Binding Resolutions Chapter 1: A Promise Kept

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As the new year approaches, our heroine faces her new reality. Once in control, but now turned into someone whose purpose is to serve and please her mistress. Dressed up, ready to be paraded and stared at, her body, no longer her own but a symbol of her promise to her mistress. Be warned, This story is dark. I have added all the appropriate tags

Binding Resolutions Chapter 1: A Promise Kept

New Year's Eve had always signified a time for transformation. But what *had* I become? My resolution, my solemn vow that I clung to even now, had plunged me into this startling... metamorphosis. The relentless ticking of the clock taunted the man I once was – robust, attractive, rational – yet who stood here now? This being was all undulating curves and softness, a foreigner wearing my skin.

Staring into the mirror, my eyes *scanned* for traces of my past form. The solid, defined lines had faded, replaced by a form more vulnerable, more naked to the eye. These once dependable shoulders now strained under a different weight. Where powerful arms used to command attention, they now hung, diminished and feeble—a tempting morsel, perhaps once the fancy of women, now reshaped to satisfy the cravings of a different kind of spectator.

Right then Nina called, "Honey, are you ready? The night beckons, and the stage awaits us."

"J'arrive, ma maîtresse," (*"I'm coming, my mistress,"*) I returned weakly, dredging up what remained of my resolve. The transition was nearly complete – the man I knew fading away, his place taken by a fantasy born from desires that were never mine.

I push back with the remnants of my will. Almost there, indeed – one man's exit, another fantasy's entry, scrawled into life by whims I never asked for.

As I walked out the door, I presented myself for her scrutiny, clothed in a skimpy maid's outfit chosen by her, my body's transformation flagrantly on display. Where once my hips stood straight and narrow now arch out boldly, flesh undulating without shame at each motion.

My once inconspicuous nipples now stood out for all to see, grossly enlarged and brazenly pink, pushing through the fabric that might as well have been a cobweb, their swollen state screaming for the rough grip or hungry mouth of any onlooker. Gone was the sculpted torso, now all that hung were these hefty, pliable and oversized mounds, shamelessly swaying, eager to be manhandled, squeezed, and sucked.

"Oui, juste pour elle... et ceux qu'elle choisit," (*"Yes, just for her... and those she chooses,"*), I whispered to myself helplessly, a crimson hue spreading across my cheeks as my nipples, already painfully erect, strained even harder, a mute appeal for the crude touch they have never known but now so desperately craved.

Sandwiched between my trembling thighs, trapped in a pathetic pink plastic thimble and dwarfed by nipples that now usurped its once formidable presence, lay my past pride. The full eight inches that it once was, had become no more than a running joke, a useless, pickled relic, locked away for good. "Yvonne's little *cockette*," as Mistress mockingly christened it, was just that, a tiny symbol of my torment, a debasing chant designed to remind me of what once I was, what I had now become, and what I would continue to be.

Bound to a welded piercing that ran through the middle, any shift caused a sting, ensuring that even the tiniest twitch brought pain. Clearly, this cage wasn't coming off unless someone took a cutter to the metal.

As my gaze clung to the pitiful state of my former manhood, I felt Nina's presence bearing down on me. She sauntered closer, and with a flick of her devilish tongue between crimson lips, unleashed a wolf whistle that pierced the air.

her eyes devouring the sight of my debasement. "Mmm, just perfect for tonight's performance,” she growled, the words dripping with desire as her eyes tore over my flesh, eyeing me like I was just some piece of meat hung out to play with as I stood helplessly, the naked craving to be used and debased outshining any remnants of dignity I have left.

"Je suis votre création... dépravé... le produit de vos caprices, Maîtresse." (*"I am your creation ...depraved...the product of your whims, Mistress."*) I whispered hoarsely, my own body betraying me with arousal at the thought of the humiliation of her parading to me an audience tonight, every stare etching me with disgrace.

"Where are those little earrings? The ones we had made just for this occasion?" she cooed. I knew precisely why she wanted me to wear them. Glistening tokens that would dangle and declare my debasement loudly, without needing a single spoken word.

I teetered over, turning to walk towards the vanity, my five inch stiletto heels clicking and forcing my ass to sway. Each step was a reminder that this was a mocking tribute to the height I once boasted, a painful reminder of the taller man I once was, now just a caricature prancing on command.

