The Fall – Chapter 3 [Femdom] [Chastity] [Prejac Conditioning]

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I was desperate.

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A hundred and seventy points in. Only thirty more to go. It took me fifteen days to get to one hundred seventy points. Fifteen long, aching days.

In theory, I should've reached that number faster. I was doing tasks every day; washing the dishes, folding her laundry just right, making her coffee the way she liked, running her baths, even cooking her favorite meals.

But not every task counted. Sometimes she'd look at the folded laundry and say, "Hmm… the corners aren't as neat as last time. I don't think this one earns points." Or she'd sip the coffee, raise an eyebrow and say, "Almost perfect but not quite." Every time she rejected something, I burned with a mix of frustration and shameful arousal. And she noticed. Oh, she noticed.

She'd laugh softly and murmur, "You like that, don't you? Being judged… falling short. It gets you worked up." And I'd blush, unable to deny it.

When I finally hit 170, the need was unbearable. My cage throbbed at the slightest thought of her touch. I practically begged her to lower the release threshold. Just a little. Maybe this one time?

She looked at me, lounging on the couch, sipping her wine. Her bare feet were resting in my lap, like they usually did these days.

"Lower the threshold?" she said, tilting her head. "But that wouldn't be fair, would it?"

"I just… I've been trying so hard. I'll do anything."

She gave a slow smile and trailed her toes up my thigh. "Anything, hmm?"

I nodded desperately.

"Well," she said, setting down her glass, "I could help you earn points a little faster. But not by lowering the bar. That's not how motivation works."

I blinked. "Then how?"

She leaned in. "By offering more point opportunities. Little things. Fun things."

"Like what?"

She tapped her chin. "Well… if you address me as Mistress for a full day, that's 5 points."

My breath caught.

She smiled. "If you kneel before speaking to me each time for a whole day, another 5. Keeping your eyes lowered until I give permission? 5. Staying silent when I'm speaking, unless I ask you something? That's just polite but sure, we'll say 2."

I swallowed hard. This was… different. Not chores. Not neutral.

This was power.

"But only if you want to," she added sweetly. "It's your choice. I'm just trying to help you reach your goal faster. You do want to reach two hundred, don't you?"

I nodded eagerly. "Yes. Yes, please."

The new tasks changed everything. It wasn't just about service anymore, it was submission. And every time I obeyed one of those soft rules, I felt the pull of something deeper. I started kneeling without thinking. I called her Mistress and felt heat rise in my chest. When I stayed quiet, eyes lowered, I felt… calm. Grounded. Owned.

And sure enough, just two days later, I hit 200.

The night came. She lit a candle, told me to kneel and remove my cage.

My whole body was shaking.

I looked at her, silently begging to be taken.

But she stayed on the couch, legs crossed.

I crawled to her, desperate.

"Can I… may I… have you tonight?"

She looked at me with an amused, indulgent smile. "Oh sweetheart. I'm not really in the mood for sex tonight."

I blinked, stunned.

"But"

She cut me off gently. "I'm the keyholder, remember? That means I decide how you get your release."

Her words hit something deep in me. Her calm certainty. Her control. I felt my cock twitch, already responding and she noticed, of course.

Her gaze drifted down. "You like that, don't you? Being reminded of who decides. Mmm. You're so easy to read."

I flushed, trying to answer but she was already shifting closer, her hand trailing down.

"Good. Because tonight, you're getting a handjob. I'm not in the mood to be mounted like some release dispenser."

Then she stood up and walked behind me, her fingers trailing over my shoulder.

"Lie down," she whispered.

I obeyed instantly, stretching out on the rug.

She knelt beside me, her hand curling around my shaft. I was already hard, aching. And her touch was skilled, focused, familiar. She edged me once, stopping just in time. Then again, holding the pressure just right before easing off.

My legs shook.

And then finally she took me firmly in her hand and began stroking.

It was fast. She used that grip I couldn't fight, that knew my body better than I did. Within seconds I was spiraling. My breath hitched. I whimpered.

I came hard, helplessly, hips jerking. Barely twenty seconds in her hand.

And then silence.

I stared up at the ceiling, flushed, spent.

"I'm sorry," I stammered "I… I couldn't hold it."

But before doubt could creep in, she was there curling beside me, brushing my face.

"Of course, you couldn't." She whispered.

She didn't look disappointed. She looked pleased.

"You needed that," she whispered, her voice low and kind. "So badly."

I opened my mouth to speak but she pressed a finger gently to my lips.

"No shame. You've been locked up for days. Teased, edged, kept desperate. That's how you're meant to be."

She smiled and kissed my forehead.

"I love when you can't hold it. It shows how much you need me. That kind of surrender… it's the most honest thing in the world."

I exhaled slowly, warmth flooding my chest.

"You were perfect," she said softly, stroking my chest. "Fast, needy, desperate. Just how I like you."

I sank into her embrace, no longer questioning anything. Just letting her words rewrite how I saw myself.

And the scary part?

It worked.