Shame and Obedience Pt. 01

Broken In

Dave awkwardly maneuvered the flat-screen TV up the stairs to Leah's bedroom, the weight of it nothing compared to the nervous energy tightening in his chest. At twenty-four, he ran his own handyman service and had been working on and off at Leah's house for nearly a year.

She was forty-five, stunning, with an unmistakable air of dominance that most people found intimidating--off-putting, even.

But not Dave. That commanding presence stirred something deep in him, something that had been part of him since his earliest sexual thoughts. Fantasies of serving a beautiful, powerful, older woman had always lived in the back of his mind, and Leah brought them dangerously close to the surface. He told himself he was just being helpful, but the truth was, he kept inventing reasons to come back.

The bedroom door was already open. The space smelled of warm amber and sandalwood--luxurious and sharp.

"Set it on the dresser and hook it up," she ordered, barely glancing up from her tablet.

She was curled in an armchair near the window, long legs crossed, dark hair falling in a loose wave over one shoulder. She wore soft cotton blue shorts and a tight white tank top--no bra, just the smooth curve of her breasts and a deep line of cleavage on full display. Effortless. Devastating.

Dave tried not to stare. She was confidence and dominance incarnate--people either leaned in or backed away.

Most people backed away.

Dave leaned in.

As he lowered the TV onto the dresser, something caught his eye on the bureau across the room--a gleam of polished leather. His heart gave a hard, unexpected thump.

There, beside a silver dish of perfume bottles, sat a pair of black leather wrist cuffs that were joined together by a silver-toned metal chain, fastened to the cuffs with metal dog clips. Next to them: a riding crop, its leather tip slightly worn. His throat dried.

He tried to ignore it, to focus setting up the TV. But his hands trembled as he fiddled with the plugs.

"You've been back here a lot lately," Leah said, watching him, her voice casual but pointed.

He looked over his shoulder. She hadn't moved, but he could feel her eyes on him.

"I guess your house has ... you know ... uh... like, a lot of stuff that needs to be done," Dave said. Oh god, he thought, that was the dumbest thing ever. He was sweating.

Leah set her tablet down and stood slowly, walking toward him with the easy grace of someone who didn't rush for anyone. She stopped just behind him. "You noticed my things."

He swallowed. "Yeah."

"They bother you?"

He pretended to plug in cords. "No. They... uh, did the opposite."

A beat passed. Then another.

Her eyes narrowed just slightly, studying him. "Have you ever done anything like that before?"

He shook his head. "No. But, you know, I guess I've thought about it. And when I saw that stuff..." He laughed nervously, then drew a breath to try and steady himself. "I find you very attractive. And I like being here." Oh my god, he thought, be cool.

Leah arched one brow. "And you think that I'm someone who can dominate you?"

He didn't blink. "Yes. I want to do that with you. You know, if you want to. Just like ... playtime."

The silence that followed was thick with possibility. She stepped forward until her body was just inches from his.

"I see. Maybe we can work something out," she said coolly. "Come back tomorrow. There's a problem with the dryer. You may go now."

He almost ran out of there. So nervous. He sat in his van shallow breathing trying to calm down. Is this happening? Is this really going to happen?

The next day Dave stood at the dryer taking out the towels. They felt warm and he didn't hear the squeaking noise Leah had mentioned was the problem. He was nervous being there. She hadn't brought up their conversation from yesterday. No lingering looks. No sly remarks. If anything, she seemed indifferent. The vulnerability of what he'd shared--how deeply he wanted to explore submission--now made him squirm with embarrassment. Maybe she wasn't interested. Maybe she thought he was ridiculous. This should probably be the last time I come here, he told himself.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed what was in the basket sitting on top of the washer--a pile of her underwear. Lacy. Silken. All Leah's. Dozens of them in a soft tangle of blacks, deep reds, and jewel tones.

She probably wouldn't miss one. A little souvenir, he thought. A tip. She's never given me a tip for all the hours I've put in here.

His hand moved almost on its own. He felt through the pile, fingers brushing over different textures--delicate mesh, smooth satin, cool silk. He picked up a pair of black lace panties, fondling them with his fingers. He quickly put them back. He knew he was doing something wrong, but he couldn't help himself.

He reached in again and took out the silky emerald green pair--the ones he'd seen a few days ago, peeking just above the waistband of her tight jeans. As soon as he touched them, something in him broke loose. His hands trembled. He didn't mean to. But before he realized it, the fabric was pressed to his face, and he was breathing her in--something primal, forbidden, and achingly intimate. He felt shame. But the warmth, the intimacy--raw need surged through him.