But before I could move very much, she caught me by surprise. She was on me, her hands snapping around my neck like a trap, tilting my face upwards, my gaze meeting her fiery eyes. "Not so fast,"

She closed the distance between us quickly, her hands clamping down with intent.” Not so fast," she growled, her approach feral and hungry. With a jerk, she slammed me against her, branding me with a kiss that seared my soul. Her hands were vicious, pinching and pulling at my nipples, as my body convulsed from the pain and pleasure until I was moaning guttural, primal needs. I was just soft, exposed curves for her to play with, to hurt, to tease.

"You're still my only love,” she breathed out, drenched in possessive lust, "My perfect, dirty little fucktoy," she named me, binding me with chains no eye could see - unbreakable, suffocating, and intoxicating. She promised, "...and tonight, everyone gets a front-row seat to experience how deep you've sunk for me." She’d flaunt me like some debauched prize, a sacrificial piece of meat ripe for their pleasure. And I'd cave to her, every damn time, swallowed whole by the twisted joy of belonging entirely to her.

Nina's hold on me was relentless, spinning me like a plaything. With a rough yank, my dress flew up to bare the white panties that were nothing more than a tease over my skin. The fresh tattoo on my lower back, a maid, helpless on her knees, her eyes shimmering and child-like, lost, vulnerable, trapped in ink. And scrawled below her meek submission, the artistic sweep of ‘À votre service’, a permanent testament, etched into my flesh as if to mock the very idea of what I had been.

She then smacked my ass, ‘hard’, rippling through me, my cheeks quivering under her hand. I let out a yelp, a sound that was half protest, half shameful yearning. The sting of the slap was nothing compared to the burning humiliation that flushed through me. It was like she had struck a chord that runs straight to that caged-up ‘nothing’ between my thighs.

"Yvonne," she purred, and there it was, that name. Just a single utterance sending shivers down my spine. Even as the sting bloomed across my butt. It was as though she'd spoken me into existence, my body flushed hot thrill, every shred of my manhood vanishing with the name she claimed me with. My identity becoming more real with every helpless throb of my heartbeat.

My eyes once fierce with ambition now glazed over with wanton surrender."Oui, Maîtresse, je suis à vous, façonnez-moi à l'image de vos désirs obscènes." (*"Yes, Mistress, I am yours, shape me into the image of your obscene desires."*) I breathed out the words, each syllable laced with shameful longing.

"Hush, pet, don't let that tongue wag any more than that pathetic *jouet* you've got there," she teased softly. Her fingers traced the chain, drawing attention to the miniature cage that proved more than sufficient to contain my soft, feminised pebble. A slender thread of humiliation, looped from my pitiful piercing, binding it back between my thighs to a second piercing, nestling in my perineum, "Show gratitude," she demanded, a smirk in her voice, "that I've allowed you to keep your pathetic clit."

Her movements were a ripple of intent as she turned around and lifted her skirt, unveiling the smooth, naked, and voluptuous cheeks of her backside as if gift-wrapped in sin. Her fingers spreading her back apart, her tight, unblemished ring seemed to beckon me, whispering of forbidden pleasures long denied.

In the shadow between her thighs lingered a glimpse of her pink lips, denied to me for months now and just beyond reach. My lips hungered for them, thirsted for the taste I hadn't savoured in an eternity of torment. But obedience was my only option and my role was clear. To worship at the rear of the temple I'd been exiled from. Dropping to my knees, I settled into my ritual, crawling, like a bitch in heat, I buried my face between her. My tongue lapping at her puckered rosebud with abandon.

Gripping my hair like a leash, she commanded me as she pushed me in further, "Trace the drips along my thigh, feel every drop that you've been missing," she commanded. I complied, tracing the path of her essence, slick with desire, my own torment audible in every slurp. "Pour your desperation into your tongue. Show me the depth of your longing," she taunted, thrusting against me.

My tongue worked her ceaselessly, my mind transported to times past—times when our roles were reversed, her moans fueling my dominance. "Harder. make every lap count slave. Lust for it like it's your last morsel of me," she demanded. "Impress me enough, and perhaps you'll partake in my special blend later tonight."

Her thighs clenching with a telltale shudder, I felt Mistress's body on the brink of succumbing to the wave I'd diligently invoked with my tongue. Yet just as I tasted the crescendo of her pleasure building, she yanked my head back, her voice a mix of cruel delight and authoritative steel, "Not yet, pet. The night is still young and we have a lot more... things... to do." Her words left me aching, pulsing with need. ‘Si proche, j'ai presque fait venir ma maîtresse,’ (*’So close, I almost made my mistress come.’*) my thoughts churned with longing from the echo of her denial.

