Witch's musings

I like the aesthetic of black; it carries an edge of danger and power, absorbing all other colors into its mysterious depth.

Black stockings, black heels, black lingerie. I love the word 'lingerie'. It sounds so sensual rolling off my tongue. And it does the job of arousing you so effectively. 

The black matches the leather cuffs around your wrists that are firmly locked behind your back, and the black of the leather leash attached to your cock. You shuffle on your knees to follow me around as I play with you, my toy. The glistening tip of your cock shows me that you enjoy this black accessory as well.

Maybe a bit too much, as your cock drips on the floor. The black crop lands a smack on your ass. The leather crop again makes contact as another drop drips, this time landing on my black heel.

You, my boy, have gone with red this evening—red knees, a red throbbing cock and most importantly, a red ass.

The ping of your message alerts me to your arrival. I am in the foyer by the time you reach my front door. A glance at the clock confirms you are precisely on time, not that I had any doubts. The importance of today has been palpable in our recent messages. I open the door, and there you are, standing with a mixture of anticipation and nervous energy. You step inside, and the door closes behind you, sealing us off from the outside world.

Our normal greeting of two new lovers is eschewed for stricter protocol today. Today, you are moving towards the role that I have been considering you for—my submissive, my pet, and, depending on the task or day, my slut.

“Put this on,” I state without emotion. Today is about stripping you down and starting from the basics of submission. It is about teaching and molding you into my perfect pet. I hand you the hood, black cloth with a string, which once over, I will tie up. You take the hood from my hands, your movements careful and deliberate. As you pull it over your head, I can see the shift in your demeanor. The hood takes away your sight, heightening your other senses, making you more aware of every sound, every touch, every command.

I love using the hood right from the start; it reveals any anxieties, any issues with trust. The possibility that we are not at the right stage to move forward begins with this one act. As you pull the black cloth over your head, your breathing becomes shallow, and I can sense the shift in your energy.

With the hood securely tied, I guide you down the hall and to another door. This one leads to the basement, to my play area, a place where you will come to both enjoy and fear. As I open the door, I say, “There are many steps down. The railing is to your right.”

I take your left hand in mine and guide you down the stairs. Your steps are tentative, each one careful as you adjust to the loss of your sight and the heightened reliance on my guidance. The descent feels long, each step echoing in the confined space.

At the bottom of the stairs, I lead you a few more feet to the door of my playroom. I stop and tell you to kneel to the right of the door. I watch as you kneel, albeit awkwardly without being able to see, the disorientation clear in your movements.

“Good,” I murmur, satisfied with your obedience. I take a moment to admire your submission. Before opening the door, I give you one simple command: “Stay.”

I enter the room and feel the familiar energy in the space. I have spent countless hours here, enjoying encounters that would fill many books. The decor has been chosen piece by piece to create a den of pleasure and pain, one that is both pleasing to the eyes and the bodies that sweat, cry, and plead for more.

The walls are adorned with various implements of discipline, each meticulously placed. The soft glow of the ambient lighting casts shadows that dance across the room, enhancing the atmosphere. The leather furniture, the polished wood, the strategically placed mirrors—all of it designed to heighten every sensation, every emotion.

I walk to the one wall and select my implement for today—a red leather crop. Perfect for your inspection. I take a seat in a wide, plush leather chair and, with it, take out my phone. I proceed to catch up on work emails while you kneel, waiting outside the door.

I glance down to see that twenty-seven minutes have gone by. I know this to be an agonizingly long time on one's knees, especially if untrained to do so. Luckily for you, there is carpet in the hallway, unlike in here.

“Come,” I finally call out, my voice firm but inviting.

I listen as you rise and cautiously enter, guided by the sound of my voice. The hood still obscures your vision, adding to your disorientation and heightening your other senses. You pause just inside the threshold, awaiting further instructions.

“Close the door behind you,” I command. You obey, the soft click of the door closing behind you echoing in the room. I rise to meet you in the middle of the room and turn you towards the chair I was sitting in.

“Good. Now, strip,” I instruct, and I hear your sharp intake. I walk around you, taking in the sight of you, watching the way you hesitate just for that split second before your hands find the buttons of your shirt. It falls to the floor, and is met with trousers, briefs, belt and finally your socks.

