My Monster

My Monster

A bead of sweat rolled down my temple as I listened to myself heavy breathing inside my own head. My jaw, sore from being held open in such an unnatural position. I could feel saliva pooling in my mouth, as its overflow gently passed through the ring gag, landing on the floor just below my upheld chin. I tried to swallow and stop it with my tongue, but it was of no use. There was a strap attached to the top of the head harness, efficiently holding my head back uncomfortably, but I quietly appreciated the messy alternative of having my face resting on the floor amidst my own spittle.

My knees burned and my feet cramped, as I switched from pointing my toes to tucking them in as if I could squat. The spreader bar between my ankles held me fast, as did the cuffs locked to the middle of the bar for my wrists. With arms stretched down my front and between my legs, I could hardly move, leaving my ass prominently displayed in the air like a Thanksgiving pig on a platter. The short chain that locked my collar to her closet floor did very little as escape was impossible. To add insult to injury, the strap holding my head back, snaked it's way between my buttocks, almost cutting me in half before anchoring itself around my scrotum and penis. Its dual purpose: to hold in the pyrex butt plug that was just a little larger than I was used to. Not big enough to hurt, but the perfect size to make me uncomfortable.

Ordinarily I would have been dripping with excitement through my chastity cage, but today I felt wronged and misunderstood. I was being punished for an act that had good intentions if I could have just explained. She would hear none of it. Just after locking on the ring gag, she looked into my pleading eyes and said,

"Remember my love, there are no safewords for punishment, you will endure this."

I hate being punished. Not because it hurts or is uncomfortable, but because she's disappointed in me, and that hurts me inside like no physical punishment can. If she would only have let me explain my intentions.

I guess I should start from the beginning….

We met by chance. I had taken a temporary position at a firm in order to build some experience. It was common practice really, graduate, work as many temporary but academically related jobs as you can, then find that permanent dream job someplace close to home. All my school colleagues were in the same position, it was all part of the game you had to play.

The work was always mundane, and since you were a temp, nobody really got to know you. You didn't socialize with any workmates, just did your job, and went home. I was almost invisible. Needless to say, being so alone in the big city left me with lots of evenings to browse porn on the internet in my empty apartment. The internet was salvation for my sexual differences. I knew I was submissive from a very early age, and the internet helped me put a name on these differences. I even attended local kinky munches with no fear, because I knew this town was far from my home. The chances of being outted by someone I knew was very slim.

Munches were always a brief reprieve from vanilla life. The lifestyle brought together many different kinds of people and they all gathered once a month to feel like some sort of family. I did enjoy the gatherings very much, but unlike many there, I was not searching for a romantic match. Quite honestly, most of the people there were not my type at all. The Dommes typically came in a few flavours. There were the butch-like bingo playing types that only stopped smoking long enough to cough out a lung and order another coffee, and then there were the flakes who found the whole bdsm scene "like cool". These women were eventually found subbing for a just as flaky male Dom who needed them to massage his over inflated ego, all in the name of bdsm.

Still, for a lonely guy like me that kept his sexual feelings all bottled up inside for so long, the eccentric group somehow gave me the feeling of belonging. One of the more normal couples I'd met was Kelvin and his sub anne. I took to them right away and enjoyed their company at munches. They somehow stood out from the rest of the "riff raff" and were far from eccentric. Right from my first munch I somehow identified with them.

So it was a typical day at work like any other really, my routine almost becoming mindless by days end. I'd see the same faces, say the same hellos do the same work. It wasn't until my schedule changed ever so slightly that I finally ran into her. I opted to take my lunch an hour later than normal so that my department could deal with some scheduling problems. It was no big deal for me, in fact it made the day go by a little quicker. At my designated lunch hour I slipped into the staff room and rummaged through the refrigerator for my brown paper bag.

It was then that my ears heard it. The signature sound of a pair of heels on the hard workplace floor. They were distant down the hall, but getting louder. Consciously keeping an eye on the lunchroom doorway I settled in the corner of the room at an empty table. The heels got louder. I pondered what kind of heels they were, sandals perhaps. Often my shoe fetish yearnings would be disappointed by a pair of flat, closed toe penny loafers or much worse, cowboy boots on an equally unattractive man. Holding my sandwich to my mouth I was about to take my first bite, when they rounded the corner into the lunchroom. They were patent black thongs with a very small spike style heel. The dainty ankle strap wound it's way a couple of times before being tied off in front with a perfect bow. They were spotless, and framed perfectly a wonderful pair of French manicured feet that wore them. I couldn't take my eyes off of them as my jaw was left hanging in front of my sandwich. It wasn't until they stopped at the lunchroom counter that I snapped out of my daze and looked at the person who owned them. It was Lucy.

