DUNNISUROM - THE MARRIAGE DISTRICT - CAIS
Cais' mother had asked for a carriage without padded seats so that every bump or crevice both aggravated his spanked buttocks and reminded him of the large, thick metallic plug in his anus. Cais, scion of the great house Verah, gritted his teeth, each cobblestone feeling like a reminder of his status as a submissive groom to the Dame Knight.
By his feet, Yais, his "pet slave," was dressed in tight, but otherwise modest clothes. A shirt with a high neck, and leather pants, like riding pants. Her collar was done in bright colors with a fur lining and a clasp with a key-lock that she could probably have picked--but was done more for show than for security. She looked up at him as he grimaced.
"Don't worry about me," he said.
"I wasn't--but an uncomfortable master means an uncomfortable pet-girl," she said.
He gave a bit of a laugh. "Mother is getting a bit carried away with this, isn't she?" he ran a hand through her hair.
He knew that her pride against being petted had been well worn over the months since she was placed under "permanent" pet-punishment. Still, the fact that she, on some level, enjoyed the attention stung in an entirely different manner. Her panties were treated with chemicals to display different colors at distinct levels of arousal. At night, when they came off, he could measure her daily trials of sexual frustration.
Bump! Oh! Ugh!
"Your mother is having her dreams of a submissive daughter's marriage carried out through you," Yais said. "Given that your three older sisters are all dominant bitches." Yais knew this well: she'd been on the receiving end of them.
He blushed and nodded. Cais wasn't what Yais would've thought of as a submissive. No--he was a well trained, highly educated son of a great house--but compared to the Dame Knight Listily, he was unquestionably the girl in the relationship--something the fearsome Dame Knight was well and fully aware of.
The carriage came to a stop. "Well," he sighed, getting up. The plug in his rear gave him a feeling of fullness and weight--but he bore it and managed to walk without waddling too much. Yais followed him down onto the pavement. She crawled, and he held the leash to her collar.
The shop was up a flight of exterior stairs. Around them on the street were dressmakers, collar makers, and veil artisans. There were women who did cosmetics and hair. There were fortune-tellers who could, it was claimed, auger a union and tell if it was for good or ill.
Cais went up the stairs with Yais following behind him on all fours. She'd been modified with magical Art to be able to crawl on all fours without difficulty or undue muscle strain and to have expanded senses: especially smell. The door had a sign showing a bride smiling in a fine dress and next to her, the view from behind where the dress did not cover her at all and showed off her skin marked with stripes from a switch across her thighs and buttocks as well as some on her back and calves!
"Blushing Brides. Humiliation Wedding Planner," Cais read. "Miss Emily Turnbolt." He drew in a breath and pushed through the door as the bells tolled Nonis.
"You're cutting it close," the woman at the desk inside smirked. "I punish my subjects for being late!" She did smile, though. A handsome boy as a subject was quite the rarity for her, Yais guessed.
She stood and walked around the desk.
"Sorry, Miss Turnbolt," Cais said. "We came up directly when the carriage arrived."
"I know," she said, squatting by Yais. "If I'd seen you dithering outside, you'd go over my spanking couch straight away! Now--step up on the block there and take off everything you can get off! Oh, and since you're a boy, if everything isn't nicely folded and hung, we'll have a punishment!"
"Yes, Miss Turnbolt," Cais said, doing a good job of suppressing a sigh. He begin to quickly remove his shirt.
"And what about us, pet-girl?" Miss Turnbolt turned her attention to Yais, who was less and less comfortable being the center of attention.
"About us?" Yais asked.
The young woman stroked her hair and down her back. "Are we thrilled to see master being humiliated--or are we fierce and loyal?"
Oh! She swallowed--"Yais-pet is--uh--ohh--uh--"
"Tell her the truth, Yais," Cais said, removing his shoes and placing them on a nearby shelf. "It's okay."
"Hush, you" snapped Miss Turnbolt.
"Yais-pet is loyal," Yais decided. A pause. "Yais-pet doesn't mind seeing Master get punished though." The woman smiled, broadly. Good girl! And Yais-pet is under punishment, yes?"
"Ugh. Yes, Miss Turnbolt, Yais-pet is always under punishment."
"Right!" said a pleased Miss Turnbolt. "Miss Emily will 'sharpen her claws' on Yais-pet then!'"
