In the Corner

Sally Gooden receives her mid-morning coffee from her secretary and settles down for a ten-minute break. The morning has been hectic so far and will be again. She relishes the buzz and thrives when she is at the centre of it, but she equally relishes the short breaks she gets. She needs them too, in order to recharge. And today it gives her a chance to check upon her other passion: her husband Simon.

Simon is at home. He is an executive too at a large bank elsewhere in town, somewhat older and indeed somewhat more senior than she.

She recalls when they met at a reception. She had just started her career, but was ambitious and forward. She looked the part too, dressed in a dashing salmon pink business suit. Her underwear was invisible, but greatly supported her confidence: a pine green, lacy set, with, yes, rather daring, a thong. Suspended tan stockings completed the ensemble. Not shy, she talked to whoever presented himself to her in this male dominated world and who exerted a degree authority. She did not care to mix with losers. The men she talked to will have been amused, puzzled and impressed by this opinionated young woman. It is there that she met Simon, her future husband. He was seven years older and authoritative. Immaculate grey suit, bright blue tie. Aloof, in the final analysis, and a hard, if not unscrupulous businessman. She liked that. Business is business. No, they did not hit it off at this meeting. It was only after a meeting a few weeks later, for business, that he proposed that they take a drink immediately afterwards.

Hence they dated, he a recent divorcee from a brief, dispirited marriage. Was their attraction pure, the connection between like or complementary souls? Was there not also opportunitism, she sensing that she could use him? Probably so. She thought she could learn from him and draw on his strength. Once and only once did she discern an opening to some hidden core: a moment of weakness when he professed to be so tired and stressed and sighed that he really yearned for a different existence, a solitary, calm one. She never forgot and still remembers.

She activates the interface on her laptop to their home's live web cams. Instantly, there he is. The same man, a good few years older of course, but aged well - that is not the issue. What makes him unbelievably different is not that he is nude, stark naked, save a pair of boots, not his ravaged bottom, but his demeanour. His back faces the camera. The two intersecting walls imprison his front. Simon does not radiate vigour. His head leans forward and his shoulders droop. His arms hang powerlessly on his sides and the arch of his back... - sad is the word. Sally notices from the minor flexing of his buttocks that he rocks back and forth slightly. She loves his thighs, especially in juxtaposition to the calves, which are clad in the black leather of his tall Dr. Martens'. Lord knows what he is thinking, the dear. She notices his short, well-kept hair is slightly ruffled. He must have had moments of desperation, but his strength shows. By all accounts he still stands at the very spot she left him at 4 hours ago. She can and will check this of course from the snaps that are recorded every 10 seconds. His feet are still well apart, as she had told him, and by adjusting the camera position she can just make out his restrained penis between his thighs. Mmmm... She lusts after his cock. Just then he turns his head and looks towards the camera, eyes with tears, a broken-down man.

Sally loves Simon. Let there be no doubt, even if she looks down upon him too. The sentiments of a domina are complex. She looks down upon him, but that should be taken literally - she does respect him. His role, however, is radically different: he is bottom, she is top.

This is the first time he has been suffering this punishment and the first time he has worn the boots. These provide the necessary support, as well as render the rest of his shape more exposed than otherwise, if he were fully bare. He will stand there for another 6 hours. Sally was wondering whether he would accept this momentous task but he did. Good man. He had sighed and moaned, thought hard, but had accepted. Too right.

