u/T_Secret_Account

Erik set the last candle down and looked over the four of us still lying on the mats, covered in the beach scene made of hot wax.

“Clara and Lot, you may remove the wax. Peel it off carefully.”

Clara and I sat up and began working the coloured layers free with our fingers. The wax came away in satisfying sheets and flakes, pulling lightly at the red skin beneath. Soft tearing sounds filled the room as blue water, yellow sand and green palms were stripped from our bodies and dropped onto the mats.

Lena and Daniel were not given the same instruction.

Sofia pointed to a clear space on the floor.

“Aside. Inspection position.”

Lena rose and stood with her legs wide, hands behind her head, the remaining wax still clinging to her breasts, stomach and thighs. Elena grapped Daniel by his hair and pulled him up: "Stand up, don't be so slow". Then Sofia took one of the medium floggers, stepped in front of them, and began striking the wax away.

The first strokes landed across Lena’s upper breast and shoulders, knocking loose the thicker pieces. Then Elena also picked up a flogger and started with Daniels breast.

Then Sofia moved lower, flogging the wax from Lena's breasts in steady, measured swings. Each impact made a heavy leather sound and sent flakes of coloured wax flying. Lena’s face quickly crumpled. Tears gathered and spilled over.

Tim spoke in a low, almost clinical voice.

“She’s crying again already. From this.”

Sofia did not slow down. But the strokes still seemed light and controlled.

“She still treats every sensation like an emergency. That is exactly why we continue.”

The flogger moved lower, clearing Lena’s stomach and the fronts of her thighs. When only the wax on her pussy and the soft inner folds remained, Sofia adjusted her stance and delivered a single, precise stroke directly between Lena’s legs.

Lena’s voice broke.

“Yellow”

Sofia stopped at once. The room went quiet except for Lena’s ragged breathing.

I kept my eyes down while I peeled a long strip of blue wax from my own stomach, but my thoughts raced. The way Sofia handled her seemed genuinely harsh to me. I could not imagine living inside that kind of constant, deliberate pressure for weeks or months. When Tim took me to similar intensities it was for one evening or a single weekend, after which there was always aftercare and time to recover. Watching Lena cry so openly from what still looked like a controlled, almost light flogging, made something twist in my chest. I knew my own tolerance was higher; the same strokes would have burned and stung, but they would not have pulled tears from me so quickly. And Daniel was standing next to Lena, and also he was not in tears.

Sofia glanced at the other Dominants.

“She needs a longer pause, and she needs to see the difference.”

Erik nodded.

“Clara and Lot, stand in the line. Present your cunts.”

We stood shoulder to shoulder, feet wide, hands behind our heads. Lena was kept in her inspection position a few steps in front of us so she could watch.

One by one the Dominants took a light flogger and struck us directly between the legs, single, deliberate strokes meant to clear any last traces of wax and to demonstrate control. The leather snapped against my already sensitive pussy with a bright, stinging flash that made my hips jerk, yet I stayed silent and upright. Clara took hers with only a sharp inhale. Daniel received a carefully aimed stroke across the base of his cock and balls and merely clenched his jaw. It was not his first one as almost al wax was cleared of his body already. Each of us was hit in turn, the sounds clean and controlled, until every remaining flake of wax had been knocked from Lena’s body as well.

By the time the last stroke fell, Lena was still crying quietly, but the immediate pressure on her had eased. The rest of us stood in line, skin raw and throbbing between our legs, showing her without words how the same pain could be received differently.

Sofia finally lowered the flogger.

“Kneel. All of you.”

We sank down in silence. The beach scene was gone. Only red, marked skin was left.

We were ordered back to our places. I knelt beside Tim’s chair, wrists crossed behind my back, eyes down. Clara returned to Erik’s side, Lena to Sofia’s, and Daniel to Elena’s. The room felt quieter now, the sharp energy of the wax and flogging settling into something heavier and more formal.

Erik glanced at Clara.

“Another round of drinks. Use the tray.”

Clara rose, reattached the nipple clamps to the special serving tray, and moved carefully around the circle collecting orders. The weights of the glasses pulled visibly on her breasts as she walked. When she finally returned and distributed the coffee and wine, she knelt again without being told.

Erik set his glass down.

“We will close the evening properly. While each Dominant speaks, every submissive will bow fully, forehead to the floor, arms crossed behind the back. You will remain in that position until told otherwise.”

I folded forward at once, forehead pressing against the cool floorboards, arms tight across the small of my back. Around me I heard the soft sounds of the others doing the same.

Daniel, however, placed his hands flat on the floor instead of crossing his arms.

Elena’s voice was immediate and cold.

“Incorrect. Up.”

Daniel rose. Elena pointed to the cane. He fetched it, presented it across both palms, and bent forward. Three sharp strokes landed across his already bruised ass. He returned to the full bow without another mistake, forehead down, arms correctly crossed.

Only then did Elena begin.

“I found the evening instructive,” she said calmly. “The level of protocol was consistent, and the shared canvas exercise worked well and was vert fun. Watching the differences in pain tolerance and obedience between the four submissives was useful. Daniel received exactly what he needed: clear structure, visible consequences, and enough intensity to keep him from sliding into bratty resistance. I leave satisfied.”

She paused.

“Daniel. Sit up and evaluate the evening. What did you learn, what did you experience, and how do you feel.”

Daniel rose only to a kneeling position, eyes still lowered.

“I learned that I still need strong external pressure before I drop properly, Mistress. When the stimulus is high enough I stop fighting and simply obey. I experienced humiliation and physical pain, both of which I needed. Serving with my mouth while being flogged, and later being used as part of the wax canvas, put me in the headspace I struggle to reach on my own. I feel calm now, and grateful that I was not allowed to remain bratty.”

Elena gave a small nod.

“Acceptable. Forehead down again.”

Daniel folded back into the deep bow.

We remained folded forward, foreheads pressed to the floor, arms crossed tightly behind our backs. The position left my neck aching and the heavy plug shifting with every breath, but I did not move. Around me I could hear only the quiet breathing of the other three submissives and the soft clink of Erik setting his glass down.

Erik spoke in his usual calm, measured tone.

“This was a successful high-protocol evening for our guests, and a useful training night for my own slave. The structure we discussed prior to the evening worked well. Protocol was observed at a high level, corrections were applied immediately, and the shared exercises, particularly the wax canvas, created the right combination of endurance, humiliation, and group accountability. I was pleased with the overall discipline in the room.”

He paused, and I heard the leather of his chair shift as he turned slightly toward Clara.

“Clara continues to show her greatest strength and her greatest weakness in equal measure. Her obedience is instinctive and deep; she drops into service without resistance and accepts public correction without argument. That part of her training is solid. The difficulty remains her ass and her tendency to vocalise discomfort too readily. Tonight reinforced both the house rule and the consequence for noise. The additional clamps and the repeated exposure to larger plugs served their purpose. She leaves the evening with a clear reminder of where she still needs to improve.”

His voice stayed even, almost clinical.

“I leave satisfied. The presence of other trained submissives gave her useful mirrors for both behaviour and endurance. We will continue the same programme at home.”

He waited a moment longer, then addressed her directly.

“Clara. Sit up. Evaluate the evening: what you learned, what you experienced, and how you feel.”

I heard the soft sound of Clara rising from the deep bow to a kneeling position. Her voice was quiet and carefully controlled.

“I learned again that my Master’s standards do not change when guests are present, Master. The rule about silence and the rule about the plug were both enforced exactly as they are when we are alone. I experienced repeated humiliation when the larger plugs were shown to me and when I was corrected in front of the others. I also experienced the physical difficulty of the nipple tray and the clamps. Serving drinks while the weights pulled on my nipples kept me focused and ashamed in a way that helped me stay in the right headspace.”

She swallowed once.

“During the wax exercise I was afraid of making a sound and causing punishment for everyone. That fear made me concentrate harder than usual. When I did earn group punishments I felt responsible and small. Overall I feel used, corrected, and clear about what Master expects from me. I am grateful the training continued even with others watching.”

Erik gave a single nod that I could sense more than see.

“Acceptable. Forehead down.”

Clara folded forward again into the full bow. The room returned to silence except for the low hum of the air and the occasional soft shift of a Dominant’s glass. I stayed perfectly still beside Tim, cheek against the floorboards, waiting for the next voice.

Sofia’s voice was clear and composed.

“I found the evening productive. High protocol was maintained at a level that left little room for laziness, and the presence of other Dominants allowed me to observe and adjust in real time. The shared canvas exercise worked especially well for exposure and endurance. For my own slave the night was focused almost entirely on her weakest point, pain tolerance and the tendency to treat discomfort as something that should stop.”

She paused briefly.

“Lena received more intensity than she is used to: the prolonged stress position, the clamps, the layered flogging, the forced orgasm under impact, and finally the removal of wax by flogger rather than by hand. She used her safeword once, which was respected, and then continued. That is progress. Seeing the other submissives take similar or greater sensation with less visible distress gave her a clear mirror. I leave the evening satisfied with the work that was done and with the help that was offered.”

Sofia’s tone remained even as she addressed her slave.

“Lena. Sit up. Evaluate the evening. What you learned, what you experienced, and how you feel.”

I heard Lena rise from the deep bow to a kneeling position. Her voice was soft and still slightly rough from earlier crying.

“I learned that the level of pain I want to be able to accept is still higher than what I can take without breaking into tears, Mistress. Tonight showed me exactly where that gap is. I experienced more continuous intensity than I have before, the position, the clamps, the flogger, the vibrator, and the way the Dominants increased everything when I came. It was overwhelming and often not pleasurable in the moment. I cried more than I wanted to.”

She took a small breath.

“I also experienced the difference between myself and the others. Watching them take strokes and corrections with less reaction made me understand why Mistress keeps training me this way. I am thankful to the other Masters and to the other slaves for being part of it. Their presence and their example helped me see the level I have asked to reach, even when it was hard to stay in it. I feel sore, tired, and clearer about what still needs work. I remain grateful that Mistress continues to push me, and that the others were willing to help.”

Sofia was quiet for a moment.

“Acceptable. Forehead down.”

Lena folded forward again into the full bow. The four of us remained there in silence, waiting for the final pair to speak.

We remained in the deep bow, foreheads pressed to the floorboards, arms crossed behind our backs. While the silence stretched before Tim spoke, my thoughts turned to the words Lena had just offered.

I was quietly amazed by her. Only nineteen, already living inside a demanding dynamic, and still able to kneel there and thank the room for the very pain that had made her cry. She was setting the bar high, higher than I had expected from someone so new to regular training. She struggled openly, used her safeword when she needed it, and yet her final words had been full of gratitude rather than complaint. Something about that combination: the honest difficulty and the clear willingness, settled heavily in my chest. It made me both respectful and a little smaller in my own submission.

Tim’s voice pulled me back.

“I’m glad we were invited tonight,” he said calmly. “This was our first high-protocol group evening, and it gave us exactly what we came for. The structure was clear, the standards were consistent, and the other Dominants handled my submissive with the right balance of firmness and attention. Lot was tested in endurance, silence, pain, and public obedience. She made one vocal error early and was corrected for it. After that she held protocol well. Watching the different training approaches, especially the long-term pain work with Lena and the service focus with Clara, was useful for both of us. We leave the evening happy we joined and clearer about the direction we want to take our own dynamic.”

He rested his hand briefly on the back of my head.

“Lot. Sit up. Evaluate the evening: what you learned, what you experienced, and how you feel.”

I rose from the bow to a kneeling position, eyes still lowered, the plug shifting inside me as I straightened.

“I learned that high protocol in a group is heavier than I expected, Master. The constant awareness of every Dominant’s eyes and the knowledge that any mistake could affect the others made every order feel sharper. I experienced the marble task, the clothespins, the wax, the group punishments, and the corrections. Some of it was physically hard, some of it was more psychological. I struggled most with staying completely silent when the pain landed on the most sensitive places.”

I paused, choosing the next words carefully.

“I also watched the other submissives closely. Lena’s willingness to keep going even when she was overwhelmed stayed with me. She set a high standard tonight. I feel tired, marked, and very owned. And I feel grateful we were allowed to be here. The evening showed me both where I am strong and where I still have room to improve. I’m happy we came.”

Tim gave a single, quiet nod.

“Acceptable. Forehead down.”

I folded forward again into the full bow beside him. The four of us remained there in silence while the Dominants finished their drinks.

Erik set his empty glass down and looked around the circle.

“High protocol is over for the evening. Submissives may stand, look freely, and speak.”

The shift in the room was immediate. I rose slowly on stiff legs, blinking as I lifted my eyes for the first time in hours. The other three did the same. Soft, careful conversation began between each pair.

Tim turned me gently and began unbuckling the full-body harness. The straps peeled away from my marked skin with small tugging sensations. He folded the harness neatly and returned it to Erik with a quiet word of thanks. My wrist and ankle cuffs were unlocked next. The sudden lightness felt strange. Tim held out a short summer dress he had brought in the bag. I stepped into it; the soft fabric settled over my still-sensitive breasts and the fading red marks. Before I could adjust it, Tim leaned close.

“The plug stays in. Erik requested that every submissive leave the house still wearing one.”

“Yes, Master,” I answered quietly.

A few steps away, Sofia was handing Lena a set of stunning dark lingerie, a sheer bralette and matching panties. Lena put them on first, then stepped into a simple shirt and short pants. Her thin silver collar remained locked around her throat. Daniel had already pulled on ordinary jeans and a t-shirt. He was speaking softly with Elena when she suddenly fisted a hand in his hair, forced him back to his knees, opened his mouth with two fingers, and spat directly onto his tongue. He swallowed without being told. I only caught the motion from the corner of my eye and did not hear the words that had preceded it.

Clara, still completely naked except for her collar, moved between us.

“Would you all come with me for a few minutes? There’s a quieter room where we can talk.”

We followed her down a short hallway into a small, warmly lit sitting room with low couches and floor cushions. The door closed behind us with a soft click. For the first time all evening the four of us were alone together.

We settled onto the cushions. Clara spoke first, her tone calm and practical.

“Daniel, what was the spit for? I only saw the end of it.”

Daniel gave a small, self-conscious huff.

“I asked Elena if we could skip the usual bedtime protocol tonight because I’m tired. She said that question itself proved I still needed the reminder. So she gave me one.”

