Mistress Scarlett: CBT Punishment Part One

It was a sweaty Friday evening at the gym again. Everyone was getting their last bit of exercise in before the weekend splurging. The women were looking awesome in their leotards, short-shorts and various other forms of attire that I knew damn well were invented to tease small-minded males such as myself. I had taken to leaving off my underwear or jock-straps at the gym anymore. And, weird though it may seem, I had also gotten in the habit of shaving hair from my crotch area for that added touch of sensitivity. Just a pair of shorts or long sweatpants separated my dick from whatever machine I could conveniently rub against while looking at one goddess after another.

CBT art by Bernard Montogueil

You know the type of women I’m talking about…the ones that make my libido go into overdrive at the mere glance, or, if the air happened to luckily blow my way, the mere scent of their perfume or, a peek at the sweaty shirt they were wearing, or…the definition of their arms, or…the outline of their breasts in the shirts as they jogged on the treadmills.

Anyway, I was doing a set of lat pull-downs at the machine that was well-positioned as far as mirrors go, and spending half my time counting reps, and the other half secretly looking at the veritable breast-o-rama of the row of women on the StairMaster machines. One girl in particular was just beautiful, with brunette hair and blue eyes. Her face was flushed from her exertion, her gray half-shirt soaked wet, and, from the angle of yet another mirror in the gym, I could see that a line of sweat was running down the crack of her ass, soaking everything in its path. Needless to say, I found it very difficult to complete my sets.

Did I say “secretly-looking” before? Well, apparently not. It seems that she had noticed my obvious ogling, and also, the hard- on I had been sporting as a result of her vision because when she finished-up on the StairMaster, she came over to where I was. “Excuse me,” I heard this quiet voice behind me as I pumped on the bicep machine. I turned around and was floored. It was HER, and she was wiping off the sweat around her neck and upper chest, drawing my eyes to those beautiful breasts.

“Oh, h-h-h-hi,” I said with a bit of a smile, actually looking at her eyes when I said it. “Do you want to work in?” I asked her.

“No, I was just coming over to tell you that I and the other women DO NOT appreciate your fucking stares at our bodies. It’s quite unnerving and very rude,” she said, sharply. “Well, to tell you the truth,” I began, “your body is rather unnerving. It is absolutely fantastic, and your —–”, and I didn’t get a chance to finish what particular body part of hers I was about to throw a compliment about when she stepped close to me and smacked her balled-up fist into my un-protected groin (so much for the idea of never wearing underwear in the gym again). I gasped and put my hand out on the nearest machine to steady my legs. I was bent over at the waist, clutching my midship area.

She leaned over to my ear and whispered, “Did you like that, Sweetie? Consider that a down-payment on what you’ve got coming to you. You like my ass? My tits? What part of my body did you mostly think about as you rubbed your worthless prick against the machine?” My eyes opened wide at this and looked at her.

“Yeah, I saw you doing that, Asshole. We women are tuned into you males and all the little tricks you pull. Well? What part, dickhead, was your favorite?” She looked at me with those ice- blue eyes, wearing a smirk on her face, but balling up her other hand and making a squeezing motion as to what she intended to next do to my balls if I made her mad.

“Uh, I’m so sorry for staring at you. That was wrong and rude and I didn’t mean any harm,” were the first words out of my mouth.

“Too damn late for that. You need a good lesson in how to respect women and I’m just the girl who can teach you. Unless, of course, you want me to go to the manager of the gym, a close personal friend of mine AND a woman, by the way, and tell her you’re sexually harassing me and my friends and get your ugly ass kicked-out of here, PERMANENTLY,” she said with emphasis. “Maybe I’ll even call the police on you and have a restraining order put out against you. As a lawyer, I know how to get that done pretty easily. You’ll have a nice, permanent record to contend with. Do you want me to do that, or, do you agree to allow me to teach you manners and how to be respectful of women?”

My throat tightened with her threat, and I fully believed she would think nothing of carrying it through. She exuded that confidence of intending to do things to me already with her swat of my balls, so I was not in a position to second-guess her. “I will do whatever you want, Miss…Miss…I’m sorry, I don’t know your name,” I said.

“Yeah, well, you have the MISS-part right, though not entirely. From this point forward, call me ‘Mistress Scarlett’, got it?” “Yes, Mistress Scarlett.” I said, quietly.

