I arrive promptly at 6:30 p.m. My last few thoughts of my work day dance in my head as she opens the door. Immediately, they melt away and I move to my knees.
“What do you have for me?” she inquires, sitting with her legs crossed in front of me, heel dangling from her toes.
Wordlessly, I hand her the notecard I meticulously penned the night before and begin my work of kissing her feet.
She smiles slightly before leaning back to read the notecard:
Money spent on myself: $538
- Ubers: $243
- Groceries: $111
- Social: $184
Money spent on Mistress: $1,200
- Flowers: $213
- Cash: $987
Screen time: 6 hours a day.
- Top apps: Mail, Instagram, Signal.
To do items complete:
- Write a sexy story.
- Detail the car.
- Polish the floors.
To do items incomplete:
- Clean latex.
- Reorganize kitchen.
Rating: 7/10
How I will be better: I will give Mistress at least double what I spend on myself in cash.
I feel a sharp heel on the back of my hand, and another connect with my jawline. My attention snaps to the pain in my hand for a second before I can regain control and focus on her, as desired.
“Yes, Mistress?” I wince.
“Go get my blood kit.” There is a pause, her heel digging into my hand a little deeper, before she releases me to do as she’s asked.
“Take off your pants,” she instructs upon my return.
Still on my knees, she bends forward to my level, the cap of the scalpel dangling from her lips.
I feel the scalpel slide into me. “7/10 is a very generous rating for someone who sent me less than 4 figures in cash and only completed half their to do list, don’t you think?”
“Yes, Mistress. I’m sorry, Mistress.”
“It’s important that you hold yourself to a high standard for me.” I nod as she makes another cut. “You could always be better.” She suddenly grabs my thigh, which is now bleeding the words she spoke, a scar she gave me years ago and frequently retraces for emphasis. On the other thigh, I see 5/10 dripping down, flowing over the internally spiked thigh strap I wear during service.
She tosses the scalpel to the floor and leans back again, examining the notecard.
“This week, you aren’t using Instagram at all. That should give you more time to focus on me. You’ll complete a to do item every day of the week. You’ll send me $2,000 cash—to remind you how much I love four figures. And you’ll ask me for permission before spending any money on yourself. For any reason.”
I instinctively open my mouth to protest, but decide against it.
“Do you have something to say?”
“Thank you, Mistress,” escapes my lips.
“Good girl. That’s what I thought,” she says, smiling. “If I don’t reply to you quickly enough when you ask for permission to spend my money, it’s clearly not that important and you can wait.”
Somehow she always knows what I’m thinking.
“Yes, Mistress. Thank you,” comes my reply as I feel the blood run down my thighs.
When she gets up to leave, I know to clean up the mess that’s been made and begin my mid-week chores:
- Clean all of her shoes, leather, latex, and toys, as needed.
- Do all of the hand wash required.
- Ensure laundry is out and any laundry that has been returned is put away.
- Tidy the entire apartment.
- Scan the apartment for anything she may be out of and replace them, including groceries.
- Give her a full body massage for at least an hour.
As I am about to finish and offer her a massage, I feel a shock from the shock collar around my neck. Low at first, but then more intense. I move quickly towards the other room, hoping the shocks will subside when she can see me. They stop only when I am on my knees in front of her.
“I got all the way up to 80. I like when you come promptly when you’re called.”
“Yes, Mistress. Sorry, Mistress.”
“I want you to run me a bath.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I nod, finding my way to the bathroom. First, I clean the bathtub. Then I prepare the bath as she likes it: hot with coconut oil and lavender bath salts.
“Come here. You can stay,” she says, sliding into the warm water.
I kneel next to the bathtub, trying to ignore the pulsing between my legs. Her open palm glides along the back of my head and forms a tight grip in my hair.
“Don’t struggle,” I hear her say as she suddenly pushes my head beneath her bath water. I try not to struggle and instead count seconds.
15… 16… and then I start to panic. Even in my struggle, I can’t force my head above the water. Eventually, I feel the resistance ease, but not her grip.
“What did I say?” is all I hear before my head is plunged back under the water.