The ringing bell broke the spell, pulling me out of my carnal trance. Mistress adjusting her dress while turning to face me, twirled her finger, telling me everything I needed to know. Turning, I bared my ass,offering up my flesh to her whims. And then she punctuated her demand with a firm slap to my behind, drawing out a moan from me .

"You're almost there, almost fulfilling the terms of your resolution to perfection.” she mused loudly, her voice threaded with a wistful nostalgia. A delicate yank on my chain sent a sharp bolt of pain and pleasure through me, wrenching a high-pitched whimper from my constricted throat. "And, I must confess, right now, you're far more appealing to me this way; helpless, quivering, so pitifully small, and entirely at my mercy.”

"And make sure that you make quite the spectacle of bending over tonight," she instructed, her tone laced with the intent of showcasing her claim." I want them all to see that fuckable, round, plump bottom of yours. And by the end, I intend to have it red and ripe before the real party even starts," she declared, sealing my fate with her clear intent. "Now scamper, go and welcome our first guest, " she commanded, and scamper i did.

The door creaked open to admit the arrival of Jacob, my former boss, who might as well write my future checks. Ten years my senior, with a pot belly that he'd apparently laboured over and a hairline in full retreat, he carried the smugness of a man who believed he was far more charming than nature had allowed.

Generously, he'd granted me a year to sort out my 'delicate condition'—a sabbatical from the numbers and spreadsheets that once formed my daily grind. I knew his charity wasn't free; it was drenched in desire for Nina, a lust that gnawed at him, unable to understand how she ended up with someone like the old me.

Jacob had become a regular shadow at our doorway, claiming a concern for my welfare, but it was no secret his visits were truly aimed at undressing Nina with his lecherous gaze. Just days ago, he dangled the carrot of employment again, telling me the accounting department would somehow survive without me but his own personal secretary's position was conveniently vacant—a position that promised 'intimacy' and a paycheck that would only remind me of my diminished worth.

Two weeks past, I'd seen him drop Nina home late at night, her sultry form poured into one of those dresses that screamed sin, her stride unsteady, lips a smear of red. I dared to question her as she stumbled in, "Maîtresse, est-ce que vous couchez avec lui?" (*"Mistress, are you sleeping with him?"*). Her laughter rang dismissive and clear, as if the thought was too absurd, "No” she answered with a derisive laugh, yet as she moved away, I caught something—a hushed breath that carried the faintest trace of words: "not yet...", and it landed like a cold weight in my stomach as she vanished into our once sacred bedroom.

As he approached, I dipped into the deepest of curtsies, my bare breasts hanging down invitingly, my embarrassment evident in my flushed cheeks. "Nina, looks like your little French slut cleaned up good and proper - look at her, all tarted up and begging for it. " Jacob sneered, his gaze raking over me with undisguised crudeness, as his fingers gripped my chin, forcing my gaze to meet his.

Forbidden from speech, and forbidden from refusal by my Mistress's order prior, I couldn't utter a word or reject any advance made upon me.With my heart hammering in my chest, I could only gasp inwardly as he abused the oversized and blushingly conspicuous nipples that jutted capped my breasts, now swollen and achingly receptive to his crude touch. As he continued to squeeze and twist, he leaned close and whispered into my ear, oozing contempt. “Bet it burns, huh, realising you ain’t nothing but pathetic now?, whimpering while a real man takes control of the woman you could never truly satisfy. Soon enough, you’ll be begging me to ravage her, ravage you both.”

Clearly, Mistress had caught every word, her gaze flashed with unspoken understanding as she witnessed my complete debasement for her. I stood there, utterly at her mercy, gnawed by the thought of losing her to this pig. My strength had drained away, and I feared everything I'd endured would mean nothing if he staked his claim on her.

But as just as he desired, with my voice quivering, I spoke, "Je m’incline devant vous, prête à servir dans la maison de la Maîtresse, *vaurien*." (*"I yield to you, eagerly waiting to serve in the Mistress’s abode, bastard."*)

A brief touch of real amusement flickered across Mistress's face before she adopted the expected placid smile, though I caught the fleeting sincerity.

Clearly, the brute did not understand a word and looked towards her, "What'd she say?"

"She's thrilled, can't wait," Mistress countered coolly. "Now, relax, make yourself comfortable dear, while I shove some last-minute instructions into the help. “ Mistress said.

