The price of disobedience .... obedience unleashed

Sunlight streamed through blinds in the morning, casting golden light upon my battered form. I slept on satin sheets, every muscle aching in recollection of class yesterday. But the ache extended beyond the body. It was submission reverberating throughout each cell, clinging to skin as scent.

I stretched, feeling only the tenuous tug at my collar—still secured. Still his. And the scrap of paper on the pillow beside me only deepened the hurt:

"Prepare yourself. Today, you serve in silence."

My breath caught. Silence.

No joking. No sass. No sulky little games to provoke his hand or his growl. Only obedience. Raw, wordless service.

I bathed, the water burning my battered skin, every stripe speaking for itself. I dried myself with slowness, applying oil to the sensitive areas—he always insisted I take care of what he owned.

And the costume. Latex again, of course. A tighter bodysuit than yesterday, back zipper, high collar, shiny black. My heels clicked as I moved across the hardwood to the playroom, where lights were dimmed and the atmosphere already charged with anticipation.

He was waiting.

Leather pants. Chest bare. That look in his eye that had made me go weak in the knees before he'd ever laid hands on me.

"Kneel."

I fell at once, back straight, head down.

"Good girl. Open your mouth."

The gag was thick rubber, pressing my tongue flat, muzzling me. Helpless servant.

He pulled it tight on my head, making sure it fit, and ran his thumb along my jaw. "Beautiful. Now get to work."

He took me to the bench and bent me over, wrapping leather cuffs around my wrists, stretching my ankles apart and securing them in place. I couldn't speak. Couldn't struggle against it. And I didn't want to.

The first blow of the crop elicited a moan to my lips behind the gag. Then another. And another. He set the rhythm slowly, prolonging my torment until my body writhed in torment, desperate and wet inside the suit.

He opened the crotch.

"Still wet for me, even after yesterday? Tsk. So needy little thing."

His fingers found my clit, torturing it slowly as he reached around with his other hand to tug on my gag. "Still can't talk. But you don't need to. Your body does all the begging I need."

He rammed into me hard—no teasing now—and the gag stifled my scream. With each thrust a muffled shout burst from my throat, with each slap of his hips on rubber sending me toward the brink.

He braced over me, hot breath at my ear. "You come when I tell you to, and not a second before. Disobey, and you'll be gagged all day tomorrow."

The threat caused me to whimper. Helpless. Owned. Silent and vulnerable.

He hit me harder, one hand on my hip, the other balled in my hair, pulling my head back. The edge was instant. Too instant. I bucked around him, trying to catch it.

"Now."

And I shattered, scream stifled by rubber, ecstasy pouring through every cell.

When he pulled out, he left the gag in place. Picked me up, carried me to the couch, and placed me across his lap.

His hands stroked my thighs. "You've had some time on my lap this day. Don't think for a moment that you're excused, however."

I looked up, my eyes glassy, obedient.

He smiled.

"Tomorrow, we train your mouth."

My body already ached.