I reach out and gently stroke your cheek through the hood. “Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes, Miss M,” you reply, your voice steady despite the uncertainty.

“Then let’s begin,” I say, satisfied.

The silence in the room amplifies every sound, every rustle of fabric, every breath you take. I don’t say a word as I start circling you, the click of my heels the only sound I make. I purposely circle around and around, and with the softest of touches, the crop draws patterns on your skin. I run the crop up the inside of your thigh, just stopping before it touches your sac. I draw a line across your shoulders and then proceed to run the crop ever so lightly down the small of your back, eliciting little goosebumps to erupt.

I continue my calculated strokes with the crop, tracing the inside of your arm, then the back of your knee. Finally, I give one of your hard nipples the tiniest of flicks. Your moan escapes before I can flick the other.

I giggle at your reaction, as now I know you are desiring this inspection and enjoying it just like I knew you would. “How does it feel to be so exposed and vulnerable right now?” I ask slowly, drawing out the words "exposed" and "vulnerable" to emphasize them.

You breathe in and seem to think, holding your breath before sharing your answer. "Miss M, this is all new, and I will admit I am very nervous and feeling exposed for certain."

“Well, this is all new to you, and I would be very concerned if you weren’t nervous, to be honest,” I say with kindness. “This is a serious step for me and for you. Your consideration could be ending today, and I could have myself a new pet.” I say this in all seriousness.

I take the crop lower as I shift to stand in front of you, running the tip of the crop all the way up the front of your leg to the tip of your cock. I lift it just a few inches and ask, “Are you embarrassed by your size? Do you think you measure up to the other pets I’ve had?”

“Nooo, Miss M,” you draw it out like you are not sure if you should be. “Well, you should not be. It is a beautiful sight, and even though it is what they call average, it’s plenty big for what I have planned for it anyway,” I say with a smirk.

I emphasize my point with a quick flick to the tip, another moan coming out of you, this one noticeably louder. I choose to ignore your enjoyment and proceed with my line of questions.

“How does it feel knowing that I have complete control over your naked body?” I whisper through the hood by your ear. This is when I see the shyness being overtaken by your enjoyment. Your flaccid cock has started to harden.

“It feels wonderful, Miss M,” you add. “I have always desired to have a a Mistress like you control me in every way possible.”

My sharp reprimand of “Enough!” has your mouth shut without another word.

“Do yourself a favor and keep your answers short. And by the way, I am not any Mistress, I am “thee” Miss M, and you would be wise to remember such things.” An emphasis is made as the crop lands swiftly on your ass, this one not gentle like the last.

The red bloom from the crop spreading across your cheek turns me on, and I can't help but add another slap of the crop to create the perfect match. You yelp as it lands, and this time I shush you to be silent. "Stand in proper inspection position, arms behind your head and widen your stance," I say as I slap your inner thighs with the crop, teasing the tip of your cock with the back-and-forth light flicks.

The crop comes up to draw another line from your hip bone all the way up to your armpit, where I find you a bit ticklish. You try to put your arm down to stop the tickling, and you receive a hard smack to your ass. "How does it feel knowing I can touch any part of you whenever I want?" The crop again slides up, this time on the other side, to be met with your ticklish armpit. You move a bit but bite down on your lip to quiet the protests that want to erupt. "Good boy," I whisper in your ear.

These words have the desired effect, and your cock bobs as if in agreement. I can't help but bring the crop again to the underside and start to tease and flick with the tiniest little movements, evoking a little whine from your lips. "Are you embarrassed by your erection? Do you think it's pathetic?" I ask as your cock produces its first drop of pre-cum. I lift the hood to show you another part of your inspection as I capture the drop on the tip of my finger and bring it to the tip of my tongue for a taste. Your eyes are wide, and your cock bobs from my touch, fully erect, and your mouth parts as I taste you.

"You should feel honored," I murmur, my eyes locking onto yours. "To be inspected so thoroughly, to have every inch of you scrutinized and evaluated. This is a privilege not many receive."

Your breathing becomes ragged as I continue my slow, deliberate inspection, the crop now tracing circles around your nipples, down your chest, and along your sides. "Do you understand what it means to be my property?" I ask, the crop pausing at the sensitive spot just below your belly button. "To be at my mercy, to exist solely for my pleasure?"