“Good! I’m gonna hit the showers and meet you at the lobby in about 30 minutes? Be there, or I’ll be headed to the manager’s office instead of to my car. Got it?” she said.

“Yes Ma’m,” I said, temporarily forgetting how to address her. She quickly reminded me by raising her left knee and thunking it into my balls, though, I knew, not her full-force capacity. Those legs were way more capable of delivering a lot more, as I would later find out.

“Unggghhhhh….,” I gasped, this time kneeling all the way down to the floor. She stepped to position herself between my legs, and very close to my crotch (in case you were wondering about all the other folks in the gym, the gym had pretty much emptied by then).

“What was that, Dick *(as in, “dickhead”)? What did you call me?” she sneered, imperiously.

I slowly raised my head to look at those ice-blues again and quickly said “I’m sorry Mistress Scarlett. I forgot.”

“Yes, I’m sure you did. And, I’m fairly certain you will forget again in my school for respecting women. Consider yourself in school as of this moment. Consider forgetting how to address me properly to have earned you 25 demerits. Counting that little knee I just gave you, you now have 24 demerits left to work- off,” she grinned evily.

“Yes, Mistress Scarlett,” I said, weakly.

“See you in 30 minutes, slave” she said, walking off.

“Yes, Mistress Scarlett,” I said.

I hobbled off to the men’s room showers, taking care not to jostle my balls, and when I passed a beautiful woman on the way, I hardly noticed them, except to offer a weak smile in their direction, remembering the last time I looked wrongly at a woman. I showered, shaved, dressed, and was out front, waiting on her in about 20 minutes. She came down the stairs looking absolutely stunning. Her hair was brushed smooth and she was wearing a tank-top with blue jeans and pointy white boots. Through the still-throbbing ache of my balls, I felt a little stir in my groin at the sight of her and how sexy she looked. I also realized that my lust was going to cost and cause me a lot more deserved pain before she was through with me.

“Hi!” she said, spying me on the sofa. “Give me a hug,” she said, gaily.

Surprised though I was, I stood up and she wrapped her arms around me tightly, shifting just so as to position her right knee to brush the underside of my pants crotch with it. I winced, which she caught, and she grinned and winked at me. “You have your car here, right? Why don’t you follow me to my house, okay,” she asked, as if I had a choice in the matter at all.

“Yes, Mistress Scarlett,” I said to her, in a quiet voice. She took note of that and nodded approvingly. “Good, you’re learning, slave,” she said. “Let’s go!” she said, walking out. The drive took us about 25 minutes to get to her house. A lot of winding backroads and finally a gravel road took us to who- knows-where. I certainly didn’t recognize the neighborhood and would have gotten quite lost had I not had her in front of me. Anyway, we finally pulled up to a huge house. She parked in the circular driveway, and I pulled behind her. She got out and pointed to a garage behind me. “Park it in there,” she directed, and get your ass inside,” she ordered, with a voice, I noted, that was no longer cheerful towards me.

I parked as she directed and went into her house. “This is the ‘nice-people’ area,” she said, sweeping her arm around the huge foyer and gesturing upstairs. “We won’t be holding class up here. Instead, let me show you the basement, where all of your lessons will be taught. Follow me,” she said curtly, walking towards a doorway leading down a set of stairs. I was still hoping that maybe she wasn’t as serious as she sounded in the gym and wasn’t going to follow-through on her plans for me. She must have read my mind because she stopped at the doorway and turned to me and said “Yes, slave, I’m very serious about this, and just as serious about what I said I’d do if you didn’t do exactly as I said. In fact, since you’re here now, I’ll simply tell the police that you were waiting for me when I came home and tried to rape me. How’s that for serious, slave?” she asked, her eyes narrowed in my direction.

I gulped and said, “Mistress Scarlett, please, I’ll do what you say, don’t call the police,” and I started moving very quickly to the doorway down to the basement.

She turned and walked down the stairs with me quickly behind. We walked through a hallway and she stopped at a small room. “This is the bathroom the original plans called for but the dumbass architect forgot that the sewer line was seven feet above the floor level and I didn’t want to mess with a pump to get the shit out of here. Maybe you’ll be able to help me solve that problem later on,” she said, walking away.