Yais fought not to grimace or look unhappy about this "service" that was being rendered to her and glanced up at Cais. He stood, naked. Trim, muscled. His hands clasped behind him, he looked like a statue save for the glittering cock-cage he wore. It had a thick ring that locked around his scrotum and a thin chain that ran along his taint back to his anus where the plug. His buttocks were also a darker shade of pink than the rest of his skin. His mother's ministrations.
He was blushing, though. Miss Turnbolt stood, walking over and examining him. She gave him a hard swat on his buttocks. He jumped slightly in surprise.
"When you're sent to me, sweetness," she purred. SMAK! "It's because you need to thoroughly understand," Pow! "Your place in this union!" Whap!
Yais saw him grit his teeth stoically--but it was clear the swats hurt! She rubbed his buttocks. "Your big day is going to be showing everyone what a nice," Pow! "submissive," Whap! "well-behaved," smack! "little groom you are!" she rubbed. Yais saw tears sparkle in his eyes.his cock was thick in the cage. She cupped him, holding his cock and scrotum in her palm.
Yais knew that caging brought a long, frustrating misery. Yais felt it too--but she expected it and sought to masturbate in secret in the (very) rare times she could. For a caged boy there wasn't even that. He had to be submissive and obedient and hope for his mistress's mercy the same way a girl in a belt would--and he was constantly troubled by it.
"Dame Listily wants us to get used to having a cry," she said more gently. "To being the least important person in the room--to waiting behind the girls to speak--" Her rubbing at his buttocks was clearly feeling good and Yais watched him squirm every-so-slightly, as his cock reacted to her touch, punishing him.
"On your union day," she purred, "you are going to be like a young trainee slave to her--entitled to nothing save direction, domination, and discipline." Her fingers gently massaged his anus and perineum. "Over time you will become her partner--always beneath her--eager for her attention in the form of discipline--your sexual needs rightly ignored entirely to service her's." He groaned.
"Your cock, your mouth, your anus are for her pleasure. Yours is an afterthought." He moaned, his voice creaking with tears. "As she enjoys spanking you buttocks, or worse, you will eagerly be spanked by her--even though you may not bear the pain or the humiliation!"
His breath was ragged now, nearly sobbing. The lecture was working on him. Yais knew well that this, or some version of it, was told to girls commonly--but for a boy, especially of his stature...
"That's right," she said. SMACK!
"OW!" his voice was soft and high.
"Get used to crying those pretty little eyes out."
"Ohhh--" he moaned.
"Girls," she called. "Take his measurements--spare him nothing."
Two cute young women, clearly sisters, entered the room with slates and measuring tape. The one with the tape held a small paddle as well, and she greeted him with a good hard slap on his buttocks.
"I hope you'll have a cry for me," she taunted. When he sniffled, she smacked him with the paddle again. "Your treatment here is to ensure you remember your place. You can't--" POW! "behave your way out of it!"
Yais was led away by the woman, and heard Cais yelp as one of the girls begin using a speculum to measure his "maximal anal circumference."
"Master is in excellent hands," Miss Turnbolt assured Yais. "The girls are skilled in giving our subjects a good cry and then some very intimate aftercare. Your master is planning to marry a very, very dominant girl. She's right to want him tested to see if he can bear being in a humbling relationship. I get girls in here who are sure they're marrying below their status when they really aren't. Those are the ones who fight and so regret it. Master Cais is going to be a dear, I can tell," she reassured Yais. Another yelp from the room.
"They're just irrigating his bottom," Miss Turnbolt said.
In the room were a set of dressmaker's dummies all outfitted with different models of wedding diapers and chastisement belts, a painting showed a boy being led down an aisle, his pants parted in front to admit his uncontrolled erection which the woman pulled him along by.
In another painting, a woman squatted in an ornate dress. She was sucking the cock of her groom up at the front of the audience. The artist had captured the fiery blush on her cheeks and her wide, wet eyes as she struggled to take his cock in front of everyone. She was taken to the corner where she sat, listening to the soft sounds of complaint as the two sisters worked over her master.
"We'll have an endurance painting done," Miss Turnbolt told Yais. "An itchy cock might be a good ordeal for him to have to smile through!" She gave Yais a smirk. A set of fine, supple leather tawses with script names stitched into them in bright pink were sitting amid fine tissue parchment awaiting inspection for someone else's ceremony.
