Roll of The Dice

Vanessa received a call from Sally about an hour after she had filed her report, the ringtone piercing the quiet of her surroundings. "Oh, hi Sally, how are you?" Vanessa asked after answering the call, her voice a mix of curiosity and slight trepidation.

"Oh, I'm good, just checking in to see how things are going," Sally replied casually but with a hint of probing. "Marcus received a text about a potential problem with the software, and when we found out it was you who logged it, I decided to give you a call."

"Oh wow, that was quick," Vanessa replied, a hint of surprise in her voice. "Yes, everything is fine. To be honest, I think I got a little complacent. All is okay now, though. Jack's upstairs cooling off."

Sally chuckled softly, a sound that conveyed both amusement and understanding. "Vanessa, do you mind if I put Marcus on? It's not often he gets the chance to hear directly from the horse's mouth when problems come up."

"Sure, that's fine," Vanessa replied, her voice steady despite the unexpected turn of events. She braced herself for the conversation, eager to learn more and make sure her control over Jack stayed intact.

Vanessa spent the next ten minutes describing to Marcus what had happened when Jack punched her, her voice steady and detailed as she recounted the incident. He thought for a second, then told her it should be an easy fix, and he would get on it right away. She thanked him, and then he put Sally back on the phone.

"So," Sally asked, her tone curious and slightly amused, "other than that little hiccup, how is it going?"

"It's really going well, I think," Vanessa replied, a note of satisfaction in her voice. "I shaved him last night and fitted the collar, that was so cool to watch, by the way. Then, for a treat, I sent him to bed with a rather large butt plug."

"How did he take that?" Sally asked, her interest piqued.

Well, it was all pretty easy. I gave him a hit of that drug you suggested, and it worked like a charm," Vanessa explained, a hint of pride in her voice. "It was this morning that was a bit prickly, but it all worked out OK. 

“Where is he now?” Asked Sally,

"Upstairs in his room, hog-tied with chains and gagged, and in a room with no light," Vanessa told her, her tone matter-of-fact.

Sally chuckled, a sound that showed both amusement and approval. "And did you manage to get into his bank account?" she asked, her curiosity clear.

Vanessa explained how she used his phone's facial recognition while he was drugged to unlock his phone, then accessed his bank app. "He has a very healthy bank account," she added, a note of satisfaction in her voice.

"Well, that's a great start," Sally told her, her voice filled with approval and a touch of excitement. "I've got to go now, but let me know if you need anything else, and watch for a message on the Nyx app about the collar update. Bye for now."

"Thanks for calling, Sally. Take care," Vanessa replied, her tone warm and grateful. She put the phone down with a smile, feeling a wave of satisfaction and achievement. The conversation had been both reassuring and encouraging, serving as a reminder of the support and resources available to her.

She looked at her kitchen clock, noting that it had been two hours since she left Jack hog-tied in the dark. She shifted her gaze to the green picture on the iPad, her eyes narrowing as she watched Jack's futile struggles. His head still moved—his desperate attempt to break free from the restraints—and he pulled against his chained limbs now and then, a silent plea for release that only heightened her sense of excitement.

Maybe another hour would do him good, Vanessa thought, a cruel smile playing at the corners of her mouth. The darkness, the confinement, the constant, gnawing discomfort—all of it was a tool to help her break him. As she watched him, helpless and at her mercy, she wished she’d known about all of this ten years ago; then her first marriage would have turned out very differently. 

Cramp was taking over Jack's limbs; it was relentless, serving as a constant reminder of his helplessness. His urine had dried on him, the stench a pungent, humiliating presence that seemed to cling to every inch of his skin and fill his nostrils. If he moved even slightly, he felt the wet squelch of the soaked towels Vanessa had placed around him, a clever precaution to protect the carpet from his bodily fluids.

The airless room lulled him into a brief, restless nap, offering a moment's relief from his pain. Yet, as he relaxed, sharp pain would shoot through his limbs, metal cuffs digging into his skin, leaving sores and welts that only worsened his discomfort.

He was trapped in a cycle of accepting his fate, desperately trying to find some peace amid the chaos of his confinement, when the light suddenly turned on, bright and painful. He groaned as his body jerked in surprise, the sudden illumination burning his eyes and throwing him off even more.

A few minutes later, he heard footsteps in the hall, the sound echoing in the silence of the house. The door opened, and with a breath of fresh air came a snort of disgust.

