumsy like it used to. But keeping it in from morning kiss to night kiss without it slipping was still a challenge.

If it slipped, even once, the points were gone. No scolding. No punishment. Just her quiet hand crossing off the task for the day without a word.

That silence stung more than anything.

The silence task itself was harder than I expected. I thought I was quiet by nature. I thought it'd be easy.

It wasn't.

Not when I needed to ask things. Do I clean this first or that? Should I use gloves? Do I continue with the ironing or wait?

I couldn't just ask. Not on a silence day.

If I needed to speak, I had to kneel. Kiss her feet. Wait for permission. Or write my question on a chit and offer it wordlessly.

Both options slowed me down. Turned the day into a crawl. Made everything I said feel like a privilege I hadn't earned.

Twice, she denied me permission to use the bathroom.

The first time, I knelt. Kissed her feet. Waited. She didn't nod. Not for what felt like minutes. I needed to go badly. But I waited.

When she finally did, I asked too quickly. Too directly.

She paused.

"Ask again," she said.

I looked up. She didn't look annoyed, just expectant.

I lowered my voice. "Mistress... may I use the bathroom?"

A faint smile. "Yes, you may."

I rushed to go. Relieved beyond words. When I returned, I knelt and kissed her feet again in thanks.

It didn't feel transactional.

It felt devotional.

The second time, she simply said no.

Just that. No explanation. No hint of change.

I went back to my chores, struggling to focus.

Returned five minutes later, kneeling again. Needing it worse. This time I didn't speak. I just waited.

She looked down. Held my gaze. Then gave a faint nod.

I almost cried with gratitude.

By the time the sun began to set, I was drained. Not physically, something deeper.

Like the day had hollowed me out from the inside. Holding every rule. Every posture. Every silence.

And still, I'd failed.

Two tasks incomplete. Minus twenty points.

I was frustrated. Tired. Raw.

And then I slipped.

She was reading something on her tablet while I cleared the dishes. I wasn't speaking. Just moving. Quietly. Glad the day was almost over.

She asked something softly. I didn't process it. I just answered.

"Yes."

It took a full second to register.

I looked up. Too late.

She was already watching me. Calm. Steady.

She set the tablet down and leaned forward. Took my face gently in both hands.

“Did you forget something?” she asked softly.

My stomach tightened.

She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t need to.

"One of these days," she said softly, brushing her thumb along my cheek, "I'm going to have to start slapping this pretty face of yours when you forget your place."

She held my gaze. Her voice was warm. Unthreatening. But serious.

"Not to hurt you," she said. "But to correct you."

Her thumb drifted over my lower lip.

"It won't be punishment," she said calmly. "It'll be maintenance."

She paused. Let me absorb that.

"And this..." she continued, tapping her nail lightly against my collar, "this isn't meant to be soft."

I swallowed.

"It's meant to hold you. Firmly. Beautifully."

She kissed my forehead.

"If words alone don't hold you there anymore... I'll use more than words."

I felt my cock stir helplessly, involuntarily at the quiet certainty in her tone.

She looked down, then raised an eyebrow.

"Hard again?" she said softly. "Just from being told you might be slapped?"

Her voice was gentle, almost curious.

"You're really something."

She leaned in a little closer, letting the pause stretch.

"I wonder what would happen if I actually did. I'm sure we'll find out sooner than later."

The Fall - Chapter 12:

She called me to sit at her feet.

Not beside her but at her feet, kneeling on the cushion she had placed there a few weeks ago. At first, she'd made it a point-earning task. Now it was where I sat by default.

She held her tea in both hands, legs curled under her on the couch, watching me with calm, unreadable eyes. I knew that look. Something was coming.

"I've been thinking," she said, "about how much things have changed between us."

I lowered my gaze respectfully but said nothing.

She took a sip before continuing. "You've come a long way, haven't you? From games and points… to obedience, ritual, submission. Quiet service. You've done well, my pet."

My chest fluttered with pride.

"But we've reached a point where this" she gestured between us "should be more than suggestions and incentives. It's time to make some things official."

She let the words hang. My heart thumped.

"These are rules now," she said simply. "Not tasks. Not options. Rules."

I swallowed.

"From now on, calling me 'Mistress' is no longer something you get rewarded for. It's required. It's who I am to you. Failing to address me properly will have consequences."

I nodded, throat dry. "Yes, Mistress."

She smiled faintly. "Good boy."

My cock twitched.

She set the cup aside. "Same goes for the collar. You wore it before to earn points. That's over. You belong to me. This collar is the symbol of my ownership of you. You'll wear it at all times while in home, unless I say otherwise. Not wearing it intentionally or through carelessness will not be taken lightly."

I nodded again, a little faster. "Yes, Mistress."

"And this one," she added, voice cool and clear, "is not negotiable: you are forbidden from initiating intimate touch unless I give you permission. That includes kissing, hugging, even resting your head on my lap. You are my submissive. I will decide when and how we share intimacy."

A rush of helplessness swept through me. She was right. I hadn't dared to touch her in weeks without permission. But hearing it formalized, written into the structure of our relationship, it hit me in the chest.

"And finally," she said, leaning forward just slightly, "you will use a respectful, submissive tone at all times when addressing me. You may not raise your voice. You may not sound frustrated or entitled. You will speak to me the way a subordinate speaks to their superior."

She let that sink in. I trembled. Not out of fear but arousal.

She tilted her head. "Do you understand?"

"I do, Mistress."

She leaned back, satisfied.

"It's good," she said, "to see you surrender more fully."

I didn't know why but hearing her say that, feeling the finality of her authority, the structure tightening around me like a collar of its own made me ache. I felt small. Owned. Contained.

And I loved it.

"I can see it in you," she said, smiling as she reached down to brush her fingers under my chin. "You're aroused. Just from having rules written over you."

I flushed and lowered my eyes, unable to deny it.

"That's because you know what this means," she said gently. "It means this isn't a game anymore. I am your Mistress. And you are my pet and submissive."

I whispered, "Yes, Mistress…"

And for the first time, it wasn't to earn a reward.

It was simply the truth.

The weight of her words still hung in the air. Mistress. Collar. No more initiating touch. No more points for things I once relied on. These were no longer ways to impress her. They were simply what was expected of me now. Laws of her domain.

And I had agreed. I hadn't hesitated. Not really.

But as I sat on the floor by her feet, still collared, still aching from the sheer psychological power shift, I found myself wondering something else. Something practical. Something desperate.

"Mistress," I asked gently, keeping my eyes low, "if I may…?"

She gave a slight nod, granting permission to speak.

"With so many tasks no longer earning points now," I said slowly, "how am I supposed to reach two hundred again?" I paused. "Are there new tasks I should be doing? Something to… make up for it?"

Her eyes sparkled.

"Good," she said. "I was wondering when you'd ask."

She leaned slightly forward in her chair, letting her fingers toy with the edge of her robe sleeve. There was something calm and deadly about the way she smiled.

"I've been thinking about what kind of tasks are appropriate for where we are now," she said. "You've outgrown the easy ones. So yes, there will be new opportunities to earn points. But they'll demand more from you. Not just action… but vulnerability."

I swallowed hard.

She held up one finger.