As the brute lumbered off, she spun me, coquettish malice sparkling in her eyes. “No missteps, my pet. Attempting to ‘rise to the occasion’, don't amuse yourself with such fancies. Your slightest whimper of dissent, no matter how ‘tiny,’ will not be tolerated." She emphasised, each word as her fingers yanked my little clitty upwards, the surge of pain mingling with the shameful pleasure of reprimand, as I let out a choked sob. Defeated, yet desirous, I responded, "Oui, Maîtresse… comme vous le désirez." (*"Yes, Mistress… as you desire."*) As her grasp relented, the pain faded into a lingering ache, a prelude to what the night might bring.

As we made our way towards the bedroom, Mistress laid out her command with absolute certainty. "In my home today, he's not just a guest; he's royalty. You will serve him, or anyone I command you to. No questioning, no hesitating." However, your little show of insolence just now gives me an idea.

"Now, walk with me," she instructed, and I acquiesced, my steps a shadow of her own confident strides.

Midway, she turned, her gaze capturing me like a trap. "Tell me, how do I look?" In my distraction, I had forgotten to drench her in the adoration she rightfully deserved.

As I took her in, my throat turned to sand and my heart stuttered in its cage.

Her dress clung to her like sin made fabric, a brazen fuck-you to modesty. Barely there strips, like a black whisper snaking over her, lusting to peel away and leave nothing to the imagination.

Each curve of her body was a siren's call, her ample chest pushed up, nipples pronounced, boldly defying decency, a blatant tease of flesh begging for attention.

Her waist, nipped in by the black strips, partitioned her waist before blooming into the lush, seeking curves of her hips.

The dress, if it could even be called that, skirted just above the edges of her thighs, promising glimpses of the secrets that hid just beneath, her movements an open dare to witness more.

It was a masterclass in erotic display, her choice of dress—or the lack thereof—crafted solely to ensnare the senses and seize control of every lustful thought. She was a vision dipped in the very essence of desire, bare skin barely concealed, pure temptation on two legs.

Each choice was a deliberate act, her body the weapon and there was no subtlety in her allure. A living embodiment of every deep-seated craving that spoke of late-night whispers and early-morning regrets.

As my mind fumbled for language, The Mistress and I entered the seclusion of the bedroom. Without a hint of ceremony, she seized my hand, pressing it against the naked, moist evidence of her arousal beneath her dress. It was then that the raw deprivation hit me; I had been denied even feeling her intimate heat for months, and the sudden touch sent tremors of craving in me,

"Make sure this... my excitement endures," she demanded, each word saturated with entitlement. "Whenever, and for however long I wish it," she added, her eyes cutting through me with a brazen challenge, "And if my desires extend beyond you, be ready to witness and to serve whoever can fulfil them..."

Over there, bend across the nightstand," she ordered, her grip on me unrelenting, shoving me forward. "Panties off; they'll serve you no purpose tonight," she stated. Her declaration was absolute, and I shed my last veil obediently, the scant fabric pooling at my feet.

“I’ll be back for you, stud," she announced to Jacob who was seated outside, her voice dripping with a sultry promise, a deliberate jab to my confined state.

Her dig through the closet was swift, a predator rummaging for the perfect tool of torture. "Stand still, not a whisper," she ordered, and I was an obedient statue. It didn't take long before I heard the triumph in her husky murmur, "Ah, there it is," as she turned to face me, her prey, exposed and ripe.

"You neglected to compliment me," she all but purred, her mocking tone a velvet threat. "I'll need recompense... but first, spill it." her words dripped venom sweeter than honey.

she hissed, voice thick with a teasing cruelty. "Age of honesty—what do you yearn to do with my body? Pathetically though, you're no longer the 'man' for the job, and you've been barred from the garden. So...." she paused, letting the moment marinate in my mind.

"Tell me instead about the vigorous bull who'd rightfully claim me while you stand there, witnessing, and yearning. Choke on your helpless jealousy, speak of his virility, and don't you dare omit a thing, while I make you nice and ready, with this pretty little piece for everyone to see you in tonight."

As the intrusion set into me, she paused, savouring her control. Confess! She demanded. My thoughts reeled, tangled in English, but only fractured French could leave my lips.

With hesitancy, I began the debasing narrative. "Un autre homme... dans notre—non, votre lit," (*"Another man... in our—no, your bed,"*) I corrected myself under her spell.

“Doing what? choose your words wisely.” she asked, seeking details, hungry for the depiction of her own mastery over a different suitor.

My reply spilled out, painting the disgraceful picture, "Il vous baiserait farouchement, sa queue énorme vous écartelant, et vous, hurlez votre reddition alors qu’il vous prend sans relâche, comme une salope en chaleur." (*"He'd fuck you fiercely, his enormous cock stretching you wide, and you, bellowing your submission as he takes you relentlessly, like a bitch in heat."*) each word tripping over the last, betraying a power I had once wielded.

