The Crucifixion Of Officetoyboy Pt 03

You need to be punished for being such a dirty anal slut, don't you?

OfficeToyBoy buries his face behind his wrists, still bound by his office shirt. He nods his head.

Look at my face when I am talking to you! I bend down over him as he drops his fists to his chest obediently. I grab his chin. You have been a very, very bad boy, Office. And now you will be punished for being the disgusting little anal slut that you are. Get up, Slut!

OfficeToyBoy shuffles to the edge of the bed and drops his feet, still in shiny red heels, with his pants around his ankles, over the side of the bed. He squirms his body up to sitting.

Kick off the shoes and pants, I say. He does, and I kick them out of the way. Then I slide a black lace thong over his feet. It's pretty, and it has a pocket stretchy enough to hold his, I now notice, ample supply of junk. I slip his heels back on his feet and drape a leash around the shirt that binds his wrists together. Finally, I bring his tie back around to the front, smooth out the creases around his neck, neaten and straighten the knot, just below his Adam's apple, and tuck the little end into its loop behind the big end. I pull the tie, pull him, slightly towards me and kiss him on the lips. You'll be okay, I whisper in his ear, I am going to take you to the Dungeon. No one will see your face. Nod if we are green, shake if we are not. He nods. I kiss him again, gently on his neck, and slip the lace hood back over his face.

Follow me. I take the leather end of the metal leash in my hand and walk out the door, OfficeToyBoy stumbling behind me on his heels. I move slowly. This transition is important. It is a parade of my anal slut's shame, and he needs to move through this. Also, I do not want him to break an ankle in those heels. Not sure what the insurance covers in this place.

We are back in the Dungeon, and LittleWilly is barking again. This time, I ignore him. It is all background noise. The dog barking, the brat fighting to escape her restraints, the ass getting slapped on the play bench in the side room. I ignore them, ignore everyone but my Toy as we move across the floor to the cross. A guest reaches out to touch him, but I shoot her away with my eyes and a snap of my switch. This is Mine. You can watch, but you cannot touch.

Finally, we reach the St Andrew's Cross in the corner. Wrists, I say, and he holds them out. I unwrap his office shirt. Step up, I say. Raise your hands and face the wall. DeskSub is lurking in my peripheral vision, so I motion for him to tighten the cuffs in the upper corners around OfficeToyBoy's wrists. He does this with glee.

As a Mistress of the House, I like that this stuff brings pleasure to a house full of people on a Friday night, I really do. Pleasure, joy, and affection are our divine rights as human beings. But as a Mistress of One, currently OfficeToyBoy, I love knowing that a carefully tended dynamic expands our sense of self -- including but not limited to our capacities for pleasure, joy, and intimacy. My sub feels their strength when they are stretching a previously firm boundary, pushing the edge of their personal limits. They are doing the pushing themselves, while they allow me the privilege of directing them. When my sub feels their strength, I feel my own.

OfficeToyBoy is now stretched before me like a canvas.

You've been a very bad boy, haven't you, Office?

Yes, Miss Tress, yes I have.

Slash. My first stroke is back-handed, because they are softer, moving from upper left to lower right corners of my canvas. It lands on OfficeToyBoy's left shoulder blade. He takes it stoically, like he took my pegging.

You are a filthy anal slut, aren't you, Office?

Yes, Miss Tress, yes I am.

Slash. This time from the right side, across to the left. It lands on OfficeToyBoy's lower right limbs. He barely moves.

The is the beginning of a process. I will vary the angle of my slashes, but they will gain a rhythm of their own. I will confirm throughout, although not with every swing, that OfficeToyBoy has been a very bad boy and that he knows exactly why he is being punished.

As the marks begin to form a delicate lattice pattern across OfficeToyBoy's back and thighs, I slip into my rhythm. Gradually, I float away from the Dungeon, although my voice, my arm, and my flogger remain there.

But my Self is on the shores of lake as large as the sea. The people on the floor of the Dungeon become pebbles, debris, irrelevant. My Toy is the shore itself. Waves caress my feet as I stand on his shore, and their rhythm rises through me, crash, crash, crash. I give myself to the waves and lose all sense of time and place. There is only the forever of this shoreline.

Then a sound. It is just a whisper, from deep within the Dungeon. But it pierces my skull as clearly as the high-pitched call of a herring gull. I stop all motion and listen. This is the cry we have been waiting for.

Office?

No, he says.

I step up to the cross. Say it again, I tell him with my soft voice.

No, Miss Tress.

I duck under the arms of the cross, into the corner space. I place my face next to his, where it hangs beneath the beams. Tell me again, dear boy, I say, taking his face in my hands through the hood.

No, Miss Tress, I am a good boy. I take a deep breath and feel the cold water ebb away from my feet with the tide. I carefully lift the bottom of his hood so that only his lips are visible, kiss them gently and whisper, Yes, you are a very good boy. Yes, you are a very good boy. I replace the hood.

May I ask my friends to honor your wounds? Office nods.

Pebbles suddenly become people again. Please help me to honor OfficeToyBoy's strength by kissing his marks. They move quietly towards him. And someone let the dog out. LittleWilly bounds over to the cross, pleased to finally be included in the scene. He licks OfficeToyBoy's ankles and the strap marks on his calves, while the others land gentle kisses on every mark above.

I slide back under the cross, reach up, and undo his cuffs myself.

Come with me. I take him by the hand and lead him back up to the Red Room. There, I carefully inspect his body and tend to anything that needs tending. I lead him to the bed, help him to get settled, and curl up around him.

Yes, you are a very good boy. You always have been. And you always will be. A very, very good boy.