"Enjoying yourself?" Her voice cut through the room like a whip.

Dave spun around, startled. Leah stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. Calm. Dangerous.

"I was--uh... I was just--"

"You should probably remain silent," she said cooly.

He went quiet.

"You don't get to touch what's mine unless I say so." Her gaze flicked to the laundry basket. "Bring that. Follow me." There was no question in her voice. Only command.

Dave hesitated-- but something in her voice compelled him to pick up the basket and followed her. She wore a tight black t-shirt, no bra again, and perfectly fitting jeans. He watched her hips sway as he followed behind her up the stairs, feeling guilty for staring. Upstairs, the bedroom looked exactly as it had yesterday when he'd installed the TV, but now the air between them felt electric.

Leah sat on the bed. "You've been a very naughty boy," she said coolly. "And naughty boys need to be punished. Strip. Now."

Dave froze, his pulse hammering in his ears. "Well I--"

"Do not make me repeat myself."

He was so nervous, but he wanted to obey her. He put down the laundry basket next to the bed and slowly pulled off his shirt, shoes, and socks. Then, apprehensively, he unfastened his jeans with fumbling fingers and pulled them off. His cock was already hard, and he cursed himself for being so horny and excited by this. Standing in just his boxer briefs, he tried to will his penis to calm down.

"I said strip. You're already in trouble. Or do you want more punishment added?"

His breath hitched. Slowly, he bent over and stepped out of his underwear. Now fully naked, he stood before her--muscles tight, chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. Heat bloomed in his chest as he obeyed, standing naked in front of her, completely exposed. He instinctively moved to cover his erection with his hands, flushing with embarrassment.

"Are you hiding from me?" Her voice dropped, cool and cutting. "Hands behind your back naughty boy." A jolt of nervous energy and excitement surged through him. He obeyed.

"Good," she murmured, her gaze lingering as she looked at him--eyes heavy, slow, appraising. Like a predator considering her prize. She took her time, studying every inch of him, letting the silence stretch. Her lips curved into something dangerous as she could see his cock growing.

"You will address me as Mistress or Mistress Leah. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress," Dave replied meekly, the words catching in his throat.

She reached into the laundry basket at her feet. She picked out a pair of panties--red lace. She handed them to him with a slight smile. "You like my panties so much, try this on."

"No--please, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to touch them. I swear, I won't do it again. Please don't make me do this," he pleaded, his voice trembling.

"You can put them on now, or I can punish you more severely--and then you can put them on. Your choice."

His breath caught. "Yes, Mistress."

He pulled her panties up over his thighs, the silk tight against his skin, his erection now pressing tightly against his body. The tip of his penis peeking over the edge.

The humiliation is getting too intense. "Please, Mistress Leah--I can't. I'm sorry. I swear I won't do it again. Please don't make me do this. I'm sorry."

"I don't tolerate disobedience from little slave boys. When I give you an order, you obey. Without hesitation," she said sharply,

She stared at him for a long time then she finally said, "Naughty boys need to be punished, don't they?" Hearing her say this made him even more nervous, and excited.

"Yes Mistress."

"Then what needs to happen?"

"I need to be spanked, Mistress," he said quietly.

"Louder," she ordered.

"Mistress Leah, I need to be spanked," he repeated, this time louder, his cheeks burning.

Mistress Leah moved to edge of the bed and pointed to her lap. "Over my knee. Now."

Dave obeyed, the panties riding high as he bent over her thighs. Her hand came down in a hard, deliberate rhythm--firm enough to sting, slow enough to tease. After spanking him about fifteen times he instinctively reached back to protect his ass but she caught his wrist and pinned it behind his back, leaving him even more exposed, even more helpless beneath her. "Oh, you're a naughty, naughty boy," she purred, her voice low and mocking. "You're really going to be punished for that."

She reached across the bed and opened the nightstand drawer, pulling out a small leather paddle embossed with the word slut in bold red letters.

"You're going to be spanked ten times. With my paddle. Now count."

She raised the paddle and brought it down with a sharp smack.

"One," he gasped.

Another even harder.

"Two."

Smack.

"Three..."

The word caught in his throat as his body tensed, the burn spreading deliciously.

Smack.

"Four."

She paused just long enough to let the heat build, to let him squirm.

Smack.

"Five!"

His voice broke slightly, breath ragged.

Smack.

"Six...," he barely got out with a whisper.

"Louder," she demanded, striking again.