Clara nodded as if that made perfect sense.

Lena looked at me.

“You were very quiet most of the night. How was it, your first time in a high-protocol group?”

I smoothed the hem of my dress over my thighs, feeling the plug shift inside me.

“Intense. Heavier than I expected. The marble task frustrated me more than the pain did. When I finally spoke out of turn I knew immediately it would cost me. The clothespins and the wax were hard, but the constant awareness that any sound could punish everyone else was the part that stayed with me most. I learned a lot about my own limits and about how much protocol changes the feeling of every order.”

The conversation turned to Lena. Clara asked the question that had been sitting in the back of my mind all evening.

“Your pain training looks really demanding. How do you keep going with it?”

Lena’s hands rested quietly in her lap.

“It is demanding. Some days I hate it. Sofia builds it slowly but she doesn’t back off just because I cry. Tonight was one of the harder sessions I’ve had, especially in a group. I’m starting to understand that the crying is part of the process for me, not a reason to stop. I’m grateful the other Dominants and the rest of you were part of it. Seeing how the rest of you took sensation helped me more than I expected. I want to reach the level where pain doesn’t break my posture or my silence so easily. I’m not there yet, but I want to be.”

I studied her for a moment.

“You’re only nineteen. How did you end up in something this structured so young?”

Lena gave a small, almost shy smile.

“I already knew I was submissive when I met Sofia last year, I know that for some years now since I saw a movie with some sort of BDSM in it. Solfia and I talked for months before we started anything physical. I asked for the structure. I asked for the training. The intensity came later, when I told her I wanted to get better at accepting pain. She warned me it would be uncomfortable and often not fun. I still wanted it.”

Clara tilted her head.

“Can you tell us more about the actual training scheme? Where did you start, and what is the end goal?”

Lena nodded slowly, gathering her thoughts.

“We started very small. At the beginning it was only hand spanks over clothes, then bare, then a soft belt. Clamps started with just a few minutes on my nipples while I did homework. Wax was only a few drops on my arms. The rule was that I had to stay still and keep my breathing even. If I cried or moved too much, we simply repeated the same level the next day instead of progressing. After a couple of months we moved to longer sessions, heavier implements, and combining things, clamps while being flogged, stress positions while she used a strap on my thighs. Now we have structured evenings almost every day: sometimes pure endurance, sometimes mixing pain with forced pleasure so my body starts to get confused about what it hates. The end goal is that I can take a full heavy session: cane, longer flogging, strong clamps, temperature play, without collapsing into tears or losing my position. I want to be able to stay open and present even when it hurts a lot. Sofia says we’re maybe halfway there. Some weeks I feel progress. Other weeks I feel like I’m back at the beginning.”

Daniel leaned forward a little.

“How do you actually measure progress? What counts as improvement for her?”

Lena answered without hesitation.

“We keep it quite concrete. At the start of each month Sofia writes down what I should be able to take by the end of it, for example, ten minutes of medium clamps while holding a stress position, or a certain number of strokes with the belt without breaking posture. If I reach it three times in a row with controlled breathing and no safeword, we move the target up. If I fail repeatedly, we stay at the same level or even step back for a week. She also films some sessions so we can watch afterwards. That part is hard, because I have to see exactly where my face changes or my shoulders tense. But it makes the progress measurable instead of just a feeling.”

I asked the next question.

“What does a normal training evening look like for you now?”

“It depends on the day,” Lena said. “Three evenings a week are pure pain-endurance. I might be ordered into a squat or a standing present position, clamps go on, and then she works with a flogger, a strap, or the cane for a set time. No vibrator, no soft words, just the instruction to stay open and breathe. Two other evenings are mixed: she uses the wand or her hand while she flogs me, or she makes me edge while the clamps are on. Those are the sessions where I get most confused, because my body starts wanting the pain to continue so the pleasure doesn’t stop. One evening a week is lighter or focused on positions and service, so I don’t burn out. And almost every night, even on rest days, I wear at least light clamps for a while or hold a short stress position before bed. It never completely stops.”

Clara’s voice was quiet.

“How do you handle the days when you really don’t want to do it?”

Lena was silent for a few seconds.

“I still do it. That was one of the first agreements we made. I can use Yellow or Red if something is truly wrong, but ‘I don’t feel like it’ is not a reason to skip. On the hard days Sofia usually starts slower and reminds me why I asked for this. Sometimes she makes me say out loud what the goal is before we begin. It doesn’t always take the resistance away, but it reminds me that I chose the direction. Afterwards I usually feel clearer, even if I cried a lot during it. The gratitude comes later, when I notice I took something this week that I couldn’t have taken two months ago.”

Daniel frowned slightly.

“And the end goal, once you can take a full heavy session without breaking, what then? Does the training stop?”

Lena shook her head.

“No. The goal moves. Right now the target is to stay composed through a heavy session. After that she wants me to be able to take the same intensity while also serving, bringing her a drink, holding a position for her comfort, or focusing on her pleasure while I’m in pain. Later she wants the pain to become something I can accept as background during longer protocol periods, not just during dedicated training scenes. She says the real end point is when pain is just another tool she can use freely without it interrupting my submission. I don’t know how many months or years that will take. I only know I agreed to keep going until we’re both satisfied.”

I watched her while she spoke. The way she described the structure, concrete targets, filmed reviews, mixed sessions, the refusal to let short-term reluctance stop the work, made the whole programme feel much more deliberate than I had first understood. It was not simply “Sofia hurts her a lot.” It was a long, planned progression with clear milestones and an end state that went far beyond basic endurance.

Clara exhaled slowly.

“That’s a lot more systematic than most people would expect from a nineteen-year-old’s dynamic.”

Lena gave a small nod.

“I know. But I asked for systematic. I didn’t want vague intensity. I wanted to actually change what I can take.”

We sat with that for a while, the weight of her words settling between us.

I asked the next question almost carefully.

“And the student house? How did the other girls agree to what they see?”

Lena’s voice stayed calm and matter-of-fact.

“We told them the truth early, before we even moved in together on the top floor. We sat down with the whole house one evening and explained that I’m her submissive, that she gives me orders in the apartment, that I have clear safewords, and that nothing sexual or with implements happens where they can see it. We set the boundaries together: in the shared kitchen, living room and hallway she can tell me to kneel, to fetch things, to wait quietly, or to go to our rooms for a correction. No nudity outside our two rooms, no toys visible, no impact where anyone else can watch. They’ve seen me kneel beside her chair while we all watch a film. They’ve heard her say ‘We’ll deal with that upstairs’ when I make a mistake. Some of them still look a little surprised. Most of them treat it as normal now. And one of the girls even asked us if we could not do a bit more in the shared rooms of our home. She was intressted in the punishments for example, but that is a limit for me. As she is a good friend of my I did show her the damage after a few of my sessions. I would not be suprised if she once will join us on a munch or take a dominant boyfriend to our home.”

She glanced around at us.

“It helps that the house is already quite open about sex. Almost everyone is sexually active, people bring partners home, and no one is shocked by noise or by someone walking to the bathroom half-dressed. Our dynamic is just another version of that openness, only more structured. When a new housemate was considering moving in last semester, we had the same conversation again with her present. We explained everything the same way, answered her questions, and made it clear she could always speak up if something ever made her uncomfortable. She moved in. So far it’s been fine. They know they’re allowed to ask if something ever looks wrong. That seems to be enough for them.”

Clara nodded slowly.

“So the whole house basically knows you’re owned, even if they only see the lighter parts.”

“Yes,” Lena answered. “They know I belong to her. They just don’t see the heavier training. That stays behind our door. But the fact that they accept the visible part, the kneeling, the orders, the way I speak to her, makes the whole dynamic feel more real to me. It’s not only something that exists when we’re alone. It’s part of how I live in the house.”

We sat with that for a while. Lena’s description left a quiet weight in the room. The combination of her age, the deliberate long-term pain programme, the clear goals, and the way the student house had been brought into the edges of their dynamic made her submission feel both very young and unusually considered.

Finally the attention turned to Clara.

“What’s it like for you?” I asked. “Almost 24/7?”

Clara exhaled slowly.

“It’s ordinary to me now. I wake up owned. I go to sleep owned. Most of the day is simple service and protocol, how I walk, how I speak, when I am allowed furniture, the plug I wear whenever Master wants it. The difficult parts, like the anal training, never really stop; they just become part of the background. Some days I feel very small and very safe at the same time. Other days I feel frustrated and still do what is expected anyway. The consistency is what holds me. I don’t have to decide who I am in the dynamic. It’s already decided.”

We sat with that for a while, four submissives in different places along the same path, comparing the weight of the evening and the shapes of our own dynamics.

Eventually Clara glanced at the clock.

“They’ll be ready for you to leave soon.”

We returned to the living room. Tim was already standing with Erik near the door. I moved to Tim’s side. He rested a hand on the back of my neck, warm and familiar.

We thanked Erik and Clara properly. Erik shook Tim’s hand and gave me a brief, approving nod.

“You both did well for a first evening. You’re welcome again.”

Clara, still naked and quiet, opened the front door for us. The night air felt cool against my marked skin. Tim guided me to the car with the plug still seated deeply inside me, the short dress brushing over places that still throbbed.

As we drove away from the house I leaned my head against the seat and let the whole evening settle: the protocol, the pain, the other submissives’ voices, and the quiet knowledge that we had taken a new step together.

Erik looked at Tim with quiet approval.

“She has remarkable perseverance. One hundred marbles without stopping is impressive for a first high-protocol evening. The only difficulty seems to be keeping her mouth shut.”

Tim gave a short nod, already reaching for the table. He selected a large red ball gag, stepped in front of me, and ordered me to open. The thick rubber forced my jaw wide. He buckled it tightly behind my head. Saliva immediately began to gather at the corners of my mouth. I kept my eyes lowered, heart pounding. I knew exactly what I had done. After listening to Lena’s limits being methodically explored and pushed, I understood this would not be corrected lightly.

Tim and Erik moved me to the centre of the room where several heavy anchor points were set into the ceiling. My wrist cuffs were clipped to short chains hanging from the beams, stretching my arms high above my head. A long metal spreader bar was locked between my ankle cuffs, forcing my legs uncomfortably wide. When they shortened the chains I was lifted until only the balls of my feet touched the floor. My calves began to burn within seconds. Unlike Lena, I had no dancer’s strength for this. Every small shift made the heavy plug shift inside me and the harness dig into my skin.

Erik spoke calmly.

“She retrieved one hundred marbles. Daniel, Clara, one hundred clothespins. Cover her.”

They began methodically. Clothespins pinched along the soft skin of my inner arms, across my belly, down the fronts and backs of my thighs, along my sides. The early ones were only sharp and annoying. Then they reached the sensitive zones. Pins clamped onto the full curves of my breasts, then two directly on my nipples. I made a muffled sound through the gag. More pins lined the outer lips of my pussy. When the first one closed on my labia I cried out against the rubber. When a single pin was carefully placed directly on my clit, a raw, high noise tore from my throat and my whole body jerked in the chains.

They did not stop.

By the time all hundred clothespins covered me, my skin felt like it was on fire in dozens of separate points. Thin wires had been threaded through the metal springs of every pin, gathering into a single bundle in Tim’s hand.

He looked at me for a moment, then pulled.

Every clothespin ripped free at once.

The pain was white and total. A screaming sound forced its way past the ball gag as my body convulsed in the chains. Tears streamed from my eyes. My toes scrabbled uselessly on the floor. The sudden flood of blood back into hundred pinched places made the burning even worse.

I was still shaking when Tim’s voice came, calm and absolute.

“Again.”

Clara and Daniel immediately began reapplying every single pin. The second round was worse because my skin was already raw and hypersensitive. When they reached my nipples and clit again I sobbed openly into the gag, saliva running down my chin.

Once the full hundred were back in place, Sofia and Elena each took a medium flogger.

They began striking the pins themselves.

Every landing of the leather knocked several clothespins free in sharp, stinging bursts. The floggers worked systematically over my breasts, my belly, my thighs, and my spread pussy, whipping the remaining pins off in clusters. Each impact combined the thud of the flogger with the bright, tearing pain of pins being ripped away. I screamed and cried, body twisting in the limited range the chains and spreader bar allowed, calves screaming from the forced pointe position.

By the time the last pin was gone, my skin was a deep, uniform red from collarbones to mid-thighs, far more thoroughly marked than Lena’s breasts had been. Heat radiated from me in waves. I hung trembling, tears and saliva dripping onto the floor, the plug still heavy inside me, my mind floating somewhere between agony and deep, shocked subspace.

Lena, who had been allowed a short rest on her knees, was ordered forward.

“Look,” Sofia told her. “See the difference. You did a training, this is punishment.”

Lena’s eyes moved slowly over my bright red, mottled skin. I could not meet her gaze even if I had been allowed to. I only hung there on my toes, gagged and shaking, knowing the evening was far from over.

Tim and Erik stood over me while I still hung from the ceiling chains, skin burning and bright red. Between them they held a large bowl of melted wax and several long candles. Erik slowly dripped a thin stream onto the back of his own hand, testing the temperature, then looked at me.

“This is all for you, Lot,” Tim said quietly. “Every drop. We’re going to cover the marks the clothespins left. You will stay completely still.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. I imagined the hot wax landing on already raw skin and felt a fresh wave of fear. They let the moment stretch, turning the candles in their hands, letting me watch the clear liquid tremble at the tips. Only when my breathing had become shallow and panicked did Erik set the bowl down.

“Enough. Let's lower her.”

The chains were released. My arms dropped like lead and my calves cramped the moment my feet were flat again. Tim removed the spreader bar but left the ball gag in place.

Erik addressed the room.

“All submissives, side by side on the floor. On your backs. Arms at your sides.”

We four arranged ourselves in a neat row: Clara, then me, then Lena, then Daniel. The ceiling lights felt suddenly brighter. Erik continued in the same calm voice.

“The main part of the evening begins now. The four of you are a single canvas. We will paint with hot wax. Any sound or any visible movement from one of you will result in a group punishment decided by the dice.”