Your response is a shaky nod, your lips parting as you struggle to find the words. "Yes, Miss M," you manage to whisper, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and arousal.

"Good," I purr, the crop moving lower, grazing your inner thighs once more. "Because from this moment on, your body is mine to command, mine to use, and mine to enjoy. Do you accept this?"

"Yes, Miss M," you reply, more confidently this time, the anticipation in your voice clear.

"Excellent," I say, a smile playing on my lips as I step back to admire the view. "Now, let's see just how well you can follow orders."

I take a step back, letting the silence hang in the air for a moment before giving my next command. "Spread your legs wider. I want to see everything." Your compliance is immediate, your stance widening as you expose yourself completely to my gaze.

"Good boy," I say, my voice dripping with approval. "Now, bend over and grab your ankles. Your inspection is far from over." I tighten the hood and await your new position.

I stand behind you for an awkwardly long time. I turn the crop around and let a stream of spit land perfectly on your hole, the sensation causes you to clench, “Open wide as I need help with the next part of your inspection.” I say as I spit one more time on your asshole.

"Now, you have already agreed that you would very much enjoy being penetrated, right?" I ask, knowing your answer but wanting you to say it again.

"Yes, Miss M, I want you to penetrate me, please," your voice husky with desire.

"Good boy," I murmur, running the metal tip of the crop handle along your exposed entrance, teasing the sensitive skin. "Remember, you are here to please me, to fulfil my desires. Your pleasure is secondary."

I press the crop just slightly against your hole, not enough to penetrate but enough to make you feel the pressure. "Do you understand?”

"Yes, Miss M, I understand," you reply, your voice trembling with anticipation.

I push the crop a little further, feeling the resistance give way just slightly. "You will learn to take everything I give you, won't you?"

"Yes, Miss M," you gasp, your body tensing under my touch.

"Good," I say, withdrawing the crop and stepping back.

I move in closer, pressing my body against yours, my breath hot against your ear. "Are you ready to be completely and utterly mine?" “Yes, Miss M” is your only response.

"Relax then, it will be so much easier to complete my inspection." I see your hole unclench.

"That's better," I say, my voice low and commanding. "Now, let's see just how much you can take." I will not be giving you much as the metal tip is only two inches at most. But you do not know this, and that makes me smile as I press the crop against your entrance again, this time pushing it in slowly, savoring every moment as you gasp and moan under my control.

"Much better," I purr as I slowly play with your hole, gently as there is no need to rush this. Your body needs to be broken in, in more ways than one, and I want it to start desiring my touch immediately. This does not happen from starting from a position of pain.

I continue to press the tip in and out, watching your reactions carefully. "Tell me, how does it feel to be at my mercy, to have your body explored and used as I see fit?"

"It feels... it feels incredible, Miss M," you manage to say between gasps, your voice quivering with a mix of nerves and arousal.

"Good," I say, twisting the crop slightly to increase the sensation. "Your honesty pleases me.”

I withdraw the crop and then push it in again, this time with a bit more force, eliciting a louder moan from you. I see the effects of your enjoyment in the drips on the floor from your cock.

"You are making quite the mess. Tell me, how much more will you be able to endure?" I say teasingly.

"Everything, Miss M," you strain out.

"Everything? Really?" I question.

"Yes, everything and anything. I am serious," your tone grows bolder as you say this.

"How would you feel if introduced you to my cane?" I pause and see the hitch of your breath. I am enthralled as I can almost see the thoughts swirling.

"Everything and anything, Mistress," you say quietly.

I walk and select my cruelest bamboo cane. 

I walk over to you and bend over to your ear and whisper, "Don't worry, pet. I'll stop a few strokes after you start crying," as the sound of cane whooshes through the air...

There's something about leaving a physical mark on someone that makes me feel so intoxicated. Whether it's a bite mark on their chest, bruises on their ass, whip marks or welts from canes. It's a physical reminder that I have literally left a mark on their person, on their psyche. I think about them wandering around, thinking about me every time they look at it. I think about how sexy it is to have them come back to me, still covered in my marks only for me to leave more. I especially love poking the marks I've left, causing more pain. I dream about the colors they turn as they heal, like beautiful leaves turning. Purple to green to yellow to fade.

