Confessions of a libra

Judgement delivered | Credit: Here

[ Content Warning: This story contains explicit BDSM themes, including impact play, consensual power exchange, degradation, edging, denial, and elements of ritual punishment. All acts depicted are between consenting adults. ]

12.08.25

The leatherbound book lay open in front of me like a holy relic, its weight a silent witness to sins committed under my banner. The Ledger. The candle flickered beside me, the light creating a sort of judicial comfort.  Perfectly-neat black cursive elegantly illuminated, line by line. I had the page open, marked by red ribbon. I heard his muffled noises from behind me and instead of gracing him with my attention, I dipped my quill pen in the ink.

Today’s date. His name. The infraction. I placed the pen down, then cracked my knuckles for effect. More muffles from behind me. I got up from my desk, turning to look at the bed behind me. On it, in foetal position was a man bound and gagged. His hands were bound in front of his chest, as though in contrition. I took a deep breath, and began a slow strut. He watched each step, eyes wide and mouth well-hidden behind black tape.

“Why do you we have rules, my handsome little slut-puppy? Hm?” I asked, rhetorical with inflection.

His throat made a noise, but it wasn’t good enough. I squatted beside the bed in my heels until my eyes were level with his. I raised my well-manicured fingers and tsked my way through tracing the outline of his strong nose.

“Did you think your obedience was an option? Hm?” I asked tracing his jawline. His head shook quickly and vigorously.

“Oh, baby. Your time to talk is up. It’s time for your Sovereign to take matters into her own hands. Do you agree to receive your reckoning, upon your latest infraction?”

My Beloved Sin nodded in agreement and somewhere in the distance, the bell tolled. Midnight. Just in time. I sat next to him on the bed.

“Okay, my sweet. Lay across my lap. You know what to do,” I commanded soft and firm.

I leaned back and let him shuffle his way into my lap. Making it easy was never the intention. I know he wouldn’t learn if he didn’t work for it. My rules are non-negotiable, but no other Mistress will do it like me. He knows that. He lay on my lap, arse sticking out and anticipation palpable from his system to mine. I heard his breaths, deep and laboured after all the shimmying.

“So…I’ve been thinking. A true show of your penance naughty boy, is 12 spanks. For each disciple. For the disciple that my hands will mould you into.”

I let my hand rest on his lower back, warm and still, as if I might soothe him instead of break him in. I traced slow, languid circles over the curve of his butt not to comfort, but to lure his muscles into a false looseness. I felt the quiet rise of hope in his breathing. Poor boy. Thinking perhaps, just perhaps, I would spare him tonight. That his infraction might be wiped clean with a stroke of my hand instead of the bite of it. I waited until his shoulders eased. Then I stripped the air from the room with the first strike. Goose bumps raised on his skin, the perfect canvas for my art. In a quick sudden movement, I spanked him again. I gave him no time to prepare and the sound escaped from his throat with desperation.

“Count.” I ordered.

He hummed something that somewhat resembled the number 1. I spanked him again, then again pausing only to lightly scratch him in all his sensitive areas. His skin reddened and with his skin primed, I upped the ante. With each blow, another line appeared in The Ledger, written in invisible ink.

“4 more to go, sweet boy. I love it when you sing,” I let the cheek ooze in my words and smirked as I lay another hand upon him.

“Good boy! You’ll never do that again will you?” He moaned imperceptibly, “Will you?!”

I raised my voice, causing him to nod more and make more noise. “That’s fucking right.”

He took the last spanks with grace. I rubbed up and down his thigh and blew cold air on both his cheeks lovingly. He whimpered in what I can only assume to be gratitude.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Poor baby, your Mistress has standards to maintain. You understand that, right?”

I accepted any moans and groans he gave. I ignored the heat in my body from all the spanking and reached beside me for my submission oil. I massaged into my right hand. Fingers slick and ready, I slid past his defences, circling his entrance. A deep rumble rang through his body as his hips pushed helplessly up into my hand.

“Aren’t we greedy?” I purred.

My fingers circled, his head thrashed to the side so he could watch me as though betrayed by my accuracy. I let my other hand scratch down his spine with my nails, as his body thrashed to my symphony. Just when I thought he was sufficiently distracted, I changed it up. Reaching beneath him instead, to feel this hard length, straining against the weight of pain and pleasure. I found him ready, wanting, leaking.

“Do you think you deserve to the privilege of completion, after taking liberies?” I asked, in earnest.

In response, all I heard were whines and throaty moans. Every note a desperate plead for absolution. Every quiver a down payment on forgiveness.

“Your debt is heavy tonight,” I murmured sliding my fingers free enough to leave him aching and empty. His body bucked, chasing the sensation like a starving man chases crumbs. He would not be getting fed tonight.

His face was still turned towards me. I reached out and slowly peeled the tape from his mouth. His body swallowed greedy breaths. I helped him get on his knees and I untied the ropes binding him.  I stood and left him in a heap with a kiss. Mistress wasn’t cruel, only exacting in her standards – my standards . I strutted the few steps to my desk and sat down. I picked up my quill and hovered above the page.

Penance begun. Completion, deferred.

The sound of my chair scraping across the floor made him lift his head, eyes wet and chest still settling. I met his eyes with cool detachment, approaching him again as I spoke.

“Until you learn that you cannot spill my seed, from your vessel without Mistress Nyra’s explicit request, I’ll teach your body how to want. Under the weight of my hand.”

My hand came up and settled on his chest, choosing to settle his nerves through my fingertips. I felt his heartbeat thundering against my skin, each pulse an unspoken plea. I let my fingers spread, nails grazing lightly over muscle, and pressed down just enough to remind him who held the power to still it. His hunger sat bare within, coaxing me with energetic tendrils. I swallowed my arousal, holding onto the judgement I have made, this day.

“Do you forgive me, Mistress?” His asked in a small, vulnerable voice that left my heart smarting.

“Redemption is yours, to earn.”