"And my moans, Yvonne, for whom would they be? Her voice was pointed, cutting, demanding acknowledgment of her power to elicit such sounds.

"Pour lui seul," (*"For him alone,"*) I admitted, the truth of my subservience and shattered reality laid bare.

"He would lay claim to me?" The hint of her triumph demanded my confirmation.

"Oui, madame..." (*"Yes, madame..."*)
I murmured, the acknowledgement barely a whisper.

"The way you used to?" Her cruel glee painted words with the memories of our past.

"Oui, madame..." The words slipped out again, echoing my helpless state.

"Tell me how he'd use my body; hours on end," she growled.

But I could only respond in the tongue of my subjugation, "Il vous baiserait pendant des heures, chaque cri serait une prière à sa puissance." (*"He would ravage you for hours, each scream a testament to his strength."*)

Her command hit me like a slap, "Tell me, how would I get on my knees for my real man, every single day?"

My throat tightened as I spit out the crude image "Prends sa queue en toi, baise-la avec ta bouche, sens tes joues s'engorger de sa virilité inépuisable. Tu es là, jouant avec ton clitoris, implorante, voulant qu'il se vide en toi, que son explosion comble le vide dans ta bouche désespérée." (*"Take his cock inside you, fuck it with your mouth, feel your cheeks swell with his inexhaustible manhood. There you are, playing with your clit, beseeching, wanting him to empty himself into you, let his explosion fill the emptiness in your desperate mouth."*)

Her query was venomous. "And you, my little slut, what's your role? you're are there remember?"

Choking on the stark reality, I barely uttered, "Je serais là, à vous regarder, prête à lécher, à nettoyer, à être utilisée..." (*"I would be there, watching you, ready to lick, to clean, to be used..."*)

"And my man?" she pressed, expecting more than my hesitant reverence.

A pause, heavy with the dawning of my purpose, I whispered, "Lui aussi, je le servirais..." (*"Him too, I would serve..."*) My hesitancy indicating my coerced consent.

“No, Yvonne, you'll eagerly welcome him, zealously suck off the man who makes your mistress his. Aching to be fucked raw just like me. Begging while crawling on fours, lusting for it, forever marked, available anytime for his delight or to mop up what he leaves behind. Existing entirely for my approval and his gratification.”

With that, her final thrust was merciless, burying the intruder to its base in one smooth motion, making me gasp with the shock of being so full. and the air I gasped was tinged with the reality of being her pleasure object, nothing more than her lewd plaything.

With that, her final thrust deep to the hilt, I gasped as the sudden intrusion filled me. A cruel affirmation of my debasement and my status as a plaything for her deviant delights.

The chime of the bell snapped us back to the reality of the night ahead. With a cruel spank to my behind that sent the plug deeper, Mistress signalled it was time to face the party. Standing was a trial, walking a torment; each step I took was challenged by the device tormenting me from within.

"Actually, put those panties back on. They've got some unfinished business," she remarked, eyeing me expectantly.

"Comme vous voulez, Maîtresse," (*"As you wish, Mistress,"*) my voice just a breath as I eased the delicate white lace over my thighs, feeling it press against the plug that she claimed me with.

She then strutted out, her body a walking promise, knowing each hungry eye would feast on her curves tonight. I shuffled behind, the fullness in my behind mocking my strides, my own body on obscene display in this submissive outfit.

We entered the fray – her untouchable, me laid bare. She was a deity in that space, and I, merely her offering, twitching with every step reminding me of my place beneath her.

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Well-written; not my thing, but well-written

So, I've read chapters 1 and 2, and by the end of the second I can say it's really not my thing; a little too hard-core on the femdom elements for my tastes. But--it's well-written,with some very lavish languague. I guess I prefer my protagonists with a bit more defiance to them, and my antagonists with a touch more nuance beyond abject cruelty. I'm curious as to how he became the caricature, but think I'd need to see more glimpses of that prior to the party scene to feel invested in the character, if that makes sense.

Thanks loads for this feedback

I fully understand. The circumstances are abnormal. The third chapter starts to 'hopefully' give you some clues, but not through what the characters say. Instead, it's their unnatural lack of real motivation to do this to our protagonist that's telling. I want the readers to feel guilty for following the character until the end of Chapter 3, where I hope to deliver a significant twist. Chapter 4 then reveals exactly what happened. Ultimately, this is a love story that went terribly wrong, culminating in a real resolution and just desserts at the end.