He held up a single die and explained the faces:

1 - two flog strokes for every slave

2 - one near-orgasm for every slave

3 - one cane stroke on pussy or balls

4 - five minutes of nipple clamps

5 - one slap across the face

6 - roll again and double the result

Remote-controlled vibrators were brought out. Mine and the other women’s were slicked and pushed deep into our already wet and sensitive pussies until only the base remained. Daniel’s was strapped tightly along the underside of his cock. All four units were switched on at the absolute lowest setting, nothing more than a faint, teasing hum that would never make you cum, but made me very horny.

The Dominants lit several thick candles and began to paint.

Hot wax fell in controlled lines and droplets across our stomachs, breasts, and thighs. The first few drops on my already reddened skin made me flinch hard inside the gag, but I forced myself still. The smell of warm wax filled the air. Soft hisses and quiet breaths were the only sounds.

Then a large, heavy drip landed directly on Lena’s left nipple.

She let out a short, high noise.

Erik immediately rolled the die in a small tray. It settled on 1.

“Two flog strokes each.”

Four floggers rose and fell in unison, two firm strokes across each of our upper legs. The impact on my still-sensitive skin tore a muffled cry from behind the gag.

More wax followed. Thin rivers ran between my breasts and pooled in my navel. A line was drawn down the centre of Clara’s stomach. Swirls appeared on Daniel’s chest. Lena received careful drops along her collarbones. Every few minutes another small sound or involuntary twitch triggered the die:

A suppressed sob from Clara, face 4, five minutes of tight nipple clamps for all of us while the wax continued to fall.

A jerk of Daniel’s hip, face 3, a single, precise cane stroke across each pair of lips or across Daniel’s balls.

A second noise from Lena, face 2, the vibrators were turned up just long enough to bring every one of us trembling to the edge, then yanked back down to the lowest setting.

Whenever a 6 appeared the next punishment was doubled, and the room filled with the wet sounds of floggers, the sharp crack of the cane, and muffled cries.

The Dominants worked without hurry, turning our bodies into a single shared picture. Pale blue wax formed water. Yellow and white created sunlight and sand. Green streaks became distant palms. Outlines of beach umbrellas and human figures appeared across four stomachs and chests. The wax was thick and hot enough to make every new layer sting, especially where it covered earlier clothespin marks or fresh canning stripes.

By the time they finished, and they took their fucking time, the four of us lay exhausted and shining. Layers of coloured wax cracked and flaked with every shallow breath. Our skin beneath was mottled red, marked by clamps, canes, and floggers. Sweat and tears had dried in streaks. The vibrators still hummed as a final cruel reminder.

Erik stepped back and regarded the result with quiet satisfaction.

“A summer beach,” he said. “And four very well-used canvases.”

I stared upward, gag still stretching my jaw, body throbbing and over-sensitive, the heavy plug and the low vibration inside me keeping me from any real rest.

Part 2

Erik snapped his fingers.

“Clara. Drinks. Use the tray.”

Clara rose at once and went to a low cabinet. She returned with a special serving tray Erik had designed himself: a flat wooden surface held by a wide leather strap around her waist, with two strong nipple clamps fixed to the front edge. She attached the clamps to her own nipples, then adjusted the strap so the tray was supported entirely by the tension on her breasts. The weights of future glasses would pull directly on her nipples.

She moved slowly from Dominant to Dominant, eyes down, collecting orders for coffee, wine, and water. Every step made the clamps tug. When she finally disappeared into the kitchen, the room returned to quiet conversation.

Erik stood, took a small leather pouch from a drawer, and emptied it onto the wooden floor. Dozens of glass marbles scattered and rolled in every direction.

Tim looked down at me.

“All fours. Pick them up with your mouth, one by one, and place them in this bowl. You will repeat the full set until I say stop.”

I dropped forward onto my hands and knees. The harness creaked, the heavy plug shifted inside me, and my bare breasts hung heavily beneath me. I crawled to the nearest marble, lowered my head, and carefully took it between my lips. The glass clicked against my teeth. I crawled back and dropped it into the small bowl Tim had placed on the floor.

“Again.”

I turned and began the second retrieval.

While I crawled back and forth across the floor, jaw aching from the marbles, the real focus of the room shifted to Lena.

Sofia started explaining a bit more about Lena to Tim:

"She used to do ballet at a high level and wanted to stop when university became difficult at the begin of this year. I ordered her to continue because I enjoy her flexibility and the discipline it gives her.”

She pointed to a pair of pointe shoes that had been standing next to Sofia's bag.

“Lena, put them on and show our positions.”

Lena slipped into the pointe shoes and, with clear effort, rose onto the tips of her toes. She moved through a series of complex and demanding stress positions, deep lunges, extended balances, and a long, trembling hold with one leg raised high behind her, opening up her whole pussy. Her control was almost perfect, though her calves shook a bit from the strain.

"Keep this position"

While I worked, Lena stood there on her toes, Daniel was still kneeling and Clara stood in the corner with the tray conneced to her nipples, the Dominants continued talking. Erik, Tim, and Mistress Sofia had moved slightly closer to one another, examining a selection of toys laid out on the low table: several floggers of different weights, a short leather strap, a pair of clover clamps with chain, a wand vibrator, and a thin cane.

Sofia spoke first.

“Her pain tolerance is still the main obstacle. If I only give her pure pain she braces against it and counts the seconds until it ends. I want her to start connecting pain with pleasure so her body stops treating every sensation as a threat.”

Erik nodded, turning a medium-weight flogger in his hands.

“Classical approach. Layer them. Keep her in a demanding position so she already has something to fight, add clamps for constant background pain, then use the flogger in a rhythm while you give her direct clitoral stimulation. The moment she gets close to orgasm you increase the impact. Over time the brain starts to link the two.”

Tim examined the wand and the clamps.

“It works, but only up to a point,” he said. “If every painful experience becomes paired with pleasure, pain loses its usefulness as pure punishment. You still need moments where pain is simply a consequence, clean, sharp, and without reward, otherwise the structure weakens.”

Sofia agreed.

“I keep a clear separation. Training sessions like tonight can mix the two. Actual punishments remain dry. No vibrator, no soft words, only the lesson.”

I had already completed the full set of marbles five times. My knees ached against the hard floor. My jaw was tired from gripping the small glass spheres. Sweat began to form along my spine under the harness. Tim gave no sign of stopping.

“Again, Lot.”

I crawled back out.

Sofia ordered Lena into a deep squat on the pointe shoes, thighs forced wide and parallel to the floor, spine straight, hands clasped tightly behind her head. Almost immediately the clover clamps went on, first the nipples, then a third, heavier clamp directly on her clit. The chain between them hung in a pulling triangle.

Sofia switched on a wand vibrator and pressed the head firmly against the clamped clit. Lena’s whole body jerked.

Then the flogging began.

Erik stood beside Sofia and spoke in a low coaching tone.

“Start lighter than you think. Let her feel the rhythm before you increase. Watch her breathing.”

Sofia nodded and delivered the first strokes across the fronts of Lena’s thighs. The soft, fleshy sound of leather on skin filled the room. Lena exhaled sharply but held the position.

“Good,” Tim murmured. “Now the breasts. Not too hard yet, build it.”

Sofia adjusted and began striking the upper curves of Lena’s breasts, just above the clamped nipples. Each stroke landed with a crisp smack, leaving faint pink rectangles. After a dozen she moved lower, letting the falls kiss the sides of her breasts and the sensitive undersides. Lena’s breathing grew ragged.

Erik watched closely.

“Increase the weight now. Use more of your arm. She can take it.”

The next set of strokes landed harder. The flogger thudded across Lena’s inner thighs, then wrapped slightly around to catch the outer labia. A small, broken sound escaped her throat. Sofia paused and looked at Erik.

“Again,” he said calmly. “Same strength. She needs to stay in it.”

Sofia obeyed. The heavier strokes continued, thighs, breasts, the soft crease where thigh met ass, while the wand kept its relentless pressure against the clamped clit. Lena’s face was already wet with tears.

Twice Sofia brought her right to the edge. Lena’s hips began to tremble, her mouth opened, and a desperate high noise rose in her throat. Both times Sofia pulled the wand away and delivered three hard, deliberate strokes across the most tender part of her inner thighs.

“Not yet,” Sofia said firmly.

Lena sobbed once, still holding the squat.

After the second denial, Erik spoke more directly to Lena.

“Look at the state of you. Shaking, drooling, clamps swinging, and still you can’t follow a simple instruction to hold still and take what you’re given. Pathetic.”

Sofia added, voice colder than before,

“You’re nineteen and you cry from this? This is training, not torture. Stop being dramatic.”

Lena’s cheeks burned with humiliation, tears running freely now.

Sofia pressed the wand back against her clit. Within a minute Lena was right on the edge again, thighs quivering violently.

This time Sofia looked at Elena.

“She’s too dumb to finish properly on her own. Daniel, get under her and make her cum. Use your mouth. Don’t stop until she’s actually finished.”

Daniel slid onto his back between Lena’s widely spread legs. Elena immediately began flogging his exposed ass and thighs in a steady, punishing rhythm so that he had to serve while receiving pain of his own. His tongue worked over Lena’s clamped and swollen clit, around the metal, licking and sucking as best he could.

The combination was too much.

Lena’s orgasm hit her in a violent wave. Her mouth opened in a raw, broken cry. Her thighs shook so hard it seemed she might fall, yet she somehow kept the squat. The moment the climax started, Sofia increased everything: she pressed the wand to her again, the flogger landed in faster, heavier strokes across her breasts and thighs, and Elena’s flogging of Daniel grew sharper so his muffled sounds vibrated against Lena’s pussy.

“Stay in position,” Sofia ordered over Lena’s cries. “You will feel every second of it.”

The orgasm stretched out, messy and overwhelming. Lena sobbed through it, still somehow balanced on her pointe shoes, hands locked behind her head, body jerking with each wave.

Only when the last tremors faded did Sofia step back.

“Kneel.”

Lena collapsed forward onto her knees, gasping. But directly in the correct position, with her hands behind her head and tits pointing forwards. Sofia first unclipped the clit clamp; Lena cried out as blood rushed back into the swollen bud. The nipple clamps were only loosened, not removed, so they still hung but no longer bit as hard. Lena’s face was streaked with tears, her skin shiny with sweat, her thighs wet and glistening. She was ordered to stay kneeling and was given a few sips of water from a glass Clara held to her lips. The nineteenth year old girl looked broken by her Mistress.

Throughout the entire scene I had continued the marble task without pause. My knees were raw, my jaw ached, and the heavy plug in my ass felt like a constant, humiliating reminder of my place. Frustration had built with every repetitive crawl, every click of glass against my teeth, every sound of Lena’s pleasure and pain that I was not allowed to watch directly.

I dropped the hunderdtwentieth marble into the bowl. My voice came out low and tight, edged with something I could no longer contain:

“Why.”

The room went still.

The single word cut through the room.

Every Dominant turned toward me at once.

Tim’s voice was quiet and immediate.

“Stop.”

I froze on all fours, heart slamming against my ribs, realizing too late that the focus of the entire room had just shifted onto me.

Part 1

Erik left the living room for a moment to prepare drinks. Tim remained standing beside me while Clara and I held the strict inspection position: legs wide, back straight, wrists crossed high behind our backs, the weighted clamps still tugging at our nipples and labia. Every small movement made the weights swing and pull. My legs trembled slightly; the sharp, constant ache kept me deeply focused.

After what felt like several long minutes, Tim stepped in front of me.

“Clamps off.”

He carefully removed the weights first, then the clamps from my nipples and labia. The sudden rush of blood made me hiss through my teeth. Erik returned and did the same for Clara, who remained perfectly still despite the pain. And remind you, she had the clamps twice as long.

“Kneel beside your Dominant,” Erik instructed.

I sank gracefully onto my knees next to Tim’s chair, wrists still crossed behind my back, eyes lowered. Clara took the same position beside Erik. The heavy steel plug inside me pressed deeper in this posture, and the harness straps felt tight and grounding.

A few quiet minutes passed. The only sounds were the soft clink of glasses as Erik poured a wine for himself and coffee for Tim.

Then the doorbell rang.

Erik rose and opened the front door. A tall, elegant woman with long blond hair in a fitted black dress entered, followed by a young man walking a few steps behind her with eyes down and hands behind his back. He wore only a leather collar and a simple black jockstrap.

They stepped into the living room. Tim stood and greeted them formally.

“Good evening. This is Mistress Elena, and this is her boy, Daniel.”

Mistress Elena gave a small, polite nod. “A pleasure.”. She had a high pitched voice, but sounded still very strict.

Daniel remained silent and knelt immediately beside the chair Tim indicated for his Mistress.

Only a few minutes later the doorbell rang again. This time a striking woman with short dark hair entered, accompanied by a slender female submissive who wore a thin silver collar and nothing else. The submissive had beautiful curling red hair failing over her shoulders. She has small but sturdy tits that, also without bra, stoot pointy to the front. She had quite big nipples that had almost the same color as her hair. Under her tits was a subtile sixpack that was only there if she stretched out or if she tensed her muscles. Her crotch was, just as the rest of her, petite. She was perfectly shaved and from below I saw two tight outer labia. In her neck was the collar with an extra ring in the front to attach a leach or bondage equipment.

Tim again made the introductions.

“This is Mistress Sofia, and this is her slave, Lena.”

Mistress Sofia smiled briefly. “Thank you for having us.”

Lena knelt smoothly beside her Domme’s chair without needing to be told.

Now the living room held four Dominants and four submissives. I stayed perfectly still on my knees next to Tim, eyes fixed on the floor, the harness and collar reminding me with every breath that I was the least experienced submissive in the room. My heart beat faster, but the quiet, formal atmosphere and the presence of the other well-trained slaves helped settle me deeper into protocol.

Erik raised his glass slightly.

“Welcome, everyone. The evening may begin. We will start with an introduction round, as Tim and Lot are new in our group and I'm very intrested in your progressions since the last time. I will start.”

The Dominants settled into the comfortable chairs and sofas with coffee and wine. We four submissives remained kneeling in perfect silence beside our owners, eyes lowered, the only movement the slow rise and fall of our breathing.

Erik leaned back in his chair, wine glass in hand, and continued in the same calm, conversational tone.

