Ssshhh… shush, Bee. It’s okay. I know how hard it is to stay focused when I’m rubbing your poor, denied clit… but it’s for the better and you know it. You’ve been denied almost a whole week. I’m so very proud of you… and you want to keep making me proud, don’t you? Yes, that’s what I thought. You don’t want to cum, you want to keep making me proud. You want to keep pleasing me. Now, suck my cock if you agree. Suck it like the little slut you are. Suck it like you want me to keep teasing you. Mmmmm… that’s it. Good girl.
For Michelle, working late was supposed to advance her career, not end it. Her higher-ups had taken note of the gorgeous Asian woman who was willing to work long hours to help her company succeed. In fact, they had already marked her for a promotion. A Branch Manager position was opening soon, and they had no doubt that she would be perfect for the position. Unfortunately for Michelle, however, she had a rather well-connected rival. One who knew who to call to get rid of someone standing in the way of her promotion. As Michelle left the office that night, she was suddenly surprised by a damp rag over her face. A few breaths later, and she was out like a light. It only took a few seconds to partially strip her, toss her in the trunk of a rented car, and drive way. The clothes we took were haphazardly thrown out the window as we drove North, but we soon turned back towards the Southwest and headed towards Site Epsilon.
Site Epsilon was a state-of-the-art research and development facility, built on 300 acres of private land. Here, we tested new methods and drugs for use on future captures without the prying eyes of investors and clients paying too much attention to what we were doing. After all, we provided a service–training denial sluts wasn’t cheap–and we needed state of the art equipment for that.
We arrived early the next morning, and could hear that our newest acquisition was already awake and kicking around in the trunk. We gave her a shot of a tranquilizer before hauling her out of the back and taking her to the processing docks. There, she was fully stripped and her clothes were burned. Her ID and credit cards were destroyed, and her cell phone was dismantled and disposed of. Michelle, the promising promotion candidate, had vanished from the face of the Earth. Instead, she was assigned a number and a holding cell where she would spend her time until she qualified for a test. Her name wasn’t Michelle anymore. She was V-223.
She didn’t have long to ponder her condition before she was removed from her cell and tied against the wall. She was blindfolded and gagged before she was informed that she had a visitor. Her mind raced, wondering who knew she was here… and why would they want to see her like this? Who was sick enough to enjoy watching her suffer these indignities?
A soft, feminine voice whispered in her ear as fingers curled in her hair, yanking her head back. “You thought you could take that promotion from me?” hissed the woman. “After how long I’ve been there? You thought that you could take the Branch Manager title? Guess again… I’ll see you ruined before I let you get promoted over me!” That voice! Michelle struggled in her bonds as she felt female fingertips touching her collarbone. They moved down to tweak one of her nippled. It was Alisa, the witch that worked in the cubicle across from hers! She yelled incoherently into her gag, which only made the other woman laugh. “Save your strength. You’ll need it… these people have something special in mind for you.” Michelle heard heels clicking away, and then silence. She was alone, save for the guards… who quickly took her down from the wall and dragged her back to her cell.
The following morning, we were informed that a new drug had passed basic trials and was ready for human testing. Triproxamorphine was a more potent version of our already popular proxamorphine, but with a few modifications to increase the strength and duration. Whereas proxamorphine had performed well in tests up to six hours, the initial trials of triproxamorphine had yet to conclude. There were two women who’d been under its effects for the last 72 hours, and it showed no signs of weakening. This had prompted the R&D division to begin researching a possible antidote to it, in case the effects failed to wear off at all. Our concern, however, was testing how the drug responded under intense circumstances… and since our client had requested V-223′s fate to be excruciating… why not test it on her?
After the initial injection was made to her clitoris, V-223 was taken down to one of the basement chambers and tied to the wall. Her legs were bound apart, and one of our technicians began to massage the little nub between her legs to test her response. As expected, she fought against the technician for quite some time before another one held a high-powered vibrator against her loins. That got her moaning like a whore in no time. We kept the vibrator there for the better part of an hour, varying stimulation to see if we could push her over the edge. The triproxamorphine, however, was designed to inhibit the emitters in her spine that carried the signal for an orgasm to the brain, but not to inhibit the delivery of the arousal signal. Eventually, we hoped to transition from an injection-based method to an implant. A microchip someone could turn on or off to disable the subject’s orgasms. For now, this would suffice.