"First," she said, "I want you to keep a journal. Daily. Handwritten. You'll log your chores and your behavior but also one confession per day."

I blinked.

"Confession, Mistress?"

She nodded. "A failure. A fantasy. A private embarrassment. Something that makes your cheeks burn while you write it. It gets you 5 points. If it doesn't make you squirm, you don't get any points."

My face flushed immediately.

She smiled wider. "See? Already effective."

"Second," she continued, "a silence task. You may choose a day to go completely silent. No speaking at all unless I explicitly grant you permission."

She saw the panic in my eyes and held up a hand.

"If you need to speak," she said softly, "you may kneel, kiss my feet and wait quietly until I decide whether or not to let you. If I nod, you may speak. If I shake my head, you must stay silent. It gets you 10 points."

I nodded slowly, my heart racing.

"Third," she said, "you may ask permission to use the bathroom. Not always. Just as a task, when you want the points. I want to see how it feels when you surrender even something that basic. How it changes the way you think. If you commit to it the whole day, 5 points."

I swallowed again.

She looked down at me for a moment, then added, "None of these are required. You choose them. You choose when to do them. But they will earn you points because they show me your mind is changing. Your sense of control… slipping."

I nodded, still kneeling, still flushed.

"And if you want to earn points faster, my pet…" she said, brushing her fingers under my chin, lifting it just slightly, "you'll find yourself doing more of them than you expect."

Then she leaned in, close enough to let her breath touch my ear.

"Let's see what kind of confessions you write first."

The Fall - Chapter 11:

It took me thirty more days to reach 200 again.

Thirty long days of service, of rules disguised as tasks. Thirty days of nudity and discomfort, of aching submission and relentless frustration.

The chores were still expected but they no longer earned points. Only deducted them if not done to perfection. The real points came from the more humiliating tasks; the ones that kept me aching and aroused, distracted and clumsy.

The butt plug task had become a daily challenge. I wasn't required to do it but I did. Every time I slipped it in, I earned points. Every time it slipped out, even briefly, I got nothing. And thrice again this month, it popped out while I was rushing, bending too low or moving too fast. Each time I noticed instantly and put it back but she didn't care.

"No points," she said both times, with a faint, knowing smile. "You didn't wear it all day, did you?"

Then there was the CFNM.

It never got easier.

She drifted around the apartment in her soft clothes; sometimes a hoodie, sometimes just panties and a loose tee while I remained completely bare. Plugged, collared, kneeling when I spoke, asking permission to sit near her.

It was demeaning. Unnatural. It chipped away at something inside me. But it also kept me needy so desperately needy that every failed task stung more, every point earned felt like a gulp of air.

I didn't edge this time. Not even once. I couldn't afford the deduction.

But eventually, after all the groveling and quiet suffering, I reached it. Day thirty. Task sheet complete. Whiteboard total: 200.

But I made it. Somehow.

On the evening of day thirty, I knelt beside her as she sipped her tea, my completed sheet held in both hands, arms trembling slightly.

She didn't ask. Didn't look.

Until she was ready.

Then she set the cup down, took the sheet and read it slowly. Silently.

Finally, her lips curved.

"Well done, my pet."

My heart jumped.

"You made it," she said warmly. "Two hundred. In thirty days this time. I'm impressed."

My breath caught as she looked at the whiteboard, then back at me with a soft, satisfied smile.

"Good job."

I closed my eyes. Relief flooded through me. And arousal. Always arousal.

She tapped the pen against her chin thoughtfully.

"I wonder," she mused aloud, "how I should let you have your reward…"

I looked up. "Mistress…"

She raised an eyebrow.

I bowed my head. "May I…" My voice cracked. "May I be inside you again?"

She tilted her head, considering.

"You've worked hard all month," she said at last. "I think you deserve that much."

My whole body trembled.

She stood and stretched, slow and graceful. Then she nodded toward the bedroom.

"Go lie down on the bed," she said. "Wait for me there."

I lay on my back, heart pounding, cock throbbing inside its cage even though I knew it wouldn't stay there much longer. The sheets felt cool beneath my skin. My breath came shallow, nervous.

When she stepped in, barefoot in her silk robe, I could barely look at her.

She stood at the foot of the bed and gave me a quiet smile.

"I'm going to unlock you now," she said. "You've earned it."

She did it herself, slowly. The cage came off with a soft metallic click. My cock sprang free, already leaking, twitching with anticipation.

She climbed onto the bed, straddling me, letting the heat of her skin press against mine.

But before she lowered herself, I found my voice.

"Mistress?" I whispered.

She paused.

"…May I set the pace this time?"

Her expression changed.

A subtle smile. A dangerous softness in her eyes.

"You want to be in control again?" she asked. "Like last time?"

I nodded, eyes full of hope.

She let out a quiet laugh. "You mean the last time I let you lead and you lasted, what… maybe twenty five seconds at max?"

My face flushed. I looked away.

"Aww," she said mockingly sweet. "Poor thing. You had the power, the rhythm, the chance to make love to me like a real man and you came like a desperate virgin."

My cock twitched hard against her, visibly.

She noticed.

"Oh," she said softly, delighted. "You liked that. Didn't you?"

I froze.

"You liked being called my little prejac."

I blushed crimson.

She smiled wider and cupped my chin, turning my face back to hers.

"Well, well," she said, brushing her thumb over my lower lip. "That's good to know. Because now I have an idea."

I held still, heart pounding.

"A new rule," she said softly. "Every time you earn a release, starting tonight, however many seconds it takes you to cum…"

She paused for dramatic effect.

"…we'll multiply that number by ten. That's how many points you'll need next time."

I stared at her, stunned.

She grinned, leaned in and kissed my cheek.

"So if you want your next orgasm sooner… you'd better cum fast."

Then she lowered herself onto me.

I was so hard it almost hurt. The warmth of her body swallowed me whole.

"I'll control the pace," she added, smiling. "Since we both know what happens when you try."

She rocked her hips slowly, deliberately.

I couldn't last.

Not even close.

She was wet and tight and dominant and so damn in control. Her words echoed in my head.. desperate virgin… little prejac…

I came in less than twenty seconds with a strangled moan, eyes rolling back, body seizing in helpless relief. My hands gripped the sheets like a drowning man grabbing a rope.

She didn't stop moving until I was completely spent, soft, breathless, humiliated.

Then she pulled away, stood and walked to the whiteboard.

19*10, she wrote next to the total.

Next Release: 190 Points

She looked over her shoulder, smiled and teased.

"Not bad, my little prejac boy. You just saved yourself 10 points."

A wink.

"The faster you cum, the sooner you get to do it again."

The Fall - Chapter 10:

The first few days under the new system were hard but manageable.

The plug was uncomfortable, yes. But there was a quiet pride in bearing it. In kissing her feet good morning, inserting it under her watchful gaze and keeping it inside all day until the final kiss at night. A secret burden. A proof of obedience.

And the CFNM rule? That was something else entirely.

She moved through her day in soft hoodies, leggings, or sometimes just a t-shirt and panties, while I remained completely bare. I had to ask permission to sit next to her. Kneel when I spoke to her. And never cover myself unless she allowed it.

