Femdom Story - Her Rules Only

The contract was three pages, and my hand shook on every one of them. Thirty years old, a corner office, a team that jumped when I spoke, and I still could not keep the pen steady while Mira watched. She took the paper, stacked it neat on the desk, and looked at me like I had handed her my whole spine.

“From now on you train under my rules only,” she said. “You speak when I ask. You come when I allow it. You wear what I put on you. Fail, and I correct you.”

My mouth went dry. Between my legs heat climbed so fast I hated myself for it. I had run teams, closed deals, barked at men twice my size. None of that stopped the wet slick that soaked the cotton of my panties the second her voice dropped into that flat command tone.

You still have keys in your bag. You could walk out and call this a bad joke.

I stayed.

Mira pointed at the rug. “Kneel.”

I sank. The rug burned my bare knees through thin skin. My blouse still clung to me from the office. She had already taken my shoes, my belt, my phone. She left my skirt and the locked metal cage I had worn under it all day, the chastity belt she had fitted the week before with a click that still lived in my ears.

The cage sat tight over my clit. No rubbing. No cheating. Just a constant dull press that made every shift of my hips a reminder of who held the key on the thin silver chain around her throat.

“Mistress,” I said, because the contract demanded it.

“Good girl.” She walked a circle around me. Her heels clicked once, twice. Her hand landed in my hair and tipped my face up. “Look at me while I check my property.”

Property. The word landed low in my belly and twisted. My nipples pushed hard against the lace of my bra. She saw that too. Of course she did.

She unbuttoned my blouse without hurry. Each button free made my chest rise faster. When the fabric fell open she pinched one nipple through the lace until I hissed.

“Sensitive already,” Mira said. “You spent the day in chastity and still drip for me. Say it.”

“I spent the day in chastity and I still drip for you, Mistress.”

Shame burned under my collarbones. My cunt clenched on nothing, useless and greedy, trapped behind steel. She unhooked my bra and peeled it away. Cold air hit my bare breasts. She left me like that, open, kneeling, and went to the black chest against the wall.

When she came back she held a leather collar, thick and dark, with a silver ring hanging from the front. She held it in front of my eyes long enough that I could smell the oil on the hide.

“Chin up.”

I lifted. The leather closed around my throat. The buckle snugged until I could feel every swallow. The ring rested cool against the hollow of my neck. She clipped a short lead to it and gave a light tug that made my whole body lean.

“Owned,” she said. “Collared. Under strict discipline. You asked for total power exchange. You get it.”

My pulse hammered against the leather. A stupid, stubborn part of me wanted to argue that contracts were paper and people could still leave. That part drowned under the wet heat between my thighs and the way my mouth opened without permission when she tugged the lead again.

“Stand. Strip the rest. Fold it.”

I stood. Skirt down. Panties next, the crotch dark and sticky. I folded each piece and set them on the chair the way she had trained me on night one. Naked except for the chastity belt and the collar, I waited with my hands behind my back, fingers laced the way she liked.

Mira inspected me. Fingers under my chin. Palm sliding down my stomach to the warm steel between my legs. She cupped the cage and pressed until the metal kissed my swollen clit through the bars and a broken sound left my throat.

“Still locked,” she said. “Still mine to deny. Obedience training starts with denial. You do not touch. You do not hump furniture. You do not sneak your hand into your pants in the bathroom at work. If I smell need on you without my leave, you earn the paddle.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She turned me by the lead and walked me toward the low padded bench in the middle of the room. My bare feet stuck slightly to the floor. My ass clenched with every step. She bent me over the bench so my chest met cool vinyl and my ass stayed high. The collar ring clicked against the edge. She clipped the lead short to a ring bolted under the bench so I could not rise without choking myself.

“Count of ten for arriving five minutes late,” Mira said. “Then we begin your worship. Then we see if you earn any mercy at all.”

I heard the drawer. The paddle came out, wood, smooth, heavy enough that the air changed when she tested a swing.

The first strike cracked across both cheeks. Fire bloomed. I gasped into the vinyl.

“One, Mistress. Thank you.”

“Louder.”

“One, Mistress. Thank you!”

Two. Three. Four. Each hit stacked heat on heat. My hips jerked against the bench and the cage ground against my clit in a cruel little grind that made stars of want flash behind my eyes. By six I was panting. By eight tears pricked and I bit them back. Nine landed low, right where ass met thigh, and I yelped.

“Ten, Mistress. Thank you.”

She set the paddle down. Her palm stroked the hot skin she had just beaten. The touch made me push back into her hand like a stupid animal. She laughed once, soft, pleased.

“There she is. The proud woman who signs deals all day, now humping my hand with a locked cunt. Stay.”