"Seven!"

Two more in quick succession--smack, smack.

"Eight! Nine!"

The final smack landed, a perfect mix of sting and thud.

"Ten!" he cried out, body trembling, completely at her mercy.

She let the silence linger, the heat radiating from his skin and the weight of her dominance settling in the air.

"Good boy," she said finally, smoothing her palm over the red imprints across his cheeks. "But don't think we're done."

After a few more moments of rubbing his ass, she pushed him off gently. "Next pair."

He stood, eyes shining, cheeks flushed--but frozen in place, afraid to move.

"Now," she snapped.

He slipped off the red panties and let them fall to the floor, humiliation washing over him--he'd had a crush on her for a year, and now he was completely naked in front of her, his cock harder than ever from being spanked.

She knew it too. She was watching it with a slow, satisfied smile, fully aware that spanking him had only made him more aroused. That knowledge made it worse--made the humiliation burn even deeper.

He reached for the black panties, but the row of tiny pink bows along the front made him freeze. A flicker of panic crossed his face. He dropped them as if they'd burned him and hastily grabbed another pair.

"No," she said firmly. "Pick them back up and put them on."

"Please don't make me wear these," he pleaded, voice soft and trembling.

"You just earned yourself twenty more spankings. Now put them on."

He slid the new pair up his legs, his erection pressing against the fabric so the pink bows jutted out. Shame and arousal twisted together inside him.

"Come here," she said, curling a finger to summon him closer.

From beside the bed, she retrieved a pair of handcuffs and held them up. "You will not hide that pretty ass from being spanked again."

"Yes, Mistress," he breathed as he held out his wrists.

She clipped the cuffs onto his wrists, binding his hands in front of him.

"Over my knee. Now."

He scrambled into position, draping himself over her lap as she adjusted him just how she liked. The first slap landed with a sharp sting. He flinched but couldn't shield himself--his hands were useless, bound out in front of him and trembling. Each strike made his penis grow, the fabric of the panties growing tighter around him.

"Is your cock getting even harder?" Mistress Leah asked, mockery dancing in her voice.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Tell me why," as she scratched his back with her finger nails.

He hesitated, shame and arousal tangling in his throat.

She delivered five hard smacks to his ass. "You're not in a position to disobey me," she warned, voice low and dangerous.

"Because I like it when you spank me, Mistress," he whispered.

"Louder," she ordered.

"Because I like it when you spank me, Mistress," he repeated.

Mistress Leah let his confession hang in the air, her hand stroked the curve of his backside. Giving him a good smack every now and then. The silence between them was thick--charged. Dave's breath was shaky, his heart pounding.

"Yes, you really do like it when I spank you, don't you? I can see it in the way your body trembles... in your cock throbbing against my leg," she said softly. "The helplessness. The humiliation."

He closed his eyes in embarrassment, unable to hide himself, and nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Say it."

"I like it when you put me over your knee and spank me, Mistress... I like being helpless for you. I like when you take control."

"Good boy." She tugged his panties down to his thighs, exposing him further. He felt a rush of shame as his ass was fully exposed, helpless to do anything about it--his hands were cuffed in front of him, leaving him unable to protect himself. All he could do was lie there and take it, draped over her lap, humiliated. Her palm traced the heat radiating from his skin before landing again--slower this time, more deliberate, the sting calibrated to keep him teetering on the edge of pleasure and shame. He gasped.

"You're going to count for me, again," she said. "And thank me for each one. Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress," he whispered, pulse fluttering.

The first strike landed across both cheeks, light but sharp enough to draw a moan from his lips.

"One... thank you, Mistress."

Another, a little harder.

"Two... thank you, Mistress." His cock started to get even harder.

She kept going, slow and methodical, letting each strike settle in his skin. By the sixth, his cock was aching, every nerve alive. He was gyrating his hips in an attempt to find some friction so he could cum.

Mistress Leah leaned in close, her voice brushing his ear. "You do not have permission to cum. You'd better stop."

His body trembled. "Yes, Mistress. I'm sorry Mistress," he said, embarrassed at being caught and he stopped moving.

At ten, she stopped. He sagged against her lap, panting.

She slid her hand between his thigh and grabbed his hard cock. He whimpered softly.

"You're mine. You cum when I say. And not a second before. Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Look how hard you are, you naughty boy," as she stroked him several times.

She nudged him off her lap. "Now stand up."

Dave struggled to his feet, flushed and shaking, the cuffs still locked at his wrists. He stood before her. She pulled the black panties back up around his throbbing cock. He was trembling from the spanking, feeling utterly exposed.