It was humiliating. It was erotic. It was intoxicating.

Because every moment I spent near her naked, plugged, collared, exposed was a constant reminder of my status. Lower. Lesser. Hers.

And it got to me.

I got clumsy. Distracted. My mind was a blur of arousal and submission.

That's when the trouble started.

She had removed all points for daily chores. I was still doing them; vacuuming, laundry, coffee, cleaning, preparing bath, dinner, massage but now, they came with risk.

Because if anything wasn't to her standard?

Minus ten.

I was still trying to be diligent. But it didn't take much. Towels not folded precisely, mirror left streaky, vacuuming too loud while she was on a call, each mistake cost me ten points.

The butt plug rule added more pressure than I expected. I had to constantly make an effort to keep it in.

Twice that week, it had slipped out while I was scrubbing or bending too low probably because I was moving too much, too fast, trying to finish chores on time. Each time, I immediately noticed and put it back in. I didn't think it mattered.

But when I reported my task sheet that evening, she looked at me coolly.

"You say you wore it the whole day?"

"Yes, Mistress," I said. "Except for... well, it slipped once while I was cleaning under the couch. But I put it right back."

She tilted her head. "So not the whole day, then."

I froze. "I mean just a few seconds "

She clicked her tongue and turned to the whiteboard.

Zero points for plug discipline.

That happened again three days later. Same result.

It was maddening.

Because I was trying. God, I was trying. But the constant stimulation, the tight ache of the plug, the cage pressing against my skin, her calm, knowing presence as she walked by in nothing but panties, it was overwhelming.

By day twelve, I was falling behind. For every ten I earned, I lost ten. Or more.

And I was aching. Not just physically, though the pressure in my balls was unbearable, it was the emotional ache that nearly broke me. Frustrated. Ashamed. So deeply aroused that even the sound of her voice made my knees wobble.

On day twenty, I cracked.

That night, after brushing her hair while she scrolled through her phone, I stayed kneeling beside her and whispered, "Mistress…"

She didn't look up.

"Please…" I said. "I know I haven't reached 200 yet. But I... I'm so desperate. Could I just... edge? Just a little? Please. I'll go back in the cage after. I just… I need something."

She looked at me then. Slowly. Her expression unreadable. Then she set her phone down and turned to face me fully.

Her fingers brushed through my hair. Gentle. Almost loving.

"Of course you can," she said.

My heart skipped.

"But," she added softly, "you know what that means."

I blinked. "What… what do you mean?"

Her smile was calm. Perfect.

"Twenty points," she said. "That's the cost. For one edging session."

My jaw clenched. Twenty points. That was days of effort. Tasks. Plugged hours. Humiliations endured.

But the ache inside me was screaming louder.

"I'll pay it," I whispered. "Please…"

Her smile widened. "Good boy."

She unlocked the cage herself. Slowly. Deliberately. And my cock sprang free, already slick, already twitching.

She didn't tease. Didn't stroke me lovingly. She barely needed to touch me at all.

Just enough. Just enough to bring me trembling to the edge, panting, drooling, moaning into her lap.

Then, without a word, she wiped her hand, locked me back up and walked to the whiteboard.

Minus twenty.

"There," she said lightly. "That's what your neediness costs you."

Then she left the room, humming to herself.

I stayed kneeling, cock caged, body buzzing, humiliated, worse and so desperately, hopelessly hers.

I finally reached 200 points. It took thirty-five days.

Thirty-five days of aching denial, plugged hours, naked chores, constant reminders of my status. Thirty-five days of subtracting ten for a missed wrinkle, ten more for a towel hung crooked, zero points when the plug slipped out for just a second.

I crawled through those days like a man starved until finally, the numbers on the whiteboard hit 200. She circled it with a little heart, as if it were the score of a pet who had finally learned to sit.

She didn't say much that evening. Just a glance. A nod toward the bedroom.

"Go wait for me. On the bed."

My heart thundered.

She kept me waiting long enough for my breath to slow but not my arousal. When she finally stepped in, barefoot, wearing nothing but a thin silk robe, I sat up with trembling anticipation.

She smiled.

"You earned this," she said, drawing closer. "And I'm feeling merciful."

Then unlocked.

The cage came off for the first time in over a month. My cock pulsed with need, twitching like it barely remembered freedom. My whole body felt lightheaded from the sheer pressure of being allowed to want again.

But what she said next hit harder than any denial.

"You can be inside me tonight."

My knees nearly gave out.

She climbed into bed and parted her thighs, lying back and watching me like a queen granting her subject a final wish. But there was no mockery in her eyes, only the quiet pride of a woman who knew what she had done to me.

"And I won't move," she added, her voice soft, playful. "You get to set the pace. You're in control. Just this once."

I nodded, dazed. Crawled between her legs.

And entered her.

It was warm, wet, welcoming and impossibly overwhelming. My body, conditioned into helplessness, couldn't register it as anything but ecstasy. I tried to go slow. I really did. But my body betrayed. The conditioning took over.

I came in her with a broken, breathless groan. Helplessly. Shamefully. My cock still barely inside her, my whole body seized in pleasure and release. It had been seconds. Less than twenty, maybe. I hadn't even moved my hips more than an inch.

I collapsed onto her, panting, red with embarrassment.

"I'm... I'm sorry," I whispered.

But she only laughed, warm and indulgent. She pulled me up so she could see my face. Her fingers brushed my cheek.

"No you're not." she said.

And I realized… she was right.

I wasn't sorry. Not really. I had waited so long, wanted it so badly, that the relief drowned out the shame. I didn't try to resist. I didn't even care to. I had just… let go.

She saw it in my eyes.

"That's what I love most," she murmured. "Even when I give you control, you're still mine. You didn't even try, did you?"

I shook my head, ashamed but glowing.

"Good," she whispered. "That's my good little boy who can't hold back."

She kissed my forehead, loving, affirming and held me close, my soft, spent cock still inside her. And for the first time in weeks, I felt a kind of peace. Not pride. Not victory.

Just quiet surrender.

Because she had broken me.

The Fall - Chapter 9:

One evening, as I knelt beside her while she read, she glanced down at me with a half-smile. Calm. Observing.

She leaned back on the bed, stretching with an easy confidence. Her eyes flicked to the whiteboard, where my current point tally was neatly updated.

"You know," she said casually, "this whole point system has become a little too… consistent."

I froze mid-task, sensing a shift.

"You're hitting 200 almost like clockwork now. Every 18 to 20 days, give or take." Her voice was calm but the undercurrent was unmistakable. "It's starting to feel like a… schedule. And I don't like schedules. They're boring. Predictable."

I didn't know what to say. She continued.

"When I introduced the rule about four orgasms a week and the -50 point penalty, I honestly thought you'd miss the mark a few times. That was the point, to make you try. Maybe watch you fail once or twice. I was even looking forward to it." She smiled at me with that familiar spark of cruel amusement. "But I guess I underestimated just how eager you'd be."

She reached over, trailing a finger down my chest.

"Multiple orgasms in a day, even." A soft laugh. "Oh, I loved it. Don't get me wrong."

Then her expression shifted just slightly. More serious now. More deliberate.

"But that means my little trap failed. And that simply won't do."

