Nails Part 1

Sleek rain dripped down the window as I reclined in my chair, enjoying the soft music and warm glow of candles I’d become so accustomed to. My eyes glanced to the coffee table where simple items cast their own shadows into the room. A black collar and leash, a red notebook weighed down by a simple ballpoint pen, and a glass of water.

Nothing spectacular, to say the least, but those few items were about to change and transform an expected visitor’s life forever. The consequences were mine to give, but the choice… lay solely in their own hands. Free to leave at any point, to change their mind and walk out my door.

Tap, tap, tap… gentle and familiar, I sat up in my chair and slowly crossed the room. There was no rush. I knew that once they arrived, a blindfold hung ready, and the instructions were unmistakable. Put this on, knock, and wait.

I couldn’t help but grin when the door finally opened to reveal a dark figure, half wet from the rain, and trembling as much from nerves as the chill. My hand found the back of their hair, gripping it securely and half guiding, half pulling them across the threshold.

I kept waiting for words, a sound, anything. I couldn’t help but smile again as this stranger kept silent. Obviously, he’d taken great care to memories the rules I had given earlier in the day.

Opening a drawer next to the door, I pulled out a pair of scissors and began to drag the metal points across his neck. Goosebumps crawled up his arms, a small gasp and he was biting his lower lip. Good, I thought. He should be scared. Fear ensured obedience, and obedience ensured a more pleasant experience for this boy.

Making sure to lead with the point, making a scratching sensation across his skin, I began cutting away his clothes. Small twitches told of his desire to stop me, but he remained still and silent.

Once he was naked, I picked up the collar and leash, and secured them around his neck, allowing the leash to drape down his body. My hand clenched firmly around his neck, tight enough to restrict his breathing, but not as to choke him.

“Make your choice boy. I will not offer it again.”

“Please Mistress," he managed to mumble. "I want you to teach me.”

“Kneel,” I commanded, forcing his body down, my hand still around his neck. “Spread those thighs! You’re always to be open to me, in every way.”

He shifted uncomfortably and spread his thighs as wide as he could, his head forced high to accommodate my hand.

I slipped my foot between his legs, pressing my toes into his groin, forcing his balls to pull to the floor. I ignored his grunt, and the twitch in his body. “Good, now put your hands behind your back and sit up straight boy.”

The muscles in his arms firmed as he clenched his hands behind his back. I could feel his pulse racing, his breathing quick and shallow. How much longer before he’d be embraced by darkness? How much more could he take before his consciousness would swallow him whole?

“Last chance boy, I will not ask again, and you will not have another chance to change your mind for several hours.”

“I’m not going to change my mind.”

He paused, trying to swallow.

I waited. Nothing. My hand moved so quickly, he was taken off guard and nearly fell over as my fingers entangled in his hair, forcing his face to the floor. “You will address me properly slave!”

He almost whimpered, breathing hard. “I’m sorry Mistress,” he finally stammered.

“Not yet you’re not. But soon, you will be.” I pulled him back up into his kneeling position, instructing him that this was how he was to present himself to me each morning, and before bedtime at night.

Snatching up the leash, I jerked him to his feet and led him down into my basement. In the far back corner, I attached the leash high on the wall, pulling him to his toes with a pulley system, then left him there to collect a few desired items.

A box, to be specific. Filled with training tools and items that hadn’t yet been perfected. Those were the best to use in most cases, because if they were ruined or broken, there was no real loss. So I dug through the box, letting my brain crank away until I came across something that drew my attention. Perfect.

I pulled out two wooden triangles, a few carpet tacks, a scrap of material, and of course I retrieved my always-handy contact cement. It didn’t take much to cut the material in two strips, force the tacks through it, then secure them onto the wooden pieces, tack side up.

Next, I had to find some way to secure my new slave's shoes. Rope wouldn’t do, since it’d have to go beneath them. Fabric was too flimsy. I snapped my finger and raced upstairs into my kitchen. Beneath the sink was my box of bags and supplies. Rummaging through the cabinet, I found the roll of plastic wrap I was looking for.

I went back down into the basement. It was hard not to laugh at my own sadistic creativity, and the pathetic image of a man in the corner, shifting his weight from side to side, or rather toes to toes.

Moving quickly, I wrapped the wooden shoes a couple times around, then took them over to the new comer. I took hold of one foot, watching as he fumbled against the wall to keep his balance. I secured the “shoe” so the tacks were against his skin, but not piercing through. I set his foot down, gave him a moment to shift his weight, then grabbed up the other.

Had I not been right by him, I might not have heard the small whimper escaping his lips as the sole of his foot discovered the nature of his new position. I wrapped the other foot to match the first, and went to put my box away again.

Finished, I turned my attention back to this slave who had willingly come to my door, wanting nothing but to be trained as my slave. No limits. Nothing held back. It only seemed fitting that he’d be punished from the start. After all, he did forget his etiquette in addressing me….