The Ruby pact

– Chapter 2: Elise's Dairy

Ever since Marc started wearing the chastity cage, their relationship had changed drastically. Every gesture, every glance from Elise carried new weight. She had become his Queen, his Goddess. And he, her loyal servant. Her good boy. Her submissive.

He no longer climaxed. Not without her permission. Sometimes for weeks.

But Elise wasn't cruel. She was methodical. She knew that a man deprived of orgasm for too long became both more obedient… and more vulnerable. And she adored seeing him like that: hungry, trembling, devoted.

One evening, she made him kneel at the foot of the bed.

— "You're holding up well, my love. But I can feel you need to be… relieved. Not rewarded, no. Just… maintained."

She pulled a small device from the bedside drawer: a sort of electric pump, slim, precise. The kind you'd find in certain specialty shops. She looked him straight in the eye.

— "Tonight, you're going to discover what Elise's dairy really is."

He looked at her, flushed, overwhelmed with desire and anticipation.

She unlocked his cage with exquisite slowness, without the slightest tender gesture. This wasn’t a release: it was a functional moment. She placed the pump on his already tense member, stiff from days of frustration. She turned on the device.

The milking began.

No kisses. No caresses. No pleasure.

Just a methodical extraction, paced by the machine, controlled by the buttons Elise manipulated with the precision of a lab technician. Marc moaned softly. No euphoric climax, only that raw, strange sensation of being drained without reaching the peak.

— "You're not here to cum, Marc. You're here to serve me. And that includes keeping your mind clear… even if your body screams."

The liquid flowed slowly, collected in a small glass vial that Elise labeled with the date, as one would a precious sample.

Then she put the cage back on. The click of the lock sealed the loop.

— "See? Even your pleasure no longer belongs to you. It belongs to me. And I manage it as I see fit."

Marc lowered his eyes. Not out of shame. But out of devotion. He had never been so frustrated, nor so happy.

It had become their ritual. Regular. Almost clinical.

But what he didn’t know yet, was that Elise had planned the next level. And this time, the dairy wouldn’t just be a control session. It would become a form of training. Slow indoctrination. Transformation.

He was no longer just a husband. He was becoming a resource. A tool for delayed pleasure. A human offering to the goddess who now ruled his life.

– Chapter 3: Elise’s Throne

Elise had always loved feeling desired. But this? This was something else. This was worship.

Marc no longer looked at her the way he used to. His gaze was lower now. Hungrier. Full of need, but also submission. It no longer carried that mix of masculine pride and mutual affection. No. It carried reverence. He looked at her as one looks at a deity.

She had created her throne.

It wasn’t much—just an armchair she’d modified, padded with dark leather and slightly elevated. But in Marc’s mind, it had taken on a whole new dimension. It was her seat. And he only approached it when summoned.

One evening, she called him over.

— “Come, kneel.”

She wore nothing but a sheer silk robe. Beneath it, the outlines of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the scent of her skin… everything was calculated. Deliberate. She sat down with slow grace, crossing her legs as if unveiling a sculpture.

Marc obeyed, knees to the floor, eyes lowered. The cage was tight. His frustration unbearable. But he didn’t move.

Elise raised one foot and rested it on his shoulder.

— “You’ve been a good boy lately. I think it’s time you learned a new way to serve.”

She spread her legs slowly, revealing her already glistening lips.

— “Tonight, you don’t get release. You don’t even get touched. You get the honor of worshipping me. My throne. My temple.”

Marc leaned forward, hands behind his back as she had taught him. He kissed, licked, explored her warmth with the care of a craftsman and the devotion of a monk. Every movement of his tongue was measured, seeking not his own pleasure, but hers.

Elise moaned softly, then grabbed his hair.

— “Slower. Deeper. You’re not here to eat. You’re here to offer.”

The rhythm changed. Became more sensual. Almost hypnotic. Marc entered a trance, a space where time dissolved. His own body was no longer important. Only hers. Only the sounds she made, the trembling of her thighs, the tightening of her grip.

