My arms were outstretched, palms facing down, trembling as a delicate figure of Makima balanced on top of them. Each breath came heavy, labored, after holding this position for over 30 minutes. Laughter rippled through the room, soft yet mocking, fueling the ache in my muscles and the heat in my cheeks.
Kneeling before twenty fierce, breathtaking women in nothing but a tight, unforgiving chastity cage was a scene I'd reluctantly grown familiar with, but tonight was different. Tonight was an anniversary--the night marking the beginning of all of this. She had designed something special for me, a twisted game to push me beyond any limit I'd once known.
I caught sight of three women selecting their whips, their eyes gleaming as the others cheered them on. My heart pounded with anticipation and fear. I knew what was coming, yet it did nothing to ease the thrill--or the dread.
"Ladies, let's begin," Radhika's voice rang out, a wicked smile on her face as Saloni prepared to land the first strike. This was set to be the most intense night of my life. The rules of her game tonight were especially brutal: each woman would take turns whipping my exposed back, legs, and ass for as long as they pleased. But if, for even a second, the Makima figure slipped from my hands and hit the floor, she'd unleash every photo and video she'd collected over the years on my social media, exposing me to the world for what I truly was--a chastity-locked, submissive plaything under her control.
Tonight, I'd be tested in every way. I couldn't help but start to reminisce about how it all started, what now feels like a lifetime ago.
----
II was a 27-year-old senior partner at a major tech startup in India. Living in Bangalore was a nightmare. The traffic was beyond terrible, the local goons might beat you up just for speaking in Hindi, and everything was more expensive than it was worth. There were only two good things about this city: the weather, and my beautiful flat.
So, it was heartbreaking when my flatmate of two years decided to get married and move into a new house with his wife. Idiot. This flat was beyond perfect--spacious, well-lit, designed to perfection, hyper-optimized for Bangalore's weather, and close to every fun and important place in the city.
Now, I was left with a choice. Find a new roommate, or live alone. I didn't want the latter option. Not because I couldn't afford it, but because it was simply too much hassle to manage the maid, the cook, and the endless nooks and crannies of a premium flat.
No, I was going to find a flatmate I didn't hate and continue enjoying life in my beautiful home. So, I posted an ad, and sure enough, applications started flooding in as if a dam had broken.
Models, entrepreneurs, spoiled brats, and high-level employees all lined up to make a home of my precious flat, but alas, I didn't vibe with any of them--not one bit.
Two days later, I was exhausted, and my standards for a flatmate were dropping by the second, when *she* walked in.
I remember what she wore that day as clearly as if it were yesterday: an oversized T-shirt hanging loosely on her slim frame, hot pants that barely covered her legs, and the wicked smile of a Machiavellian villain.
But that wasn't what stood out the most.
"Babe, walk faster! This is absolutely perfect! This will work out so well with just a little bit of effort" she called out excitedly to the man behind her.
When he came into view, I was taken aback. He was a 40-something man in an exceptionally well-tailored suit, wearing a Rolex, bald, and grinning like a buffoon.
Of course, the most striking thing about him wasn't the suit or the watch. It was the dog collar around his neck with "INCIA" written on it. Oh, and he was on all fours.
I had obviously heard of kink-based, female-led relationships through cultural osmosis, but I still couldn't believe what I was witnessing. Before I could properly react, the girl--who, I assumed, was the "Incia" on the man's collar--spoke up.
"I'll take it! So, how do you want to handle this? Should we send the deposit to you or directly to the landlord...?" she was saying, but I barely registered her words. The situation was too bizarre. What the hell was going on?
"Wait," I finally broke my silence. "I'm still reviewing flatmate applications, and I haven't even told you the rent yet."
"Oh, I know you aren't going to say no to me! I am okay with whatever your requirements are. Money is no bar, isn't that right, honey?"
"Yes, Empress," the man replied meekly.
No. This was too weird. I shouldn't get involved--just tell her you'll keep looking. You'll find a much more normal flatmate in no time. Stop.
"Welcome aboard," I finally said, after a silence long enough to be awkward.
What? What was going on? What was I doing? Could I really be this bored? What was I thinking?
"Great," she smiled. "Honey, talk to this nice guy and set everything up before I'm back. Take care, have fun, and--oh..." She pulled out her phone, tapped the screen, and the man screeched in pain, lowering himself further to the ground.
"That was for making me open the door myself," she said playfully as she walked out, leaving me in shock.
The man straightened up, now standing like a regular person, looked me in the eye, and said, "I'm sorry about all that--that's just how my Empress is."
She didn't return that night. Nor the next. Instead, the man handled everything. He set up the contract, arranged the room, managed the payments--if I didn't know better, I would have thought he was the one moving in.
But I did know better. I tried multiple times to ask him about "his Empress," but he simply replied that he wasn't at liberty to speak.
Part of me regretted saying yes to this arrangement, but a much stronger question nagged at me: *Why hadn't I been able to say no to her?*
Little did I know then how often I'd ask myself that.
A few days later, I left for a meeting in Hyderabad and returned two days later to find myself locked out of my own flat.
Anger bubbled up as I jabbed the doorbell repeatedly, ready to unleash my fury on the man once he answered. But when the door opened, it was Incia herself standing there, and my jaw practically hit the floor.
She was wearing a bikini that left almost nothing to the imagination, a small piece of black fabric barely containing her breasts, which seemed ready to escape it. I'd worked with models, dated women who went on to win pageants, but in that moment, Incia was the hottest woman I'd ever seen. I just stared, speechless.
"Rude," she smirked, a disturbing mix of innocent sweetness and calculating mischief.
"M-my keys didn't work. Did you...change the lock?" I finally managed to ask.
"Oh, yes. I didn't feel safe not knowing who else might have keys to *my flat*."
Her words snapped me out of my daze. *Her* flat? I'd lived here for over two years. This was *my* flat first.
"You should have asked me before doing that, Incia. This is a serious violation of respect among co-residents. Please give me the keys--I don't think we're a good fit for living together."
"Give me your phone," she said sweetly.
"What?"
"Give me your phone," she repeated, her voice soft but unyielding.
Confused, but wanting to end this mess, I handed her my phone, not really expecting anything.
"Great," she smiled, then shut the door in my face.
*What.* I banged on the door, furious. This was my flat. She had no right.
A note slipped under the door:
*"Behave nicely, and you will be let in."*
Livid, I banged the door a few more times, then stormed down to complain to the building manager.
I explained the situation, and he told me that if she refused to open the door, they could break it down to let me in--but that it would mean damaging the door.