She sat up, eyes locking with mine.

"So," she said, drawing out the word like silk, "I think it's time we spice things up. Add a little more variation."

I gulped. She noticed. Of course she did.

I stayed still, breath held.

"Let's start with the basics," she said lightly. "Daily chores? You don't earn points for those anymore."

My heart sank.

"Cleaning, laundry, vacuuming, coffee, preparing bath, dinner, massage… that's not extra effort, boy. That's expected of you. You live here. You serve me. If you don't complete them properly?" She paused. "That'll be a deduction. Ten points for every task that doesn't meet my standard. And it's 7 orgasms in a week now."

"But," she added sweetly, "I'm not all cruel."

I swallowed hard.

"I've added a few new ways to earn points. Physical tasks this time." Her tone shifted into something playful, dangerously playful.

"Wear a butt plug for the whole day. Properly cleaned and inserted after your morning kiss and kept in until you kiss my feet again at bedtime. That'll earn you ten points."

My breath caught.

She smiled, then leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping. "And another: you know what CFNM means, don't you?"

I nodded slowly. Of course I did. Clothed Female, Naked Male.

"Well," she said, drawing the words out, "if I'm dressed, you don't get to be. You'll stay naked in my presence unless I specifically allow otherwise. If you can follow that all week? That'll be thirty points."

I froze, brain reeling, cock twitching.

She noticed.

"And remember," she added, rising slowly and walking toward the kitchen, "I'm doing this for you, pet. So you have something to work toward."

I stayed kneeling as she disappeared around the corner, stunned, aroused, terrified.

The next morning, the butt plug was already laid out beside my collar.

And that day, when I approached her to ask if I could sit beside her, fully naked while she sat in her leggings and hoodie sipping coffee, she smiled calmly and gestured without a word.

I sat carefully. Plug inside me. Skin bare against the couch.

Her eyes flicked to me once. Just once.

I felt more naked in that moment than I ever had before.

And I loved it.

Later that night, I crossed the 200-point mark again. Bare. Plug still in. My body humming with obedience, with submission.

I knelt beside her, trembling slightly, collar snug around my neck.

She glanced at the board where I'd been tracking every task, every humiliation, every orgasm I gave her. She nodded.

"Well done," she said simply. Then she crooked a finger and patted her lap.

I climbed into position like clockwork, my body already anticipating what was to come. Or maybe what wouldn't.

There was no ceremony. No edging. This time, she didn't even tease me with denial.

Just a slow, steady hand around my cock unlocked briefly for my release.

And this time, I didn't even protest. Not about the release. Not about how it came. Not about not being allowed inside her.

I used to beg for more than a handjob.

Now, I just took what she gave.

And even without the build-up, I came in seconds. Seconds.

That was all it took now.

A few strokes and I was gone moaning, shuddering, gasping into her lap.

She didn't seem surprised.

She didn't mock me with words.

But she smiled lazily, wiped her hand with a tissue and then reached out to gently pat my head.

Then her voice calm, soft, amused:

"You're such a horny little... slut, aren't you?"

My heart stuttered.

That word.

Slut.

The word echoed in my skull. And god help me, I loved it.

And my cock twitching in the aftermath, still trying to rise again told her everything.

She saw.

Her eyes dropped for just a second. Her grin widened.

She gently pat on my cock. "Aww... such a cute little thing. Liked being called slut? Don't you?"

I blushed.

She didn't need my words. She'd already claimed my body.

The Fall - Chapter 8:

It happened the way most real changes do, quietly and without permission.

If I had been slowly sinking into submission, she had been quietly growing into something larger. More composed. More in control.

She never announced it. There was no speech. No redefinition of roles. But one day, I realized she didn't ask me what I wanted for dinner anymore. She told me what we were having. And I found myself nodding without even thinking.

She started calling me "boy" when she wanted my attention. Sometimes "pet." Once, when she was sitting on the couch and I was kneeling to kiss her feet, she murmured, "Such a good submissive." Just that. Like it was always my title.

And every time one of those names passed her lips, my cock twitched in the cage like it had a mind of its own.

She noticed.

She noticed everything.

One evening, she was brushing her hair and I was sitting on the floor beside her, waiting quietly. She looked down, tilted her head a little and said, "You liked that, didn't you? When I called you 'my pet.'"

I nodded, heat rushing to my face.

She gave me a smile that wasn't really sweet. It was knowing. Confident. And then she reached out and patted my head.

Not in a joking way. Not like a tease.

Like I belonged to her.

And I melted.

That was the first time. After that, the pats became frequent. So did the name-calling. So did the shift.

She stopped thanking me for following the daily rituals; the collar, the kisses to her feet, the quiet permission-seeking. It wasn't a lack of appreciation. It was a quiet declaration: these were not favors anymore. They were expectations.

She stopped asking for my opinion, too.

Where she once used to ask, "What do you feel like watching tonight?" or "Do you want to go out or stay in?" Those small moments of mutual choice, she now just decided. "We're watching this." "We're ordering Thai tonight." "We're visiting my sister this weekend."

And I never questioned it.

The strange part? I didn't even miss it. If anything, I felt lighter, steadier. Like I was being cared for without being consulted.

Once, she made plans to go out. She didn't ask if I wanted to go. She just said, "You'll stay home tonight." And I did. Without question.

That authority; it aroused me. I loved that dominance. I craved it.

When I offered to do things, she started responding with, "Of course you will." Not unkindly. Just naturally, like that's what I was for.

Her voice changed, too. She still smiled, still laughed but her requests started sounding less like questions and more like polite commands. "Could you bring me some water?" became "Bring me water, boy."

And I did. Every time. Without pause.

The shift was never cruel. But it was clear.

She began to manage the space between us. When I knelt beside her, she'd gesture lazily for me to rest my head against her thigh. If I hovered or hesitated, she'd raise an eyebrow and say, "You know where you belong."

And she was right.

I did belong there.

It was strange to think how far we had come. Not long ago, I would have proudly curled into bed beside her, arms around her waist like an equal, whispering about my points and teasing her for more. Now, I found myself hesitating to even sit near her without permission.

And the strangest part?

I liked it. No, I craved it.

She filled the space my submission had created with her dominance, not with brute force but with grace. With presence. With expectation.

I was becoming less and less… and she was becoming more. Not because she demanded it. But because I gave it. Willingly.

And with that shift came something new.

Fear.

A quiet, reverent fear. Not of pain but of letting her down. Of hearing disappointment in her voice. Of seeing her eyes narrow when I forget to ask for permission or miss a ritual.

I didn't fear her when we were equals. But we weren't equals anymore.

The roles weren't play anymore. They were who we were becoming.

Later that week, as I crawled to her with the evening foot kiss, I paused before pressing my lips to her toes. She was sipping wine, legs crossed.

"I didn't hear a question," she said softly, one eyebrow raised.

I whispered, "Mistress, may I kiss your feet?"

She set her glass down and gave a faint, approving nod. "That's better."

As I kissed her feet, I felt her fingers slide gently into my hair, not pulling, just resting there, owning.

"Good boy," she murmured.

And I throbbed helplessly in the cage.

The Fall - Chapter 7:

In the beginning, things were simpler.

