The pull had started on his way home as it often did now. The closer he got to where she was the farther from the vanilla world his mind went. Now, as he knelt down on the floor of his bedroom waiting for her to get home, he was trying his hardest not to disappear into the fog. Not the white haze drifting into the orchards surrounding her house, but the fog inside his head.
His eyes wandered around his room, over his bed with the blankets smoothed down and the pillows perfectly positioned. It was the way he left it every morning. Before coming here he hadn't made his bed since eighth grade. He had been disappointed when she hadn't allowed him to continue sleeping in her room even though the floor was uncomfortable.
His neck collar was sitting on the nightstand where it always was when he came home. Even though he had his twenty-four/seven collar, he still missed the feel of the leather around his neck.
The dresser. Home to all the various toys and instruments of control she owned. He had never looked in any of the drawers, but nothing made his heart pound faster than the sound of one of them sliding open. It was a different feeling now than it had been his first few weeks here. What had started out as fearful apprehension had now turned into eager anticipation. If she pulled her strap-on out of the dresser, it didn't matter. If she took the leather strap off the top of the dresser that was okay, too. He was hers to use as she pleased.
He rocked back when he heard the front door open. He was lost already, his mind in the land of no return. He wiped his mouth, concerned he might be drooling, and realized he better make a conscious effort to keep it closed. His peripheral vision caught a glimpse of her moving past his door into her own bedroom. Drawers opened and closed, there was shuffling and footsteps, then she was there, leaning against his doorframe. He didn't look up but kept his eyes on the black leather of her boots when she walked towards him.
She sat on the edge of his bed, a small red bag hanging from her wrist. "A couple things are going to change," she said, leaning forward to buckle the collar around his neck.
"Yes, Mistress." The words sounded so far away he wondered if he had even said them out loud. He glanced up, his eyes instantly noticing the bare skin starting just above her knee where the leather of her boots ended. It continued almost all the way up her thigh until the black lace of her dress interrupted the perfect view, replacing it with teases of pale flesh visible through the delicate material.
"From now on I won't be tying your hands at night. I want them available for use if I choose to allow you to use them." She shuffled around in the bag then looked up, waiting for his answer.
"Yes, Mistress." He wanted to beg her to continue chaining him up. He loved the sound and the feel of their restriction. But as long as he was still double collared at night he could learn to sleep without them.
"From now on this will be your nighttime collar." She pulled a medium-sized plug out of the bag that was the same color as his skin. Then she pulled out a small remote and pushed the red button in the center. The plug began quietly vibrating in her hand.
"Yes, Mistress." He stared at it, trying to get his eyes to focus on it.
"When it turns on I expect you to be by my bed within two minutes." She held it out and he took it from her.
The vibration made his hand tingle and he was surprised by the weight compared to the one he was currently wearing. "Yes, Mistress." He handed it back, keeping his eyes on it while she balanced it on its base and left it sitting on his nightstand.
She clicked the red button again and it turned off. "From now on there will be a punishment session once a week on Tuesdays regardless of your behavior."
He felt a jump between his legs when the word "punishment" came from her lips. "Yes, Mistress."
"What's today?"
"Tuesday, Mistress."
"That's right." She stood up and headed towards the dresser. "They may be more than once a week if I choose, but they will be at least every Tuesday because I prefer to keep you marked."
"Yes, Mistress."
"You're not allowed to come during punishment sessions, so don't ask." She reached into the dresser and began pulling out various crops, whips, and canes, throwing them on the bed. "What are you supposed to say if you're reaching the point of no return?"
"Break, Mistress."
"Good boy."
The words pulsed through him and he wiped his mouth again. The fog was so thick if she told him she had decided to castrate him he was positive he would just reply "Yes, Mistress" and probably even climax when she did it.
She moved back to the bed and shuffled through the items on it. "You're going to pick what you're punished with...Well, you're cock is." She grabbed a leather crop and turned to face him, smacking it down into the palm of her hand. "Okay, not this one," she replied when his erection remained still. "What about this one?" She smiled, holding a black cat o' nine tails up between her hands. When his body remained motionless she put it down and tapped her finger against her lips.
"Hmmm..." She turned away from him to rummage through the items on the bed, then put her hands on her hips and began glancing around the room.
His eyes followed her when she began pacing, slowly dragging her boots over the floor then clomping them down. His heart jumped every time they hit the floor. When she reached the closet she paused, glancing inside from the cracked open door. She pushed the sliding door open farther then reached into his laundry basket. The pants he had worn that day fell to the floor when she pulled his leather belt free from them.
The brain between his legs was becoming the ultimate traitor. It jumped hard when she doubled the belt over in her hands. When she pulled the slack out, bringing on a loud cracking sound, he almost asked for a break. She was going to whip him with his own belt, and it was going to hurt. The traitor jumped again at the thought, leaking into her hand when she reached down to reward it with a caress.
"Bend over."
He got into the position he found himself in often now, pressing his cheek to the floor and leaving his other end open for use. A pang of emptiness ran up his spine when she pulled his collar out. His fingers began rubbing the leather around his neck to counteract the emotion.
"Don't worry," she whispered, leaning down towards his ear while she let his belt run over his bare back, "I'll make sure we don't forget you're owned."
"Owned" was another trigger word, one the traitor responded to with enthusiasm.
She pulled a black Sharpie pen out of the dresser then walked back over to him, kneeling down behind him. "O-W..." she said out loud while she wrote the letters across his right cheek, "N-E-D. There. Now we won't forget."
"Breathe," she said, pulling his hands behind him to fasten them behind his back.
He didn't have time to respond. His belt came down hard, whistling through the air before it landed on his upper thighs. He sucked in a gasp, shocked at the afterburn. The next blow landed in the same spot, the sting bringing tears to his eyes.
"This is making very nice marks," she commented, running her fingers over the angry red stripes.
He couldn't see them, but after each contact he knew they were there by the burn that continued to radiate from them. It went straight from the point of contact to between his legs, causing him to clench and drip. He hadn't been counting the strokes but thought he made it to around seven before he needed a break.
She moved to the side and backed up a few steps. He turned his head so he could look at her. His eyes were at the same level as her feet. They moved up the length of her black boots, over the bare skin at her thighs, to the lace of her dress hiding her hips and waist. Her nipples pushed out against the sheer fabric and the rest of her breasts pushed out over the top of it. His belt was doubled over and taut between her hands, her eyes assessing the damage she had already done. She had never looked more beautiful.