She took her time looking him over as Dave whimpered, his entire body humming, balanced precariously between pleasure and restraint. He was shaky, every fiber of him screaming for permission he hadn't earned.

Leah brushed her fingers over her lips as she leered at him. "You're learning," she murmured, almost approvingly. "But not fast enough."

"I want to see you submit to me," she said, voice low and commanding.

"Hands out," she ordered coolly, uncuffing his wrists with deliberate calm. Just as he began to lower them, she added, "Now put them behind your back."

He hesitated only a second before obeying. Mistress Leah stood up and walked behind him and snapped the restraints back on--tight, decisive, final. Now he can't hide. A new level of helplessness sank into his body as she stripped him of even the illusion of control.

Then she sat down on the bed again, directly in front of him, her gaze unwavering.

His cock, hard, twitching, defenseless behind the panties.

She didn't touch him. She didn't have to. The silence itself became a form of pressure, her eyes dragging slowly over his body like invisible chains.

"There," she murmured, her voice like velvet over steel. "Now you look exactly how you should--helpless, exposed, and aching for whatever I decide to give you."

"Get on your knees," she commanded.

He dropped immediately to the carpet.

"Look at you," she said, standing over him. "Hard. Desperate. Obedient. You're starting to understand what you are, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mistress," he said, voice hoarse.

"What are you?"

He hesitated.

She stretched out her leg, sliding the toe of her heel between his thighs and pressing lightly on the little pink bows--just enough to make him inhale sharply.

"I'm your slave," he said in a panicked voice. "Your plaything. I exist to obey you."

Leah's smile was slow and dark. "Good boy."

She crouched down in front of him, lift his chin to meet her eyes, and whispered, "Do you want to cum, little pet?"

"Yes please, Mistress."

She frowned, shook her head, and said, "Not yet. You've been a bad, bad boy."

She stepped around him and retrieved the riding crop from the nearby dresser, letting it swish through the air as she approached. "Stand up."

Dave did as he was ordered, unsteady, eyes wide, his breath quick and shallow.

"Hold this in your mouth," she said, placing the crop between his lips.

Mistress Leah moved in close, fingers hooking the waistband of his panties. She eased them down to his thighs once again, revealing him--hard, throbbing, leaking pre-cum, deepening his humiliation and leaving him completely at her mercy.

"You filthy boy," she hissed. "Dripping pre-cum all over my panties--that earns you another punishment. Do. Not. Move."

Scared, he obeyed without a word. She removed the crop from his mouth, then stepped behind him and grabbed the handcuffs locking his wrists. Lifting them, she forced him to bend over.

The first strike landed clean and sharp across the curve of his ass. He gasped--a sound escaping before he could hold it back--and instinctively bucked his hips, trying to pull away.

"You will hold still," she said. "Or we'll keep starting over."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Stick your ass out," she ordered. He did as commanded and she delivered another stroke. Then another. The sound of leather on skin echoed through the room, punctuated by his soft moans. They both could tell his cock was getting harder.

"Look at you," she said. "So hard, so desperate, so beautifully needy. That's how I like you."

After the seventh strike, she paused. Dropping his hands, she stepped around to stand in front of him and lightly rubbed the tip of the crop up and down along the underside of his cock. He shivered slightly.

She leaned forward, her voice almost gentle. "Would you like to cum now?"

"Yes, Mistress," he breathed, his voice breaking. "Please."

She tilted her head. "Please what?"

"Please let me cum, Mistress," he said again, more clearly. "Please--I need to."

She reached out and stroked his cheek tenderly ... "No."

He froze, stunned. "Mistress...?"

"I said no," she repeated, not even turning to look at him. "You want to cum? That's sweet. But wanting something doesn't mean you deserve it. If you cum without my permission you'll be in real trouble," she threatened.

She walked back behind him and slid the riding crop between the cheeks of his ass, letting it rest right in the center and he took a deep breath in.

"Don't drop it," she commanded, her voice low and firm.

He widened his stance slightly and clenched as tightly as he could, holding the crop in place not wanting to displease her. The tension made his cock jut out, flushed and straining. The humiliating posture, the ridiculous exposure--he kept thinking it couldn't get more degrading... but somehow it always did.

Then she leaned in and reached around, fingers teasing his nipples with maddening precision.

He let out a shaky moan and rose up on his toes, the sensation overwhelming. Still, the crop stayed in place.

"Don't drop it," she warned again, her tone sharper. "I love how hard your cock gets when I spank you."