She came in slow waves, head tilted back, fingers tangled in his hair.

Then silence.

She pushed him away gently with her foot, still breathless, then closed her legs and stood.

— “You’ve pleased me.”

She didn’t say more. Didn’t touch him. Just walked away, leaving him there, on his knees, caged and dizzy.

That night, he didn’t sleep. He stayed curled at the foot of the bed, like a faithful dog.

And in his dreams, Elise’s throne was not just furniture.

It was a symbol.

A place of power, of ritual.

A place he belonged.

– Chapter 4: The Rules

The rules had come gradually. At first, they were subtle, even playful. But over time, they became unspoken laws, woven into their daily lives like invisible threads.

Elise didn’t need to repeat herself. Once was enough. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried weight. Command. Purpose.

Marc obeyed.

Rule One: No touching himself. Ever. Not even through the cage.

Rule Two: The cage stays on, unless she removes it. And even then, only for cleaning or punishment.

Rule Three: When she calls, he comes. No hesitation. No excuse.

Rule Four: Gratitude is expressed with actions, not words.

Rule Five: Her pleasure is priority. Always.

The list wasn’t written down. It didn’t need to be. It was branded in him now—like muscle memory. Like a heartbeat.

One evening, he hesitated. Just a second too long before kneeling.

Her slap was not hard. Not cruel. Just enough to remind him.

— “Did you forget the rules?” she whispered, eyes locked onto his.

He lowered his gaze instantly. Shame flushed through him. Not because of the slap—but because he had disappointed her.

— “No, Mistress. I’m sorry.”

She smiled. Soft. Dangerous.

— “Good. Then show me.”

He did.

He knelt, hands behind his back, mouth open, waiting for her command.

Later that night, she made him repeat the rules out loud, one by one, while she pressed the heel of her foot between his legs—firm, unyielding.

Every word was a vow. Every syllable a mark of devotion.

By the end, he was trembling. Not from pain, not from arousal, but from something deeper. Something sacred.

This wasn’t just kink.

It was transformation.

Elise didn’t just dominate his body.

She rewrote his will.

– Chapter 5: The Ceremony of Redefinition

Marc was no longer a man in the classical sense. He had become something else: a being shaped to please, to obey, to offer. His cock, caged for so long, was no longer a tool of power. It had become decorative, controlled, almost forgotten.

But Elise hadn’t forgotten. She continued her work.

That night, the ritual shifted once again.

— “You think you're ready, Marc. But you’re not. Not as long as your pleasure still depends on what’s between your legs.”

She stood before him, clad in black leather, a harness strapped tightly to her hips. The dildo—long, matte, slightly curved—seemed almost alive. Marc, naked, caged, on his knees, looked up with a blend of fear and adoration.

— “Tonight, I will penetrate you. Not to punish you. To reset you. To anchor you.”

She laid him down, face pressed to the mattress, hips elevated on two cushions. She slowly lubed the instrument, then her fingers, preparing his body with the care of one molding fragile clay. Marc whimpered, but didn’t pull away. He knew this moment marked a point of no return.

When she finally entered him—slowly, with deliberate force—Marc felt his world dissolve. It wasn’t pain. It was rewriting. Elise wasn’t just taking him; she was inscribing a new language into him. Each thrust from the harness was a word, a line of code, a command.

— “Repeat.”

— “I belong to you.”

— “Louder.”

— “I BELONG TO YOU.”

She quickened her rhythm. One hand gripped his hips tightly. With the other, she activated the pump already clipped to his locked cock. The milking resumed—this time, synchronized with every thrust.

Marc trembled. He had no anchor. His pleasure came from inside, from somewhere deep, no longer from the organ that had been symbolically taken from him.

— “You no longer need to jerk off. You no longer need to get hard. You no longer need to decide.”

