This story is a continuation of my story 'Night Flight' about a young FLR couple (Lisa & Jack) that an older woman (Marie) meets on a flight. After teasing Jack for the duration of the flight and leaving him with a ruined orgasm, Marie gives Lisa her card and suggests that they meet for some advanced instruction on controlling Jack. Lisa decides to take her up on it in the story "Mentored by a Dowager." This story is the follow-on and could have been titled "Happy at home with Lisa and Jack," although they hardly have a normal household.
Tawse to the Balls
After our encounter with the Duchess and her butler Otis, life has calmed down a bit for Lisa and me. My job as a copy editor allows for a flexible schedule and I work from my office here in the apartment so I can take care of things that Lisa doesn't have time for. As a business consultant in Manhattan with a prestigious private practice and a high-paying salary with perks, Lisa's job is filled with stress and responsibility, but she enjoys it.
You're probably curious whether this is a story or a journal, but it's neither. Lisa instructed me to write about my life now that, as she says, I've been "trained." Before meeting the Duchess, I was a lot more carefree than I am now, but I have to admit, and not just because she'll read this eventually, that I am much happier with her guidance and discipline in my life.
Her day starts pretty early since she likes to be in her office by 8, which means she's up at 6:30. She heads to the bathroom, but I'm already in the kitchen putting breakfast together. As soon as she leaves I head out to meet with Otis for a PT session and he is an expert at pushing me to my limits. If he's unavailable, I head straight to the gym and push through a grueling workout on my own. By the time I return to our apartment, my muscles are whipped, but there is no rest for me. An endless list of cleaning and errands must be taken care of and then I have to deal with my own work as an editor. And just when I think the day is over, Lisa returns home. But there is no relaxing meal together - instead, it's a frenzy of serving her while keeping up with her ever-changing demands. Just another day in the chaotic life with Lisa - always striving for perfection and never able to catch a breath until late into the night.
As a subordinate male in a female led relationship, pretty much every aspect of my life is under Lisa's control, and frankly, I like it that way; however, she does have quite a few rules and expectations. The foremost is that I stay caged 24/7 and the only time it comes off is when I am restrained in some way, or the very, very rare times that she wants me in her. Believe me when I say that I live for the PIV sessions. Although the cage around my manhood is a constant reminder of my subservience and devotion to my wife, I was the one who initiated the idea and she quickly took charge. Surprisingly enough, I have grown accustomed to its presence between my legs--a symbol of our relationship dynamic, a reminder that she is in control and I am hers to serve.
When I am in the apartment, I have to stay naked except for a T-shirt, and my cage, of course. If it is cold I can wear tube socks. Today, as I hear Lisa's key in the lock, I'm standing ready with a glass of wine. My heart races a little, as it always does when she gets home. The door swings open, and I hold my breath, waiting for her touch to gauge her mood. Her fingers brush against me, delivering a gentle tickle to the bottom of my nutsack. I exhale in relief as I hand her the wine.
"Good evening, Jack," she says, her voice warm as she takes the glass, "How was your day?"
"Productive, Ma'am," I reply, following her into the living room. "I finished editing that manuscript and completed all the tasks on your list."
Lisa sinks into her favorite armchair, kicking off her heels. "Excellent. I'm famished. What's for dinner?"
I hesitate for a split second. "I... I'm afraid I got caught up in my work and haven't started cooking yet, Ma'am."
Her eyebrow arches, and I feel a chill run down my spine. I've disappointed her, and that's the last thing I ever want to do.
"I see," she says, her voice cooler now. "And what, pray tell, do you suggest we eat?"
I swallow hard, my mind racing. "I could whip up a quick stir fry, Ma'am. It would only take about 20 minutes."
Lisa takes a long sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving mine. I can see the wheels turning in her head, deciding how to handle my transgression.
"That won't do," she says finally. "I've had a long day and I expected to come home to a hot meal." She pauses, then continues, "You'll order takeout from that Thai place I like. And while we wait for it to arrive, you can reflect on your lack of time management and prioritization in one your humblers."
I swallowed hard, this was going to be a long evening. She got up and I followed her into the office where she opened the cabinet where she keeps what she calls my 'toys'. As she tried to decide, I quickly grabbed my phone off the desk and ordered dinner.
"Let's see," she said, "I think this one will do," she said as she turned towards me, her lips curved into a small smile as she held up the humbler with thigh cuffs, her eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.
She didn't need to say much; her sharp gaze and the deliberate way she turned the device in her hands said it all. My stomach churned with a mix of nerves and anticipation, but I knew better than to protest. Lisa's discipline was never cruel--always calculated, always fair--but it left no room for negotiation.
My heart raced as she reached for the key to my cage that she always wore around her neck, but I knew that the cage was not coming off so I could get a release.
