Lissa Daniels - Media Presence - A New Mistress Motivational

...a new poster... and a new short story to accompany it. Enjoy!

Click.

The record button glows red and taunting. My thumb hovers, betraying me before I can stop it. My breath hitches, stuck in my throat. The cage shifts, cold, unyielding, a constant, cruel reminder of what I am. Hers. Only hers.

My knees hit the floor. The hardwood bites through the thin, pleated skirt, too short, too tight. I spread them, wider, wider…feeling more and more like the worthless little sissy she keeps calling me. The fabric rides up, too far, and not far enough. My hands tremble as they grip the hem, fingers digging into the material.

Pull.

The skirt lifts. The cage glinting in the phone's screen as I point it to show my shame…exposed, vulnerable. The bars dig into me… I don't want to be aroused by this… but I am. My face burns, not just from shame…from the arousal that is literally dripping for the camera. They’re seeing it. They’re seeing me. They’re seeing what Mistress has made me.

Make the face.

That was the trend assigned to me. I watched enough of it last night… grinding in my cage as girl after girl did what I'm about to do. I pant and breathe, just as I had practiced all night, building anticipation and looking like I'm a dumb slut. And then…

…my eyes roll back and together…The muscles strain, burning...holding it. My tongue lolls out, heavy, stupid. Drool drips down. I feel it hit the cage between my legs, mixing with the drool coming out of it as well. I throb painfully inside the bars. The sound coming from me is pathetic and weak.

"P-please…" My voice cracks. I clear my throat, try again. "Post a… post a squirt emoji… if you used me… as target practice… or she'll punish me again…"

The words make my tummy tingle…The cage presses harder, as if it’s laughing at me.

Share.

The reel uploads. The world holds its breath. Infinity passes… one minute… maybe two…And then…

Buzz.

One squirt emoji.

My stomach twists. One used me. The phone vibrates in my trembling hand, each buzz a new violation. The cage feels heavier, as if the comment has physical weight. My cheeks flush hotter, burning with shame. Do they mean it? Or are they laughing at me?

Does it matter?

No. No, it doesn’t.

Because Mistress will see. And Mistress will know if I failed.

Buzz.

Two.

Two different men cumming from my degradation. The heat spreads, down my neck, my chest, pooling between my legs. The ache is unbearable, denied, always denied. I squirm, just a little, the cage unforgiving as I leak.

Stupid. Stupid, pathetic slut.

But Mistress will be proud.

Buzz.

A comment…

No cum for you. I want to see that Sissy ass spanked again.

I respond… not because I want to.. but because it is required.

Yes, sir. Thank you sir.

Buzz.

Three.

Three used me. The phone is a live wire in my hand. The sound of my own heartbeat pounds in my ears, too loud, too fast. They’re using me. Like she said they would.

Click.

The first heel strike echoes down the hall. Click. My breath catches. Click. The sound grows louder, closer. Click.

Buzz.

Four.

Such a long way from a twenty. My breath comes faster, shallow, desperate. The scent of my own arousal, my hand between my legs, teasing myself as I wait for the results. Not because I was told to… but because I can't help it. The cage is so tight… so unforgiving…

Please… just one more…just ten more…

Maybe Mistress will be pleased. Maybe she won't...

Buzz.

Five.

Five. For a moment your brain thinks about how much liquid that would actually be squirted across your face if it weren't virtual. The heels grow louder. Click. Click. Click. The buzzes slow. My stomach drops. Not enough. It is never enough. The skirt is still hitched up, exposing me. I should pull it down. I should cover myself.

But I don’t.

Because Mistress is watching.

She is always watching.

And Mistress likes it when I’m obedient.

Buzz.

Six.

Only six. You need twenty in the first ten minutes. You want to cry. It's not fair. If you had more time… more would cum and you wouldn't have to… It doesn't circulate that fast. They can't cum that fast... it's not fai...

The doorknob turns. My heart slams against my ribs, so hard it hurts. The smell of my own aroused sweat, mixed with Mistress’s perfume…

Please… just one more…

Just one more and…

And what?

And Mistress will let you out?

No.

She’ll never let you out.

Buzz.

Seven.

Seven! Thank god! The door creaks open. The taste of copper fills my mouth. The cage throbs, aching, denied. I can’t look away from the screen. The squirt emojis blur through the fearful tears creeping in my eyes.

Not enough.

Buzz.

Eight.

The heels stop. The door swings wide. The phone slips from my fingers, clatters to the carpeted floor. The screen glows up at me, mocking, showing the looping reel of my own degradation.

Eight.

Not twenty.

It was never going to be a twenty Not that quick. In another hour maybe... In another week it could be in the hundreds. But twenty... that quickly...

She says, one day I will be that good. That popular. That used.

She is no doubt right.

She is always right.

She holds the paddle in her hand, and points to the phone.

The order is clear.

We're going to film the punishment… post it… share my failure with everyone…

…and the view count will rise. The followers… which maybe… just maybe… will make the next one meet the goal quicker.

I close my eyes as I bend over the bed. I know she is filming.

I know they will be watching… buzzing…

…and I know what is ...and will be... cumming.