Your punishment

The room seems smaller now. Darker. You’re on your knees in front of Eleanor and Emily, your body trembling as the weight of their authority presses down on you. The air is thick with their contempt, and your heart pounds so loudly you can barely hear anything else. The cold hardwood floor beneath your palms feels like a strange comfort, as if grounding you in this nightmare.

Eleanor stands over you, her lips twisted into a cruel smile. Emily remains nearby, her eyes glinting with amusement, still clutching the stiletto heel she’d used to bring you to your knees. The two women exchange a glance—one of satisfaction, like predators savoring the moment before the kill.

“You’ve been such a disappointment, Tom,” Eleanor begins, her voice cold and unyielding. “I gave you everything—a beautiful home, status, and power—and this is how you repay me? Lying. Cheating. And worst of all, you tried to walk away from your punishment.”

She circles you slowly, her boots echoing ominously with each step. “But don’t worry. Tonight, you’ll learn your place.”

Emily steps forward, crouching down so that her face is level with yours. “You like being humiliated, don’t you, Tom?” she asks, her voice dripping with mockery. She grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to look into her eyes. “It’s what you wanted. To be beneath us. And now, you’re going to get exactly what you deserve.”

Without warning, Emily shoves you backward, and you stumble onto the floor, landing hard on your back. Eleanor moves quickly, planting her boot on your chest, pinning you down. She leans over, her eyes cold and calculating.

“You’re going to suffer,” she whispers, her tone so soft and deadly that it sends a shiver down your spine. “And you’re going to beg for our forgiveness before we’re done with you.”

They take their time, savoring every moment of your torment. Eleanor’s boot presses harder into your chest, the leather cool against your skin, while Emily circles you like a predator, her stiletto heel dragging lazily across your legs, leaving small welts in its wake.

Each blow to your pride cuts deeper than the last. Eleanor’s voice echoes in your mind as she demands that you beg for her forgiveness. You **** out the words, stammering and pathetic, but it’s not enough. She makes you say it again and again, each time harsher, crueler.

“Louder, Tom,” Eleanor snaps, her heel digging into your chest. “Beg me like the worthless thing you are.”

You do. You beg. You cry. You plead for mercy. And with each word that falls from your lips, they laugh. Emily’s sharp, mocking laugh cuts through the room, making your skin crawl with shame.

They make you worship them, your lips brushing against the leather of Eleanor’s boots and the cold floor beneath Emily’s flats. Every second is excruciating, not because of the physical pain, but because of the realization that you are utterly, completely powerless. The very thing you craved—the humiliation, the submission—now feels suffocating, like you’re drowning in it.

Hours pass, though it feels like an eternity, and by the time they are done with you, you are a hollow shell of the man you once were. Your knees ache, your throat is raw from pleading, and your pride has been crushed beneath their heels.

Eleanor finally pulls away, stepping back to look down at you with a mixture of disgust and satisfaction. “You’re pathetic,” she says quietly. “But I think you’ve learned your lesson.”

Emily smirks as she crosses her arms, watching you with an almost bored expression. “You’ll behave now, won’t you, Tom? Or should we remind Megan just how easily we can break you?”

You nod weakly, too exhausted and broken to even speak. You can barely make it to your feet, but when Eleanor snaps her fingers, you obey like a trained dog, staggering up as best as you can. Your body is sore, and your mind is shattered. They’ve taken everything from you, and there’s no way back now. No way to reclaim the power you once had.

As you stumble toward the stairs, they both laugh again. The sound follows you like a shadow, mocking you, reminding you that this is who you are now.

The Next Day

You barely sleep. When morning comes, your body aches, but it’s nothing compared to the hollow feeling inside you. The reminder of last night—of Eleanor and Emily’s punishment—lingers like a ghost, wrapping itself around your every thought.

You know what you have to do. Megan is waiting.

Dragging yourself out of bed is a Herculean task, but you manage, pulling on your clothes with trembling hands. Every movement feels like you’re still in Eleanor’s living room, still being crushed under her boot. You can feel the sting of her words as you make your way out the door, the dread of what’s to come gnawing at your insides.

When you arrive at the office, you don’t even bother with appearances. You know that any pretense of dignity is long gone. Megan is in control now, and you’re at her mercy, just like with Eleanor and Emily.

Coffee in hand, you crawl into Megan’s office—literally. On your hands and knees, your heart pounding in your chest, you push open her door, the coffee trembling in your grip as you inch forward like a beaten dog.

She’s sitting behind her desk, casually scrolling through her phone. The moment she hears the door, she glances up, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across her face when she sees you crawling toward her. Her black heels are perched on the edge of her desk, crossed elegantly at the ankles, as if to remind you of her authority without a single word.

“Well, well,” she purrs, setting her phone down and leaning forward slightly. “Look who’s come crawling back.”

You stop just in front of her desk, setting the coffee down on the floor beside you before pressing your forehead against the carpet, your breath coming in ragged gasps. “Please, Megan,” you **** out, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry. I—I’ll never step out of line again. I swear.”

She lets the silence stretch on for a long moment, savoring the sight of you groveling beneath her. Finally, she leans back in her chair, her heels tapping lightly against the desk.

“You thought you could just leave, Tom?” she asks, her voice calm but dripping with superiority. “After everything I’ve done for you?”

You can barely muster the strength to respond. “I— I wasn’t thinking… I—I’m sorry… Please, I’ll do anything.”

Megan’s smile widens, her eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. “Anything, you say?”

“Yes,” you whisper, pressing your face harder against the carpet. “Anything. Just—please, don’t tell them again. I’ll be good. I swear.”

She lets out a soft, almost amused chuckle. “Oh, Tom,” she murmurs, “I don’t think you understand. This isn’t just about being good. This is about knowing your place. And clearly, Eleanor and Emily didn’t go far enough last night if you think you still have room to beg.”