She thinks back to when they purchased the boots. The store was one frequented by teenagers, one that had possibly never seen an adult, except in the role of reluctant parent and payer. Sally had looked at her most provocative and she had had Simon dress like a teenager. She had not told him where they were going or what they were going to do. His embarrassment to be out on the street in teenager gear was compounded by the evident amusement of the other customers and to have to try on the most outlandish models of shoes in the story made him almost nauseous with disgust. Sally was at her most charming and she took her time selecting and having him try on a number of models and sizes. She conferred loudly with the shop attendant and addressed Simon like the embarrassed teenager he was supposed to be. 'Yes, can he really wear these for a long time and stand guard in them without getting tired?' Simon was so overcome that no word she said sunk in. He was merely able to sheepishly do as he was told. Until she was finally satisfied and they left with a pair of 20 hole Dr. Martens boots. A memorable event, unforgettable in the most literal and painful sense. The subsequent visit to a hardware store to purchase what turned out to be a 30 inch length of sturdy garden hose saw him present in body, but absent in mind. She had not told him the purpose, but let him decide what colour it should be. Regardless, he could not have been less interested. He chose green, Sally's favourite colour.

Musing over this and how he now stands in the corner, she considers how all this had started six years ago. They had enjoyed less than a handful of years of marriage then. It had been good. Both worked hard, socialised and entertained famously and played hard in the bedroom too. From what she gathered from conversations with her friends, all from the same social strata, at least half used bondage as part of their play. They too had grown into it, from using it occasionally to virtually using every opportunity when they had had the time to spare. She had enjoyed being tied up and used too, but was amazed by how deeply he appeared to immerse himself when he was bottom. No irony, no suggestions. He WAS submissive. It had been hard for her to believe at first, given his stature at the bank and his authority in general. Then, these six years ago, after dinner, she had taken a breath and said,

'Simon, my love, I am going to say something that might shock you.'

He looked at her relaxed, with a kind smile. When she did not immediately continue, the smile disappeared, but he remained silent. Had he guessed what would come next?

After an endless minute, she resumed. 'Shock you, but not surprise you. I believe we both want the same thing: to stop playing and to be serious about our sex life. I shall be your Mistress from now on, whenever we are alone.'

Another silence. Why did he not speak, he that was so good with words and so in control of situations? She looked into the depths of his eyes and read the very reason: he wanted no say in this matter, which made him the true submissive she had expected.

'Done then, Simon. I am pleased. I now both love and own you. I will be Mistress of your life, inasmuch it does not conflict with what you are being paid to do. You are not to be a nobody. I want a man of power as my submissive. It requires strength to submit.

'You will suffer pain and humiliation. Your cock remains attached to you, but its pleasures will be wholly mine. I will see to that soon.

'Now strip for me. Right here. Not matter-of-factly, but like a stripper. A slutty, female stripper that is. You will be punished if your cock happens to be erect.'

'Sally...'

"Simon! I will not shout at you now, but how it is possible that your thick head does not immediately assume my name is off bounds to you, unless in public? Call me M'am from now on. Your error will add to your punishment. Now go on and strip. Entertain me.'

Simon, a real man - what a delightful afterthought of hers to make him strip like a girl! She sat down and watched him stiffly starting.

'Take a deep breath, baby. Strip like a stripper!'

She saw him really try. He performed a travesty of a stripper's dance, gyrating and swaying, with a stiff little smile, cocking his head now this way and then the next. He visibly tried, but was actually better than she had expected. A good dancer in his public life, he had certainly studied women and identified with them. It was amusing to see him toss his jacket away like a stripper, swing his tie like a windmill, undoing the buttons of his shirt, all the while swaying his hips. His shoes and trousers presented the greatest difficulties - no wonder strippers wear neither. When his briefs appeared, she noticed the bulge she had expected. He hesitated before he shed them and revealed his erection.

Sally did not move while she stared at the cock that she loved so much. When she finally looked at his face, she saw a pleading look. She did not waste a second, grabbed the hairbrush she had kept at hand and pecked him on the cock as hard as she dared. He cringed but managed to refrain from doubling up completely. Sally pulled him up by his hair and looked him straight in the eye - she saw them tearful.

'Now follow me.'

She went to the settee, hitched up her skirt and sat down. She pointed to her bestockinged thighs.

'Come on, across my lap, you naughty boy. You know how.'