His face burned hot with shame. He didn't know where to look, what to say.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice teasing now. "You don't have anything to say to me?"

She rolled his nipples between her fingers, relentless, until he couldn't take it anymore.

"Yes, Mistress," he gasped. "Thank you for spanking me... and making my cock hard."

A wicked smile curled across her lips. She took the crop from between his cheeks and brought the slapper to his lips. "Kiss it."

He did. Then she lifted his hands again and spanked him ten more times.

She tossed the riding crop onto the bed, then moved to his side. Her fingers trailed down his chest and across his stomach, nails lightly grazing his cock--still exposed, the panties resting around his thighs.

She stepped around him slowly, her fingers grazing his red, spanked skin, causing him to jolt involuntarily. She scratched his back before continuing to circle like a predator.

When she stopped in front of him again, she cupped his chin and forced him to meet her gaze.

"That cock is so hard, it's pathetic," she said softly, almost like she was commenting on the weather. "Are you that desperate to be used?"

"Yes, Mistress," he said, his voice barely more than a breath.

She smiled, eyes gleaming.

Then, without warning, she brought her hand down and slapped his cock--sharp, sudden, and perfectly measured. Not cruel, but enough to make him gasp and shudder.

He stumbled slightly, drawing in a deep breath. "Stay still when I punish you," she hissed. She spanked him ten more times, sharp and deliberate, and his humiliation deepened as his cock throbbed harder with every strike.

"Good boy," she said, her voice laced with amusement as she stoked his cock and admired his erection. "You really don't want to disappoint me, do you?"

"No, Mistress," he whispered, shaking.

She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. "Then don't. Because if you do, I'll tie you down, edge you until you're crying and then leave you there for the night."

"If you're a good boy," She stepped back and looked him over with a cruel sort of approval. "Maybe I'll let you cum for me. But only when I say."

"Yes, Mistress," he said softly looking down at the ground.

"She nudged the panties down to the floor with her foot. 'Step out,' she commanded." He did as told. Then, without pause, she gave her next order.

"On your knees, eyes up," she ordered. He immediately got on his knees and looked at her, hands cuffed behind his back, his cock trembling from the spanking she just gave it.

"You will learn to obey me," she said.

Then something very, very unexpected happened--yet another surprise in a day already overflowing with them.

Still holding his gaze, she began unbuttoning her jeans with slow, deliberate grace, a sly smile playing on her lips. She bent over to slide them off completely, and as she did, her breasts shifted beneath her shirt, pulled his attention like a magnet, his eyes helplessly drawn to her. Then came the part that nearly undid him.

She crossed her arms and grabbed the bottom of her shirt, and in one smooth motion, pulled her shirt up and over her head, lifting her chest as she did so. She dropped the shirt to the floor and shook her hair back into place, her expression cool and in control.

His eyes went wide, and his breath hitched. His cock--humiliatingly--started throbbing on its own.

She watched it for a moment, an arrogant, proud smile curving her lips, her eyes locked on the involuntary twitch between his legs.

He burned with shame. He wanted to cover himself, to hide from her gaze, but with his hands cuffed tightly behind him, there was nothing he could do--nothing except kneel in front of her, fully exposed, utterly vulnerable. And she loved it. That much was clear in the way she looked at him: like she owned him.

What made it worse--what made his pulse pound in his ears--was knowing exactly why he was so hard. He was humiliated that being spanked by this beautiful woman he'd had a secret crush on for over a year had aroused him so intensely, and watching her strip in front of him had only made it worse. The harder he got in front of her, the more powerless he felt. And the more powerless he felt, the more aroused he became. It was a loop he couldn't escape--and she knew it.

He dared to lift his gaze--just enough to take her in more fully. The heat of embarrassment hadn't faded, but something deeper had begun to rise beneath it: awe. Lust. Worship. Despite his shame, despite the cuffs and his exposed state, he couldn't stop himself. His eyes moved slowly over her body, reverent and hungry, drawn forward by equal parts fear and desire.

Her body was breathtaking. Her breasts were beautifully, with a natural, seductive curve that made his mouth go dry; her belly was soft and smooth, a perfect slope from beneath her breasts to the delicate rise of her hips. And just enough soft curls between her thighs to make his imagination spiral.

He stared--drinking in every inch of her, breathing hard, struggling to keep it together, but powerless under the weight of her beauty and the moment. His cock throbbed helplessly. His mind raced. He swallowed hard.

And he knew--without question--she was going to destroy him.

