16: The Submissive Butler(4)

Chloe shut the book with a sharp snap, her mouth slightly open and her pulse racing. For a second, she just sat there on the couch, fanning herself with the edge of the page.

“Oh my God, that was so hot. Like… are you kidding me? Cecilia, girl, what did I just read?”

Her laughter bubbled out, half from shock and half from admiration. She shook her head, setting the book aside, still feeling the ghost of heat on her cheeks. “You really said domme energy only! I love it. That man didn’t even know what hit him. And the way she said, ‘You will be punished for this… I felt that.”

She snapped her fingers. “Clock it, girl. Show that man who’s the boss. That’s how you do it! The control, the confidence, the sheer disrespect for his self-control… ugh, chef’s kiss.”

She started laughing again, slapping the table lightly. “Poor man didn’t even stand a chance. He was crying and begging, and she was like, ‘Not today, baby.’ I love this for her. Power. Absolute power.”

Then, softening, she sighed dramatically. “No, but seriously, who gave her the right to be this much of a bad boss bitch? That was art. Give this woman an award, because Cecilia just wrote the definition of dominance. Period.”

The apartment was quiet except for her giggles and the soft hum of the city beyond her balcony. She opened the book and continued reading…

….

The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom, steady and deliberate, like her thoughts as Cecilia washed the anger from her palms. The mirror caught her reflection, composed, calm, unreadable. But beneath the surface, her pulse beat hard against her throat.

She dried her hands slowly, savoring the quiet. The punishment wasn’t about cruelty. It was about reminding him who he belonged to.

When she returned to the bedroom, he was still where she’d left him, knees bent, eyes lowered, the tremor in his body betraying the fear he tried so hard to control. The sheets were tangled around him, the air thick with the aftershock of what had happened.

“Look at me,” she said.

His eyes lifted immediately. Red. Glossy. The shame in them was almost beautiful.

“What did you do wrong?” she asked.

“I… came without permission, Mistress.”

Her expression didn’t change. “And why is that a problem?”

“Because you decide when I can. Because my control belongs to you.”

A slow smile curved her lips. “Good. You do remember.”

She moved closer, her steps silent on the carpet, until she stood right before him. The scent of her perfume, dark, floral, commanding filled the space between them.

“Do you know what punishment truly is?” she asked softly.

He hesitated, shaking his head.

“It’s not pain,” she whispered. “It’s awareness. It’s what happens when you forget who you are.”

Her hand came to rest on his chin, tilting it upward just slightly. He swallowed hard but didn’t dare move.

“Forgetting control is forgetting me,” she continued. “So tonight, you’ll earn it back.”

She gestured toward the corner of the room, a simple velvet bench beside the tall windows. “Go. Sit. Hands flat on your knees. You will stay there until I tell you otherwise.”

He rose slowly, quietly, and obeyed. The city lights painted his silhouette in gold and shadow.

Cecilia stood in silence for a long moment, listening to his breathing. Each inhale was uneven, each exhale threaded with the tremor of guilt. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm again, too calm.

“Up,” she said softly.

He scrambled off the bed, eyes lowered, body still trembling from release.

“Crawl,” she ordered, pointing toward the adjoining room. “To the cross.”

He obeyed immediately, his movements slow and reverent, the sound of his knees against the floor echoing through the room. The air seemed to thicken as he crossed the threshold. The second room was darker, colder with its mirrored walls and the faint metallic gleam of polished restraints.

The St. Andrew’s cross stood waiting, tall and imposing, like a shadow given form.

Cecilia followed, her heels striking the marble in a measured rhythm that made his pulse quicken. When he reached the cross, she gestured, and he positioned himself against it without hesitation, arms raised, ankles parted. The cuffs clicked into place, metal against skin. A reminder of his surrender.

Cecilia circled him once, her gaze tracing the lines of his body. He was beautiful like this, helpless, humbled, perfectly aware of her power.

She stopped by the display cabinet where a dozen implements gleamed beneath the soft light: leather, silk, wood, steel. She reached out, running a finger along one before selecting a length of braided leather. It made a whispering sound when she lifted it, sharp, promising.

She didn’t need to use it yet.

Instead, she let the sound of it fill the air, a warning in motion. He flinched at the first snap, not of pain, but anticipation.

Cecilia turned then, whip in hand. She walked around him slowly, eyeing him like a predator stalking its prey. "You've disappointed me," she said softly, almost sadly. "And for that, you must be punished."

The first lash of the whip caught him across his back, making him gasp and jerk against the cross. "Count them," she ordered. "And thank me after each one."

The flogging continued, stripes of red blooming across his skin as she worked. He choked out each count, each 'thank you', as pain blossomed inside him.

She seemed to relish in his suffering, her own breathing growing heavy as she administered the lashes. "You belong to me," she panted, striking a particularly hard blow to his ass. "Your pleasure, your pain...it's all mine."

He could only moan in response, tears and sweat mingling on his face. But even through the agony, he felt a glimmer of something else...a dark thrill at being so completely under her control.

As she brought the whip down one final time, he realized he was hard again, his manhood straining against the cool metal of the cross. Cecilia noticed too, her eyes flicking downwards with a smirk.

"Look at you," she purred. "Even in punishment, you crave my touch. How delightfully pathetic."

She stepped forward, trailing a finger down his chest, over his throbbing erection. "Don't worry, slave," she murmured. "Your suffering is almost over. And then..."

Her hand wrapped around him, squeezing just hard enough to make him gasp. "Then the real fun begins."

She released his throbbing erection and took a step back, her eyes glinting with dark promise. "But first, I want you to kneel."

He shuffled down the cross as best he could, the movement making him wince as his bruised skin stretched. When his knees hit the cold floor, he lowered himself into a submissive posture, head bowed.

"Good boy," she purred, reaching out to stroke his hair. "Such an obedient slave."

Her praise sent a shiver down his spine, a twisted warmth blooming in his chest. He leaned into her touch, craving more of her affection, even if it was tainted with cruelty.

Cecilia moved behind him, her presence a palpable thing. He could feel her eyes on his vulnerable form, taking in the marks she'd left on his skin.

"Do you remember your safe word?" she asked, voice deceptively soft.

"Yes, Mistress," he replied promptly. "Red."

"Good. Don't forget it." Her hand landed on his shoulder, gripping tightly. "Because what I have planned for you tonight...you might want to use it."

A shiver of anticipation and dread ran through him. He had no idea what devices or toys she would use on him, what new levels of depravity she might subject him to.

But as he knelt there, aching and exposed, all he could feel was a building excitement. The pain had sharpened his senses, heightened his awareness. Every brush of air against his sensitized skin felt electric.

He was completely at her mercy, and the thought both terrified and thrilled him. Whatever she chose to do to him, he would endure it. Because he was hers, body and soul.

And deep down, he knew she would push him to his limits...but she would never truly break him. That was the trust he placed in her, the faith that even in the darkest of depravities, she would keep him safe.

For now, though, all he could do was wait for her command, his heart pounding in anticipation. Cecilia circled him once more, taking in the sight of him kneeling there, a perfect offering for her pleasure.

And then, with a wicked smile, she began to unwrap the secrets of the playroom.