When he had lain down as he was instructed, she beat him like she never had before. She alternated between the flat hand, the flat side of the brush and the brush itself. And regularly rubbed his ass cheeks, this to make the skin endure. And him, but that was secondary. The flat hand perhaps is the cruellest instrument, even if directly human. She rubbed the skin with her hand after each cycle. When using the brush, she applied the flat side first, then the brush side and completed the ordeal by rubbing the spanked area with the flat side. Herself, she had experienced spanking during the phase they had now officially ended. Play, to be sure. She knew that even the second between each of the spanking sections was relief but that the next section brought a very different but equally cruel sensation. Let it be said: he cried and whined through most of this first session. Needless to say that his erection had subsided almost immediately. Her decision to stop was determined by her endurance, not his. She would have broken the skin, just marginally. As it was, his bottom was deep purple with shades of blue. He had gasped when she showed him the effect in the bathroom mirror, just as he had done when he got up, straightened and started moving. She had embraced him and they had kissed passionately. Bed had followed and good love making, in spite of his moans when his ass hurt. He had then slept like a baby in her arms. Six years ago...

Since then he became hers in every real sense. If slavery had still been legal, she would have legally owned him. He would have wholeheartedly consented, even if the initiative had had to be hers. As it was, his substantial salary was hers and inaccessible to him, with his pocket money given to him in cash. His business trips continued as before, of course, furnished mainly by his company's credit card. Was he free on those trips, with her at a distance? Yes, he socialised at hotel bars with colleagues and business partners - all in the interest of work. But he did the same at home. Business was business and both he and Sally wanted him to continue to do well. As a man, he was not free, however. Not since the time Sally took him to a workshop on an anonymous industrial estate on the edge of town, a mere few days after his commitment to her.

He has known better than to ask her what this trip is all about. In his casual outfit of expensive jeans and loose collar shirt, he follows her in, herself looking sharp in her red silk blouse and knee length leather skirt. She extends her hand to the proprietor and says 'Hello, Mr. ... I have an appointment to have my husband here fitted.' The man confirms and is expecting them. During a cup of coffee, during which Simon is spoken about, but not to, it dawns on him that what he will be fitted for is a chastity device. 'You cock's pleasures will be wholly mine,' he remembers. When the thought of loosing control of his penis suddenly sinks in, he becomes pale and warm at the same time. He almost faints when Sally calls on him to rise and remove his jeans and briefs. 'Go on, boy! I can do it for you, if you wish, but at a price.' He knows better and nervously hurries to comply. There he stands, his private parts exposed to a strange man. If the banking world could see him now! The man is not fazed in the slightest, comes up and inspects his cock and scrotum in detail, touching both matter-of-factly.

'I advise you to have him shaved or depilated, Madam, as hairs might snag. Otherwise a chastity tube will well fit him. I advise a CB3000, as I told you, a new robust and comfortable model. We agreed on the price.

'Let me show you.'

He demonstrates the item he fetches to Sally, with Simon looking on. It is very simple in essence and clever in its execution. A curved tube to fit snugly around the penis, but leaving openings for rinsing and, of course, urinating. It attaches by a lock to a ring, which hinges and will be placed behind the scrotum.

'Now let me try him for size.'

Simon suffers the great embarrassment of the man first oiling his penis and lower abdomen where his genitals where attached. He cannot help a touch of arousal, which, in the words of the man, 'happens occasionally.' After waiting a minute the man tries three or four rings of decreasing size behind his sack, touching it and his penis. He does not know where to look and does not get any help from Sally, who looks back at him without sympathy. The right one is tight, but, in the man's words again, 'comfortable enough.' The curved tube follows, the man handles Simon's penis efficiently and it fits immediately. The lock and, 'snap', Simon's penis is no longer his. Sally receives the key. They sit down again for a few minutes for the man to reiterate how to put the device on, take it off and stress the maintenance requirements, including of Simon's cock. Simon is still bottomless, ill at ease and stares at his member. When his embarrassment leaves him, a degree of arousal builds. The arousal is accompanied by great discomfort, whence it subsides again. This is his life, if Sally decides so.