She spoke each sentence like a mantra, each thrust hammering a belief into him.

— “I am your only pleasure. Your only God. Your only truth.”

And each time, his body yielded a little more. She pushed him further—into his flesh, but more deeply into his mind.

When she hit the exact spot inside him, she pressed, massaging his prostate with precision, triggering a violent spasm. Not an orgasm—no. A full-body surrender. He emptied into the pump, trembling, on the edge—but denied the summit. Again.

Elise withdrew, slowly. Then, kneeling beside him, she stared at him for a long moment.

— “You’re not a man anymore. You’re my man. And you’ll never leave me—not even in thought. Understood?”

Marc nodded, unable to speak, eyes clouded, soul redrawn.

He had been reborn. Through her. In her.

– Chapter 6: The Declaration of the Body

There were no more mirrors in the room. Elise had taken them all down.

— “You don’t need to see yourself,” she had said. “I see you.”

And Marc believed her. His reflection no longer mattered. Only her gaze did.

She took to writing on his skin.

Each morning, with a brush dipped in dark ink, she traced words on his chest, thighs, back. Not random words—commands, truths.

“Silence.”
“Serve.”
“Belong.”
“No more pride.”
“Only hers.”

Marc would walk through the day with these declarations etched onto him like sacred script. He couldn’t read them all—but he felt them. They burned, not from pain, but from certainty.

One evening, Elise handed him a mirror for the first time in weeks. A small, oval one. Enough to see his chest, his face.

He looked.

He no longer recognized himself—not because of what had changed outside, but because of what had shifted inside.

The ink marked him like a holy text. His eyes were softer. His mouth, always slightly parted, seemed to wait for instructions.

— “What do you see?” she asked.

— “Yours,” he said, voice low.

She smiled, then took the mirror from him and let it drop to the floor. It shattered.

— “Good. Now you never need to ask again.”

She pressed her lips to the word “Serve” on his collarbone. Bit it gently. Then whispered:

— “Tomorrow, we write inside.”

Marc shivered.

It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

– Chapter 7: The Stripping

Marc no longer wore clothes in the house.

Not as a punishment, not as a game—just as a rule. Elise had said:

— “Clothes are for those who need to protect themselves. You have nothing to hide anymore.”

He accepted it. His nudity wasn’t exposure—it was clarity.

But this night was different.

— “Tonight,” Elise said, “I’m going to strip you completely. Not just your body. Your thoughts. Your habits. Your last reflexes of pride.”

She led him to the center of the room, where a single chair stood. It wasn’t for her. It was for him.

He sat, confused. Usually, he kneeled. But this was the first test.

Elise walked around him slowly, her fingers trailing along his shoulders, his neck, his thighs. Not to arouse him—he wasn’t allowed that—but to measure him. Like a sculptor assessing a block of clay.

Then, she spoke.

— “Name one thing you still hold onto.”

Marc hesitated. His throat tightened. He tried to think. He wasn’t supposed to think anymore.

— “My voice,” he whispered.

Elise nodded.

— “Then give it to me.”

And she placed a gag in his mouth. Tight. Silencing.

Next:

— “Name another.”

He breathed heavily through his nose. Eyes wide. But he answered with a glance downward.

Elise smiled. She understood.

She unlocked the chastity cage slowly. But not to free him—only to remove it and replace it with a strap. A thick, leather band, tight around his base. No pleasure, only containment.

— “Now your sex belongs to me. Even more than before.”

One by one, she stripped him of gestures, postures, thoughts. Every time he revealed a part of himself he still clung to, she took it—turned it into a ritual, a mark, a bond.

Until nothing was left.

Marc sat, trembling, bound, gagged, silent. Naked not just in body, but in spirit.

Elise kneeled in front of him, touched his forehead.

— “Now you are clean.”

She leaned in. Whispered.

— “Tomorrow, I’ll write your new name. The one only I know. The one only I can say.”

Marc closed his eyes.

He was ready.