“Clara is very submissive by nature. She drops quickly, stays quiet, and genuinely wants to please. That part has always been easy. The difficulty has been her ass. Even after years together she still tightens up the moment anything larger than a finger approaches her. That is exactly why the new house rule is there: every submissive who walks through that door wears a plug from the first moment until the last. It keeps her in constant training and, more importantly, it keeps her humiliated.”

He gestured toward all of us.

“Stand. All of you. Plugs out.”

We four submissives rose in silence. One by one the Dominants stepped behind their own property. I felt Tim’s fingers carefully work the large steel plug free from my ass; it left me with a wet, open feeling and a soft, obscene sound as it finally slipped free. The same wet, sucking noises came from the others as their plugs were removed.

Erik held each plug up in front of Clara’s lowered face, starting with Daniel’s, then Lena’s, then mine, the thickest of all.

“Look at them, Clara.”

Every time a larger plug was shown she whispered the same soft apology:

“I’m sorry, Master.”

When it was time to replace them, the Dominants took their time. Thick wet sounds filled the quiet living room as each plug was slowly pushed back in. Daniel grunted softly when Elena forced his back inside. Lena gave only a controlled breath when Sofia seated hers. I bit my lip hard when Tim worked the heavy steel plug deep into me again, the stretch making my knees weak for a moment.

Then it was Clara’s turn.

Erik presented her own smaller plug. Even though it was the least imposing of the four, Clara’s body resisted. She whimpered as the tip pressed against her. Erik applied steady pressure. For a few seconds nothing happened, then the plug suddenly forced its way past her tight ring with a distinct wet sound. Clara cried out with a short, sharp sound of discomfort.

Erik’s voice remained perfectly calm.

“Silent.”

Clara immediately pressed her lips together, but the damage was done.

“You made noise. What is the additional punishment?”

“Five minutes of weighted clamps, Master,” she answered in a small voice.

"As it is the third error this evening, we do double weights", Erik ordered.

Clara was ordered to fetch the clamps herself again, attach them to her nipples and labia, and hang the weights. She stood in the centre of the room, legs slightly shaking, while the Dominants watched her in silence for the full five minutes. Tears welled in her eyes from the sharp, constant pull, but she did not make another sound.

When the time was up the clamps were removed and she was allowed to kneel again beside Erik’s chair. Her cheeks were flushed with deep humiliation.

Mistress Elena took a sip of her wine and remarked lightly,

“She really does struggle with that, doesn’t she?”

Erik gave a small, almost fond smile.

“She does. And she will keep struggling until I decide she has improved enough. The rule stays.”

Mistress Sofia nodded in agreement.

“Consistent training is the only way. Clara’s obedience in every other area makes the contrast even more interesting.”

I remained on my knees beside Tim throughout the entire exchange, the large plug seated heavily inside me once more, and felt a fresh wave of nervous arousal. Watching Clara be so openly discussed, corrected, and punished for something as small as a sound made the reality of high protocol settle even deeper into my body.

Mistress Elena set her wine glass down and gestured for Daniel to stand.

“My turn,” she said with a small smile. “I’m Elena, twenty-four. I work in marketing. This is my boy Daniel, also twenty-four. We’re not in a full 24/7 dynamic, our protocol runs every evening from the moment I come home until we go to sleep, and most of the weekend. During the day he functions as a normal partner, but the moment the evening starts he becomes property again.”

She looked at him.

“Boy, present your ass to the room.”

Daniel turned and bent forward slightly, hands on his knees, offering his backside. Both cheeks were heavily bruised, deep purple and blue marks from a cane, layered with several distinct welts.

Elena continued in a calm, almost casual tone.

“Daniel loves heavy humiliation. Being spat on, called worthless, used as furniture, forced to thank me for every insult. That is what truly drops him. The problem is that he needs a lot of stimulus before he reaches that place. Without enough intensity at the beginning of a scene he stays bratty and tests boundaries. Yesterday evening was one of those nights. He talked back twice and deliberately moved out of position. So he earned what you see here.”

She glanced at Mistress Sofia.

“Sofia, you’re welcome to feel them if you like.”

Mistress Sofia rose from her chair without hesitation. She stepped behind Daniel and ran her fingers slowly over the darkest bruises, pressing firmly enough to make him flinch and draw in a sharp breath. She traced one long welt with her fingernail, then gave the marked flesh a light, testing slap. Daniel stayed in position, but a small tremor ran through his thighs.

“Very thorough work,” Sofia remarked. “He marks nicely.”

Elena nodded.

“He does. And he needs it. The heavier the humiliation and the clearer the consequences, the faster he sinks. Once he’s properly down he’s an excellent service boy: quiet, attentive, and eager. But getting him there sometimes requires exactly this kind of reminder.”

Erik studied the marks with mild interest.

“Do you find the evening-only structure enough for him, or does he push for more?”

Elena gave a short laugh.

“He pushes constantly. He would happily be 24/7 if I allowed it. But I prefer the clear separation. It keeps the dynamic sharp when we are in protocol, and it gives me the mental space I need during the day. He has learned to accept that… most of the time.”

She gave Daniel’s bruised ass one final firm squeeze, then pointed to the floor.

“Kneel.”

Daniel returned to his place beside her chair in silence, the fresh attention to his marks still visible in the slight tension of his shoulders. I kept my eyes lowered, but I had seen enough. The casual way the Dominants discussed and handled him, the open display of his punishment, and the easy invitation for another Domme to touch his bruises made the hierarchy in the room feel even more absolute. My own plug shifted inside me as I breathed, and I remained perfectly still beside Tim, waiting.

Mistress Sofia set her glass down and looked at her slave.

“Lena, stand.”

The young woman rose gracefully. At nineteen she still had a slight, almost delicate frame, but her lines were unmistakable.

“I’m Sofia, twenty-one, final year of university,” Sofia began. “This is my slave Lena. She just turned nineteen and is in her first year of studies. We live together on the top floor of a student house with six other girls. They know that Lena is my submissive and that I give her orders in the apartment. Outside our two private rooms there is a clear limit: no obvious kink clothing, no implements, and no sexual tasks in the shared spaces. But within those boundaries I still use her.”

She glanced around at the other Dominants.

“In the kitchen or the living room I can tell her to fetch drinks, to kneel beside my chair while we watch something, or simply say that a punishment will follow later. The other girls see it. They have watched her kneel, watched her answer ‘Yes, Mistress,’ and watched her disappear into our rooms knowing she will come out with marks.”

Tim spoke for the first time, his voice calm and curious.

“How did you introduce the dynamic to the rest of the house? And how do they understand it isn’t abuse?”

Sofia nodded, clearly used to the question.

“We told them early and honestly. I explained that we are in a consensual Dominant/submissive relationship, that Lena has safewords, that everything is negotiated, and that she can end it at any time. We also discussed with the house what they would and would not see. They know she is not allowed to refuse ordinary household orders from me in front of them, but they also know I will never hit her or use toys where they can watch. It took a few weeks, but they adapted. Some of them are still a little wide-eyed when she drops to her knees in the kitchen. Others have started treating it as completely normal, and even asked me and others in the house if it would be possible to do more, let Lena walk naked through the house, show the results of punishments or even use implements with them in the room. But we keep that part of our dynamic in our own rooms.”

Erik leaned forward slightly.

“And the pain training?”

Sofia’s expression remained matter-of-fact.

“That is her weakest point. She has excellent control over her body, years of ballet gave her that, but her pain tolerance for impact, clamps, and temperature play is still low. I’ve been working on it systematically.”

She looked at Lena.

“You may speak. Tell them what the training has been like.”

The red-headed slave kept her eyes lowered, voice soft but clear.

“It is difficult, Mistress. Really difficult. And most of the time it is not enjoyable for me. Last week I wore labia clamps under my clothes during an entire day of lectures. The pressure never stopped. Another day Mistress used a leather strap on my thighs and ass until I cried, then made me thank her for every stroke. We do short sessions almost every evening: clamps with increasing weight, light wax, longer spankings with the hand or a belt. Sometimes she makes me hold a stress position while she adds more pain. I still flinch too much. I still cry earlier than she wants. But I do it because she wants me stronger.”

Mistress Elena asked,

“Do you ever use your safeword during these training sessions?”

“I have used Yellow twice, Mistress,” Lena answered. “Never Red. Mistress always stops or adjusts when I do. I trust her. Using ylYellow is very heavy in our dynamic, I will be crying and screaming long before I call a safeword, as I trust Mistress that she does what's good for me.”

Sofia gave a small nod of approval, then looked around the circle of Dominants.

“She is improving, but slowly. Since we are among trusted people tonight, I invite any of you who wish to explore her current limits. Impact, clamps, brief temperature play, within reason. I will supervise, of course.”

A quiet current of interest passed through the room. Erik gave a thoughtful hum. Elena smiled slightly. Tim rested his hand briefly on the back of my neck in silent acknowledgment.

I remained kneeling beside him, but a visible tremor ran through my thighs. The casual way they discussed testing a submissive’s pain limits and the clear enjoyment the Dominants took in the idea made my stomach tighten and my plugged ass clench around the steel. High protocol suddenly felt much more real, and much closer to my own body.

Sofia gestured, and Lena returned gracefully to her knees.

All eyes turned toward us. I kept my gaze fixed on the floor, but I could feel the weight of the other Dominants’ attention. Tim’s hand rested lightly on the back of my neck, steadying me.

Erik spoke first.

“We’ve heard from the rest of us. Tim, would you introduce yourselves?”

Tim’s voice was calm and clear.

“I’m Tim, twenty-five. I work as a software engineer. This is my submissive, Lot, also twenty-five. She’s a primary school teacher. We’ve been together for some time and in a structured D/s dynamic for most of that. At the moment we have one or two dedicated sessions per week, usually Thursday evenings and sometimes an additional shorter scene. Outside of those times we live as a loving couple with lighter elements of power exchange in daily life, but not full protocol.”

He gave my neck a gentle squeeze, the signal that I was allowed to be examined.

“Lot, stand. Hands behind your head. Turn slowly.”

I rose, the harness straps shifting across my skin and the heavy steel plug moving inside me. I turned in a full circle, feeling every pair of Dominant eyes on my exposed body, the collar, the cuffs, and the writing of ownership that the harness created.

Tim continued.

“Lot is naturally deeply submissive. She drops reliably and finds real fulfillment in obedience, service, and being pushed. Pain is one of her strengths. She accepts it not only as punishment but also as part of play. What would be heavy for some is still within a pleasurable or manageable range for her. She wants to explore further, higher protocol, longer scenes, more intense psychological elements, and group settings like this evening. We’re here because both of us feel ready to take that step.”

Mistress Elena tilted her head.

“Only one or two sessions a week, yet she already takes pain that well?”

“Yes,” Tim answered. “Her tolerance has always been high, and she actively craves the combination of pain and surrender. We build slowly, but she rarely uses her safewords for intensity alone.”

Mistress Sofia looked at me with open interest.

“Lot, you may speak briefly. How do you experience pain during play?”

I kept my eyes down.

“It depends on the context, Mistress. When it is given as punishment I feel shame and the need to accept it. When it is part of a scene I often feel it as something that deepens my submission. It can become warm and almost welcome, even when it is strong. I still cry, and sometimes I struggle, but I rarely want it to stop completely.”

A small murmur of approval passed between the Dominants.

Erik leaned forward.

“Since she is new to high protocol and to the group, I suggest we test her properly this evening. Nothing extreme, but clear exercises that show her obedience, focus, and willingness.”

Several ideas were offered at once.

Mistress Elena suggested a classic endurance task: placing ten marbles on the floor and ordering me to pick them up one by one with my mouth, returning each to a bowl, repeating the set multiple times without rising from my knees.

Erik proposed longer stress positions: the wider-legged inspection stance of the house, a deep squat held on the toes, and a prolonged present position with arms extended.

Mistress Sofia added something more psychological:

“Have her punish another submissive. Give her a clear instruction to continue until the other slave is actually crying, and watch whether she hesitates or obeys without softening.”

Tim listened to each suggestion and nodded.

“All of those are acceptable to me. I’ll supervise, but I’m happy for the rest of you to give her orders directly.”

Throughout the entire discussion I remained standing in the inspection position Tim had placed me in. My mind raced even while my body stayed still. Hearing myself described so openly, my submission, my pain tolerance, my desire to go further, made my face burn. At the same time a deep, familiar warmth spread through my stomach and between my legs. The plug felt heavier. The harness felt tighter. Every casual suggestion of how they might test me sent a fresh wave of nervous arousal through my body. That must have been visible for the Dominants and submissives as a small drip came down between my legs while standing.

When they spoke of making me punish another slave until tears came, a sharp jolt of both fear and dark excitement moved through me. I imagined holding a cane or a strap, hearing someone else cry because of my hand, and knowing I was not allowed to stop. My thighs trembled once before I forced them still again.

Tim’s hand returned to the back of my neck, grounding me.

“She’s ready,” he said quietly. “We can begin whenever you wish.”

I stayed silent, eyes down, heart pounding.

I (25f) stood naked in our bedroom, already trembling a little with nerves and excitement. Tim and I got an invite for our first real high-protocol event, held at the home of an almost 24/7 Master/slave couple.

“Come here, Lot.”

His calm voice pulled me out of my thoughts. He was holding the largest steel butt plug we owned, already gleaming with lube.

“Erik requested that every submissive wear a plug from the moment they step through the door. So you will insert this now, and you will keep it in until I decide otherwise.”

“Yes, Master.”

I took the plug, turned around, and bent over the edge of the bed. The thick steel pressed against my tight hole. I breathed out slowly and pushed back, moaning softly as the widest part stretched me open before it finally settled deep inside. The fullness made my knees weak immediately.

Tim checked the fit with a firm press of his fingers, then patted my ass.

“Good girl. Now get dressed.”

I slipped into a short black skirt and a simple blouse that could be easily removed later. While I dressed, Tim packed our bag carefully: the heavy black leather collar with its locking O-ring, the matching set of thick leather wrist and ankle cuffs, and a small bottle of lube. A full-body harness would be provided by the hosts.

When everything was ready, he made me kneel in the hallway by the front door, eyes down, hands resting on my thighs.

“Recite the rules for me.”