I furrowed my brow and couldn’t figure out what she was talking about. I wasn’t an engineer or a plumber. I shrugged it off and followed her into a larger room. This was a huge room with a refrigerator in one corner, two comfy-looking leather sofas, a variety of chairs, a table and some exercise equipment of various types on one side of the room. Stationary bike, treadmill, free-weight rack with various dumbbells, some weight machines with pulleys and a sit-up machine. A closet was situated near the refrigerator, along with a tool cabinet, and in the middle of the room, what appeared to be a crude replica of some old fashioned-stocks from age-old centuries. There were some other things I didn’t immediately recognize also in the corner.

She looked at me as I took it all in. “Yes!” she laughed. “This is MY dungeon, slave, complete with every exercise torture device ever offered on late-night TV. I’m fairly certain we’ll be able to use some of the equipment to help you in your school lessons,” she said, again with that evil grin.

I nodded, bewildered at whatever she could possibly be implying. She walked back to where I was standing and said “take off all of your clothes and put them in that garbage bag,” she said, motioning to a roll of them.

I didn’t hesitate, stripping off all clothes as she ordered, and stuffing them into a bag. She picked-up the bag, tied it off and threw it in a corner of the room. “Forget you have clothes here, slave,” she ordered. “You won’t be needing them this weekend.”

“Yes, Mistress Scarlett, ” I said, automatically.

“Hmm,” she said, looking at my crotch. “Gee, slave, you certainly don’t look as horny as you were in the gym when you were looking at my body on the stair machine. Wonder what’s wrong? Am I not attractive anymore to you?” she asked with a mischievous look in her eyes.

“Oh no, Mistress Scarlett. You’re very beautiful,” I quickly answered her.

She nodded and said, “Well, I’m going to give you a little treat then,” and lifted-up her tank-top in one swift motion to expose, not bra-entwined breasts, but full, naked, bouncing breasts with suckable nipples crowning each of them.

My mouth went agape. They were even more beautiful than I imagined from the gym. My cock instantly bounced-up its approval with a quickly growing hard-on…a mistake I was quickly made aware of.

She watched my dick grow quickly from the southern-pointing direction to horizontal inside of 15 seconds and quickly put her shirt down, covering-up her breasts from my view. She glared at me. “Did I give you permission to get a hard-on in my presence, SLAVE???” she yelled at me.

“N-n-n-n-no, Mistress Scarlett. I’m sorry,” I said, hastily, now realizing what she intended. I tried to force my hard-on to go away by thinking of unattractive women I has seen before, but got caught back up in the thinking of Mistress Scarlett’s breasts again. Too late.

She stepped-up to me and pointed at my still throbbing dick, and said “I see your balls need another lesson in the respect of women.”

I cringed at what was coming next, but attempted to brace for the path of her arching kick. Her boot caught me full in the balls, which were on the small side to begin with, but had been trying to crawl back into my body in a desperate attempt to escape the impending onslaught of her toe-boot. No luck. I yelled in agony and went down hard, covering my quickly swelling nuts. I rolled around on the floor, trying to keep from throwing-up.

She stood above me triumphantly. “Well, how’s that hard-on now, slave?” she asked. “Show it to me. Move your hands out of the way,” she said, reaching down to see for herself.

My balls were aching badly, but I still had a bit of an attention-getting hard-on, much to her’s and my surprise.

“Hmmm maybe it’s not your balls that need a lesson, but your dick, huh, slave?” she asked, rhetorically, because she wasn’t expecting an answer from me anyway.

“Get up, slave” she said, reaching in-between my legs and pushing my hands aside to grip my sore balls herself. She squeezed and pulled me onto my knees and dragged me over to the stocks device, ignoring my yelps and moans. She told me to kneel in front of the stocks and got on the other side of the device so as to have better access to the locks. I then noticed that these stocks were slightly different in that there was a hole at the bottom of the contraption that seemed to line-up with my groin area.

She reached down to that exact location and unlocked the hole, exposing a kind of cradle that extended outwards. “Put your dick through that hole and place it on the support,” she ordered, pointing at the cradle.

I shuffled my knees forward and stuck my still-throbbing dick where she told me. “Move all of the way forward until your knees are flush against the bottom. Sit up on your knees straight and push yourself forward until your dick is extended all the way in, ” she directed me.

I complied, though doing it gingerly so as to not risk bouncing my testicles anymore than I needed to. She walked around behind me and said “Lift up your arms above your head and reach high.” She then snapped a pair of handcuffs on my wrists and said “Don’t move, slave.” She got a ladder and used it to reach for something in the ceiling. It was a hook attached to a rope attached to a pulley which was attached to a floor joist. The other end of the rope also had a hook on it and was brought down to a level a little above my waist. She walked over to the tool cabinet and extracted some rubber bands and a small length of clothesline cord. She walked back to where I was kneeling, arms still above my head.

