Punishment Day 5.
The days drag on. Part of the punishment period has been the order to complete all of my chores every day. If I normally do something once or twice a week, I now do it every day. Constant stress. Constant pressure. Constant limitations of time. My standard routine is easy. I finish everything up to Mistress’s exacting standards within the time she grants me. There aren’t enough hours in the day.
It would seem fair that if Mistress pulls me away to rub her feet for two hours that expectations would change to account for them. I am on punishment. Whatever I can’t finish is applied to additional strokes left to Mistress’s discretion. Fairness only applies to her. It is unfair to her that her submissive cannot work fast enough to finish on time.
I ache and long for her embrace. I ache for her to call me, ‘pet.’ I ache to look into her eyes and see her smiling down at me. This is my penance. I deserve this. I am weak and disloyal. I put my own needs ahead of hers. I failed her. I hate myself.
With bells jingling I toil on my knees. The rhythmic scratching of the brush along the tile floor. Back and forth. Back and forth. I scrub. I want her to love me like I love her. That’s not true. I want her to let me love her while she loves me in her own way. I deserve this.
My bottom burns like fire. The welts have become bruises. The bruises have become blisters. The blisters have become sores. The throb in my nipples doesn’t go away. The skin inside the uniform continues to chafe. It burns. It stings. I deserve this.
My ears detect the faint ring of the bell in the distance. How long did it ring for? I hop to my feet and drop the brush. I rush to find its source. I find Mistress in her study sitting at the computer. Her words stab me.
“I must not be performing my role adequately if my slave makes me wait this long. Grab the desk and bend over.”
I nod and ‘grab’ as well as I can without thumbs or any significant use of my hands. Whir, snap. The cane strikes my swollen skin. I yelp through the gag and the jingling of the bells fill the room.
“Discipline, slave. Five in a row in absolute silence.”
Whir, snap, jingle. Tears fill my eyes. Whir, snap. Whir, snap. Whir, crack, jingle. I exhale rapidly with a muted grunt and a tear trickles down my cheek. Whir, snap. Whir, snap. Whir, crack. I stifle a grunt as best I can. Her disgusted exhale tells me that she noticed. I love her. I don’t want to let her down but I keep failing her. Whir, snap. Whir, snap. Whir, crack. Whir, crack. Whir, crack. I feel the cane gently tapping the back of my head. She slides it back and forth, jingling the bells at the hat’s pom pom. I let out a muted sob.
“Kneel.” She taps a spot on the floor with the cane within my field of vision. I nod and drop to my knees, scooting myself to the designated spot beside her chair.
“Since the slave was so interested in the internet and the workings of the vanilla world, I took the liberty of establishing your presence within it. You may look at the screen.”
I glance up and see the photos taken by Lisa the day I got my new uniform. I cringe at the sight. The glittery make-up. The fur. It horrifies me and I feel myself shrink inside while shame buries me.
“I created you a phasebook account under your real name. You can guess which profile picture I chose. Brittany helped me track down pages of your high school and one focused on your graduating class. I signed you up for both of them. Are you interested in reading the comments?”
I shake my head while I process the wave of embarrassment rolling through me.
“Everyone knows the real you now. You’re gotten a LOT of comments so far, but not a single friend request. Does that surprise you?”
I tremble causing the bells to stir but I cannot respond.
“Let me read some of them for you.
‘I always knew you were a faggot,’ from a Heather.
‘So pathetic. I didn’t think anything could top the time we wrote on your tiny dick in the girl’s bathroom, but this did. You made my day,’ from a Lucy.
‘I want you to come to a reunion just so I can laugh in your face,’ from Andrea.
They keep going. Your class really didn’t seem to like you very much did they? I will save you the anguish of reading the messages from the boys. They really are too cruel. Almost all were happy to see the ‘real’ you.”
I let out a little sob from behind the gag. I fight back the tears welling up within me. Mistress is correct.
“I also took the liberty of signing you up for a dating sites since you seem to so eager to meet new women. It took a bit of digging but I found one that I thought were suitable for you. It’s is called Pander. It’s like Tindler but with a twist. Instead of a simple like/dislike system they have a five -point scale that gives your ‘desirability’ rating. 0 is neutral. +1 is likes a little. +2 is likes a lot. -1 is dislikes a little. -2 is dislikes a lot. They calculate the average of everyone that votes on you and that gives you your ‘desirability’ rating. I signed you up as bisexual because I thought it would only be fair to get a complete picture. While your rating has a composite, for bisexuals they let you see your rating for each gender.”
Mistress changes tabs on her web browser and calls up my stats page. The bottom half of my profile picture remains visible and the glittery lipstick makes me cringe.
“After two days your profile has been voted on by women 689 times. Your rating is -1.96. The good news is that 3 women rated you at 0 and that 24 women only slightly disliked you. The bad news is that overall, women rated you as the least desirable man in the entire state.”
I close my eyes and feel my limited sense of worth shrink even more.
“The other good news is that if I ever chose to get rid of you, gay and bi men rated you a 0.17.”
The thought makes me tremble. A couple of bells jingle. Mistress places her hand on me to steady me.
“I made a profile too, just to be curious. It seems that both men and women rated me over 1.9. I never expected it to be that high, I’m not in my twenties anymore. It did make me feel good and I’m happy that people still find me beautiful. I had to delete my account though because I was receiving too many messages. I must say that it feels good to be desirable.”
Fear stabs me in the heart. The thought of losing her is my greatest fear. Tears openly stream down my cheeks. The tone in Mistress’s voice softens a little.
“I almost feel bad with my slave in such a sorry state. If you weren’t on punishment I might comfort you.”
I feel her rub her fingers through the pom pom on my hat. The bells gently tinkle. I sob openly before her.
“I can’t imagine what it must feel like to be so unwanted. It must feel awful and isolating. It must serve as a constant reminder. I am too good for you. You don’t deserve to have me or be with me. Your place as a slave is the highest calling that you could ever hope for. An obedient, dedicated, and selfless slave is the way that I accept you. You are not my equal. You are beneath me.”
She continues rubbing my head as I cry. I nod with her words.
“What I showed you today proves that I am all that you have. Beyond me, you have no one. No one will love you. No one will choose you. Deep down, you know this. Without me, you are no one, nothing, and alone.”
I sniffle and continue to nod. Everything she says is true, even if it hurts to admit it.
“Because of this, you will be my loving and adoring slave. You need me. I give you meaning. I give you a place to exist. I am your everything.”
I lean my head against her thigh. She pets the fur on my earmuff. I close my eyes. My Queen. My Goddess. My Mistress. I love you.