I kept my gaze on the floor and spoke clearly, the familiar words steadying me:

“I am here for Tim’s pleasure and will do what I am asked. I address you as Master. I ask for permission before I cum. I pay attention to my limits and indicate what I feel. If I misbehave, I will be punished. My safewords are Yellow, Orange, and Red.”

Tim stroked my hair once.

“Very good. Tonight you will also follow every protocol rule of the house without hesitation. Eyes down. No speaking without permission. Perfect positions. Immediate obedience to any Dominant present. Understood?”

“Yes, Master.”

The drive was quiet. My plugged ass shifted with every turn of the car, a constant reminder of what was coming. When we finally parked in front of a large, elegant house, my heart was racing.

A tall man opened the door. He wore black trousers and a crisp shirt, the quiet authority of a long-time Master clear in his posture. Behind him stood a slender woman in a simple black collar and nothing else, eyes lowered, waiting silently.

“Welcome,” he said with a warm but formal smile. “I’m Erik. This is my slave, Clara. Please, come in. We’re glad you could join us tonight.”

We stepped into a spacious, tastefully decorated hallway. Erik gave us a friendly but thorough tour of the house. The main living room was arranged with comfortable sofas and armchairs where the Dominants would sit and talk over coffee or wine. A large coffee table held bottles of water and wine. In one corner stood a sturdy spanking bench. In the ceiling where suspension points with the connection points already screwed in. There was also a smaller side room containing a bondage chair and a cabinet with various implements. Upstairs he briefly showed us a quiet aftercare type of room with soft lighting and blankets.

“This evening is quite simple,” Erik explained as we returned to the living room. “The Dominants will mostly sit, drink coffee or wine, and talk. The submissives remain in protocol the entire time: eyes down, silent unless addressed, perfect positions, and immediate obedience to any Dominant present. Safewords are of course always respected. We will do one specific activity this evening, but that is a secret to you Lot. Tim is already informed about it and checked it is within your limits.”

When the tour ended, Erik looked at Lot with calm authority.

“You do not have a full-body harness of your own, correct?”

“No, Sir,” I answered softly after Tim nodded permission.

“Clara, fetch the black harness.”

Clara returned quickly with a complex leather harness. Erik ordered me to strip completely. It felt strange to strip on another mens command, but that Clara was already naked definitely helped. I removed my clothes, the heavy steel plug still seated deep inside me, and stood still while he and Tim fitted the harness. Thick straps crossed over my breasts, around my waist, between my legs (leaving my plugged ass and pussy fully accessible), and over my shoulders. The harness left me almost completely exposed and immediately sank me deeper into subspace. Tim then locked the heavy leather collar around my throat and the matching cuffs on my wrists and ankles.

“Now,” Erik said, “Clara will demonstrate the house positions. Lot, you will copy them exactly. Our positions are slightly different from what you may be used to. Legs wider, for example. When kneeling, wrists crossed behind the back rather than simply arms behind. Clara, if you make a mistake, the punishment is weighted clamps.”

Clara showed the inspection position with legs noticeably wider than I normally used, then the waiting kneel with wrists crossed high behind her back. When she rose into the standing present position her feet were a little too close together.

Erik’s voice stayed calm but firm.

“Incorrect.”

He took a thin cane from a nearby stand and delivered three sharp, loud strokes across her bare ass. Clara gasped but stayed in position. After the last stroke Erik asked:

“What is your punishment?”

“Five minutes of weighted clamps, Master,” she answered clearly.

She was made to attach clover clamps to her nipples and labia, then hang small weights from each. I watched closely and saw that Clara had quite big labia and a clearly visible clit. When I looked better I saw two or three stripes on her pussy from a canning Clara got recently. When she traced with her fingers through her pussy to grab a single labia, it was clearly visible she was already wet. Without any sound, or movement she clamped her pussy and hang the weights on it.

A second small error followed during the next position. Again the cane cracked across her cheeks, harder this time.

“What is your punishment?”

“Ten minutes of weighted clamps, Master.”

Clara’s arms shocked a bit as she added the heavier weights. Watching her take the harsh correction so quickly made my own legs tremble.

Then it was my turn.

I tried hard to copy the wider stance and the crossed wrists exactly. On the third position my knees were not quite far enough apart. Erik noticed immediately.

“Incorrect.”

The thin cane landed three times across my already plugged and harnessed ass. The sting was sharp and unexpected. My eyes watered.

Erik looked at me calmly.

“What is your punishment?”

I swallowed, voice shaking.

“Five minutes of weighted clamps, Master.”

He nodded. Tim helped attach the clamps to my nipples and outer labia, then hung the small weights. Only then I felt how heavy The weights were. The pull made me whimper. I stood there, legs trembling, the evening not even started yet, already corrected and marked by the house protocol.

Erik gave a small approving nod to Tim.

“She learns quickly. Shall we begin when the others arrive?”

I (24f) had just finished loading the dishwasher when my phone vibrated on the kitchen counter. A message from Tim.

Come to the bedroom when you’re done. Tonight is going to be different. I’m going to break that pretty head of yours. Shower first, then put on the outfit I laid out for you. No rushing.

I showered quickly, shaved everything smooth, and stepped into the bedroom. On the bed was the outfit he had chosen. It was new and quitte slutty: a tiny sheer black babydoll that barely covered the bottom of my ass. The material was completely see-through, my heavy D-cup breasts clearly visible, nipples already hardening under the thin fabric. Underneath, he had laid out a matching crotchless black lace thong that framed my smooth pussy obscenely. To complete the look: black thigh-high stockings with a garter belt. We just went shopping last weekend for this outfit, so it was not unexpected. But the shopping is worth it's whole own little story.

I dressed slowly, feeling more and more sexy with every piece. When I looked in the mirror I already felt desperately sexy, but also quite slutty.

I walked downstairs and found Tim waiting in the living room. He looked me up and down slowly, a dark smile playing on his lips.

“Turn around. Slowly.”

I obeyed, cheeks already burning. The babydoll flared up, showing my bare ass and the crotchless thong that left my pussy completely accessible.

“Perfect,” he said quietly. “You look like exactly what you are: a desperate fucktoy.”

He took my hand and led me upstairs to our bedroom, stopping me right in front of the full-length mirror. The heavy black leather collar was locked around my neck with a soft click. Then he pointed at the floor.

“Kneel.”

I dropped to my knees immediately. Tim stood behind me, his hand resting possessively on my head.

“Rules,” he ordered.

I recited them clearly, voice already a little shaky:

“I am here for Tim’s pleasure and will do what I am asked. I address you as Master. I ask for permission before I cum. I pay attention to my limits and indicate what I feel. If I misbehave, I will be punished. My safewords are Yellow, Orange, and Red.”

Tim stroked my hair almost gently.

“Good girl. Tonight there will be no whips. Instead, I’m going to destroy you with words. I’m going to make you admit exactly what kind of pathetic, dripping slut you really are. By the end of the night you’re going to be crying and begging, broken down completely for my amusement.”

He leaned down and kissed the top of my head, then whispered softly:

“And you’re going to love every second of it, aren’t you?”

I swallowed hard, already feeling the first flush of humiliating arousal between my legs.

“Yes, Master.”Tim pulled me up by my collar and positioned me in the middle of the large full-length mirror in our bedroom. The lights were dimmed but still bright enough that I could see every detail of my reflection. I looked obscene. The sheer black babydoll did nothing to hide my heavy breasts or hard nipples. The crotchless thong framed my smooth, already glistening pussy like a gift. The thigh-high stockings and heels made my legs look long and slutty. The thick black collar around my throat completed the picture that I was a owned dirty slut without an own will.

“Hands behind your back,” Tim ordered softly.

I obeyed, pushing my chest forward. He stepped behind me, his body warm against my back, and rested his chin on my shoulder so we were both looking at my reflection.

“Look at yourself,” he said calmly. “And describe exactly what you see. Be honest. Be detailed.”

My cheeks burned instantly. I hesitated.

A sharp slap landed on my bare ass. “Now, slut.”

I swallowed hard and started speaking, voice trembling.

“I… I see a desperate, pathetic whore, Master. My tits are big and heavy, spilling out of this see-through babydoll. My nipples are hard like a slut who needs to be used. My pussy is already wet and on display because the thong has a hole as I don't have the right on when my pussy is used.”

Tim hummed approvingly. He reached for a black permanent marker from the nightstand.

“Keep going.”

As I continued, he pushed the top babydoll to the side over my shoulders, this made my boobs drop out of the babydoll. Tim started writing on my body. Big, clear letters across the top of my breasts:

FREE USE HOLE

I whimpered as the cold tip of the marker moved across my skin.

“My face is flushed because I’m ashamed… but my pussy is dripping down my thighs. I look like a brainless fuckdoll who only exists for cock.”

He pushed the lower part of my doll up and wrote across my stomach in large letters:

DADDY’S CUMDUMP

Then lower, right above my mound:

WORTHLESS CUNT

Tears of humiliation pricked my eyes. My voice grew smaller and shakier.

“I’m just a set of holes… My only purpose is to be used and degraded. I’m not a teacher right now. I’m not smart. I’m just… a pathetic, dripping slut who gets wet when she’s humiliated.”

Tim wrote more. On my left inner thigh:

PAINFULLY DESPERATE

On my right inner thigh:

WILL BEG FOR ANYTHING

He turned me slightly and wrote across my ass cheeks in big letters:

CUM RAG and PROPERTY OF TIM

Every word he wrote made me feel smaller, dirtier, and more exposed. I could see it all in the mirror, the degrading phrases covering my body, my tear-filled eyes, my trembling legs, and my visibly wet pussy.

Tim stepped back a little and admired his work, then met my eyes in the mirror.

“Read every word out loud, slowly. Look yourself in the eyes while you do it.”

I started crying softly as I read the humiliating words he had written across my skin, my voice breaking with shame and arousal.

“I’m a… free use hole… Daddy’s cumdump… worthless cunt… painfully desperate cum rag and property of Tim…”

Tim spanked my right inner thight. I quicly added: "And I will beg for anything."

His hand slid between my legs from behind, two fingers gliding easily through my soaked folds.

“See?” he whispered darkly against my ear. “Even while you cry from how disgusting you are, this pathetic cunt drips like a faucet. You really are broken, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Master…” I sobbed quietly, staring at the degraded girl in the mirror.

Tim kept me standing in front of the mirror, my hands still locked behind my back. His fingers slowly circled my swollen clit from behind, teasing me with feather-light touches while I stared at my own degraded reflection. The words “Worthless Cunt”, “Cumdump”, and “Free Use Hole” staring back at me in thick black ink.

“You’re not allowed to cum tonight until I say so,” he murmured into my ear. “And you’re going to earn it by telling me exactly how disgusting you are.”

He slid two fingers inside my dripping pussy and started fucking me slowly, curling them against that sensitive spot that made my knees weak. I moaned loudly, already desperate.

“Repeat after me, slut. I'm just a set of holes for Master’s pleasure”

“I’m just a set of holes for Master’s pleasure,” I gasped.

“Louder. Look at yourself while you say it.”

“I’m just a set of holes for Master’s pleasure!” I cried, staring into my own tear-filled eyes.

He sped up his fingers, pumping them in and out while his thumb tormented my clit. The pleasure built fast, but every time I got close he slowed down or pulled his hand away completely, leaving me whimpering and grinding uselessly against nothing.

“Please… Master…” I begged after the third denial.

“Please what?” he asked coldly. “Use your words like the pathetic whore you are.”

“Please let me cum… I need it so badly.”

He laughed softly and slapped my pussy hard, making me yelp. “No. You don’t get to cum until you’ve admitted how truly broken you are. Tell me one of your darkest fantasies. The ones you’re ashamed of.”

I hesitated, shame burning through me. His fingers immediately slowed to a torturous pace.

“I… I sometimes fantasize about you passing me around to your friends,” I whispered, voice cracking. “Letting them use me however they want while you watch…”

Tim groaned in approval and rewarded me by fingering me faster. “Good girl. Keep going. What else?”

Tears started rolling down my cheeks as the edging continued for what felt like forever. My legs were shaking. My pussy was soaked and throbbing painfully.

“I dream about you making me crawl around the house like a dog… with a tail plug in my ass… and making me beg strangers online to tell me how worthless I am…”

He added a third finger, stretching me while he rubbed my clit in tight, fast circles. I was right on the edge again, sobbing.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say what you really are.”

“I’m a worthless cunt… I’m a pathetic, dripping slut whose only purpose is to be used and humiliated… I’m not a person, I’m just three holes for you to ruin…”

Every degrading phrase he forced me to say pushed me deeper into humiliation. The longer he edged me, the more I cried. My makeup was running. My voice was hoarse. My thighs were trembling violently.

After nearly an hour of this, constant teasing, denial after denial, and darker confessions spilling out of me, I was a complete wreck.

“I fantasize about you keeping me as a 24/7 fucktoy,” I sobbed brokenly. “Never letting me wear normal clothes again… making me sleep in a cage… using me whenever you want, even when I’m crying and begging for mercy…”

Tim’s fingers never stopped their cruel rhythm. I was right on the edge again, shaking, crying uncontrollably.

“Please, Master… I can’t take it anymore… I’m so ashamed… I’m such a disgusting whore…”

He pressed his lips against my ear and whispered:

“Then cum for me, you pathetic little cumrag. Cum while you look at what a broken slut you’ve become.”

Tim’s fingers kept their relentless rhythm on my aching clit while his other hand gripped my hip, holding me steady in front of the mirror.

“Cum, you pathetic worthless slut,” he growled into my ear.

The orgasm crashed over me hard.

My knees buckled as a powerful, shaking release tore through my body. I cried out, a mix of moan and sob, as my pussy clenched and squirted down my thighs. The words written all over my body blurred through my tears as I watched myself fall apart in the mirror. My mind went beautifully quiet and floaty, sinking deep into subspace.

It wasn’t a violent breakdown. Just a soft, cathartic wave of emotion that left me quietly crying while the pleasure rolled through me again and again. The humiliation felt perfect. Warm. Right.

Tim held me through it, his voice low and steady. “That’s it… good girl. Let it all go.”

When the last tremors finally faded, he turned me around and pulled me into his chest. I buried my face in his neck, still sniffling softly, but a small, shy smile formed on my lips.

“Thank you, Master…” I whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for humiliating me like that. I feel so… small. And dirty. And happy.”