With independence, his money and command of his male functions officially gone, would the external world of work and family have noticed a changed man? Did he feel any different himself in his professional capacity? Yes, of course. But did he do any worse? By all accounts, no. If anything he was more ambitious and a better reader of the dispositions and attitudes of other people, whether colleagues or people he negotiated with. But at home, Sally led him to be the very opposite of what he was in public - a child that knows little, does not understand, has to be educated and disciplined.

His life is a strange mixture of adult and childish activity. He wears short trousers and colourful shirts. At other times, he is bare-naked. Sally decides. He might do housework either way. He is allowed to read the paper and discusses business and political news with Sally, like always. But if he curses, he may get his mouth soaped by her, which he greatly loathes but accepts. Or if he does not clean up after himself and makes a mess, he might have to write 100 lines of 'Simony shall be a neat boy and keep the house nice and tidy.' He always wears the chastity tube when away from home. It is comfortable and he is only conscious of it when visiting a men's room. When at home, he wears it whether naked or clad. Sally would not lose the opportunity to make him aware of his restraint and tease him when she discerns he is uncomfortable. This may arouse him involuntarily, even though it cannot be, even after years of this regime. During sober moments, this continues to amaze him. For contrast, she sometimes uncases him, but only under her eye. Invariably he will get an erection upon his release and invariably he will get punished, as 'little boys do not get hard.' The hairbrush is the tool of choice and is always at hand. Simon very rarely gets to make love to Sally in the classical manner, but always on her birthday and sometimes on his, if he has been good. His endurance has diminished tragically. A handful of strokes and he is off, unless he is very, very slow and stretches the intercourse to a minute. Punishment afterwards is the rule. Meanwhile, he is expert at orally satisfying Sally and this fills him with pride, even if he is fighting the erection that cannot be all the way. He is still a man.

Presently, he has been sent to the corner. He could not help himself and spoke to Sally as if they were still equals. He raised his voice and stated he had enough, that he would not be treated like a child any longer. This has recently been happening once every so many weeks. In spite of the fact that he always immediately apologises to her, she collects the hairbrush without further ado or even a word and he gets his due and then spends time in the corner. She does not take her eye off him when he is there. Her fascination with the fact that he even stays there has never left her. His naked back, his glowing bottom radiates one thing: Sally, I am sorry. She always relents within 15-20 minutes, no matter how angry she has been.

Now, he comes home from work and declares with emphasis that his time as a child is over.

'M'am, respectfully, it has served its purpose. It was good for me. Now, however, I feel you have me lose confidence rather than adding to it and I ask to be treated as an adult, in a manner that suits my position. I beg you to consider.'

Sally smiles mildly and says she anticipated this.

'Simon, your insolence will be punished. Perhaps it is time for a change, however. Perhaps you have outgrown childhood as a submissive. It would give me a new challenge too. But I will tell you one thing. If you think being treated like you are is bad, be prepared for worse. Being treated like an adult is harder. Are you prepared for this? Are you really sure?'

Simon replies, 'Yes! Anything, M'am. I am sure.'

'You shall have it.

We mark the occasion. Tonight, we will dine and sleep and make slow love together, as on our wedding night. Tomorrow, we have some shopping to do to prepare and hence your new life will start.'

Watching him from behind her laptop, she thinks again of the embarrassing shopping trip for the boots and the length of garden hose and the unparalleled thrashing she had given him afterwards with the hose. It had required great resolve on her part to torture his ass and upper thighs like she felt she had to. To make a mark, literally. She had not stopped until she had drawn blood and the rest of the wider area was black and blue. He had cried like a dog, begging her to stop time and time again. She had not even answered. He had slept at the foot of her bed on a mattress with a mere blanket. This morning she had fed him and placed him where he finds himself now - in the corner.

13 Jan, VV for Simon