Vanessa looked down at him, her face a mix of contempt and satisfaction. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he twisted his head to look at the door and looked into Vanessa's eyes.

In that moment, she appeared powerful and in control, her sneer cruel and sharp. "Pathetic," she whispered under her breath, a word that pierced him like a knife, a harsh judgment that made him feel humiliated and defeated.

She left the room, closing the door behind her. He expected the light to turn off, a return to the claustrophobic darkness, but it stayed on, a harsh, unyielding glow that left him feeling exposed and vulnerable.

She returned a few minutes later, wearing rubber kitchen gloves and carrying a bucket, her movements efficient and purposeful. She stooped beside him and, without acknowledging him, picked up the towels around him and placed them in the bucket.

As she picked up the last one, the wettest, she paused as if an idea had occurred to her—a cruel, twisted thought. She grabbed the back of his head and shoved the towel into his face, squeezing it so his own cold urine covered his face and entered his mouth seeping around the gag, a humiliating, degrading act that made him cough and choke, his struggles futile and pathetic.

If he could have seen her eyes, he would’ve seen the darkness—an abyss of cruelty and control that would’ve terrified him even more than he already was.

He took deep breaths of air when she released his face and tossed the towel into the bucket. As she stood, she looked at the carpet around him and was glad to see there was no mess, the towels having done their job.

Vanessa set the bucket by the door before freeing Jack's legs from the hog-tie and removing the gag, her movements smooth and unhurried. He groaned softly as he stretched his legs and straightened his back, a noticeable relief from the pain of his confinement.

She looked down at him, her expression a mix of satisfaction and expectation. "I'm going to take care of your mess," she told him, her voice firm and commanding, "then when I come back up, I will expect you to apologize for your behavior.”

With that, she picked up the bucket and carried it to the washroom, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Jack just lay there for a minute, his mind a whirlwind of anger and defiance, a desperate attempt to regain some control. "Fucking apologize to you, you bitch," he thought to himself, his inner voice a mix of rage and desperation. "I ought to kick the shit out of you."

Then his logical mind kicked in, a quiet, rational voice that cut through the chaos of his emotions. He took a deep breath, a shaky, uncertain inhale that seemed to steady him, a reminder of the reality of his situation and the need to survive.

He remembered that he had to last at least until Monday, when people would start to miss him, a target he clung to, a beacon of hope in the darkness of his confinement. How could he apologize? He couldn't speak, his voice stolen by the gag, his words muffled and unintelligible.

His mind raced through the little he knew of the Fem Domme world, a desperate attempt to understand the dynamics of power and submission, the language of dominance and control. Kissing her feet, that seemed to be what all these bitches wanted: a man on his knees, kissing their feet, making them feel all-powerful.

With that in mind, he struggled to his knees, his movements slow and painful. A position that he hoped she would see as an acknowledgment of his submission and the power she held over him. He waited for her to return, his body trembling slightly with a blend of anticipation and fear. He imagined he looked pathetic, but that didn’t matter; he had to play her game.

She smiled as she stood in the doorway, her expression one of satisfaction. Jack was kneeling with his head bowed toward the floor, his hands still cuffed behind him, a picture of submission and defeat, all the fight seeming to have left him for now.

Vanessa warned herself about being too confident, a quiet, logical voice cutting through her sense of power, reminding her to stay alert and in control. She moved one foot forward intentionally and thoughtfully, and he leaned in to kiss the toe of her trainer—a seemingly humble act of submission and apology.

The action was repeated with the other foot. "Good boy," she told him, her voice soft and approving. "I hope you've got all that nonsense out of your system."

He was biting his tongue and keeping his head bowed, a silent, desperate attempt to hold onto some sense of dignity. "Of course, you will have to be punished," she continued, her voice steady and unwavering, "but that's for later. Right now, let's get you cleaned up."

She told him to stand and directed him to her bedroom and the walk-in shower. This time, she led from behind, even though his hands were still cuffed behind him, a precaution born of experience, a lesson learned.

She made him step into the shower and turned it on, the freezing cold spray making him jump, a sudden, shocking feeling that left him gasping and shivering. It was only then that he realized he had been shaved in certain areas, a humbling, degrading discovery.

He shivered and stayed in one spot until he warmed up, his body trembling from both cold and discomfort. Then, as the water warmed, he started to move around, making sure the water would wash away the dried piss and the stench that clung to him, a pathetic, futile attempt to regain some dignity.