Back then, oral sex was worth ten points. A good, solid score enough to make it feel worth pursuing even on the days I wasn't particularly craving it. I still enjoyed it, of course I wasn't faking but there was always something transactional humming underneath the surface. I'd touch her in bed casually, softly tracing her thighs or slipping my hand under her shirt when she wasn't expecting it. We were equals then. I could be playful, even mischievous, coaxing her into letting me please her.

She always let me. And when I finished, satisfied that I'd earned my ten points, I'd often roll away, pleased with myself but not always thorough, not always reverent. Sometimes I forgot to clean her fully. Sometimes I'd rush to the bathroom to cool off my own arousal.

But now?

I no longer slide under the sheets hoping to "earn points."

Now, I kneel.

I don't touch her without permission. I wait. Watch. Crave.

There's no announcement, no rule that made me start kneeling before asking to please her. It just started one day after a series of other small rituals had already become part of me: calling her Mistress, keeping my eyes lowered, waiting for permission to speak.

One evening, without even thinking, I found myself lowering to my knees in front of her.

"Please, Mistress," I said softly. "May I taste you?"

She raised an eyebrow, not in mockery but in intrigue. Then she nodded and I dove in like a man starved.

It wasn't about points anymore. At least not just that. Something in me had shifted. Now, I savor her every sound she makes, every arch of her back, every pulse of her body under my tongue. I lap up every drop like it's holy. When she cums, I don't stop until she makes me. I don't move until she dismisses me.

And afterward, I clean her slowly, thoroughly. With my mouth. With care. With devotion.

She noticed.

She always notices.

Back then, when she played with herself in front of me, I used to take it as an open invitation. I would slide in beside her, kiss her neck, maybe slip a hand between her thighs. I wasn't just offering pleasure, I was claiming a part of it for myself. There was no hesitation, no protocol. Just hunger.

But now… now I kneel.

I wait.

I don't touch her unless she signals me to. I don't climb into her space like I used to. I lower my eyes and wait for her to beckon me forward like a privilege I have to earn.

And when she does, I worship her differently.

Back then, I never licked her asshole. It simply never occurred to me. But now… it feels natural. Expected. I don't even hesitate. My tongue finds every part of her with the same reverence. Because she deserves it. Because I want to show her how much she's changed me, how completely I've surrendered.

One night, after a long session, her second orgasm still trembling through her thighs, she looked down at me with something between amusement and delight.

"You seem to be enjoying this way more than you used to... don't you?" she said, voice low and rich.

I blushed but nodded. "Yes, Mistress."

"I like it," she said. "In fact, I think even if I removed the points you'd still beg me for it. Wouldn't you?"

My heart thudded in my chest. I nodded again. "Yes, Mistress. I would."

Her smile deepened.

"Such a good boy," she whispered, her fingers brushing my cheek.

Then she tilted her head thoughtfully.

"I have an idea," she said. "Let's make our point system a little more... spicy."

My breath caught.

"What do you think about negative points?"

I blinked, confused for a moment.

"You know," she continued, "something to keep you on your toes. A little fear of losing what you've worked so hard to earn."

She paused, letting the silence stretch as her eyes pinned me in place.

"You will give me four orgasms a week. If you don't…" Her voice turned light, almost playful. "You lose fifty points."

My cock twitched violently in its cage. She saw it, of course.

Her grin said everything.

It twitched again helplessly, shamelessly.

She chuckled softly. "I think I got my answer," she said. "Your cock just said everything there was to say."

I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came.

It didn't matter.

My cock had sealed the deal. And I didn't get a say in the matter.

The Fall - Chapter 6:

The shift was quiet. Gradual. Almost invisible unless I really looked.

There were no big announcements. No rules shouted or declared. Just small changes tiny, deliberate adjustments. A word here, a look there.

But somehow… things felt different now. Her word became the higher voice in our relationship, even without saying so.

I noticed it first in how I carried myself around her. I called her Mistress now not just for getting points but naturally like a person uses a title for someone in authority. Every time I said it, something stirred in me. A low heat. A pull toward her approval.

I knelt before speaking. I kept my eyes lowered unless told otherwise. I stayed quiet when she was talking. I did all of these rituals naturally now like that's how the things were always meant to be. And each time I followed these little rituals, I felt something tighten inside me like the world made more sense when I knew my place in it.

And she noticed.

Of course she noticed.

She didn't comment right away. She let me simmer in it, watching me obey, watching my body react to my own submission. And when she spoke, it was gentle, almost generous.

One evening, she didn't tease. She didn't smile. She just looked at me, still and thoughtful.

"You've changed," she said, eyes scanning me slowly. "You're so much more... attentive now. Always looking to please. Always careful not to disappoint."

I nodded, unsure how to respond.

"You're getting close to your next 200, aren't you?" she asked glancing at the tally I'd been keeping on the whiteboard in our bedroom. I nodded eagerly. "A few more points," I said. "Just a few."

She smiled faintly, then turned to me fully.

"I was thinking…" she said slowly, "maybe we could make this more interesting and at the same time, give you more opportunities to earn points."

My heart leapt. "Really?"

She nodded. "But only if you're willing."

That word. Willing.

It wasn't a command. Not yet. But I already knew I would say yes.

"I've added some new tasks," she continued.

I swallowed. "Like what?"

She listed them calmly, like she was reading a shopping list.

"Wearing a collar at home. Every day for a week. That's ten points."

"Kissing my feet when you wake up and before you sleep. Ten points each week."

"Asking my permission before sitting beside me. Two points each time."

"Letting me choose your clothing for the week. That's ten more."

She let the words hang for a moment.

"Only if you want to," she added. "I'm not making you. But you said you wanted to reach 200 sooner."

She was helping me, on the surface. That's how she presented it. But deep down, I knew; this wasn't just generosity.

It was structure. It was escalation. It was ownership, creeping in, inch by inch.

And I wanted it.

My heart was racing. Was this still just a game? Or had I already lost myself in something deeper? Something better?

"I'll do them," I said quietly.

She smiled.

"Good boy."

The next morning, I woke up and crawled toward the edge of the bed. She had already placed the collar on the nightstand. I approached her feet.

I kissed them gently. She fastened the collar around my neck.

My heart raced.

I didn't know why it felt so… natural. So right. But it did. My cock throbbed in its cage.

Later that afternoon, I walked toward the couch where she was sitting. I paused beside her and knelt.

"May I sit next to you, Mistress?"

She looked up from her book, one brow raised. "You may," she said, as though granting me some grand honor.

And it felt like one.

By the end of the week, I'd gathered just enough to reach the magic number again - 200 points.

I knelt beside her that evening, collar snug, clothes she'd chosen for me slightly more revealing than I'd usually wear at home. My hands trembled as I handed her the tally.

She smiled. "You've been very dedicated," she said. "Especially with these new tasks. I'm proud of you."

That pride… it hit me like a wave. I didn't realize how much I'd been craving it.

Then she took the key.

"I'll give you what you've earned," she said.

I was still hoping for more. Hoping maybe this time, I'd get to make love to her.

But instead, she leaned back on the couch, patted her lap and waited for me to lie across it.

"I'll take care of you," she said simply.

I tried to protest. "But… could we?"