I received a note from an ex partner who I haven't been with for years. Part of his note: 

Miss M, I feeI need to confess that after all these years I still don't fully understand why I am still flooded with memories of how you showed me how pathetic my cock is. That thought remains probably the biggest turn on for me. Why do I get so aroused every time I remember how you used to taunt me about how inadequate it was to please you? Why do I even feel gratitude about what I learned about my true identity? 

It's funny, because he had a perfectly normal sized cock. Nevertheless, I declared war on it and his attitude about his manliness. There was a male arrogance about him that remained despite our having explored several areas of our FLR. He had learned to do housework and he learned to take a whipping. But I realized more was required for him to be reduced as a male. To accomplish this task, I started ridiculing his penis. I told him it was inadequate. I bought a flexible sheath that I placed over it that added size and thickness when I allowed him coitus. I would tease and arouse him to raging, throbbing erection and tell him that he wasn’t large enough to please me. I berated him, sneered at him, and tried very hard to hurt his feelings. I’m not a size queen. I think dicks are funny looking creatures. I could live my whole life without ever seeing another one. His was adequate but the truth didn’t matter. Boys love their dicks and are often proud of them.  Somewhere in their mind, most think that they can fuck better than other men. It’s the way boys are built but it’s not the way I wanted my boy to think. I wanted him to be deeply grateful to me to allow him to serve me knowing his utter inadequacies. The harder I was on him the more it turned him on. I was learning. You may think bending the truth is not fair or whatever your complaint might be. Oh, you don’t understand a woman like me at all. I wanted to devour him alive. I wanted his complete attention and devotion. Would I lie? Manipulate? Deceive? Oh yes, a thousand times. All is fair in love and war. Dominating him was both.

I heard the basement door open, and I dropped to my knees. Automatically, my hands found their positions on my lap, and my gaze came to rest on the floor in front of me. Miss M was descending the stairs, and I felt each footstep as it rang out from her boots, reverberated through me, and sent my heart racing faster and faster. Soon she stood above me, but all I could see without raising my eyes were her boots and the legs of her leather pants.

For long moments she just stood there, and I knew she was drinking in my submission while I knelt at her feet and watched my cock harden. Finally she extended one foot, and I bowed my head to the ground, kissing the toe of her boot. My lips, still savoring the taste of leather, parted to offer my mantra as always: “I worship at Miss M’s feet, where I belong.”

I thought I could hear her smile as I sat back up, but I kept my hands open on my lap and my eyes lowered to the glistening moistness I left on her boot. Miss M acknowledged my greeting with just a momentary pause before speaking. “Did you miss me, little one?” Her voice was slow like honey.

“Yes, Miss M,” I said, even as she was already stepping forward with her other foot, applying pressure to my balls with the toe of her boot, playing with her toy. My cock, already at attention, stiffened further before she trapped it beneath her foot. I watched helplessly as she slowly applied more and more weight, maintaining my composure as best I could. Only my deliberately measured breathing betrayed the impact Miss M was having on me. That and the pulsing throbs of my cock that I knew she could feel through the soles of her boot.

“Good boy,” she cooed. “You may look at me.” My cock was still trapped beneath her foot as I took in a kinky vision in leather. Miss M had a glow about her, a smile in her eyes. I felt the full weight of her superiority over me. Miss M released my cock from beneath her boot, her eyes twinkling as it sprung back up to attention.

I moaned softly, my eyes closed briefly in pleasure, even as Miss M turned away and strode over to the only place to sit comfortably down here, a simple leather chair. It’s the only thing in this basement dungeons of hers I’d never once touched during all the time I've spent here. I followed on my hands and knees, relishing the thrill that coursed through me as she loomed larger and larger above me as I approached, a supplicant to her throne. I settled onto the leather pad that Miss M had gifted me as a mercy and a gift, one of my first rewards for good behavior. Although it had been previously used, it felt just right, like it had been broken in just for me.

I began my worship of Miss M’s boots in earnest, feeling the warmth of service and submission spread through my mind and my body. I explored every inch with my lips and my tongue. I savored my place, my role beneath her. As I cleaned her boots more properly, I remembered the pride I had felt in how quickly I learned Miss M’s preferences, despite being new to boot blacking. It had helped being so much more turned on by Miss M’s feet than I had thought possible, upon meeting them in person.

