The second day

[RJK79]

I didn’t sleep much after my first night at Her feet. The rope marks still lined my wrists, each one a silent reminder of where I belong. My body felt sore, but it wasn’t *** — it was proof that I’d been touched, restrained, claimed.

The second night began with silence. She didn’t speak as I crawled into the room. Her high heels clicked on the floor like a countdown, each sound pulling me lower, smaller. I knelt where She had left me the night before, head bowed, my eyes fixed on the floor.

This time She brought a collar. Black leather, heavy despite its slimness, lined with steel rings. She wrapped it slowly around my neck, tightening it until I could feel every breath against it. When it clicked shut, something inside me clicked too — my world narrowing to Her command.

“Robby,” She whispered, running Her fingers down my ribs, “you’re easy to shape.” She lifted me effortlessly to my feet, turned me, and pressed me against the wall. The rope came again, but tonight it was different. Tonight it wasn’t just restraint — it was training. Each knot ***d me into a new posture, a new way of holding myself, making me aware of every inch of my body.

Then She brought out a box and set it before me. Inside was a pair of red stiletto heels, bright and commanding. “From now on,” She said, “you will learn to walk in these. Grace. Balance. ***. Submission. You will move beautifully for Me or you will crawl.” She slid them across the floor to me like a test. My hands trembled as I picked them up, the shoes impossibly delicate compared to my shaking fingers.

“Before you stand,” She added, her tone sharper now, “you will be filled.” From behind Her back She revealed a buttplug, slick and cold. “This stays in until I say otherwise. It will remind you of who owns you with every step.” She pushed it into my hands. My face burned with ***, but I obeyed, inserting it while kneeling at Her feet, feeling my body tighten around the intrusion.

That night She made me stand and take my first, awkward steps, the red heels biting into my skin, the plug pressing with every movement, my body trembling with the effort to balance. Each stumble was corrected with a tug of the rope, each small success rewarded with Her approving glance. By the end, my legs burned, my pride was gone, but a new kind of discipline had taken root.

Before the night ended, She unlocked my wrists, guided me back to the floor, and left me there. “Tomorrow,” She said, her voice low, “we begin discipline.” Then She left the room, the sound of her heels fading into silence.

I stayed where I was, still trembling, wrapped in rope marks, leather, and the weight of the plug, realizing that each night is another step deeper into the life I’ve always craved.