Tim kissed the top of my head and stroked my hair. “I know you do, baby. You’re such a good little humiliation slut. You took all of it so beautifully.”

He gently guided me to the bed and laid me down on my stomach. I stayed deep in that warm, quiet subspace, floating contentedly while he warmed massage oil between his hands.

For a long time, he massaged me slowly and lovingly. His strong hands worked the oil into my shoulders, my back, my sore thighs, and my marked ass. He traced every degrading word he had written on my skin with gentle fingertips, making me shiver and sigh happily.

“You look so pretty covered in my words,” he murmured. “My perfect, filthy girl.”

I smiled sleepily into the pillow, feeling cherished and safe despite the humiliating phrases still visible on my body. Tim continued the slow massage, occasionally leaning down to kiss my shoulder or the back of my neck.

“I love being your degraded little slut,” I whispered, already half asleep.

Tim held me tighter and kissed my forehead. “And I love you exactly like this. My sweet, broken, happy girl.”

I (24f) was just finishing cleaning my classroom after a long day with my energetic primary school kids. Desks wiped, crayons put away, drawings pinned on the wall. My phone buzzed on the my desk. I smiled when I saw Tim’s name.

Sweet girl,
When you get home, take a quick shower and come straight to the kitchen. Dinner will be ready. After we eat, I have something very special planned for tonight. Something we’ve never done before. Be ready to be pushed hard. I love you.

My heart instantly started racing. I knew that tone. Thursday night was already going to be intense, but his words promised something. I finished up as fast as I could, locked the classroom, and drove home with butterflies swirling in my stomach.

The house smelled wonderful when I stepped inside: garlic, herbs, and roasted chicken. Tim greeted me with a deep kiss, his hand possessively cupping my ass.

“Go shower and put on the white lace bodysuit. Crotch snaps open. Nothing else. Then come down for dinner.”

“Yes, Master,” I whispered, already feeling myself slip into that sweet submissive headspace.

I went up to the bathroom. I stripped, took a fast but thorough shower, carefully shaved my pussy and ass until everything was completely smooth, then slipped into the delicate white lace bodysuit. The fabric hugged my D-cup breasts beautifully while leaving my smooth pussy and tight little hole fully exposed.

Dinner was lovely and surprisingly normal, besides sitting with my naked pussy on the chair. We talked about our days, but I could barely focus. My mind kept drifting to what he had planned. Tim watched me with calm, hungry eyes the entire time.

After we finished eating, he stood up and took my hand.

“Upstairs. Bedroom. Kneel in the center of the bed, forehead down, ass up. I’ll be there in a moment.”

I obeyed quickly. Once in the bedroom I climbed onto the large bed, knelt with my forehead pressed to the mattress, knees wide apart, and waited.

Several long minutes later, I heard Tim enter the room. He closed the door softly behind him. I stayed perfectly still as he approached.

His warm hand stroked slowly down my back, over the curve of my ass, and between my legs. Two fingers traced my already-wet slit.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “So smooth for me.”

He spent a long time warming me up. First with gentle fingers, then the thick pink realistic vibrator, and finally the large steel anal plug which he worked into my ass while praising me. Lots of lube was added everywhere. I was moaning and dripping by the time he finally spoke the words that made my stomach drop.

“Tonight I’m going to push you further than ever before, Lot. I’m not stopping until my entire fist is buried deep inside your pussy.”

I whimpered loudly into the mattress, a mix of fear and desperate arousal flooding through me. We had never gone that far.

Tim helped me turn over onto my back, placed a thick pillow under my hips, and gently pulled my legs back and wide. The heavy black leather collar was locked around my throat with a soft click and locked to the headboard of the bed. He looked down at me with intense love and dominance.

“Before we begin,” he said calmly, “recite the rules for me.”

I took a shaky breath and spoke clearly:

“I am here for Tim’s pleasure and will do what I am asked. I address you as Master. I ask for permission before I cum. I pay attention to my limits and indicate what I feel. If I misbehave, I will be punished. My safewords are Yellow, Orange, and Red.”

Tim stroked my cheek tenderly. “Good girl. Tonight we’re going to take this beautiful pussy apart. Are you ready to be stretched and filled like never before for me?”

“Yes, Master,” I whispered.

My knees were almost touching my shoulders, leaving my smooth, exposed pussy completely vulnerable and open for him. The heavy black leather collar felt grounding around my throat.

He reached for one of the big bottles of lube on the nightstand and poured a generous amount over his hand and my already glistening pussy. The cool liquid made me shiver.

“Deep breaths, baby,” he said softly, his voice low and steady. “We’re going to take this very slow. I want you to feel everything.”

He started with two fingers, then three, sliding them in and out smoothly, curling them against my front wall. I moaned softly, my hips twitching. Soon he added a fourth finger. The stretch was already noticeable.

“You’re doing so well,” he praised, twisting his hand slowly while his other thumb circled my clit. More lube.

Then he tucked his thumb in against his fingers, forming a tight wedge, and began pressing forward.

“Awh… fuck,” I gasped as the widest part of his hand started forcing its way inside me.

The pressure was intense. My pussy burned as it stretched around his knuckles. I gripped the sheets tightly, my breathing turning into short, shallow pants.

“Relax and push out against me, Lot,” Tim instructed calmly. “That’s it… good girl. You’re opening so beautifully for me.”

I tried. But as his hand pushed deeper, the stretch became almost unbearable. A sharp cry escaped my lips and tears immediately welled up in my eyes.

“Master… it’s really big,” I whimpered, my voice cracking. “I don’t know if I can…”

“You can,” he said firmly, though his eyes were full of love and focus. He paused the forward pressure but didn’t pull back, keeping constant, steady force against my entrance. “Breathe with me. In… and out. This is the hardest part. Once we get past my knuckles, it’ll get easier.”

Tears rolled down the sides of my face as I tried to follow his breathing. Another small sob slipped out when he added a little more pressure. My pussy felt impossibly tight, stretched to its absolute limit around the thickest part of his hand.

“It burns… Master, stop, please” I cried, my thighs trembling. Although crying and begging him to stop I was not saying my safe words, as I trust Tim fully to know that he knows what I'm cappable of. And as long as I have a feeling that he sees my pain, strugle and fear, I trust him in knowing how far he can push me. In a sense it's almost a consentual non-consent part of our relationship.

Tim leaned down and kissed my inner thigh tenderly while his hand continued its slow, relentless journey.

“I know it hurts, baby. But you’re being such a good girl for me. Look how wet you are. Your body wants this even if it’s hard. You're just a little slut. Just a little more… push out for me.”

I let out a longer, shaky cry as I felt my entrance stretch even wider. The pain was sharp and deep, but underneath it was something else. A filthy, overwhelming fullness that made my eays roll. My tears kept flowing as I focused on relaxing for him.

“You’re almost there,” Tim murmured, his voice thick with arousal. “I can feel your pussy fluttering around my hand. Just breathe… that’s my brave girl.”

I was still crying softly, my chest heaving with every shaky breath, when Tim leaned closer. His eyes locked onto mine with that intense, loving focus that always made me melt even when I was falling apart.

“You’re so close, baby. I can feel your pussy opening up for me. This is the moment. I’m going to push all the way in. Breathe deep and push out against my hand.”

I nodded frantically through my tears, gripping the sheets tighter. My voice was small and broken. “Please… please be careful, Master.”

“I’ve got you,” he whispered.

He added one final thick pour of lube over his wrist and my stretched entrance. Then he applied steady, unrelenting pressure. The widest part of his hand stretched me impossibly wide. For a few terrifying seconds I thought I would tear. A raw, guttural cry tore from my throat as my pussy burned and stretched beyond anything I had ever felt.

And then… it happened.

With a sudden, slick pop, his entire hand slipped inside me.

“Oh my god!” I screamed, my back arching violently off the bed. The feeling was overwhelming. I had never felt so full in my entire life. His fist felt enormous, like it was pressing against my stomach from the inside. My pussy clamped and fluttered wildly around his thick wrist, stretched to its absolute limit.

Tears poured down my face. I was sobbing uncontrollably, my whole body trembling.

“Fuck… Master… you’re inside me,” I gasped between sobs. “it’s so deep… so fucking full…”

Tim groaned deeply, his eyes dark with lust and pride. “That’s it, baby. My whole fist is buried in your pussy. You took every inch like a good girl.”

He stayed perfectly still for a long moment, letting me adjust to the insane fullness. His hand felt like it was touching places inside me I didn’t even know existed. Every tiny twitch of his fingers sent electric shocks through my body.

Then, very slowly, he began to move.

Just tiny, gentle thrusts at first, barely pulling back an inch before pushing back in deep. The sensation was devastating. Every slow movement made me feel like I was being fucked from the inside out.

I was crying now, overwhelmed by the intensity, but something deeper was building.

“Please…” I whimpered, my voice hoarse and desperate. “Please fist me, Master… Please don’t stop.”

Tim’s eyes flashed with satisfaction. “Beg me properly, Lot.”

“Fist me harder,” I sobbed, my hips twitching helplessly around his thick wrist. “Please… I want to feel you moving inside me. Please fist your little slut deeper… I need it…”

He started fucking me with his fist in slow, controlled strokes. Not too fast, but deep and deliberate. Every thrust made wet, obscene sounds as my drenched pussy clung tightly to his hand.

The pressure inside me kept building higher and higher. My thighs shook uncontrollably. My breathing turned into desperate, broken moans and sobs.

“I’m going to, Master!”

The orgasm hit me like a explosion.

My entire body convulsed violently as I squirted hard around his fist. A powerful jet of clear fluid sprayed out around his wrist, soaking his arm, my thighs, and the sheets beneath me. I screamed loud and long, my pussy spasming and gripping his fist rhythmically as wave after wave crashed through me.

Tim kept slowly fisting me through the entire orgasm, drawing it out, making it last longer and feel even more intense.

“That’s my good girl,” he growled softly, voice thick with arousal. “Look at you squirting all over my fist like a dirty little whore. You’re taking me so well.”

I kept crying and moaning, completely lost in the overwhelming fullness and pleasure, my body still twitching around his buried hand.

Tim continued slowly fisting me through the aftershocks of my orgasm, his hand moving gently inside me while I lay there gasping and crying. The fullness was still overwhelming, but I felt completely owned, completely his.

After several long minutes, his voice reached me through the haze.

“I’m going to pull out now, baby. Breathe deep for me.”

I whimpered in protest at first — the emptiness I knew was coming already scared me — but I obeyed. Tim added more lube around his wrist and very slowly began withdrawing his hand. The stretch on the way out was almost as intense as going in. I moaned loudly, fresh tears slipping down my temples as my pussy clung tightly to his hand until, with one final wet sensation, his fist finally slipped free.

I felt shockingly empty. A broken little sob escaped me at the sudden void.

Tim immediately moved up the bed and pulled me into his arms, holding my trembling, sweaty body tightly against his chest. “You did it, Lot. You took my entire fist. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

He kissed my forehead, my wet cheeks, and my trembling lips while I cried softly against him, floating deep in subspace. For a long time he just held me, stroking my hair and whispering praise.

“You were so beautiful. So brave. I love how you gave yourself to me completely.”

After a while, he gently laid me on my stomach and warmed some massage oil between his hands. He spent a long time massaging my back, my sore thighs, and my swollen, abused pussy with slow, loving strokes. The oil felt soothing on my stretched and sensitive skin. I melted into the mattress, purring softly whenever his fingers brushed over the fresh marks he had left on my body.

But then his tone shifted slightly.

“Lot,” he said calmly, still rubbing my ass. “You had a very big orgasm earlier… and you didn’t ask for permission, did you?”

I froze. My stomach dropped.

“I… I’m sorry, Master,” I whispered, suddenly feeling very small. “I forgot… it felt too good.”

“I know it did, baby. But rules are rules.”

He reached into the nightstand and took out the clover clamps. I whimpered nervously as he made me spread my legs again. My pussy was still puffy and sensitive from the fisting. Tim carefully attached one clamp to each of my outer labia, then added a second pair slightly higher. I hissed sharply at the biting pain.

He attached small metal weights to each clamp. The pull was immediate and constant — a stinging, heavy ache that made me whimper.

“These stay on for a little while,” he said firmly. “A reminder to remember who this pussy belongs to.”

“Yes, Master,” I breathed, tears pricking my eyes again from the new pain.

Tim helped me off the bed. We went to the bathroom together. I stood next to him brushing my teeth with the clamps and weights still hanging from my pussy, the discomfort making my legs tremble. When we finished, he kissed my forehead.

“You’re going to stand in the corner for ten minutes while I take a quick shower. Hands behind your back. Legs apart. Think about why you need to ask permission next time.”

“Yes, Master,” I whispered obediently.

I stood facing the corner of the bedroom, feeling the weights tug with every small shift of my body. My pussy throbbed. The mixture of soreness from the intense fisting and the sharp bite of the clamps kept me deep in submissive headspace.

When Tim came out of the shower, towel around his waist, he approached me from behind. He removed the clamps one by one, rubbing my sore labia gently as the blood rushed back in. I gasped and moaned at the fresh sting.

He turned me around and pulled me into a deep, loving kiss.

“All done, little one. You took your punishment well.”

He carried me back to bed, tucked us both under the soft sheets, and wrapped his strong arms around me. I curled into him like a kitten, my head on his chest, one leg thrown over his.

“I love you,” I whispered sleepily, already drifting.

“I love you more, my perfect girl,” Tim murmured, kissing the top of my head. “You were incredible tonight. Rest now. I’ve got you.”

I (24f) clear the last plates from the table while Tim finishes his glass of water. Dinner was simple but lovely: grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and rice. We talked about my day at school, the funny things my pupils said, and how tired my feet were after standing all day. Now the candles on the dining table are still flickering softly.

Tim looks at me with that calm, knowing expression that always makes my stomach flutter. “When you’re done loading the dishwasher, go upstairs to the bedroom. There’s an outfit and instructions waiting for you. Take your time to prepare properly.”

“Yes, Master,” I answer softly, already feeling the shift in energy between us. It’s Thursday, but we don’t always start this early. The fact that he’s sending me up now makes my pulse quicken.