She reached-up and hooked the handcuffs to the uppermost hook and then leaned down to grab my nutsack behind me. I let out a yelp of pain to which she answered with “Honey, you don’t know what pain is yet,” and laughed out loud.

She doubled-up on the rubberbands and slipped them over my balls and wrapped the clothesline around them firmly, making and pulling a slipknot tight around them. She then yanked my balls up and lined the clothesline up with the crack of my ass and tied it to the other hook from the ceiling, with no slack in the cord. I now could not bring my arms down for fear of ripping off my already tortured balls.

She stepped back and looked at her handiwork. She walked around in front of me, and pulled-up a chair to sit right in front of me and my dick. She walked back over to the tool cabinet and retrieved a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She sat down in front of me with a satisfied smile.

“Well, well, well. You are now in quite the predicament, aren’t you, slave? Can’t bring your arms down, and if you try to back your dick out of it’s slot, you will also place pressure on your balls,” she said, clucking her tongue in fake sympathy.

“Well, now I think you’ve deserved a longer look at my tits, so, I’m going to give it to you,” she said, taking off her tank top in one motion and throwing it in my surprised face. The shirt fell away to reveal those awesome breasts again for my eyes. She spread her legs in the chair but did not take off her jeans, giving me that little “Uh-uh, no pussy yet, little man” look. My dick started throbbing immediately, much to my chagrin, but Mistress Scarlett gave a surprising answer to it.

“It’s okay, slave. This time, I want that dick as hard as you can get it. Really” she said, reaching for the cigarette pack and extracting one. She flicked the lighter and lit it and took a big drag on it.

“Yeah, I know, these are bad for me, but I exercise and eat well, so, one bad habit is okay. For me, anyway. Not so much for you, probably, huh?” she asked.

I was about to respond when she suddenly leaned forward and flicked the hot ash directly onto the head of my dick. I screamed at the sudden heat applied. I also jerked my dick back in response to the pain and promptly experienced the yank on my nuts from above, causing me to jam my dick back into the hole… whereupon it ran right back into the hot end of her cigarette, which she apparently positioned because she anticipated my reaction perfectly.

I screamed even louder than before because suddenly I was touching the raw heat of the cigarette and begged her, “Please, PLEASE, NO! Take it away! I’ll do anything you want, Mistress Scarlett! AGHHHHHHHH!”

She just smiled and calmly removed the heat, but only to take another drag, and she put that end of the cigarette right back down to flick the ash back onto the dick, but this time, the foreskin got burned. I gritted my teeth and held my dick in place, suffering the slow cooling of the ash as it burned it’s heat away on my dick.

“So, how do my tits look now, slave?” Mistress Scarlett asked, winking at me.

“Great, Mistress Scarlett,” I whimpered. “Yeah, I see that, slave. Your dick is still hard,” she responded, shaking her head. “I can see you’re going to be a tough student to train, slave, but, it’ll be worth it to tame that lust of yours.” I was crying now from the pain of the hot ash and singeing I got from the lit end. She continued to smoke and flick the ash onto and around all of my exposed dick, and my dick remained hard as a rock throughout the torture.

She was getting near the end of the cigarette, took one look at my dick, took one look at the rest of her cigarette. She got up, and without warning, lifted my dick up and shoved the cigarette underneath it, then mashed it down on top of the still- lit cigarette.

I screamed at the unbelievable onrush of pain as she used her hands to mash the underside of my penis onto the lit cigarette, crushing it out.

“There, wasn’t that special” she sneered, observing my drained look and anguish on my face. Oh, god, my dick hurt, and, it wasn’t throbbing too much anymore. The red-hot heat quelled the sex interest pretty much right away.

She was breathing hard from obvious lust at causing and seeing me suffer, and I was breathing hard from the agony of having a burnt cock. Then, she reached over and extracted a second cigarette to light it up. My eyes opened in amazement and horror because there appeared to be a lot more in store for me. Just then, I also heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and a female voice that called out, “Yoo-hoo! Scarlett! Are ya down here?”

“Yes, can’t you hear my new trainee’s screams of pain up there?”, Scarlett responded to this new woman. They both laughed out loud at that one and I realized something worse was likely coming into my future.

To be continued …

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