Lucy was in her mid 30's, about 5'8" with long brown hair and huge brown eyes. She was the kind of girl that just blended into the crowd when she was in her 20's, but as other women around her the same age married off, got pregnant and cut their hair, Lucy remained the same. She still paid attention to her looks and took care of herself, much the same way she did when she was younger, and it showed. She no longer blended in, but stood out like a rose amongst a bunch of dandelions. I knew very little about Lucy, other than her presence was intimidating, and her looks were amazing. When the topic of Lucy came up amongst other male workers, often the females in the room would chime in with insults and try to point out Lucy's flaws. I'm sure they were just envious of her looks, company status, or both.

"Temp?" she said

"Excuse me?" I replied as I snapped out of my haze.

"Are you a temp?" She repeated in a slightly sterner voice.

"Oh yes, I was lost in thought here and not paying attention, I'm sorry. My name is Alex, I'm on a 3 month contract."

"Ah," she said nodding like she's seen hundreds of boys like me.

The truth was there was so many men in the office googly over Lucy that she was a trophy I could never have. Professionally I was an amateur and probably a little too plain for her in the looks department.

Keeping my eyes to myself, I snuck peeks at her when she wasn't looking. Hearing her heels clip clop across the floor was like music to my ears. Seeing those wonderful patent shoes on her gorgeous feet was music to my eyes. Lucy prepared her lunch in an almost meticulous fashion. Much time she spent buffing her tea cup before placing the bag inside. Then she added one teaspoon of sugar in an almost rehearsed eloquence making sure that not a single granule of sugar more than was desired was poured in. The handle of the mug had been placed in such a way so that her right hand would approach the cup at a perfect angle to retrieve it. She was almost a little obsessive compulsive about her behaviour.

With plate in hand, and tea in the other, she pivoted on one foot away from the counter and with that, her napkin had dropped to the ground. At this point my eyes were glued on her. She stood there for a moment, hands full, looking at the napkin, but made no attempt to bend down and pick it up. Then, she moved her eyes from the ground towards me and gave me a look. It was a look that heeded me to help, and not as a question, but more of an expectation that I would. I jumped from my chair.

"Lucy allow me." I said.

"That's so kind, thank you." She replied.

I picked up the napkin, dropped it in the garbage and retrieved a new one. I stopped and looked at her questionably because I didn't know which table she was going to sit at.

"Alex, join me," She paused.. "won't you?"

"Of course," I said.

Following her to a table she sat down and placed her plate and tea cup down, again with a peculiar disposition, paying attention to their exact location in front of her. As I stood beside her with the napkin, she looked at me and tapped her fingernail on the table, indicating to me where the napkin should go. Strangely, I placed the napkin down, and spent a half a second making sure it was straight and tidy. I'm not sure what compelled me to do it, other than I knew she'd appreciate the detail. I then retrieved my lunch, and enjoyed it with Lucy. Our lunch times corresponded together and since our lunches were late, nobody else joined us in the staff room. We spent the remainder of our time making small talk. The weather, politics, television etc.. I could tell she was getting bored with me. No matter though, it certainly was nice not to eat lunch alone, however I couldn't take my mind off of her pretty little feet encased in those amazing shoes, probably just inches away from my own. Then as quick as our meeting had started, it was over, and she was gone. She had even left her dirty plate on the table with her tea cup, so not thinking much of it, I washed them and put it all away. I buffed her tea cup, and placed it in the cupboard with the handle facing out, slightly angled towards the right.

Our lunches together became quite routine and predictable as well. The only thing that seemed to change was the bevy of shoe's she'd model for me each day. I swear she never wore the same pair twice. Just as predictable was my task of cleaning her lunch dishes and putting them away. It wasn't that I minded really, because she never gave me any indication that it was expected, but I often wondered if any day, she'd notice that they'd been magically cleaned and thoughtfully placed. I suppose cleaning up after her was a small price to pay, to be able to see those lovely shoes everyday. The thought did occur to me that she'd view my service as a petty attempt to brown nose, but the truth was I looked forward to cleaning her dishes to a spotless sheen and placing them at the ready for the next day. Definitely not the thoughts of any vanilla man I'm sure.