It seemed like an eternity before he heard the creak of the door opening, and saw her enter. And even though she had arrived – not at the scheduled time she instructed him to be there – but hours later, he was still happy to see her. Whether or not she acknowledged her presence, didn’t matter.

Will Mistress Brighton Let You Cum?

He was waiting as she instructed, kneeling on the floor with his head down, wearing nothing but the red lace panties she’d given him from her hamper, and his chastity cage poking through the lacy fabric. Her slave could hear the clicking of her heels as she crossed the room and took her rightful place, on her velvet cushioned mistress throne. He kept his head down, his body beginning to tremble. Feeling her warmth from across the room, was both comforting and terrifying. It had been 3 months now since she had put the cock cage on him and denied him access to his most coveted possession: his dick. It was her  and her alone that would decide if today would be the day that he was allowed to cum and slurp up his load for her.

The Many Stages Of Humiliation

There were many trials he had to complete – he knew – before she would even consider allowing him to orgasm. The first was his response to being broken, and completely humiliated. He had been a proud man, before he met Brighton. Now, all he could remember was her smile, the scent of her skin when she was near, and how she could make him tremble with the mere sound of her voice. He was not so sure if he was a man at all, not after how she had stripped away the layers of his masculinity, and reduced him to a kneeling, supplicant object for her entertainment. She had pervaded the core of his being. Specifically, his mind, which bent to her will far more easily than it had to any woman.

The Mind Fuck Of Being Ignored

And this was part of his trial, he knew. She set him up, knowing how obediently he would respond to her command. He had arrived at 12 noon, just as the directions specified, stripped down to nothing and put the panties on; lowering himself down to the special “slave” mat, she had given him as a gift, and was to remain kneeling until she arrived, and told him he could assume another position for her. Her pet had been kneeling there, since 12 noon, knees throbbing, mind racing. Ms. Brighton didn’t arrive until 2 hours later. And now she was ignoring him, or as she put it, doing something “far more important with her time.” And he was grateful for it, as he was for all else she subjected him to. The air in the room shifted, and he was suddenly aware that she was standing over him. His heart raced. “Nose to the floor,” she commanded him. Remaining on his knees, he lowered his head to the cold marble floor, and exhaled in bliss, as she placed her stiletto’d heel on the back of his neck. Are you ready to be my slave? Dial 1-800-601-6975 and ask for Brighton.

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