He closed his eyes as the water poured over his head, soaking his hair. He was surprised when he opened his eyes, his vision blurry and uncertain, to find Vanessa standing naked before him.

She held what appeared to be a toilet brush, a crude and humiliating tool of cleaning and control. She ran the brush head under the water, then applied soap to the end.

She turned off the spray and began scrubbing him with the brush, its stiff bristles providing a harsh, abrasive feeling that made him gasp and squirm.

She ordered him to turn and scrubbed him all over except for his groin.

Once she was satisfied that her inspection was complete, she lathered a sponge and gently massaged his balls and cock, her touch soft and gentle in contrast to the harsh, abrasive scrubbing of the brush.

He stood there, his legs weakening as she massaged him, his body trembling with a mix of pleasure and anticipation, a desperate, helpless figure in the face of her control and power. He leaned against the cold, tiled walls of the shower, closing his eyes, offering a silent, desperate plea for release and relief.

Vanessa examined him as she teased him, her eyes shining with a mix of satisfaction and desire. His body was tense, his muscles shimmering with the soap, a picture of strength and vulnerability.

His big cock felt good in her hand. She wanted him, she wanted his cock, but he needed training; he needed to learn how to use it to her satisfaction, not his. His mouth would suffice for now.

She sensed him drawing close, his body trembling with anticipation and pleasure. She stopped, removing the sponge.

She adjusted the shower temperature and turned it back on; this time, it wouldn't warm up.

As Vanessa stepped back into the bathroom, her casual clothes sharply contrasted with the shower’s intense atmosphere. She carried a small, leather pouch, crafted from black leather with a smooth, glossy surface. It was smaller than a typical sports cup and designed for a single, sinister purpose.

The leather was supple yet firm, the kind that promised confinement. It had a locking mechanism at the top— a small metal padlock that clicked shut with a finality that would send a shiver down Jack's spine. The waistband was wide and adjustable, with sturdy buckles that allowed for a snug, secure fit around his hips. As Vanessa fitted it over his flaccid cock, the leather molded to his body, leaving no room for movement or escape.

It had ventilation holes placed strategically throughout, allowing a bit of airflow and hygiene during what was likely to be extended periods of wear. The base was contoured, providing little comfort against the perineum.

As she secured the lock with a satisfying click, Vanessa stepped back to admire her work. The leather pouch was a stark, commanding presence, a physical symbol of her control. It would serve as a temporary control until the more permanent one was delivered later in the week. 

Jack stood there, shivering not just from the cold but from the weight of his new reality. The leather cage was more than just an object; it was a symbol, a seal of his transformation from a man into her property, her plaything, her slave. And as Vanessa's eyes met his, he knew that the challenge was going to be greater than he had thought.

She ordered him to turn around, and she undid his cuffs, the chains falling to the floor with a clatter that echoed in the silent room. The sound was final, a stark reminder of the power she held over him. She pulled the fob out of her pocket, holding it up so it was clearly visible to him, a silent, cruel promise of the control she wielded and the depths of his submission.

"Dry yourself off," she commanded, her voice firm and unyielding. He did as he was told without hesitation, his movements efficient and precise, a silent, desperate attempt to comply and avoid further punishment. She watched him carefully, her eyes gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and anticipation, a silent, cruel observer to his humiliation and obedience.

She could see his mind working, calculating the odds, a desperate, futile attempt to find a way out, a path to escape. She could see the defiance in his eyes, a spark of rebellion that only heightened her excitement and dominance. She didn't think she had ever been as excited as she was right then, the thrill of power and control coursing through her veins, a heady, intoxicating sensation that left her feeling both invincible and insatiable.

"Kneel," she ordered. “Follow me, on your knees.” She picked up the hog-tie chains, the metal clinking and clanging with each movement.

She led him back to his room, her steps determined and steady. She opened the cupboard and placed the chains back inside. Then she took out a disinfectant wipe from a dispenser.

She wiped off the ball gag and put it away

Jack just peered in from his kneeling position, his eyes wide. Then she unhooked something else from the back of the cupboard: a riding crop, its leather thong slithering down like a serpent.

"Kneel up," she told him, her command firm and unyielding, a silent, cruel promise of his complete submission and the power she held over him. He obeyed, his movements slow and hesitant, a pathetic, helpless figure under her control and dominance.

"Open your mouth," she ordered. He hesitated, a brief, futile moment of defiance. The slap caught him off guard.

"Open your mouth.”She repeated, and he opened it, and she shoved the crop in sideways.