She didn't scold. She didn't raise her voice.

"I'm the keyholder, remember?" she said firmly. "I get to decide how your release happens."

My cock pulsed just from those words.

She noticed.

Her lips curved. "Of course you do," she murmured. "You're learning."

And then she began.

She edged me twice slow, cruel strokes that brought me right to the edge before pulling back. I whimpered into her lap, body trembling.

When she finally allowed it, it didn't take long. Maybe twenty to thirty seconds.

I came hard, gasping, helpless in her hands.

Afterward, I lay across her lap, dazed and shivering.

She ran her fingers through my hair. Her voice was warm. Teasing.

"You're such a good boy for me. So needy. So honest. That's what I love most."

She kissed my forehead.

"I love how impossible it is for you to resist me."

And I melted.

The Fall - Chapter 5:

I don't know when it happened exactly. There was no grand shift, no announcement, no ceremony. Just small changes. One after another. And then, all at once, everything felt different.

It started with the new tasks. Not chores but rituals. She said they were just ways to help me collect more points. A kind gesture, she called it. "To make it easier," she'd said with a smile.

Calling her Mistress.

Kneeling before I spoke.

Keeping my eyes low unless told otherwise.

Remaining silent when she was speaking.

They were simple. Barely rules, really. More like manners.

But now… I notice how they've taken hold of me. How natural they feel. How they live under my skin.

I kneel before I speak automatically now. My body just folds down. And when I say "Mistress," it doesn't feel like a task anymore. It feels true. Like calling her by her real name was always a little off and I just didn't realize it.

And the strangest part?

Every time I complete a task especially one of these submission-based ones, I look up at her. Not to check if she noticed. But to see her reaction. To feel her approval. I crave it. Not just to get the points but because it grounds me.

When she's silent after I've done something, even for a moment, I feel a knot in my chest. A tiny fear that maybe I didn't do it right. That maybe I disappointed her.

That feeling didn't used to exist.

There was a time not long ago when we were equals. Lovers. Playful, sometimes teasing, sometimes intense. But always on the same level.

And now… now she feels higher than me.

Not in a cruel way. Not in a distant one.

But in that quiet, powerful way that makes me instinctively defer to her. Makes me think twice before speaking. Makes me wait to see if she wants me to speak.

I think I've started measuring myself through her eyes. I don't know when it started. I only know that now, when I look at her, I feel smaller. Not less. Not weaker. Just… hers.

And the terrifying part?

The beautiful part?

I love it.

I love that her approval means everything. I love that disappointing her scares me more than punishment ever could. I love how just hearing her voice makes my chest tighten in a way that's equal parts nervous and aroused.

A hierarchy has been established. Without her ever saying it.

She's the one in control.

And I'm the one serving.

It's not a rule. It's just true.

I think I always wanted this.

I just didn't know until she gave it to me quietly, completely, without asking for permission.

And now I wake up every day wondering how to please her better. How to kneel deeper. How to be more for her.

Not to win her back.

Not to climb beside her.

But because this feels like where I belong.

Because she feels like home.

The Fall - Chapter 4:

I didn't expect it to turn me on this much.

The first time I knelt before speaking, I did it because it earned me points. Just like folding her laundry or running her a bath. It was a task, nothing more.

But the second time? When I lowered myself before her, eyes down and softly said, "Mistress… may I speak?" There was a strange heat in my chest. A weight. A thrill.

And she noticed it.

Her lips curled. "You like that, don't you?" she asked, not needing an answer.

Every time I said Mistress, something inside me buzzed. The word felt sharp, electric like it rewired the entire conversation. Even just keeping my eyes lowered while she spoke gave me a fluttery, anxious kind of high. It wasn't the same as doing her chores. This wasn't service. This was obedience.

And I was hard more often than not.

She never said anything directly about it. But I could tell she saw how flushed I got. And the way she smiled knowing, amused, completely in control only deepened the effect.

Eventually, after sixteen days and more failed tasks than I'd admit, I reached 200 points again.

I was glowing with anticipation.

That evening, she unlocked my cage. I watched her, breath held, hoping she'd let me inside her. But instead, she leaned over me on the couch, her voice casual.

"I'm not really in the mood for sex tonight."

My stomach dropped. "But I… I waited so long. Please…"

She raised an eyebrow.

"I'm your keyholder," she said simply, with just enough firmness to silence me. "I think I get to decide how you're released. Don't you?"

The way she said it.

That slow, unquestionable certainty.

It shut me up and turned me on more than I expected. She saw that, of course. Her hand brushed lightly over my cage, watching it swell against the bars.

Then she unlocked me, slid her hand around my cock and began to edge me.

Twice.

Each time, right on the brink, she pulled away and whispered something soft something like, not yet, or I don't decide when. I was panting by the time she gripped me firmly again. Her hand was confident, practiced, unrelenting.

And I came in less than thirty seconds again.

I groaned as I pulsed into her hand, twitching and helpless. As the orgasm ebbed, the guilt began creeping back quicker than the orgasm itself.

"Good boy," she whispered against my ear, her breath hot and close.

I opened my mouth, maybe to apologize, maybe to explain but her eyes held me still calm, confident, sure.

"There's nothing more perfect than that. You were ready for me," she purred, fingers gliding lazily down my chest. "So desperate, so obedient… You gave me everything without holding back."

She cupped my face in both hands and tilted my head toward her. "I don't want you to resist me. I want you like this; needy, aching, completely mine."

I swallowed hard, arousal still lingering even in my afterglow. The shame I thought I'd feel never really arrived, just the warmth of her approval settling into my skin.

Her thumb traced my cheek, her voice soft but deliberate. "You came fast because I made you ache for me. That's not weakness, that's loyalty. That's how I know you love me."

She leaned closer, eyes locked on mine. "That's what being my good boy looks like."

And in that moment, I didn't feel embarrassed. I felt proud. Owned. Loved.

Two weeks passed. This time, collecting 200 points was harder.

The submissive tasks were plentiful now but she started rejecting more completions. My foot rubs weren't relaxing enough. My coffee wasn't warm enough. One night, I called her "babe" instead of "Mistress" and lost points.

It took eighteen days.

By then, I was aching. I handed her the tally with trembling hands.

She glanced over it, then smiled faintly.

"Good," she said. "You made it."

I swallowed. "Can we… I mean, can we have sex this time?"

She was already reaching for the key.

"No," she said softly. "Not tonight."

"Please…"

She looked at me, amused. "Still trying to negotiate, hmm?"

I didn't speak.

She waited, letting the moment sit, then unlocked my cage again. I felt a stab of frustration. But I said nothing.

Then I blurted almost without thinking. "I'll be quick. Please"

That made her pause.

She turned toward me, her smile sharper now. "Oh?"

"I promise," I said. "I'll be quick. You won't even have to move much."

She raised an eyebrow, tilted her head. Considering.

"I'm really tired," she said at last, brushing my face. "It better be quick."

It was.

Even before she was fully seated on me, I was close. The moment she started to move, I grabbed the sheets, arched my back and came almost instantly less than ten thrusts in.

She didn't need to reassure me this time.

I didn't feel guilty.

I had promised it would be quick.

And I had delivered.

