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Episode I : The gaze he cannot bear
The room was quiet long before the Domme entered.
He was already kneeling in the center of it, hands bound behind his back, tightly enough to hurt. His eyes were lowered to the polished floor. He had been instructed not to look up until commanded.
When the door opened, he did not raise his head. He remained still as the heavy door creaked shut behind Her.
He heard Her first. Then, the subtle shift of fabric. The faint stretch of latex as She moved. The deliberate rhythm of Her unhurried steps.
She wore a black latex mini-dress that reflected the dim light. Black latex stockings extended along Her legs, smooth and immaculate. Her red hair, deep copper under the light, framed a face that carried no softness.
She stopped in front of him, and he felt the Domme’s presence before She spoke.
“Why are you here, boy?” the Domme asked.
Her voice was calm, level, stripped of warmth.
“To learn discipline, Goddess,” he stammered, eyes still fixed on the floor, voice shaking slightly.
“Look up,” She commanded, Her voice loud and husky.
He obeyed, his eyes meeting Hers for a fleeting moment before dropping back to the floor. She circled him, her latex-clad feet making barely a sound on the smooth wood.
“Others have refused you.”
“Yes, Goddess.”
“Why?”
His breath shifted. “They said I could not endure Their gaze,” he admitted, his face flushing with shame.
Silence followed. Not accidental silence. Deliberate.
She moved around him, the latex whispering softly. The sound unsettled him more than shouting would have.
“And you think I will be different that the other Dommes?” She asked.
“No, Goddess.”
“Correct!”
The word struck harder than any physical correction. A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the sound of his ragged breathing. Then, without warning, the Domme spun on Her heel and moved away, and Her black-clad back was the only thing left to his gaze.
Part II : The weight of being seen
She returned to stand in front of him, Her reflection looming large in the mirror on the wall behind the slave. Her fingers grasped his chin, tilting his face up to meet Her eyes.
“You fear My gaze,” She stated. “But fear is irrelevant. Obedience is not.”
He swallowed hard, his throat constricting with tension. His eyes flickered up to meet Hers, then dropped away shamefully.
“Lift your chin!” She shouted. Her grip tightening
He obeyed. But only slightly. His eyes remained downcast.
“Higher! Just look at Me!”
He tried to obey, but his gaze skittered away after only one second, unable to withstand the intensity of Her stare. His jaw tightened. His breathing grew shallow. He could feel Her eyes on him now. He still did not look up.
She released him and stepped back.
“I did not say glance,” she reminded him. “I said look.”
He swallowed.
“Again!”
He lifted his gaze. This time it held for two seconds. In those seconds he saw Her clearly: red hair like controlled flame, eyes steady and analytical, expression unreadable. She did not blink. She was so cold!
His composure fractured. His eyes dropped. His face was burning with humiliation.
She stepped back.
“You tremble,” She observed.
“Yes, Goddess.”
“Do you believe I am cruel?”
He hesitated.
“Yes, Goddess.”
A pause.
“Good!”
A faint smile played on Her lips. Her answer was neither proud nor amused. It was factual. With that, She turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, trembling and alone, for more than 5 hours.
Part III : The discipline of seconds
When She reappeared, She began to circle him.
“You were rejected because you mistake intensity for hostility,” She said. “You interpret control as threat.”
He listened carefully. Every word mattered. Every letter pierced his very soul
“You do not fear punishment,” She continued. “You fear exposure.”
Without warning, She stepped behind him, Her cold breath on the back of his neck making him shiver.
“Now stand!” She ordered with crisp voice.
He rose carefully, hands still bound.
“Turn!”
He obeyed. Now he faced the Domme fully, though his eyes remained lowered.
“My gaze is not aggression,” She said. “It is assessment.”
She stepped closer. The shine of Her black latex mini-dress caught the light sharply. The air between them felt charged.
“Three seconds,” She intoned, Her eyes glinting with a challenge. “That is your task.”
He nodded, his breath catching in his throat.
“Do not nod! Speak!”
“Yes, Goddess.”
She waited. He raised his eyes. One second. Her stare did not soften. Two seconds. His breath wavered. Three seconds. He held. She did not move. But instead of releasing him, She held the gaze. Panic rose in his chest as he struggled to maintain the connection, his vision blurred at the edges.
Four seconds passed. Five. Six… With a sudden burst of strength, he tore his gaze away, his eyes dropping to the floor in defeat. The silence that followed was oppressive, heavy with unspoken condemnation.
She said nothing for a long moment.
Then:
“You exceeded the command.”
He froze.
“I instructed three seconds. You attempted more. That was ambition.”
His heart pounded and sank, shame washing over him in waves.
“In My domain,” She said, “obedience does not mean bravery.”
Her words sliced through him like a knife.
“Yes, Goddess,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
She turned away, leaving him in the center of the room, his eyes downcast, his heart heavy with the weight of his mistakes.
Part IV : The breaking point
A couple of hours later, She came back. The next attempt came without warning.
“Look at Me again!”
This time there was no preparation. No countdown. He obeyed instantly. Her red hair framed Her face like a controlled blaze. Her eyes were steady, unyielding. The black latex of Her stockings reflected faint light as She shifted Her weight slightly. He felt stripped without being touched. She stepped closer.
“You want approval,” She said quietly.
He did not answer. He remained silent, his response implicit in the way his body tensed beneath Her unblinking stare.
“Answer Me!”
“Yes, Goddess,” he finally whispered, his words a surrender of his will.
“You want to be worthy,” She said to him, Her eyes never leaving his.
“Yes, Goddess,” he admitted, the confession tearing from his throat like a plea.
Her gaze narrowed, her predatory interest was evident.
“You are not here to be worthy. You are here to obey!”
The words cut cleanly, like a razor’s edge that sliced through his attempts at self-validation.
His breathing steadied. Something changed in his posture. It was resignation. He stopped trying to impress Her. He simply held Her gaze, his eyes locking onto hers in abject submission.
One second. Two. Three. He did not reach for four. At exactly three seconds, he lowered his eyes, in a sign of silent acknowledgment of Her dominance.
She waited. Her silence was oppressive. Then the Domme spoke:
“You stopped at the command,” She said.
“Yes, Goddess.”
“Why?” She inquired with a tone that was deceptively soft.
“Because it was Your command.”
Silence filled the room again, but this time it felt different. She stepped back, putting distance between them, and spoke again.
“You may kneel now.”
He knelt immediately, his body motionless and obedient.
“For the first time,” She said, “you did not try to survive My gaze.”
He remained still, his submission complete, his acceptance evident in every line of his bowed form.
“You accepted it.”
Another pause.
“You will remain.”
It was not praise. It was acceptance. And in Her world, acceptance was rare. He bowed his head fully to the floor. The Domme turned away, the subtle sheen of black latex moving with Her in authority, Her red hair catching the dim light as She exited.
He remained kneeling long after She had left. Not because he was ordered to, but because he understood. Her gaze had not broken him, had not shattered his will. It had refined him, tempered him, remade him in Her image.
In that moment, he knew he was Hers, completely and irrevocably, a willing plaything for Her pleasure and a supplicant at the altar of Her dominance. And so he waited, still and silent, ready for Her to reclaim him, to draw him back into the world of Her making.
Shiny hugs and love,
Diana
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