I quickly finish in the kitchen, wash my hands, and head upstairs. The bedroom is warmly lit by the soft lamps and a few candles he must have lit earlier. On the bed lies my white lace bodysuit, the delicate one with the press studs at the crotch, neatly folded next to a bottle of lube and a note written in Tim’s clear handwriting.

Lot,

Shave everything smooth, put on the white lace bodysuit, and nothing else. Then come back downstairs and kneel in the living room, forehead to the floor, ass up. Wait for me.

-Tim

A little shiver runs through me. I love this bodysuit. It’s beautiful, feminine, and completely exposing once the crotch is opened. I take the razor and go into the bathroom. I undress slowly, then lather myself carefully. I shave my pussy and around my ass with slow, precise strokes until everything is completely bald and smooth. I rinse with warm water and pat myself dry, checking in the mirror to make sure it’s perfect. Tim is very strict about this.

Back in the bedroom I slide into the white lace bodysuit. The fabric is soft and slightly stretchy. It hugs my curves, lifting my heavy D-cup breasts nicely while the lace teases my nipples. I fasten the crotch snaps for now, but I hope they won’t stay closed for long. I look at myself in the mirror, long blonde hair falling over my shoulders, fair skin glowing against the white lace, the bodysuit framing my body like a gift waiting to be unwrapped.

I walk barefoot downstairs. The house is quiet except for my own breathing. I move to the middle of the living room, lower myself to my knees, and fold forward until my forehead touches the cool floor. I push my knees apart and arch my back, presenting my ass the way he likes. The position makes the lace pull tight against my smooth pussy. I wait.

Several minutes pass. My heart beats faster with every sound I hear from the kitchen. Finally I hear his footsteps. He stops behind me. I stay perfectly still.

Tim’s hand strokes slowly down my back, then over the curve of my ass. He pulls the crotch of the bodysuit aside and runs two fingers along my smooth, bare lips.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, pleased. “Very smooth. I can tell you took your time.” He gives my pussy a light, possessive slap, making me flinch. “Stay exactly like this while I get a few things ready.”

I hear him moving around the room. Then he returns and crouches beside me. His fingers slide into my hair for a moment in a gentle, grounding touch.

“Before we begin properly,” he says, voice low and calm, “tell me the rules and your safewords.”

I speak clearly, forehead still pressed to the floor:

“I am here for Tim’s pleasure and will do what I am asked. I will address you as Master. I will ask for permission before I cum. I will pay attention to my limits and communicate them honestly. If I misbehave, I will be punished. My safewords are Yellow, Orange, and Red.”

Tim strokes my cheek. “Very good, Lot.”

Tim lets me stay in that exposed position for a few more minutes, his hand occasionally stroking my back or tapping my inner thighs to make me spread them wider. Then his voice comes, calm and commanding.

“Stand up. Position training.”

I rise on slightly shaky legs. For the next several minutes Tim puts me through a series of positions: inspection stance with legs wide and hands behind my head, hands behind my back with chest thrust forward, kneeling with thighs spread, and the humiliating “present” position on all fours with my face down and ass high.

Each time I settle into a new pose, a crop whistles through the air and lands with sharp, stinging cracks, on my ass, the backs of my thighs, and occasionally across my breasts when they’re pushed forward. I gasp and whimper, but I try hard to hold each position perfectly.

“Very good,” Tim says after the last one. “Now for the real challenge. Squat position. On your tiptoes, knees wide apart, thighs as close to horizontal as you can manage. Hands behind your head. Keep your back straight, head up and your pussy on full display for me.”

I swallow hard and lower myself. The moment I rise onto my toes and spread my knees, I feel how brutal this is going to be. My thighs burn almost immediately. The white lace bodysuit is still snapped shut, but pulled tight between my smooth lips, and with my knees so wide everything is completely exposed.

Tim stands in front of me, crop in hand, slowly tapping it against his leg.

“How long do you think you can hold this for me, Lot?”

I hesitate, already trembling. My thighs are shaking after barely thirty seconds.

“…Three minutes, Master?” I answer nervously.

Tim smiles, not a kind smile. “Three minutes? Cute. You’re going to be punished while you hold it. Every time you drop even a little, or your thighs rise too high, you get the crop. Hard.”

He steps closer and unsnaps the three press studs at my crotch in one smooth motion. Cool air hits my bare, already-wet pussy.

The first sharp crack of the crop lands across my ass. Then another on the sensitive skin just under my cheeks. I cry out. The next ones come on my inner thighs, dangerously close to my spread pussy. The pain blooms hot and stinging. My legs start shaking harder.

After what feels like 10 minutes i'm still squating. "You're already five minutes down there, Lot", says Tim, "You are not that well in guessing, I see." "Yes, Master. I'm sorry Master.", I respond. "You see you can do a lot more than you think. Let's hold for another five minutes."

And almost directly after that scentence a new crack lands on my ass, followed by another on on my pussy. I scream it out.

“Why are you crying already, Lot?” Tim asks, his voice low and curious while he continues painting red stripes across my skin.

“Because… it hurts, Master,” I sob, fighting to keep my thighs low. “And because I feel so exposed… and pathetic like this.”

He lands a new firm crop stroke directly on my pussy. I scream, my whole body jolting.

“Do you like pain?” he asks.

“Yes, Master… I love pain.”

“Do you love being submissive and humiliated?”

I nod quickly, tears running down my cheeks. “Yes… I love it. I love feeling small and used for you. I’ll do everything for your pleasure.”

The crop strikes again, this time across both breasts. I whimper loudly. "For who?"

"Master, I meant Master!"

“Then tell me, Lot. why does watching you struggle like this pleasure me?”

I open my mouth, but nothing intelligent comes out. I don’t know how to phrase it. Another hard slap of the crop on my inner thigh makes me cry out again.

“I… I don’t know, Master,” I sob.

Wrong answer.

Tim’s voice stays calm but firmer. “That’s disappointing. Try again while I mark that pretty red pussy some more.”

He delivers several quick, stinging strokes right on my swollen lips and clit. I’m shaking violently now, thighs screaming, tears flowing freely. The burning pain and deep humiliation mix until I feel dizzy.

“Because… seeing me struggle and suffer for you turns you on, Master,” I manage between sobs. “Because you like breaking me… and seeing how far I’ll go for you.”

Tim steps closer. I can clearly see the hard bulge in his pants.

“Exactly,” he says softly, almost tenderly. “Your struggle makes my cock so hard, Lot. Especially when you fight so desperately just to please me.”

He runs the tip of the crop lightly over my red, stinging thighs and pussy.

“You’re doing well, but we’re not done. I want those thighs lower. Hold it properly and I’ll reward you tonight. I’ll let you cum as many times as you want on my cock after I’ve used you. But if you collapse before I say so… the punishment continues.”

I nod desperately, tears dripping from my chin onto my breasts, every muscle in my legs on fire. I push myself deeper into the squat, whimpering, determined to endure for him.

My thighs were on fire. Every muscle screamed in agony. I had been shaking violently for what felt like forever, trying to keep my thighs low and horizontal, knees spread wide on my tiptoes. My smooth, red-striped pussy throbbed openly between my spread legs. Tears and drool ran down my face. I was sobbing loudly, broken little screams escaping every time the crop landed.

Tim was merciless now.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Three stinging strokes right across my swollen pussy lips. I shrieked, my body jolting hard, but I forced myself back into the deep squat. My legs were past the point of burning, they felt like they were tearing apart.

“Lower,” Tim ordered coldly. “You’re slacking.”

I tried. God, I tried so hard for him. But my body had reached its limit. My calves cramped violently. My thighs gave out with a final, pathetic tremble.

I collapsed.

I crashed forward onto my hands and knees with a broken cry, gasping, shaking, defeated. The floor felt cold against my burning skin.

Before I could even catch my breath, Tim’s hand fisted tightly in my long blonde hair. He yanked me up harshly, almost violently, forcing me back onto my knees.

“Pathetic,” he growled. “You couldn’t even make it halfway. On your feet.”

He dragged me up by my hair. My legs were useless, trembling uncontrollably, but he didn’t care. He shoved me forward over the arm of the heavy couch, kicking my legs apart roughly until I was bent over, ass high, face pressed into the cushions.

Then the real punishment began.

The crop came down without mercy. Hard, fast, brutal strokes rained across my already red ass, the backs of my thighs, and my exposed, dripping pussy.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Each impact was sharper and heavier than before. I sobbed loudly into the couch, my whole body jerking with every strike, but I didn’t scream anymore. I didn’t beg. I didn’t try to close my legs or twist away.

I simply took it.

Something deep inside me had clicked the moment I collapsed. The desperate fight was gone. All that remained was heavy, floating subspace and the quiet, overwhelming need to accept whatever he gave me. I had failed him. This was what I deserved. So I stayed perfectly passive: ass up, back arched, crying softly and continuously while he painted fresh, angry welts across my skin.

Tim noticed the change immediately.

He grabbed my hips hard, his fingers digging into my soft flesh, and kept whipping me. The crop licked across my pussy again and again, the sharp leather tip biting my clit and swollen lips. I only let out soft, broken whimpers now, my body limp and obedient under the onslaught.

“That’s it,” he said, voice low and dark with satisfaction. “Look at you. No more fighting. Just a broken, submissive little toy accepting her punishment.”

He landed several particularly vicious strokes across the backs of my thighs. I sobbed harder, tears soaking the cushion, but I didn’t move an inch. My pussy was on fire, bright red and dripping onto the floor, yet I kept my legs spread for him like a good girl.

Tim finally dropped the crop. I heard his belt buckle open. He pressed his hard, throbbing cock against my abused entrance for a moment, teasing my sore folds, before pulling back again.

“Not yet,” he murmured. “You’re going to stay right here and take a little more before I decide if you’ve earned my cock.”

I stayed draped over the couch, limp, crying quietly, completely passive in my deep subspace: waiting for whatever he wanted to do to me next.

I don’t know how long I stayed draped over the arm of the couch. Time had become soft and distant. My body was a map of heat and stinging lines, my thighs and ass throbbing with every heartbeat. I was still crying quietly, but the tears were soft, heavy, releasing.

Tim’s hands were suddenly gentle.

He lifted me carefully into his arms, one under my knees, the other supporting my back. I melted against his chest, too deep in subspace to do anything but whimper softly as he carried me to the big couch. He sat down and arranged me on his lap, my sore bottom nestled between his thighs, my head resting on his shoulder. A thick, warm blanket was pulled around us immediately.

“My sweet girl,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses to my forehead, my wet cheeks, my eyelids. “You did so well. I’m so proud of you.”

I let out a shaky breath and nuzzled deeper into his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. My body was still trembling. Tim held me tighter, one hand slowly stroking my back while the other gently cradled my head.

“Shhh… I’ve got you, Lot. You’re safe. You’re loved.”

He reached for the water bottle on the side table and brought it to my lips. I drank obediently, small sips, while he praised me in that low, calm voice I loved so much.

“You were so beautiful struggling for me. And even more beautiful when you surrendered completely. The way you stopped fighting and just accepted your punishment… that was perfect. You make me so proud.”

His fingers traced lightly over the fresh welts on my ass and thighs. I hissed softly at the touch, but didn’t pull away. The pain felt different now.

“These marks look incredible on you,” he murmured, almost reverently. “My beautiful, brave girl.”

We stayed like that for a long time. He rocked me gently, kissing me everywhere he could reach, my temple, my ear, the side of my neck. Slowly, I started coming back to myself. The floaty, heavy subspace remained, but I could speak again.

“I… I tried so hard, Master,” I whispered, my voice hoarse from crying.

“I know you did, baby. You pushed yourself so deep for me. That’s why I love hurting you. Because you give yourself so completely.”

He shifted me slightly so he could look into my eyes. His gaze was full of love and quiet pride. He wiped the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs and kissed me softly on the lips — slow, tender, full of affection.

“Yellow?” he checked gently.

“Green,” I whispered back with a small, shy smile. “Just… very floaty.”

Tim smiled and pulled me back against his chest. He grabbed the massage oil from the side table and warmed some between his hands before carefully rubbing it into my sore muscles: my thighs, my ass, my lower back. His touch was perfect: firm enough to soothe the deep ache, gentle enough not to sting the welts too much.

Every few minutes he would kiss my hair and tell me how much he loved me.

After a while, he reached down at my exposed crotch as my bodysuit was still unsnapped. I felt his fingers gently exploring my swollen, sensitive pussy. He didn’t try to make me cum. He just touched me possessively, lovingly, spreading my wetness and occasionally circling my clit with the lightest pressure.

“You’re still so wet for me,” he murmured with a soft chuckle. “Even after all that.”

I blushed and hid my face in his neck. He let me stay there as long as I needed.

Later, he carried me upstairs to our bedroom. We showered together under warm water. He washed my body carefully, kissing every mark he had left on me. When we returned to bed, he put me on my stomach and spent a long time rubbing lotion into my red skin while I melted into the mattress.

When he finally pulled me into his arms under the soft sheets, I was completely wrapped around him, leg thrown over his hip, face pressed to his chest, his fingers playing with my hair.

“I love you,” I whispered, already half asleep.

“I love you more, little one,” Tim answered, kissing the top of my head. “You were absolutely perfect tonight.”

We finished the night with some great sex, as I requested that. He had teased me with his cock during the punishment, so I had something to redeem. It was great!

Part 1

Part 2

I wake up slowly on Sunday morning, my body heavy and aching. Every muscle feels used, every inch of skin tender. The thick leather collar is still locked around my throat. The room is quiet, filled with soft morning light filtering through the curtains. Tim is already awake, lying on his side next to me, watching me with those calm, intense eyes that always see straight through me.

For two full days I haven’t spoken a single word unless given permission. The silence has become its own kind of blanket.

Tim reaches out and gently strokes my cheek with the back of his fingers.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he says softly.

He leans in and kisses my forehead, then my temple, then the corner of my mouth. His hand moves down to my hip, warm and possessive. Without hurry, he rolls me onto my stomach. I feel his fingers trace the base of the big steel plug that has lived inside me for most of the weekend. He presses a soft kiss between my shoulder blades.

“You’ve been such a good girl,” he murmurs against my skin. “It’s time, to take this out.”

