The room was stifling now, the air thick with his exertion and my resolve.
He knelt before me, hands behind his head, his chest heaving as he tried to steady himself. I stopped in front of him, tilting his chin up again with the toe of my shoe—not cruelly, but firmly. His eyes met mine, no longer glassy. I held his gaze. For a few minutes.
There it was. Something he was learning to hide. He was playing games. I could see it in his eyes, very deeply buried, but present.
Annoyance.
It was annoyance.
It was as if he was back in that armour of his. Annoyed at what he thought was some roleplay.
He still thought this was a game, and that he was too good for this.The welts from earlier had faded to faint pink lines, but his pride was still raw, bleeding beneath the surface.
I wasn’t done stripping it away.
At least, not yet.
I set the crop aside and picked up a shallow clay bowl from the table, filling it with water from a jug. I placed it on the floor in front of him, not gentle, not rough, just affirming that everything is in its right place.
“Drink,” I said, stepping back.
“No hands. Like the beast you are.”
His eyes widened, a flicker of that old defiance sparking before he smothered it. He lowered his face to the bowl, hesitating as his lips hovered above the water.
I tapped my foot impatiently. “Must I repeat myself?”
“No, Mistress,” he mumbled, and then he drank.
It was annoying really. His bratty attitude. I hadn’t permitted him to call me Mistress yet. And he’d called me that. Well, the fact remains I hadn’t corrected him either. I should have.
In truth, I hate being called Mistress. I prefer being called Miss, Ma’am, or simply my name. But this one needed to be put in his place. So, Mistress it is, for now.
His tongue lapped at the water, clumsy and unpracticed, splashing onto his chin and dripping down his chest. The sight was pitiful—a man in a three-piece suit reduced to this, slurping like a stray dog at my command.
I let him continue, circling him slowly. “Look at you,” I said, my voice dripping with mockery. “A big man, a leader, a soon-to-be father, and here you are, groveling in my dirt. Tell me, pup, how does it feel to be so small?”
He paused, water glistening on his lips, and whispered, “It’s… humiliating, Mistress.”
“Speak up,” I snapped.
“It’s humiliating, Mistress!” His voice cracked, louder now, raw with truth.
“Good.”
I stopped in front of him, lgrabbing a firstful of hair in my palm and tilting his chin up again. His eyes met mine again, this time glassy with shame, and I held his gaze.
Finally, it was there!
The submission.
Not yet surrender, but he was crawling back in his head. His cock vouched for it too. I needed to bring him back.
“Humiliation isn’t a toy for your fantasies. It’s a mirror. Look into it. See what you really are. Obedience has to be taught, learnt, practiced though, but later on that!”
He swallowed hard, nodding slightly, and I released him. “Finish it. Every drop.”
He bent back to the bowl, his tongue working faster now, desperate to obey. Water sloshed onto the floor, soaking the mattress, and I watched his struggle with a quiet satisfaction. When the bowl was empty, he sat back on his heels, panting, his face a mess of dampness and defeat.
I tossed him a rough cotton cloth. “Wipe yourself. You’re a disgrace.”
He caught it, wiping his face and chest with shaking hands, his movements slow and deliberate. I could see the exhaustion creeping in, the weight of his own arrogance crumbling under my scrutiny. But I wasn’t here to destroy him—I was here to refine him.
“Kneel properly,” I ordered. “Hands on your thighs, palms up. Chin up, eyes down.”
He adjusted his position, his posture straighter now, though his body ached with the effort. I sat back in my chair, resting my hands on the armrests, and studied him. “Tell me what submission means to you now. No rehearsed lines. Speak from your gut.”
He took a deep breath, his voice trembling but finally earnest. “It’s… it’s about giving up, Mistress. Not fighting you. Trusting you to… to take me apart and put me back together. It’s not about me anymore. It’s about you.”
I leaned forward slightly, my eyes narrowing. “Closer. You’re getting there. But you’re still clinging to something. We’ll rip that out next.”
He shivered, but he didn’t argue. The lesson was sinking in, deeper now, and I could feel the shift—humility starting to bloom where pride once festered.
He would soon… Submit!
Asmi
24.03.2025
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