She leaned forward, her voice soft, almost kind. "Would you like to cum now?"

"Yes, Mistress," he breathed, voice cracking. "Please."

She tilted her head, as if considering. "Please what?"

"Please let me cum, Mistress," he said again, a little louder, a little more desperate.

"Well maybe if you're a good boy."

She sat back on the bed and opened her legs wide so he could see her pussy. "Come to me," she said simply.

The words hit like a jolt. He shuffled forward, off-balance, heart thundering with anticipation. Her scent was already in his nose, her presence overwhelming. As he reached the bed, she leaned forward and gripped his jaw--not hard, just firm enough to remind him who was in control--as she locked eyes with him.

"Get to work with that mouth. Show me what that tongue is good for," she ordered, then reached for the riding crop beside her and tapped it once--lightly--against his thigh. "Don't make me teach you how to worship."

He moved his face towards the inside of her thighs slowly, reverently, unsure where to begin. His lips brushed against her inner thigh--tentative, uncertain. The sharp crack of the crop on his back made him flinch.

"Too timid," she said, voice like silk drawn across a blade. "I didn't ask for a kiss--I said use your tongue."

He obeyed, more pressure this time, guided by the soft intake of her breath and the flex of her fingers in his hair. Her legs closed around his head, holding him there--not forcefully, but possessively, as if anchoring him to his rightful place.

"You've fantasized about this while you played with yourself, haven't you?" she murmured, her tone almost kind. "Spent nights thinking about what I would taste like... what I sounded like when I let go. Now's your chance. So don't you dare get it wrong."

The crop rested now against his back--not striking, just a presence. A reminder.

Jet tried to adjust, vary the pressure, find her rhythm. He felt her shift, hips tilting, body moving subtly beneath his mouth. Every time he slowed or drifted from her cues, the crop tapped a warning against his spine, or she would grip his hair tightly, tilting his head just so.

"You serve at my pleasure," she whispered. "That means your comfort doesn't matter. Only my satisfaction."

His jaw ached. His knees throbbed. But the fire in his chest--the aching pride of being allowed here, between her thighs--overwhelmed it all. He wanted to please her. Desperately. Not just for the reward, but for the privilege of belonging to her, even if only for this moment.

She tightened her grip, breath catching, and pulled his face in hard.

"That's it," she hissed. "There. Keep going. Don't stop until I tell you. I want you ruined by this. I want you to ache the next time you think of me."

And he did. He let himself vanish into the rhythm of her, consumed by obedience, humiliation, and a desire so raw it left him trembling.

Mistress Leah's breath grew slower, deeper--each inhale laced with satisfaction, each exhale a silent command for him to keep going. Jet's tongue worked with growing confidence, but never fully free. He wasn't in control. Not even close. He was reacting--responding--to the smallest cues in her body, the shift of her hips, the way her thighs tensed around his face.

Then her fingers curled into his hair.

Not gently.

She gripped the back of his head with practiced ease, nails grazing his scalp, and pushed--guiding him with just enough pressure to remind him that his mouth belonged to her. He couldn't move unless she allowed it. He couldn't breathe unless she chose to let him.

"Right there," she whispered, low and dangerous. "Don't you dare drift."

Jet's body ached with restraint. The cuffs bit softly into his wrists as he strained to stay still, to stay good. His cock throbbed and danced in the open air, twitching uselessly, searching for relief it wasn't allowed to have. Her hand in his hair wasn't just directing--it was claiming. Reminding him that he was being used... and that he wanted nothing more.

"You've wanted this for so long," she murmured. "I could feel it every time you looked at me like a boy with a secret. And now here you are... kneeling, cuffed, face buried where you only dreamed of being."

The words hit harder than any crop because they were true.

A low sound escaped her throat--not quite a moan, not quite a sigh--something darker. Hungrier. Her thighs tensed around his head again, guiding his pace, his depth. She used him like an instrument, adjusting pressure and angle with sharp tugs of his hair, like tuning a string to just the right pitch.

He couldn't see her face--but he could feel her power radiating down over him. Every shift of her hips, every tightening of her grip in his hair, fed something deep in him. Worship, shame, lust--it all melted together in the heat of her control.

She laughed softly, breath catching. "Look at you. Trying so hard to please me. And you still need me to guide you. You'd be lost without my hand in your hair, wouldn't you? Maybe I should punish you instead? Is that what you want? Would that make you even harder?"

Jet whimpered in response, the sound muffled between her thighs. His pride had long since evaporated. What remained was service. Pure and total.