She unlocked the keeper ring on my tetherspout so that she could remove my cage. Once it was off she put it in the cabinet and then pulled out a collection bottle.
"I have a feeling you'll be dripping a lot tonight and I don't want a mess," she said as she attached the bottle to the end of the spout and secured it.
Then she handed me a pair of slip on knee pads and that alone told me it would be a long night. I slipped them on and then pulled off my T-shirt.
"On your knees," she commanded, her voice like silk laced with steel.
I sank to my knees without hesitation, my palms pressing against the hardwood and my knees thankful for the pads. I startled a bit when she grabbed my balls and pulled them back behind me so that she could fasten the humbler around them. The familiar loud click as she locked it resonated through the apartment as she put the necklace holding the key around my neck. The velcro thigh straps were next and then I felt a tug as she clipped them to the ends of the humbler.
"Good boy," Lisa murmured, sipping her wine as she stood and leaned casually against the desk. Her voice carried a note of satisfaction, though I could tell she'd yet to decide whether I had properly atoned for my earlier lapse. Then, as if she had read my mind, I saw her take the tawse from its hook saying "You don't mind if I use this, do you?"
"No, Ma'am," I whispered, lowering my head in submission.
Lisa inspected me for a moment, her calculating gaze moving over my restrained form. She swirled the wine in her glass thoughtfully, then took another sip. The silence stretched, making my heartbeat thunder in my ears. I knew better than to speak without permission, so I remained still, waiting for her next move.
The tawse hung from her hand like a quiet promise--an instrument of correction that she wielded with precision. She had taught me that discipline wasn't about punishment but about alignment, about ensuring that I stayed on the path she had marked for me. Still, the weight of anticipation was its own kind of torment.
"Let me make myself clear," Lisa said finally, her voice smooth and deliberate. "I appreciate the effort you put into your tasks today, but effort without foresight is meaningless. You know my expectations when it comes to dinner, don't you?"
"Yes, Ma'am," I replied softly.
"Good." She set her wineglass down on the desk and stepped toward me, the tawse swinging lightly in her hand.
"Tonight will serve as a reminder. Not because I am angry, but because I care about your growth and adherence to structure."
Her words were measured, not unkind, yet they carried the weight of authority that never failed to stir something deep within me. She walked around me slowly, her heels clicking against the floor as she circled like a predator considering its prey. I remained on my hands and knees, the humbler holding me in place, my body taut with both anticipation and submission.
I gasped and tensed as I felt the edge of the tawse dragged slowly across my tight balls that were held captive and presented for her amusement. She giggled.
"Do you know why I value discipline so much?" she asked, her tone conversational but edged with intent.
"Because it brings order, Ma'am," I answered immediately, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Correct," she chuckled,"So now you will respect order."
I braced myself, my shoulders tensing as she raised the tawse. The first strike was sharp, delivered to the exposed curve of my backside, and it sent a sting radiating through my body. I winced but stayed silent for any sound without her permission might only worsen my predicament. She had taught me that discipline required composure, even when it burned.
"One," she said softly, letting the word linger in the air like a bell toll, "For failing to prioritize properly." Another strike followed, harder this time. "Two--for not anticipating my needs." My hands pressed into the hardwood floor as I fought to keep steady.
"Three," she said authoritatively now, "for making a mistake."
I was taken by surprise, assuming that the next strike, like the others, would hit my already striped rear end. To my shock, the tawse landed directly on my balls.
My vision blurred as tears welled up, the pain radiating through my body. I struggled to catch my breath, fighting the urge to curl up and protect myself, the humbler pulling at my nuts painfully.
Lisa's hand gently stroked my back, a soothing counterpoint to the gut-wrenching agony.
"Breathe, darling," she murmured.
I focused on my breathing, trying to ride out the waves of pain. Slowly, the initial shock subsided, leaving a dull, throbbing ache.
"Good boy," she murmured, her tone softer now. "You took that well."
"Thank you, Ma'am," I managed to croak out, my voice hoarse.
"Now then, when the takeout arrives," Lisa continued as she came to a stop in front of me, "You will greet the delivery person at the door exactly as you are now. That should be a fitting consequence for your oversight."
It was as if on cue that the doorbell rang just then.
"Well, Jack?" she prompted, her voice laced with anticipation, "Our dinner won't deliver itself."
Swallowing hard, I began the awkward process of crawling towards the front door. The humbler restricted my movement, forcing me to take small, careful moves as I crawled on my hands and knees. Each motion sent a jolt of discomfort through my still-tender balls.
Lisa followed close behind, sipping her wine and occasionally offering "helpful" directions. "Mind that chair, darling," she'd say, or "Don't forget to smile!"