She didn't call attention to it. Just smirked a little, kissed my cheek, called me a good boy and got up to clean herself.

But I saw it, the way her hips swayed just a little more than usual on the way to the bathroom. The satisfied little look she shot me over her shoulder.

She liked that I kept my word.

She liked how easy it had become.

And part of me aching, used and still panting felt proud that I had pleased her.

Even if it only lasted seconds.

The Fall - Chapter 3:

I was desperate.

A hundred and seventy points in. Only thirty more to go. It took me fifteen days to get to one hundred seventy points. Fifteen long, aching days.

In theory, I should've reached that number faster. I was doing tasks every day; washing the dishes, folding her laundry just right, making her coffee the way she liked, running her baths, even cooking her favorite meals.

But not every task counted. Sometimes she'd look at the folded laundry and say, "Hmm… the corners aren't as neat as last time. I don't think this one earns points." Or she'd sip the coffee, raise an eyebrow and say, "Almost perfect but not quite." Every time she rejected something, I burned with a mix of frustration and shameful arousal. And she noticed. Oh, she noticed.

She'd laugh softly and murmur, "You like that, don't you? Being judged… falling short. It gets you worked up." And I'd blush, unable to deny it.

When I finally hit 170, the need was unbearable. My cage throbbed at the slightest thought of her touch. I practically begged her to lower the release threshold. Just a little. Maybe this one time?

She looked at me, lounging on the couch, sipping her wine. Her bare feet were resting in my lap, like they usually did these days.

"Lower the threshold?" she said, tilting her head. "But that wouldn't be fair, would it?"

"I just… I've been trying so hard. I'll do anything."

She gave a slow smile and trailed her toes up my thigh. "Anything, hmm?"

I nodded desperately.

"Well," she said, setting down her glass, "I could help you earn points a little faster. But not by lowering the bar. That's not how motivation works."

I blinked. "Then how?"

She leaned in. "By offering more point opportunities. Little things. Fun things."

"Like what?"

She tapped her chin. "Well… if you address me as Mistress for a full day, that's 5 points."

My breath caught.

She smiled. "If you kneel before speaking to me each time for a whole day, another 5. Keeping your eyes lowered until I give permission? 5. Staying silent when I'm speaking, unless I ask you something? That's just polite but sure, we'll say 2."

I swallowed hard. This was… different. Not chores. Not neutral.

This was power.

"But only if you want to," she added sweetly. "It's your choice. I'm just trying to help you reach your goal faster. You do want to reach two hundred, don't you?"

I nodded eagerly. "Yes. Yes, please."

The new tasks changed everything. It wasn't just about service anymore, it was submission. And every time I obeyed one of those soft rules, I felt the pull of something deeper. I started kneeling without thinking. I called her Mistress and felt heat rise in my chest. When I stayed quiet, eyes lowered, I felt… calm. Grounded. Owned.

And sure enough, just two days later, I hit 200.

The night came. She lit a candle, told me to kneel and remove my cage.

My whole body was shaking.

I looked at her, silently begging to be taken.

But she stayed on the couch, legs crossed.

I crawled to her, desperate.

"Can I… may I… have you tonight?"

She looked at me with an amused, indulgent smile. "Oh sweetheart. I'm not really in the mood for sex tonight."

I blinked, stunned.

"But"

She cut me off gently. "I'm the keyholder, remember? That means I decide how you get your release."

Her words hit something deep in me. Her calm certainty. Her control. I felt my cock twitch, already responding and she noticed, of course.

Her gaze drifted down. "You like that, don't you? Being reminded of who decides. Mmm. You're so easy to read."

I flushed, trying to answer but she was already shifting closer, her hand trailing down.

"Good. Because tonight, you're getting a handjob. I'm not in the mood to be mounted like some release dispenser."

Then she stood up and walked behind me, her fingers trailing over my shoulder.

"Lie down," she whispered.

I obeyed instantly, stretching out on the rug.

She knelt beside me, her hand curling around my shaft. I was already hard, aching. And her touch was skilled, focused, familiar. She edged me once, stopping just in time. Then again, holding the pressure just right before easing off.

My legs shook.

And then finally she took me firmly in her hand and began stroking.

It was fast. She used that grip I couldn't fight, that knew my body better than I did. Within seconds I was spiraling. My breath hitched. I whimpered.

I came hard, helplessly, hips jerking. Barely twenty seconds in her hand.

And then silence.

I stared up at the ceiling, flushed, spent.

"I'm sorry," I stammered "I… I couldn't hold it."

But before doubt could creep in, she was there curling beside me, brushing my face.

"Of course, you couldn't." She whispered.

She didn't look disappointed. She looked pleased.

"You needed that," she whispered, her voice low and kind. "So badly."

I opened my mouth to speak but she pressed a finger gently to my lips.

"No shame. You've been locked up for days. Teased, edged, kept desperate. That's how you're meant to be."

She smiled and kissed my forehead.

"I love when you can't hold it. It shows how much you need me. That kind of surrender… it's the most honest thing in the world."

I exhaled slowly, warmth flooding my chest.

"You were perfect," she said softly, stroking my chest. "Fast, needy, desperate. Just how I like you."

I sank into her embrace, no longer questioning anything. Just letting her words rewrite how I saw myself.

And the scary part?

It worked.

The Fall - Chapter 2:

I finally did it. I collected two hundred points.

It looked easy but it wasn't. Sometimes, even after completing a task, she wouldn't accept it as complete because it didn't meet her expectations. And the weirdest part? Every time she rejected one, it aroused me.

And she noticed.

"Aww… look at you," she chuckled one evening, crossing her legs on the couch. "Getting turned on by my rejections. Maybe I should raise the bar even higher to keep you that aroused."

I blushed. I didn't even know how to respond.

But finally, after fifteen days of chores and massages and quiet aching, I reached the two hundred mark. I was buzzing with anticipation. I had counted down every hour until that evening.

She didn't make a big deal about it. Just a small smile and a nod.

"You've earned it."

She unlocked my cage.

She edged me twice; once with her fingers, once with her mouth. Each time, she stopped right at the brink, smiling up at me, whispering, "Not yet." My whole body trembled. I could barely keep my balance, my eyes rolling back, breath caught in my throat. She looked amused. Pleased.

When the edging was over, I thought I'd get to take her in my arms, the way we used to. Maybe guide the pace. Be part of it.

But she didn't hand control back.

She pushed me down with a firm hand on my chest.

"Lie back." she said, calm and sure.

I obeyed without a word, dizzy with arousal.

She climbed on top of me, warm and confident and positioned herself with slow, deliberate grace. I barely had time to gasp before she sank down on me, taking me in completely with one smooth motion.

And then she started moving.

Not slow. Not tender.

Fast. Deep. Completely in control.

Her hips moved with purpose. She rode me like she had something to prove. I was pinned beneath her, unable to match her rhythm, barely able to think. Her hands pressed against my chest, her body grinding into mine as her eyes stayed locked on my face.

I tried to hold on. I really did. But after the edging, the teasing, the wait, it was all too much.

It hit me before I could even warn her. My body buckled under her, hips twitching helplessly as I came hard, in less than 30 seconds.