She pressed his face tighter, riding the rhythm of his obedience.

"You're mine now," she said, voice like velvet and flame. "And I'm not done with you yet."

Mistress Leah shifted, drawing her legs closed and releasing his head with a sharp tug of his hair. Jet blinked, dazed and breathless, lips parted, the taste of her still lingering on his tongue.

But she didn't look satisfied.

In fact, the look in her eyes now was something colder--disappointed, restrained, calculating. She stood slowly, towering above him, the riding crop now idle in her hand, resting against her thigh like an afterthought.

"Hmm," she said, inspecting him as though he were an object that had failed to perform as advertised. "You were so eager. So desperate. And yet..." She exhaled, unimpressed.

"You still needed direction at every turn. You need to think only of me, not your own pleasure."

Jet's heart sank. The ache in his body was nothing compared to the hollow sting of that disapproval.

She circled him slowly, her gaze impassive, analytical. "You begged for this. Waited for it. And when it finally came, you offered me... this?"

He dropped his gaze to the floor, shame washing over him in waves. His hands still cuffed, his knees bruised, his skin flushed--he was the very image of surrender. And yet, it wasn't enough.

"Clearly," she continued, "you need to understand what real service looks like. Not just devotion--but performance. Discipline. Control." Her tone never rose; it didn't need to.

Each word cut cleaner because of her calm.

"You need to understand that you are not here for you."

Mistress Leah stood silent for a long moment, studying Jet where he knelt on the floor. Her expression didn't waver--calm, collected, and unreadable, like a sculptor observing an unfinished piece.

"You need lots of training but first you need to be punished."

Jet swallowed hard.

She reached down and took hold of his arm with a commanding grip that left no room for hesitation. With quiet authority, she pulled him off his knees, and still naked, she guided him out of the bedroom, leading him into the next room--her office.

Against the far wall stood a heavy wooden table. It had the shape and size of a dining table. Its surface was mostly clear, save for a small stack of papers and a closed laptop. It was obvious she had cleared it off. Almost as if she had anticipated using it for something else.

She uncuffed his wrists from behind and, without a word, resecured them in front. Then she pointed to the table with a tilt of her chin.

"Bend over. Hands out in front of you on the table."

He obeyed without a word. The tabletop was cold beneath his chest as she positioned him at its narrow end, bending him low, his arms stretched forward across the surface. She tied his wrists to opposite end with a smooth, unyielding cord connected to a hook underneath the table.

Then she moved behind him, crouching to secure each of his ankles to the table legs. Spread wide, locked down, completely exposed.

"Good," she murmured. "Now you'll be still. Now maybe you'll listen."

Jet's breath came shallow. There was no hiding. No bracing. Only surrender.

From the closet, she retrieved a small box and removed a clear, clinical-looking device--sleek and compact, a Fleshlight Quickshot. It was cylinder shaped with a hole through the middle, like a 4-inch-tall donut, its interior lined with soft, textured ridges. She held it up for him to see, turning it slowly in her hand, letting the anticipation build with each deliberate rotation.

"This is a tool for bad boys," she said. "Not a reward. A device to be used on a naughty boy that misbehaves."

She grabbed a simple mounting stand next to the table and efficiently secured the Quickshot in place. Then, moving with calm precision, she positioned it beneath the table directly in front of his cock--adjusting it until it hovered at just the right height. Without a word, she slid him inside so his cock was just about to poke through but not quite, and he shivered a little bit as he took a deep inhale. To complete the humiliation, she placed a metal trash can just in front of the stand to catch his release. The message was clear. This was punishment--not pleasure.

His thoughts spiraled. She was going to do it. She was really going to do it. She was going to make him cum like this and he started breathing fast and shallow as the full weight of his helplessness settled over him.

The embarrassment burned deep, twisting inside his chest. How had it come to this--bound, displayed, and punished? Now his heart started to race from the panic and adrenaline coursing through is bloodstream. He wanted to hide, but he was locked into this moment.

And beneath the shame, the tension of submission knotted inside him--equal parts dread and craving.

From the nearby desk he saw her grab a leather paddle. "No, no, no, please don't," he said, panic thick in his voice. And then--without warning--smack. The first blow from the paddle landed hard and square across his already sore backside.

Jet flinched, the impact sending his hips forward. He automatically thrust into the waiting Quickshot--and froze in shame.

Mistress Leah chuckled cruelly. "Oh... look at that."

She struck again.

Jet rocked forward. Another involuntary movement. Another humiliating thrust.