17… 18… I can hear her saying, “Good.” from some far away place before I begin to panic again.
“You could always be better,” is all I hear before I am back underwater again.
20… 22… “Good.”
We work up to 30 before I feel her grip loosen and her hand move to cradle my cheek. “Such a good girl for me. What do you say?”
“Thank you, Mistress.”
“Go make my bed for my massage,” she replies.
My hands start to hurt around the 90-minute mark, but I don’t dare mention the discomfort. The spikes in my thigh are causing the 5/10 to throb, and I don’t want to risk a lower score. As my hands find their way to her inner thighs, I hear her laugh.
“Your favorite,” she says, watching me nod.
“Can I, please?” I ask.
She pauses, considering my request for a moment before opening her thighs and nodding. “You may.”
Her fist is in my hair again, pushing me into her pussy. My hands move to her hips, pulling her towards me as she pushes my head into her further until I can’t breathe.
After nearly a minute, she releases her grip and I take a breath. “You don’t need to breathe. Don’t breathe.” I spend the next five minutes breathing as infrequently as possible, focusing not on my need to breathe or the spikes digging into my thigh, but on my need to give her pleasure instead.
“Can I please cum?” I beg from between her legs. We had discovered a few weeks ago that going down on her alone is enough to make me cum. No friction, no touch required. Now it is the only time I am allowed to beg to cum.
“Mmm, no, baby. You don’t deserve to cum.”
Her grip is pushing me into her pussy again as she grinds up and down my face, on and off of my tongue.
“Please,” I use a fleeting moment of breath to beg.
“How desperate are you?”
I know this means, “What’s in it for me?” so I begin listing what I’d be willing to offer in exchange for an orgasm.
“$500. Two extra to do list items.”
“You said those too quickly. I want it to hurt. What else?”
I get up to $1,500, an all-nighter, and a vacation for her and a friend. She moans, “No.” before cumming on my face.
I know not to remove my mouth until I have permission, so I continue as the aftershocks come.
“Ok, back to my massage,” she says, rolling onto her stomach. “And hand me your phone. I want my money and to look for Airbnbs.”
She senses my pause, though she cannot see it.
“What, you think just because you don’t cum, I don’t get everything you said while begging me? I get everything and you get nothing—that’s what you still need to learn, baby.” She explains this while patiently holding out her hand for my phone.
I, of course, do as I’m told, and continue the massage.
“I’m going to take a little extra because I deserve it,” she announces 20 minutes later. “And the Airbnb was a little expensive for just a weekend, but I knew you would want me to have it.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I respond, knowing I will not know how much she spent until I am released from service tomorrow.
“Ok, I’m going to go to bed now. I want you to go to the other room and put the gag in your mouth. Attach your collar to the leash hanging from the wall. You’re not going to move from that spot—not to eat or drink or sleep or piss—until I wake up to release you. The computer is already in there. You can work through your to do list. I want you to email me an update of what you’ve done every hour, and every hour better be productive or… awe, what’s wrong?”
I hadn’t noticed or intended my slight pout.
“Do you want to cum?” she asks, grabbing my pussy roughly at first, then touching me gently. I let out a moan.
“You’re so eager to please and pliable when you’re this desperate for me. You know I like you on the edge at all times for me. The slightest touch making you willing to do anything I say… give me anything I want.”
I nod, unable to string together words while she’s touching me. “You did spend a lot on that Airbnb and send me double what you promised, though,” she says. I can’t begin to process what she’s saying in the moment, choosing instead to continue to nod along.
“Beg me,” she commands. All that I can force out is another, “Please,” but it’s barely a whisper.
She laughs, pulling her hand away suddenly. “Oh my god, that was so pathetic. Unfortunately for you, I love when you’re this pathetic. No cumming until you are above an 8/10—now get to work.”
This is part of my BDSM Stories writing contest, contributed by an eager submissive. Want a more intimate look into my personal relationships? Follow me on my OnlyFans. Don’t forget to sign up for my newsletter and for those who feel inspired by the above interview and want to make fantasy a reality, reach out.