When it was over, I just lay there, frozen, embarrassed, chest heaving.

She didn't move. Just stayed on top of me, her breath soft, her fingers brushing my cheek.

Then she smiled, warm, relaxed and leaned down to kiss my temple.

I looked up at her, wide-eyed. "I... I am sorry. I didn't mean to"

She didn't even hesitate. Her hand gently cupped my cheek, turning my face toward hers.

"Sorry?" she repeated with a soft laugh. "Sweetheart, what on earth for?"

I managed to whisper. "I... I came too fast. I couldn't stop-"

Before I could finish, she gently hushed me, one finger resting on my lips.

"Shhh. No, sweetheart. Don't apologize."

Her eyes were soft. Her tone wasn't irritated, it was tender. She leaned in, brushing my damp hair back.

"You were wonderful."

I started to speak again but she cut me off, not harshly, just firm and clear.

"I mean it. That was beautiful."

She smiled, warm and calm, almost amused by my worry. Her fingers traced slowly down my chest.

"Of course you did. You were in chastity for two weeks. You were edged twice. Your whole body was begging."

She leaned in, her voice lower now, more intimate.

"And those edges…"

Her smile widened, sensual now.

"Mmm. I love edging you. The way your whole body begs without saying a word… the tension, the helplessness in your eyes right when I stop… it's delicious."

Her voice dipped lower, more intimate.

"After all that? It would've been unnatural not to cum quickly."

I blushed. I tried again to say something, some attempt to express my embarrassment but she moved closer and placed both hands on my face, grounding me.

"Hey. Look at me."

I did.

"Don't be hard on yourself. There's nothing wrong with what just happened."

"You were turned on. You were aching. You were desperate. And I loved it."

She gave me a slow, affectionate kiss; unhurried, unrushed.

Then she whispered, right at my ear:

"You came so fast because you wanted me so badly. Because you couldn't hold back."

"That's not something to be ashamed of. That's something I adore about you."

I tried to say something but she hushed me again.

"Do I look disappointed? I am actually wet."

Then, slowly, she reached down between her legs. I watched, breath caught, as she dipped two fingers along her slit and brought them up, glistening.

She held them close to my face.

"This is how wet you made me."

I swallowed hard, the weight of her words washing over my shame.

"You gave me everything. All of that tension… all that need. You gave it to me."

She rested her forehead against mine.

"There's nothing more honest than that."

She stroked your face again, letting the silence linger now not awkward but full, warm, held.

"You were perfect."

Her words sank deep. A warmth spread through my chest. Maybe I hadn't failed. Maybe she really did want this.

And somehow, in her voice, I believed it.

The Fall - Chapter 1:

She was lying on the couch, legs stretched out across my lap, scrolling absently on her phone. The TV flickered in the background, forgotten.

We were comfortable. Familiar. Married.

I don't know what made me bring it up. Maybe the wine, or the way she always stretched with quiet confidence like she belonged in control of everything. Or maybe it was the way my thoughts had circled the same fantasy for weeks. That curious, aching need to give her the key.

"Have you ever thought about chastity play?" I asked, keeping my voice light.

Her eyes flicked up, just for a second, then back to her phone. "Like a cage?" she said, almost too casually.

I nodded, smiling awkwardly. "Yeah. Just to try it. Maybe… as a little game."

She set her phone down and looked at me more directly now, like something had clicked into place.

"Hmm," she said, drawing out the sound. "So you want me to be in charge of your cock?"

I swallowed. Her tone wasn't cruel, just amused. Intrigued.

"I guess that's what it is," I murmured.

She smirked, shifting slightly so her toes pressed into my thigh. "You mean you want me to lock it up and decide when you get to use it. No touching. No cumming. Total control."

Her words made my pulse quicken. I could already feel myself hardening inside my pants.

"I thought it might be… fun," I said, my voice quieter now.

Her eyes flicked downward for the briefest second just enough to see the telltale twitch in my pants. My arousal had betrayed me.

She smiled. Not cruelly more like a cat noticing her prey had flinched.

"Aww," she cooed, "are you getting hard just thinking about not being allowed to use it?"

I opened my mouth to say something, anything but she just reached out and traced a slow finger along my thigh, not quite touching.

"That's adorable," she whispered. "You're already turned on by the idea of giving up control."

She leaned back again, perfectly composed, perfectly amused.

"Okay then," she said, like she was granting me a favor. "Let's try it."

The first cage arrived in discreet packaging two days later. She insisted on putting it on me herself. No teasing, no cruelty, just an eerie calm. Confidence.

I was still allowed to sleep beside her. Still allowed to kiss her. Still allowed to cum every three days, like we agreed.

And she stuck to it, at first.

Unlock. Edge. Ride. Sex. Relock.

But after the second week, something shifted.

She didn't bring it up again for a couple days. But on the third night, just before bed, she sat beside me on the couch, casually scrolling her phone.

"You know," she said, without looking up, "this every-three-days thing? It's kind of… boring."

I glanced at her, confused. "Boring?"

She finally looked at me, smirking slightly. "Unlocking you like clockwork. Three days, then a quick release. Rinse and repeat. If I have to unlock you on a schedule, how is that me being in control?"

My heart skipped. "Do you want to stop?"

"Oh no," she said, laughing softly. "Quite the opposite. I'm actually starting to enjoy the control. I just think if I'm going to be your keyholder, it should feel like I'm in charge. Don't you think?"

I nodded quickly. "Of course."

She leaned in a little. "Then maybe we need a better system. One that makes you earn your releases a bit more. Something that keeps things exciting for both of us."

I swallowed. "What do you mean?"

"A points system," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You do things for me; nice things, sexy things, useful things and I assign points. When you hit two hundred, I might let you out. That way, you never know exactly when it's coming. It could be in two days… or six. Depends on how good you are."

I could feel my cock stir in the cage. She noticed. Of course she did.

Her eyes twinkled. "Getting hard again? Just from the idea?"

"I guess so," I murmured.

She laughed, shaking her head as if amused at how easily I gave myself away. "You're really hopeless."

Then she added, softly, "And so easy to train."

"But don't get too excited. Most tasks won't be worth much. I'm not handing out orgasms like coupons."

She leaned forward, grabbed a notepad and began to write as she spoke:

Washing dishes after dinner: 5 points

Making my coffee in the morning without being asked: 3 points

Giving me a proper foot massage: 7 points

Vacuuming or cleaning up properly: 10 points

Cooking me something special: up to 15 points

Helping me orgasm with your mouth: 10 points

Drawing a bubble bath for me, lighting candles: 8 points

Folding my laundry properly, scented sheets and all: 6 points

Letting me edge you and stopping when I say: 2 points

She looked down at me and raised an eyebrow. "See how the useful stuff adds up slowly? I don't want you thinking you can wash some dishes and jump straight to an orgasm."

Then she leaned forward, voice soft but unmistakably in control. "But you're welcome to try, pet. Let's see how badly you want it."

The cage pressed tightly as my cock swelled. I didn't say anything. I didn't have to.

She noticed.

"Aww," she said, grinning. "Already hard at the thought of serving me? That's cute."

I blushed.

"Good boy," she added lightly, turning back to her phone like she hadn't just short-circuited my brain.