Beneath the Altar

You're still trembling when I enter the chamber.

The scent of him hangs heavy in the air -- his cum still inside you. You reek of sin and satisfaction. And I let it happen. I watched you take him. I gave the nod. But what you did after? That wasn't part of the agreement.

You didn't ask to keep it inside.

You didn't ask to savor him like you savor me.

That's why you're here now -- naked, collared, on your knees in the dim crimson light of the Altar Room. There are no beds here. No sheets. Just ritual. Velvet-covered stone, wax-dripped candles, and silence thick enough to bite.

You don't lift your head when I approach. Good girl.

"I'm disappointed," I say, voice low, meant for your spine. "Do you even remember why you're here?"

You nod, cheeks flushed. "Because I disobeyed."

"No," I growl, grabbing your hair and yanking your face up. "You betrayed. You wanted to be a cum dump. And you didn't wait for my blessing."

I let the moment hang. Your lips part, but you know better than to speak.

"You want to make it right?" I whisper.

"Yes, Daddy."

"Then crawl. Show the Altar you're ready."

You obey instantly -- hands and knees scraping over stone, your body already slick with anticipation. Your ass sways as you crawl, breasts bouncing with each movement. You stop at the base of the altar, resting your cheek on the velvet, offering yourself up like the beautiful, used thing you are.

The room is ours tonight -- no voyeurs, no interruptions. Just you, me, and the echo of your obedience.

I open the ceremonial drawer and pull out the tools. Silk restraints. A plug soaked in peppermint oil. My favorite flogger -- worn leather, frayed edges, just enough sting to leave tears in your throat.

I take my time. Because time is the punishment.

First, the plug.

You whimper as I slide it in -- slow, merciless, cold. Your body clenches, breath stuttering, tears already starting to form at the corners of your eyes.

"Count for me."

"... One."

The flogger lands across your back -- gentle at first. A warning.

"Two..."

I speed up.

"Three... four... f-fuck..."

"Language," I snap, landing a harder strike.

"Sorry, Daddy..."

"Don't apologize. Beg."

You sob as I flog you to ten, each number another mark on your skin, another drop of your pride melted away. When I finally stop, you're a shaking mess, hair clinging to sweat-slick skin, mouth open, drooling.

Perfect.

"Ready to earn your forgiveness?" I ask, fisting my cock, watching the way your eyes light up through the haze of submission.

"Yes," you whisper. "Please..."

I drag you onto the altar. Bind your wrists above your head with the silk ties. Part your legs. And then I do something that makes your breath catch: I kiss you.

Soft. Slow. Like you're still mine.

Because you are.

And now I remind your body what that means.

I enter you in one deep thrust -- no warm-up, no mercy -- and you scream. Not in pain. In revelation. My cock splits you open, and I watch your eyes roll back as your body stretches around me.

I fuck you with purpose.

Each thrust is a declaration.

You are mine.

Not his.

Never his.

I slap your breasts. Choke you with one hand while I grind my hips down with the other. The plug presses deeper, your orgasm building fast -- too fast.

"Don't come."

"I--I can't--"

"Don't."

You sob. Your body convulses.

I stop.

You scream.

I slap your cunt. Hard.

"You want to come? You earn it. Lick the altar. Beg the room."

You writhe, bound and desperate.

"I'll do anything," you cry. "Anything, Daddy. I need to feel owned again. Please. Use me. Break me. Fill me."

I slide back inside and fuck you so hard the altar rocks beneath us. Your moans echo, wild and unholy. You come around me with a scream -- and I don't stop.

Because you're not cleansed yet.

You're just beginning.

---

An Hour Later

You're limp, trembling -- body used and soaked. You've come three times, begged for mercy, then begged for more. You're a masterpiece of ruin: makeup smeared, thighs painted in filth, drool drying on your chin. Beautiful.

But now it's time for the final rite.

I unbind you. Hold you close. Let you fall into my lap as I sit against the altar, stroking your hair.

"You feel forgiven?" I ask softly.

You nod against my chest. "I feel... owned."

"Good," I whisper. "Because we're not done."

I lift you and guide your body back down onto my cock -- slow this time. Intimate. Reverent. You sink onto me with a gasp, hands pressed to my chest.

This isn't punishment anymore. This is worship.

You move gently, sensually, eyes locked to mine. The room's gone silent except for our breath and the sound of skin on skin.

You lean in. Kiss me. Not like a slut -- not like a hole.

Like a lover.

And I let you.

Because beneath the altar, there's no need to pretend. You're mine. And I'm yours. Through degradation, through devotion, through every drop of what we are together.

You grind down with a shudder, and I explode inside you.

You collapse against me, and I hold you as the candles burn low.