As I licked the last trace of my mess from the floor, the salty shame clinging to my tongue, I sat back on my heels, breath shallow, heart pounding. I could still hear their panting and feel their passion for each other.
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And just like that, it came back to me.
That moment. When the foundation of my cuckoldry was laid. In part, I was to blame. I still hadn’t accepted that I was never allowed inside her again. So, one day, I brought it up again.
I swallowed hard, gathering my courage to speak the words I’d been holding back. But I said them anyway, because I had to. Because part of me still hoped.
"Mistress," I whispered, voice trembling, "please… let me be inside you again. Not just for me, but for you. I want to give you pleasure… To feel close to you. To serve you that way."
She didn’t answer right away.
She just looked at me, head tilted slightly, her eyes soft but unreadable. Then she smiled that slow, pitying smile that made my stomach drop.
"Oh, puppy," she said gently, stepping toward me, "That’s not your place to ask."
Her tone was tender, but every word landed with quiet brutality.
"You don’t exist to give me pleasure like that. You serve. You obey. You ache." She leaned closer, her breath warm against my skin. "If I want to be fucked, I can have that whenever I want. I don’t need you for that."
The words sank deep, cold and absolute. I tried to hold her gaze, but something inside me cracked.
Still, I asked even though I was certain that there would be consequences.
"Are you… are you planning to be with someone else?"
That was a mistake.
She didn’t speak.
Just turned her head slowly toward me, eyes narrowing just enough to make my breath catch.
Crack.
The slap came without warning, sharp and stinging across my cheek.
"That is none of your business," she said coolly, as if correcting a pet that had overstepped.
"You are my bitch. I can do what I want. I don't need to discuss it with you. If I decide to take another man into my bed while you kneel in the corner in your little cage, you will say ‘thank you’ and lick my feet after."
My face burned. My heart thudded dully in my chest.
She stepped forward again, her bare foot pressing lightly against the metal of my chastity just enough to remind me how helpless I really was.
"If I want pleasure, I’ll take it. From someone who can give it."
She smiled faintly.
"But not from you. You don't deserve that. You are beneath me."
Something in her voice; so calm, so certain closed a door that would never open again.
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. All I could do was lower my eyes, the weight of her words crushing whatever fragile hope I’d been clinging to.
And still, her voice came again, low and firm.
"Kiss it," she said softly. "Kiss my foot. And thank me for making it clear."
I hesitated.
Another slap.
I bent low and pressed my lips to the top of her foot. Then again. And again. I kissed her as if I were praying because in a way, I was.
"…Thank you, Mistress," I breathed, ashamed and broken.
But that wasn’t enough.
Her foot slid upward, pressing to my mouth. "More."
I opened wider and began kissing along her toes slow, reverent. Each touch of my lips was an offering. A surrender.
"Thank you for your clarity, Mistress. Thank you for your control. Thank you… for putting me in my place."
She let me worship her in silence for a moment, watching with cool satisfaction.
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