Enforced Chastity & Spanking Diet
Crawling into the living room, Greg kneels at the feet of Mistress Beverly.
“Mistress please allow your slave to report that the dinner dishes are clean, and all chores finished.”
If he were not naked and kneeling no one would notice him on the street. Greg seems indistinguishable from millions of other males. He considers himself a man of rare fortune. He is a woman’s slave.
Nor would a passerby discern that Beverly is a ‘dominatrix’ (not a word she would use). Beverly owns Greg. No law binds him to his Mistress. His need to serve forms a bond stronger than steel shackles.
Greg sees a glorious goddess. Her beauty born of whom she is not the shape of lips and nose. A woman of power: Men defer to her. Seek to please her. Even vanilla men surprise themselves by saying “Yes Ma’am.”
On Sunday evenings she reviews the week. Greg’s week. Not that she addresses him as Greg. Behind closed doors his name is Servant.
“Servant, go and kneel before my Chair of Judgement.”
His silicone puppy tail wags as he crawls away. Hearing Mistress laughs. He blushes.
They bought the tall heavy and ornately carved chair at a flea market. Greg thinks of it as Mistress’ Throne. Here she dispenses discipline and punishment.
On his knees, waiting for Mistress, Greg – a typical male – hopes he will be permitted an orgasm. Not a ruined orgasm. He wants his body to shake and moan then explode.
Two weeks of denial have been tough. Not that he faults Mistress. He must earn orgasms. Not beg for them. Be worthy.
Beverly enters, sits. Rests a rattan cane on the floor. Looks at her iPad.
“Servant, you got a raise and promotion. I’m proud of you.”
She bends forward, strokes his hair, “Good boy.” Greg shudders with pleasure. Like most submissive men he lives to hear those two words.
“No demerits this week. All tasks completed properly and on time.”
She reaches behind Greg. Yanks the tail from his rectum. He says nothing but is grateful. Feeling the tail wriggling as he crawled and walked always shames him.
Beverly looks directly in his eyes. Her warmth vanishes.
“I’m very disappointed with you, Servant.”
Greg tenses. How has he angered Mistress?
“You put on weight.”
Unable to face his Mistress, Greg lowers his eyes.
“You’ve been eating crap. Disobedience is bad enough. But you are doing this behind my back.”
“I’m sorry, Mistress.”
“Sorry is a for letter word in this house.”
“I’ll do better.”
“I’m sure you will. With my help. This week’s orgasm is canceled. You won’t come until you lose ten pounds.”
Ten pounds! Greg realizes he must remain locked for months. Mistress has never locked him for more than three months.
A few tears streak his cheeks.
“I want more tears. Bend over. Use the chest of drawers for balance. Fifty hard strokes of my cane will give you the extra motivation you need.”
Later Beverly rubs soothing ointment over Greg’s skin. She hopes fifty stokes are enough. If not, next week he will receive sixty. And so on until his excess bodyfat is gone.