With initial tests concluded, we decided to see how V-223 did with long-term stimulation. We rigged her up in a stressful bondage position – a floating spread-eagle – and mounted the vibrator directly against her clit. She began to scream and curse almost immediately, her brain telling her to cum but her body betraying her. It was most interesting to watch, and our technicians got a lot of good data observations during the next hour.
Satisfied that she wasn’t going to be cumming, we decided to test if the prolonged exposure to the device would weaken its effects. We added a pair of weights to her nipples to enhance the stimulation effect, and then turned out the lights. With the door sealed, one could barely hear her muffled wailing as she fought the restraints. The two subjects in the cells on either side of her – both part of unrelated trials – would hear her quite clearly all night. It would have them wondering what cruel fate they had unwittingly been spared.
The following morning, we found V-223 passed out in her restraints. We released her and redid her bindings to keep her fastened to the floor this time. We tested once more to see if the
triproxamorphine had worn off, but it hadn’t. She cursed us so much we had to mount a bar through her teeth just to keep her somewhat silent while we performed our next test. Seeing as
triproxamorphine was delivered into her nether regions as a liquid, we wondered if it could be secreted amidst her pussy juices. Thus began a long period of edging, causing her to leak and drip uncontrollably. Her grunts and screams were more animal than human by the time we collected a sample large enough to analyze. While our labs performed the necessary tests, we left her strapped to the floor with the vibe on her clit some more. She’d been begging to cum, after all, so we told her she was welcome to if she could.
The labs had two final tests to perform. The first was the analysis of the effects suction had on the clitoral region. As with some snakebites, we wanted to be certain she couldn’t extract the
triproxamorphine with a pump. We left a vacuum attached to her clit for several hours, which had the added benefit of increasing her sensitivity. We briefly discussed the possibility of combining
triproxamorphine with the raproxocide we developed as a nerve stimulant, and decided to form project T-219 to investigate the possibility. Once it was ascertained that she could not rid herself of the
triproxamorphine with a pump, we decided that it was time to put her through the final test – her performance exam.
If she graduated her training as a denial slut when we shipped her to Site Gamma, she would eventually be sold to a new Master. We had to make sure she could withstand all the most rigorous possibilities a new Dominant would put her through, be they male or female. As such, we decided to turn her over to our staff for the rest of the night. She was bound in the staff quarters, and various members of our facility operations crew used her relentlessly. Shift changes are frequent, so she had no shortage of new cocks to suck, new pussies to please, or new hands groping her holes.
Many of our staff are dominant males and females, so V-223 was put through a variety of bondage positions, ties, punishments and what should have been orgasms. She was fucked multiple times in multiple ways, often by many of our crew at once. Still, the triproxamorphine seemed to hold firm in her system. While this was impressive and has numerous applications, we did prompt our laboratory to begin looking into countermeasures in case it turned out to be permanent. That project – project F-31 – is currently 18th on the priority list.
Upon being returned to her cell, V-223 displayed such an aggressive response to her enforced denial that we were afraid she was going to damage her pussy permanently. As such, she was placed in a restraint bodysuit and fastened to her bed. A vibrator was inserted and nuzzled up against her clitoris to provide her with some stimulation, and the body bag was sealed. Currently, she spends every waking moment either in the restraints, or she is taken out and tested by the staff to test the current strength of the triproxamorphine.
As I’ve mentioned, my girlfriend was doing poorly with this particular rule, even despite it’s abridged permission for her to simply sit on the floor while eating in a normal fashion with utensils. Then last weekend that changed, as she spontaneously offered to eat a meal in proper pet style. She did this because she felt I was exceeding her expectations as a caring, providing partner, and wanted to push herself to fulfill me as much as I was fulfilling her.
In preparation for this potential development (albeit, with little optimism of it being something that would happen so soon), I had acquired a pet mat and a pair of pet dishes. I fetched them out, and filled a dish with cereal and milk on Saturday morning. The mat went down on the floor, and the bowl on the mat. She kneeled in front of it naked, looking up at me with her big eyes and giving a brave, cute face. I knew this was hard for her, but appreciated all the effort she was putting into the performance.