He takes his time removing the plug, slow, careful pulls, letting my body adjust as the heavy steel slides out. A soft, involuntary whimper escapes me when the widest part finally leaves. The sudden emptiness feels strange after so many hours of fullness.

Tim sets the plug aside and gently turns me onto my back again. He looks down at me for a long moment, his hand resting on my collar.

“Silence is over, Lot,” he says quietly, his voice warm but serious. “You may speak freely now. How are you feeling?”

The permission hits me like a wave. My throat feels tight. For two days I’ve been nothing but his silent whore, used, edged, broken, marked. Now I’m allowed to be his Lot again.

I swallow hard, voice hoarse and cracking from disuse.

“I… I feel wrecked, Master,” I whisper. “My whole body hurts… but in the best way. I feel so empty without the plug. And so… small.”

Tears prick my eyes unexpectedly. Tim immediately pulls me into his arms, cradling me against his chest. He strokes my hair slowly, letting me breathe through the sudden rush of emotion.

“You are doing so incredibly well this weekend,” he says, voice low and full of pride. “I’m so proud of you. You went deeper than I’ve ever seen you go. How does your mind feel?”

“Soft,” I murmur against his skin. “Quiet. Like everything else disappeared except you.”

He kisses the top of my head and holds me tighter.

“That’s exactly what I wanted for you.” He pauses, then adds gently.

We stay like that for a long time, skin to skin, his steady heartbeat under my cheek, his hands gently tracing the faded welts and black tally marks still visible across my body. For the first time in forty-eight hours, the power exchange feels softer, warmer… like a warm blanket instead of chains.

But the collar is still locked around my neck.

And I can already tell that even though the hardest part of the weekend is over, Tim isn’t quite finished taking care of me yet.

He takes my hand and leads me into the bathroom. I’m still completely naked except for the long red socks and the heavy black leather collar locked around my neck. Every step reminds me of the weekend: the faint ache in my ass, the tenderness between my legs, the dried sweat and marks covering my body.

Tim turns on the shower, adjusting the temperature until steam begins to fill the room. He orders me to remove my red socks. He steps in first, then gently pulls me under the warm spray with him. The hot water feels like heaven on my exhausted skin.

For the first few minutes he simply holds me, letting the water cascade over both of us. Then he picks up the soft sponge and his favorite body wash. He starts at my shoulders, washing me with slow, reverent strokes. His hands are gentle but thorough, carefully cleaning every inch of me. When he reaches my breasts, he pauses. The black tally marks are still clearly visible across the tops of them. He traces each one with his soapy fingers, counting silently.

“Twenty-one,” he whispers, almost to himself, with quiet awe in his voice. “My perfect girl.”

He leans down and kisses each tally mark softly, his lips lingering on my sensitive skin. I close my eyes, a soft moan escaping me as his mouth moves lower, gently sucking one tender nipple into his mouth. The contrast between the warm water and his hot tongue makes my knees weak.

He continues downward, washing my belly, my hips, my marked thighs. When he reaches the tallies on my inner thighs, he kneels in front of me. He presses soft kisses along every black line, then looks up at me with dark, loving eyes.

“Open your legs a little wider for me.”

I obey without hesitation. He washes between my legs with incredible care, his fingers gentle on my swollen, oversensitive pussy. Even the lightest touch makes me shiver. He takes his time, making sure every trace of the weekend’s mess is washed away, replacing it with tenderness.

When he finally stands again, he turns me around so my back is against his chest. His hands slide around to cup my breasts as he kisses the side of my neck, right above the collar.

“I want you,” he murmurs against my wet skin. “Right here. Slow.”

I nod, breath already shaky.

He bends me forward slightly, hands braced on the tiled wall. I feel the thick head of his cock nudge against my entrance. He pushes in slowly, stretching me open with gentle, deliberate care. A long, broken moan leaves my lips as he fills me completely.

He doesn’t fuck me hard. Instead, he rocks into me with deep, languid strokes, one arm wrapped around my waist, the other hand between my legs, circling my clit with feather-light touches. The warm water rains down on us as he makes love to me: slow, intimate, possessive.

Every thrust feels like worship.

I come first. A soft, rolling orgasm that makes my legs tremble. Tim follows soon after, burying himself deep inside me with a low groan, filling me with slow, warm pulses.

We stay connected like that for a long time, his arms holding me up, his lips pressing gentle kisses along my shoulder and the back of my neck. When he finally pulls out, he turns me around and kisses me deeply, water streaming down both our faces.

“You’re so loved,” he whispers against my lips. “Every single part of you.”

He continues washing me, treating me like something precious. By the time we step out of the shower, my skin is pink and glowing, and my heart feels full to the point of bursting.

He dries me with a big, fluffy towel, carefully patting every mark and welt. I pick my high red socks up and before we leave the bathroom, he kisses the collar around my neck.

“You’re still mine today,” he says softly.

After the shower, Tim doesn’t let me get dressed.

He simply takes my hand and leads me back into the living room, still completely naked except the heavy black leather collar locked around my neck. My skin is still warm and slightly pink from the hot water, and every mark from the weekend is still clearly visible, the belt welts across my ass, the faded black tally marks on my tits, thighs and belly, the lingering redness around my nipples.

Tim stops in the middle of the room and turns to face me. His voice is calm, but the dominant tone is still very much present.

“You’re going to do a few light chores for me today. Nothing too difficult. But you’ll do them exactly as I tell you, but first put those socks on. Then we will plug you."

He picks up the small, smooth silicone plug from the table, much smaller and lighter than the big steel one I wore most of the weekend. He coats it generously with lube, then steps behind me and waits while I finished putting the socks on.

“Beautifull, spread your cheeks.” And Tim gives a quick slap on my ass.

I obey without hesitation, bending at the waist and reaching back to open myself for him. He presses the plug against my still-tender hole and slides it in slowly. Even though it’s much smaller, my body is so sensitive that I let out a soft whimper as it settles inside me. The fullness is gentle, but undeniably present.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, giving the base a little tap that makes me clench around it. “Now, start with the kitchen. Wipe down all the counters and load the dishwasher. I want to watch you work.”

I spend the next twenty minutes moving through the kitchen, completely naked. The red socks slide softly on the floor as I walk. The small plug shifts with every step, sending little ripples of sensation through me. Tim sits at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee, his eyes following my every movement. Whenever I bend over to load the dishwasher, I can feel his gaze on my welted ass and the plug nestled between my cheeks.

When the counters are clean, he gives me another simple task.

“Dust the living room shelves. Slowly.”

I pick up the duster and move around the room on tiptoe to reach the higher shelves. The motion makes my breasts sway gently and causes the plug to press deeper. Every time I stretch upward, I feel incredibly exposed, my body on full display for him, the black tally marks visible on my inner thighs and lower belly. Tim doesn’t say much. He just watches, occasionally giving quiet instructions:

“Arch your back a little more.”

“Slower. I want to enjoy the view.”

There’s no harshness in his voice today; only a calm, possessive appreciation. The gentle objectification feels different from yesterday. It’s not cruel or overwhelming anymore. It feels intimate. Like he’s savoring the sight of me serving him while still being soft and cared for.

At one point, while I’m dusting the coffee table on my hands and knees, he walks over and crouches beside me. He runs his hand slowly down my back, over the faint welts, then gives the base of the plug a gentle twist.

“Look at you,” he says quietly, almost tenderly. “Still plugged and collared, doing your chores for me like a good girl. Does it feel different today?”

I nod, cheeks warm.

“Yes, Master,” I whisper. “It feels… softer. But I still feel so owned.”

He smiles and strokes my hair.

“That’s exactly how I want you to feel.”

He lets me finish the dusting, then calls me over to him. I crawl the last few feet and kneel at his feet. He reaches down and tilts my chin up so our eyes meet.

“You’re doing beautifully,” he says. “Just a little more, and then I’m going to take care of every mark on this body.”

I rest my cheek against his thigh, the small plug still nestled inside me, the collar warm around my neck, feeling peaceful, submissive, and deeply loved, even while being gently objectified.

After the chores, Tim takes my hand and leads me back into the bedroom. The afternoon light is soft and golden, filtering through the curtains. He has already prepared everything: a large towel spread across the bed, several bottles of massage oil, and our sex diary lying open on the nightstand with a fresh pen beside it.

“Lie down on your stomach, beautiful,” he says gently.

I obey, stretching out on the towel. The small plug is still inside me, a quiet presence, and the collar rests warm and heavy against my throat. Tim climbs onto the bed and kneels beside me. He warms the oil between his palms, the scent of sweet almond and a hint of lavender filling the air.

He starts at my shoulders, his strong hands gliding over my skin with slow, deliberate strokes. Every movement is careful and reverent. He works down my back, his thumbs pressing gently into the muscles that are still sore from the intense bondage of yesterday. When he reaches the faded welts across my ass, he pauses.

“So many marks,” he murmurs, almost to himself. His fingers trace the raised lines left by his belt with feather-light touches. “You took everything so well for me.”

He pours more oil and begins massaging my ass cheeks with deep, soothing circles, working the warmth into every welt and bruise. The combination of the slight sting and the tender care makes my eyes flutter shut. I let out a soft, contented sigh.

He continues lower, massaging the backs of my thighs, then my calves, even my feet, taking his time with every inch of me. When he finally asks me to turn over, I do so slowly, feeling exposed but completely safe.

Now on my back, he starts at my collarbones and works downward. His hands glide over my breasts, carefully circling the still-sensitive nipples and the black tally marks that remain visible across the tops of them. He leans down and kisses each tally softly, one by one.

“My brave, perfect girl.”

He moves to my belly, then my hips, and finally to my inner thighs, where even more tallies are written. His fingers are gentle, but the touch on my still-swollen pussy makes me shiver. He doesn’t tease me sexually. He simply cares for me, rubbing oil into every mark, every place his hands and toys claimed over the weekend.

When every visible trace has been oiled and massaged, he helps me sit up and guides me down onto a thick, soft cushion placed at his feet on the floor.

“Come here,” he says warmly, patting the cushion. “It’s time to write your diary.”

I settle between his legs, my back resting against the edge of the bed, still naked, collared, and plugged. Tim picks up the diary and pen, then rests one hand in my hair, slowly stroking it as I begin to speak.

I tell him everything.

I describe Friday night: the moment the collar locked, the first use, the punishment for speaking. I tell him about Saturday morning, eating from the bowl with his dried cum on my tits. I recount the long day of chores with the spreader bar, clamps, ice, and weighted plug. My voice trembles when I describe the hogtie, the endless edging, the throat fucking while he watched TV, and the brutal overstimulation that led to twenty-one orgasms. I even tell him how it felt when I safeworded twice, once from pain, once from pure exhaustion.

Through it all, Tim listens quietly, his fingers never stopping their gentle strokes through my hair. Occasionally he asks soft questions:

“How did that make you feel?”

“What was going through your mind when you screamed during the last three?”

I answer honestly, sometimes crying quietly as the memories wash over me. He writes everything down in his neat handwriting, occasionally reading passages back to me so I can confirm or add more detail.

When we finally reach the end of the weekend, he closes the diary and sets it aside. He leans forward, wraps both arms around me from behind, and rests his chin on top of my head.

“Thank you for giving me all of that,” he whispers. “For trusting me so completely.”

I tilt my head back to look at him, my voice thick with emotion.

“Thank you for taking care of me… even when you pushed me so hard.”

He kisses me softly, long and deep, his hand still cradling the back of my head.

As the golden afternoon light slowly faded into evening, Tim helped me up from the cushion and guided me back onto the bed. He laid me down on my back with such tenderness that fresh tears welled in my eyes. The small plug was still nestled inside me, and the heavy leather collar remained locked around my neck, the symbols of the weekend still in place.

He reached for the Lush, coated it with a generous amount of lube, and slowly slid it into my pussy. This time there was no cruelty, no harsh edging. He turned it on to its softest, gentlest setting: a low, warm pulse that felt more like a caress than a demand.

Tim moved over me, settling between my spread thighs. He looked into my eyes as he slowly pushed his cock inside me, filling me alongside the gentle vibration of the Lush. The fullness was perfect: deep, intimate, and overwhelmingly tender.

We made love slowly.

There were no orders, no degradation, no roughness. Just deep, rolling thrusts, skin sliding against skin, his forehead resting against mine. Every movement felt like a promise. His hands cradled my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that kept falling. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, holding him as close as I possibly could.

I came three times: soft, gentle, rolling orgasms that washed over me like warm waves. Each one drew quiet, breathy moans from my lips as I clung to him. Tim followed on the third, burying himself deep inside me with a low groan, pulsing warmly as he emptied himself.

Afterwards, he didn’t pull out right away. He stayed inside me, holding me tightly while our breathing slowly returned to normal. The Lush continued its soft, soothing pulse on the lowest setting, prolonging the warm afterglow.

We stayed like that for a long time, whispering quiet words, exchanging soft kisses, his fingers gently tracing the black tally marks that were still visible on my skin.

At exactly 8:00 PM, Tim reached behind my neck.

He unlocked the collar.

The soft click of the lock opening felt louder than anything else that had happened all weekend. He carefully removed the heavy leather from my throat and set it aside on the nightstand. Then he leaned down and pressed a long, reverent kiss right where the collar had been, his lips warm against the slightly lighter skin beneath.

I felt strangely naked without it.

Tim pulled me into his arms, wrapping me completely in his embrace. I buried my face in his chest, breathing him in.

“How do you feel?” he asked softly, his voice thick with emotion.

I was quiet for a moment, searching for the right words.

“I feel… completely owned,” I whispered. “And so deeply loved. I’ve never felt anything like this weekend. Thank you for pushing me. Thank you for catching me.”

He held me even tighter, one hand stroking my hair while the other rubbed slow circles on my back.

“You were perfect,” he murmured. “Every single second. I’m so proud of you, Lot. I love you more than I can put into words.”

We stayed wrapped in each other for a long time: no rush to move, no need to speak. The small plug was eventually removed with the same care he had shown all day. He cleaned me gently, applied more soothing lotion to every mark, and then pulled the covers over us both.

As I lay curled against his chest, his heartbeat steady under my ear, I felt the full weight and beauty of the weekend settle over me.

Forty-eight hours of total surrender. Forty-eight hours of being broken open, used, pushed, and then lovingly put back together.