"I don't even have to touch you anymore," she said. "You do it to yourself."

"Please, no, Mistress. I'm sorry. Please--not like this," he begged, desperation creeping into his voice. "I can't..."

She cut him off sharply. "You will do as I command. You are here for me, and I will do with you what I want, when I want."

To drive her point home, she delivered five quick, sharp spanks, each one pushing him harder into the Quickshot, forcing him to hump the device unwillingly and moan loudly.

Each strike drove him forward again, the Quickshot unmoving, indifferent, gripping his cock and masturbating him as she spanked him. He could feel the mounting pressure--not just in his body, but in his mind. The shame of moaning loudly. The helplessness of being tied down. The twisted, unbearable pleasure. He knew he was on the edge of cumming and struggled to will himself to stay calm and hold back.

"You need to learn to how to give pleasure and stop thinking of yourself."

"Please Mistress. I'm sorry. I'll be good from now on. Please don't do this," he pleaded again in a panicked voice knowing he was getting close to ejaculating.

She crouched beside him, her voice dropping to a sensual whisper and mocking tone.

"But isn't this what you fantasized about? A beautiful, naked woman spanking you while you squirm and beg?"

His face burning with shame. He couldn't bring himself to answer.

She stood again and struck him twice, firm and unrelenting. "Answer me. You're not exactly in a position to disobey."

"Yes, Mistress," he gasped, every word scraping his pride raw. "I dream of being spanked by a beautiful naked woman."

"That's what I thought."

Without another word, she delivered five more viciously precise spankings--each one timed with cruel perfection, making his hips lurch forward, grinding him harder into the device. His moans caught in his throat, half pleasure, half despair, as the humiliation twisted tighter around him, exactly as she intended.

Each time his hips pulled back and his cock began to slide out of the Quickshot, she struck him again, driving him forward through it once more, then back out, then in again. It was a punishment for daring to ask her to stop--a clear message that his limits were no longer his to set.

Jet let out a strained, involuntary moan--part plea for it to stop, part surrender to the rising pleasure. His body burned with arousal, with humiliation, with longing for approval that never came. He couldn't hide from any of it.

Mistress Leah stepped beside him, scratching her fingers lightly down his back.

"You'll finish like this," she said quietly, "and you will remember it. Every. Single. Time. This table, my tool to humble you--this is what happens to naughty boys. Maybe this is how you will cum until I've trained you to please me."

His breath hitched. He didn't want to cum like this. Not like this. Please no, please no, please no, he begged silently, trying to will it all to stop.

But it was too late. She began spanking him again and again, forcing his cock to use the Quickshot.

His body tensed and when the next smack from Mistress Leah's paddle rocked him forward--his body began trembling as he released, a raw, desperate cry out, helplessly, the devices unrelenting grip shaming him as he could hear his cum fall into the metal trash can with a wet "plunk, plunk, plunk" as he released over and over. She kept spanking him as he begged her to stop, the after-orgasm torment overwhelming him.

"I'll stop when I'm good and ready," she taunted.

Finally, Mistress Leah stepped back. No praise. No touch. She simply watched.

Jet's head dropped forward, forehead resting on the table. His wrists strained subtly against the rope, not in resistance, but in despair. The heat of his body now mingled with the cold, clinical silence.

Finally, she spoke--calm. "You will learn to please me."

Mistress Leah stepped back from the table, her eyes never leaving Jet's bowed body. Slowly, deliberately, she began to untie the cords binding his ankles and wrists, her touch light but unmistakably authoritative.

"You're not finished yet," she said softly, her voice low and deliberate. "You're here to serve me--to be mine. On your knees. Hands behind your back."

Jet's heart pounded with a tangled rush of fear, desire, and a raw hunger for approval.

"If you're willing to learn," she continued, "I will train you--teach you how to truly pleasure me. And when you don't measure up, you will be punished. Being my slave means total surrender. You have to accept that you belong to me, completely."

She circled him, her gaze sharp and commanding.

"You will pleasure me in countless ways. I will not tolerate you failing me--there will be consequences." Then, with a sly smile, she added, "And just so you understand--spanking you over my lap? That's not punishment. That's my fun."

Jet's breath caught. He wanted to be hers--molded, owned, shaped into the slave she demanded.

"Yes, Mistress," he whispered, voice trembling yet sure.

Mistress Leah smiled--a slow, satisfied curve of her lips--and reached out to trace a finger along his jaw.

"Good," she said. "Then we begin."

The End

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Coming Soon - Shame and Obedience Part 2