Down onto all fours she went, hands flat on the mat on either side of the bowl. With each bite, her head would dip down into the bowl as her ass would poke into the air. It’s a rather flattering, sexual pose. One of her concerns about the whole act was thinking she would look horrible while doing it. The opposite is quite true. “Face down, ass up,” is a common statement for what men want. There’s some consideration as to what that says of our society, or trouble that men may have with anything approximating intimacy or equality in sex. But I wager there’s at least some contribution from our ape ancestors.
I’m not sure if explaining it that way is any better.
We’ll just say that it’s hot.
As the level of cereal in the dish lowered, she would have to work harder to reach it, dipping her head down more, and longer. The human face isn’t expertly made for this sort of eating. We do have hands for a reason. As a result, there’s extra effort, with her ass high longer, and her face moving about in the bowl to pin down reluctant morsels.
It’s degrading. That’s part of the kink, of course. The appeal. Like tying a submissive up, making them suck on a wall-mounted toy, or beating them with a belt. It’s not for everyone, and not every kink is equal in every person’s eyes. Your mileage may vary.
We talked about it afterward. I was careful to thank her, to reassure her, and to make it clear how much I respect her. To those would-be dominants that think otherwise, I have to admonish you about this: mutual respect and care is what makes D/s not abuse. And what keeps your submissive partner coming back wanting more. They need to trust you, and you need to trust them.
She said it was hard in two ways. First off, it was degrading. Even when you’re into degradation as a form of play, it doesn’t mean it’s automatically easy. Secondly, it was also difficult. Eating that way takes a lot of effort.
Despite this, she gave me something more. Something amazing. She said that she would let me take the lead with feeding like this. So on Sunday, I fed her lunch like so. And one night this week, we came home from work, I stripped her down with her daily ritual that separates work from home, and then I cooked a meal that she ate again like a pet on the floor.
She hasn’t slowed down or showed increased reluctance. She is amazed by her increased willingness. But there’s no secret to this breakthrough. I’ve nurtured her ability to trust me, and to trust her instinct for submissiveness. I’ve given her many things that she needs and wants, actively fed her cravings. In exchange for this… in exchange for services I’m glad to give her as her dominant, I am now reaping the rewards.
I plan on taking the gift that’s been given and working on making it a permanent lifestyle change. Some research has shown that it takes an average of 66 days to form a habit (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/james-clear/forming-new-habits_b_5104807.html), so over the next couple months I’ll be carefully continuing to take the lead that she’s offered me, carefully increasing the frequency of such meals while monitoring her responses.
Never take progress for granted. Just because a seed has sprouted doesn’t mean you can ignore it until harvest.
Now, pardon me. I’ve got to go put dinner in the oven. Thirty minutes from now, I’ll be sitting down at the table, and her on the floor beside it, for a nice meal.
I can handle myself. My life is stressful at times, with competing obligations and never enough time to fulfill them. But I put on my armor, and I do what needs to be done. I kick ass at work. I take charge at home. I am a single mother with multiple degrees who has rebuilt my life from scratch while maintaining a successful career. I don’t need you.
But at the end of the day, it’s hard to find my sanctuary. I still feel ready for battle. I still feel the tension in my shoulders. My brain runs a million miles a minute, ever-vigilant for the next problem to attack. I may be on the ropes some days, but I always keep my gloves up. I’m always ready. Even when I don’t want to be.
I can handle the fight, but I am better when you take it from me. I am better when you remind me that I don’t have to keep my guard up. I don’t have to take control and make decisions. I don’t have to watch out for the next problem on the horizon. You’ve got that. And you’ve got me.
I can quiet my mind and focus on the one thing that fulfills me most: serving you. This is my sanctuary. This is where I can let go and know that I am protected and cared for. This is where I recharge. All couples love and support one another during the busy, stressful times. We just do it a little differently. We do it with your collar around my neck. We do it with your paddle against my ass until the tears flow freely. We do it with rules and permission and denial. This is how I feel loved and how I give love in return. I crave these displays of ownership and opportunities to serve. I don’t need a break at the end of a hard day; I need a hand in my hair reminding me where I belong—that I do belong. Cherished property.
No, I don’t need you to solve my problems and fix my life. I can do that for myself. But I am better with you. Better with your guidance, your support, and your hand gripping the leash. I manage on my own, but I thrive under the control of the one who owns me.
Uie's Cage 