When she was done with me, Miss M rested one booted foot on my chest and just pushed me back. “Good boy,” she said, studying me with unusual intensity. At that point I noticed the crop in her hands, the way she ran her finger along the edge of it, an act simultaneously sensual and menacing. “Now help Miss M out of her boots.” I crawled closer again and got to work loosening the laces, carefully and evenly, with practiced hands. I tried not to think about what Miss M might be planning for me. I pulled her boots off and enjoyed her contented sigh, evidence that I was serving her well. She began to shimmy out of her leather pants before raising an eyebrow at me. “Watching Miss M get undressed? Naughty boy…”

I slipped into child’s pose so quickly, I almost struck my forehead against the floor. “I’m sorry, Miss M!” My eyes were closed, just in case. I needed to be a good boy. Still, I focused my attention on the gentle sound of her pants being pulled off of her perfect legs.

“Miss M will help you be a good boy,” she murmured, as though she could read my mind. Her whispered voice was close, perhaps inches away. I felt the warmth of her breath on my ear, and then a weight settling around my head. For a moment I thought I was being hooded, but then Miss M’s scent enveloped me, mixed with the sturdy smell of leather. Her pants, still warm from the heat of her body, cradled my head and left me in darkness. Although I could see nothing, I clearly heard her laughter, intimate yet superior. I felt hot inside. I felt my cock stiffen again. Then I felt the words of my mantras stirring deep within me, bubbling up, filling my head, finally emerging from my lips.

“Miss M knows best,” I whispered. I heard her moan softly. “Good boys listen to Miss M.” Her breathing became more shallow, and I knew she was touching herself, watching me on my hands and knees, reciting for her. “Good boys obey Miss M.” I heard the whirring of a vibrator. “Good boys see to Miss M’s needs first.” I breathed deeply, allowing Miss M’s scent to fill me, from both her pants still warm on my head and from her pussy just a few feet away. “I need to be a good boy for Miss M. I will be a good boy for Miss M.” Miss M’s moaning grew louder. “I owe my life to Miss M. I worship at Miss M’s feet, where I belong.”

By the time I finished, I realized my hips were gently thrusting with each line, my body moving along with the current of words pouring from me. “Mmm, yes, hump the air for Miss M.” My eyes remained closed as I lifted myself onto my hands and knees. I began to thrust into the empty space beneath me, the leather pants slipping from my head. “It’s okay, little one, you can look at Miss M now.” She was wearing only her Wolford stockings, her legs drawn up onto the seat of the chair, the tights holding her vibrator in place against her pussy. The hum of the vibrator began to modulate, as Miss M pressed the wand harder against herself in time with my thrusts. My cock grew harder as I watched Miss M get off on my pathetic humping motions. She purred, and I let out an involuntary whimper. Studying me intently, she smiled and whispered, “Do you think you can cum for Miss M, like this?”

I glanced helplessly down at my cock, at the bead of precum hanging down from the tip, swaying with the motion of my body. “I don’t know, Miss M. I don’t think so. But I want to.” And I did want it. My arousal was all I could think about.

“Aww, poor boy,” was all she said at first, before pulling her tights off and putting aside the vibrator to give herself more access to her pussy. She traced her pussy lips so delicately with her fingertips, flaunting her power over me, taunting me. She watched my cock twitch with naked desire. A moment passed, and then she rose from her chair, moving behind me before adding, “Here, Miss M will help you some more.”

She crouched down behind me and I moaned as I felt her pull my cock back with her stocking. As I throbbed against the hosiery stretched tight between her hands, she slowly drew the nylon back and forth over the head of my cock, just for a moment. I understood she was showing me that she could, if she wanted, polish me as sensuously as I had polished her boots. Instead, she pulled my cock back farther before letting the stocking slip off and my erection spring back forward. I gasped, and Miss M laughed, delighted.

As much as I ached for more, I blurted out, “Thank you, Miss M! Thank you!” She just gave a thoughtful hum and pulled the stocking down over my cock like a giant nylon condom, oversized and loose around the shaft. Shle left it draped there for a moment while tightly securing the other stocking at the cock base wound snug around me like a cock ring. Miss M threaded the loose end of the stocking between my hands and towards the chair, a leash for her to hold. 