I stayed. Red heat throbbed in my ass. My thighs shook. Mira left me bent and exposed while she moved behind me. Cool lube touched my asshole. I flinched hard against the lead and the collar bit.

“Relax,” she ordered. “You take what I give.”

The plug was not small. The tapered tip pressed and pressed until my ring gave and the thickest part stretched me open with a burn that stole my breath. Then it seated, the flared base flush against me, and I was full in a way the cage would never allow up front. My empty pussy clenched around nothing. The plug made every clench worse.

“Good,” Mira said. “Filled where I want you filled. Empty where I want you empty. That is chastity control, pet. That is power exchange you can feel in your guts.”

She unclipped the lead enough to pull me off the bench and down to the rug again, on my knees facing her. She had stripped her skirt. Black harness framed her hips. The strap-on jutted out, thick, realistic, already slick with lube she had worked over the shaft while I watched with my mouth open and my brain blank.

“Worship,” she said. “Hands behind your back. Mouth only. Show your Mistress what that tongue is for.”

I leaned in. The silicone head brushed my lips. I opened and took it, slow at first, then deeper when she gripped my hair and fed me more. The taste of lube and the stretch of my jaw made spit run down my chin. The collar ring tapped the base of the cock when she pushed deep. Gag reflex fluttered. She held me there until my eyes watered, then let me back for air.

“Again. Deeper. You train for this. You train for my cock in your throat while your own stays locked and useless.”

I took her again. My tongue worked the underside. My lips stretched tight. Behind me the plug shifted with every bob of my head and sent sparks up my spine that made my locked clit throb against steel. Shame and want braided so tight I could not pull them apart. I was on my knees with a collar on and a plug in my ass sucking a strap-on for a woman who owned the key to my body, and my cunt was so wet it slicked the inside of the cage.

If anyone from the office walked in right now they would never believe the woman who runs Q3 reviews is this.

Mira pulled me off with a wet pop. Spit strung from my lower lip to the head of the cock.

“Enough mouth,” she said. “On the bed. Back. Legs open. Present.”

The bed was made with dark sheets. I climbed on, lay back, and spread my thighs wide. The chastity belt gleamed between them. The plug base showed when I lifted my knees. Mira stood over me and unlocked the tiny padlock with the key from her throat. Metal clicked. The belt came away.

Air hit my swollen, dripping folds and I almost came from that alone. My clit stood out, dark pink, desperate. Mira looked down at it the way a butcher looks at a cut of meat she already paid for.

“Do not come,” she said. “Orgasm denial until I say. You break that rule and I lock you for a week with the plug in and no key at all.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She took a small bullet vibrator from the nightstand and pressed it straight to my clit. The buzz hit like a slap. My hips bucked. A cry tore out of me. She held it there, firm, while her other hand worked two fingers into my soaked pussy and curled.

“Tight,” she murmured. “Greedy. You want to come already. Beg me not to stop, and mean it, while you hold your orgasm back.”

“Please do not stop, Mistress. Please. I will hold it. I will.”

The vibrator stayed. Her fingers fucked me in steady strokes. The plug in my ass made every thrust feel double. My belly drew tight. Pleasure stacked too high too fast. I dug my nails into the sheets and fought the crest with everything I had, shaking, gasping, the collar hot around my throat.

Mira pulled the vibrator away at the last second. My whole body seized on the edge and hung there, empty and furious. A broken sob left me.

“Denied,” she said. “Again.”

She put the bullet back. Built me up. Took it away. Three times. Four. My thighs were wet to the sheets. My voice had gone raw from begging. The plug sat heavy and deep. My cunt fluttered around her fingers when she shoved them back in and scissored them open so I could hear how wet I was.

“Listen to that,” Mira said. “That mess is for me. You do not get to clean it. You do not get to come on it. Not yet.”

She stood, wiped her hand on my stomach, and stepped between my spread legs with the strap-on. The thick head lined up with my entrance. She did not push in. She rubbed the head up and down through my folds, over my clit, back down, coating herself in me while I trembled under her.

“Tonight I fuck you under my rules,” she said. “I take your cunt. I keep your orgasm until you break pretty for me. After that we talk about the rest of your training. The cage. The collar. How long you stay locked. What you become when you stop pretending you only play at this.”

The head of the cock pressed in, just the tip, stretching me. My mouth fell open. My hands fisted the sheets. Mira leaned down until her mouth was at my ear and her hips held that first inch inside me, promised and withheld at once.

“Ask for it properly,” she said. “Ask your Mistress to own you.”

I swallowed against the collar. My pulse hammered in my clit, in my ass around the plug, in the place where she had only just begun to enter me.

“Please, Mistress,” I whispered. “Please own me. Please fuck me under your rules. I am yours.”

Mira smiled against my cheek.

Then she drove the rest of the way in.