Miss M sat in the chair above me and leaned down to pick up the nylon leash encasing my cock. She pulled, oh so slowly, savoring my reactions as I gasped, the sensual material gliding across the glans. “And now, little one? Do you think you can cum from this?”

My cock twitched in its nylon prison, feeling the pull of Miss M’s control with that sensuous stroke. “Mmm, yes, Miss M, I think so…”

She patted my head affectionately, before letting her hand trace a path from my ear, down my jawline, to my chin. Gently, she tilted my head up to face her full glory. “And do you want to cum, little one?”

I didn’t think about whether the question was a test or a trap or a tool for instruction. I only knew the truth of the pleasure radiating from my cock like the light of a beacon, flooding my senses. “Yes, Miss M. Yes, please, I want to cum.”

She laughed, as though I had told her a funny joke. “And why is that, little one? Do you even remember the last time you came?”

“It feels good, Miss M, when I cum. It made me feel good inside. It must have been—.” I tried to remember, but I could not pierce the fog of memory. It didn’t seem like it should have been that long ago. Weeks, perhaps? But that didn’t seem right. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Miss M registered the confusion on my face, trying to remember the last time I came. She sat back in the chair with a pleased grin on her face, winding the foot of the stocking around one hand. With her other hand, she teased herself, one fingertip circling her clit, as though to focus both of our attention there, on her pleasure.

Then, watching me intently, she pulled again at the nylon leash around my cock, slowly, sensually, even as continued to stimulate herself. I listened to Miss M purr in pleasure, even as I felt the sheer material of the nylon glide back and forth against that exquisite spot beneath the head of my cock, as she repeatedly allowed me some slack and took it away again. “Oh, little one, it’s been so long. Do you think I should let you cum?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the pleasure roiling within, pulsing within, wanting to be free. “I want—” I gasped as Miss M pulled me towards her once more, the stockings still warm from her heat, caressing me. Somehow, I held back the tide. “I want to be a good boy, Miss M. Good boys don’t cum.”

I looked up at Miss M again, desperate for her approval and found laughter in her eyes. “And why does not cumming make you a good boy, little one?”

I almost said the first thought that came into my mind: that denial and submission felt better than cumming. But as I looked up into Miss M’s face gazing down at me, studying me, a deeper truth spoke through me. “I want whatever Miss M wishes.” Not just any Miss M, my Miss M.

A smile broke across her face. For a delicious moment she closed her eyes and touched herself, moaning. “Mmm, good boy. Yes, it pleases me. I like you like this, your orgasms just a distant memory. Your cum is your sacrifice for Miss M’s pleasure.”

My cock throbbed against its leash at her words. Then her right foot was on my face, so that with each pull on my cock and each thrust of my hips, I rocked her back in the chair before she extended her leg, pushing me back on my knees. We continued to thrust back and forth, a two-person engine of pleasure, Miss M’s pleasure. Her vibrator hummed to life then groaned in pleasure, modulating in pitch as Miss M matched the pressure to the rhythm of our motion.

I watched Miss M get off on my helpless, my desperation, my denied arousal. I whispered what then seemed an obvious truth. “I don’t get to cum.”

Her radiant smile was my reward. “That’s right, little one. You don’t have permission to cum. But it’s up to you to be a good boy for Miss M. This is supposed to be hard.” She pulled on my nylon leash again, triggering another wave of pleasure dangerously close to spilling over. “And it pleases me to see you struggle. Oh, I’m going to keep you like this until you’re begging for just the fucking memory of what cumming feels like. Only good little denied boys are allowed to toyed with in Miss M’s Dungeon.”

I followed Miss M’s eyes to the crop she had placed at her side, meeting the threat in her gaze with helpless vulnerability. “Please, I don’t get to cum…” I repeated. “I worship at Miss M’s feet, where I belong.”

Slowly, sensually, she resumed her torment. “Repeat that three more times for Miss M,” she instructed, with utter finality. “Keep begging. I want to see how good a boy you are. Three…”

I locked eyes with Miss M. I could see how much it pleased her to see the fear on my face, as I processed her commands and repeated my lines for her.

Please, I don’t get to cum. I worship at Miss M’s feet, where I belong.

As the last word of my mantra passed through my lips, Miss M pulled firmly at my nylon leash.  Pleasure surged through me, and suddenly a memory swam to the surface of my mind, as if pulled out of my depths.

I remembered kneeling naked in front of Miss M, back when I first started worshipping her. I remembered the ache of the clothespins covering my body: my arms, my thighs, my chest, my tongue, my scrotum. I remembered her whispered words: “Miss M will take care of you. If you are a good boy.” I remembered that sense of surrendering to her voice, so full of love, so steeped in menace. I remembered staring at her feet, captivated, as she dominated my mind. I remembered learning the words that would become my mantras, and the flash of delicious pain as she removed a clothespin for each time I repeated them. “I worship at Miss M’s feet, where I belong.” I remembered knowing that each time I spoke, I was complicit in exploiting my own weakness for her feet, to sear a new Miss M kink into my brain.

The memory passed, and I focused again on the present, on Miss M’s foot on my shoulder. On holding my cum for Miss M. She continued her countdown. “Two…”

Please, I don’t get to cum. I worship at Miss M’s feet, where I belong.

The intensity in her eyes was like nothing I had seen before, but I relished her incandescent smile as she pulled me to her again on my nylon leash. I struggled to contain myself, even as another memory rushed to the surface.

I remembered waking for the first time in Miss M's dungeon, lying on the bondage table, cuffs having been detached while asleep, coming to consciousness with deliberate effort, following her voice as she roused me. The first thing I see is Miss M’ foot, hovering above me, ready to nudge my face. Or step on it. She is naked, beautiful, a goddess. Then I remember I am naked, too and she is asking me a question: “Do you even know where you are?” I remembered shaking my head slowly, searching my memory for how I got here and finding only inky blackness. I remembered instinctively trying to get up off the table, then Miss M putting her foot on my chest, forcing me back down, beneath her. I remembered her wicked laughter. I remembered thinking I should be afraid, but just staring instead at her foot on my chest, feeling its heat and my cock’s response to that exquisite perfection gracing my body. I remembered wondering how I never knew I had a foot fetish, how she could read my mind in ways I couldn’t even read myself.

Miss M’s foot brought me back to the present, pushing me back on my haunches again, even as her moans grew more urgent. Her last stroke had been more than just a tease. It could so easily have ripped an orgasm out of me. Did she want to see me fail or to endure? I realized only obedience mattered. That’s when she whispered, “One….”

Please, I don’t get to cum. I worship at Miss M’s feet, where I belong.

The words emerged as a desperate prayer. My eyes were wide and pleading but her eyes were closed. The hum of the vibrator filled all the space between us and around us. Miss M pulled my leash one last time. I cried out as my vision fuzzed and pleasure surged through me. With it came one last memory, the one that had eluded me. In that split second before cumming, I remembered.

I remembered my anxiety at finally meeting Miss M in the flesh, being invited into her space. I remembered my gratitude at her kindness, offering me a guided meditation to help me find stillness. I remembered finding peace in surrender, closing my eyes and letting Miss M take control, feeling warm inside from the hot tea she had given me. I remembered Miss M taking so many thoughts and anxieties off my mind, not only giving me permission to let my cock do the thinking for me, but binding my consciousness and memories to the cum I built up for her. 

In this instant of recollection, as my cock spasms within its nylon prison, I understand that I am cumming. I understand that as I spill my cum from my cock, I also spill from my mind all the memories I have formed in Miss M’s Basement and which make up who I have become. As the ejaculation pierces my mind and body and soul, I have one final thought.

Please, I don’t want to go.

***

Now she is crouching over me, her arms resting on one knee. The way she looks at me, I wonder if she is reading my mind right now. “Do you know where you are? Do you know why you are here?”

I take a moment to gather my wits but mostly draw a blank. Then I feel the words bubble up from somewhere deep down. They rise and expand, filling my mind with clarity and purpose. “I worship at Miss M’s feet, where I belong.” 

Miss M smiles warmly. Her hand on my chest is both possessive and life-giving. “Good boy,” she whispers, before settling back into the leather throne.

She lets one foot dangle above me just so. Somehow I know just what to do.