Novel: The Ghost of Agatha: Part 18 (Patreon)

Nathan jolted awake to the sharp crack of leather against his bare ass. The sting bloomed hot across his skin as his eyes flew open. Agatha stood at the foot of the bed, tall and solid in her tight black leather trousers and gleaming boots, crop held loosely in one gloved hand. Her painted lips curved in that familiar, commanding smile.

“Time to get up, boy.”

His cock surged instantly inside the iron cage biting into his swelling flesh as blood rushed south. Precum already slicked the tip. Tears welled in his eyes at the sight of her—real, present, not a dream. He scrambled out of bed so fast the mattress creaked, the cage swinging heavily between his thighs.

Agatha pointed the crop at her boots. “Down.”

Nathan dropped to his hands and knees without hesitation. The wooden floor was cold under his palms. He crawled the short distance and pressed his lips to the polished leather of her left boot, kissing it with desperate, open-mouthed devotion.

His tongue dragged along the curve, tasting the faint tang of polish and the warmth of her presence. He moved to the right boot, kissing and licking in quick, hungry strokes, tears slipping down his cheeks.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered against the leather, voice cracking. “I want to serve you forever—”

The crop came down hard across his ass again, the crack loud in the quiet room. Nathan gasped, the fresh stripe burning.

“Worship,” Agatha said, voice low and firm. “No talking.”

He obeyed instantly, pressing his mouth back to her boots. His tongue worked in long, slow licks along the shafts, lips sealing around the pointed toes to suck and kiss. The cage throbbed with every heartbeat, leaking steadily onto the floorboards beneath him.

He shifted closer, nose brushing the leather as he dragged his tongue higher, tracing the laces, tasting every inch she allowed. Agatha watched him with quiet satisfaction, the crop resting lightly against his reddened ass, ready to strike again if he faltered.

The day unfolded in relentless rhythm. Agatha led Nathan through the manor with the crop never far from his reddened ass. Every time his pace slowed or his focus drifted, the leather snapped down hard, leaving fresh stripes across already marked skin. He worked naked, the iron cage swinging between his thighs, precum dripping steadily onto the floors he scrubbed and the rugs he beat clean.

She pointed the crop at the library shelves. "Dust every book. Top to bottom." Nathan climbed the ladder without hesitation, stretching to reach the highest volumes. The crop struck his ass twice in quick succession when he lingered too long on one shelf.

He yelped but kept moving, tongue pressed to his lower lip in concentration. Each strike sent fresh heat through his body and made his trapped cock throb harder against the unyielding bars.

Down in the kitchen she had him on his knees scrubbing the stone floor with a brush. Agatha stood over him, boots planted wide, crop tapping lightly against her palm. "Faster," she ordered. The leather cracked across his left cheek when he hesitated.

Nathan pushed the brush harder, shoulders flexing, ass raised and presented as she liked. Sweat ran down his back and mixed with the thin lines of precum that escaped the cage.

She moved him to the grand hallway next. "Polish the banister. On your hands and knees." He crawled along the length of it, cloth in hand, working the wood until it gleamed. Agatha followed close behind, the crop delivering sharp reminders whenever his strokes grew lazy.

By midday his ass burned with overlapping welts, each one a fresh reminder of her control. He paused only to press his lips to the toe of her boot when she allowed it, whispering broken thanks before the crop drove him back to work.

The sexual tension never eased. Every glance she gave him, every slow tap of the crop against her thigh, sent another surge of need through his locked cock. He leaked constantly, the chastity cage slick and heavy.

When she bent to inspect his work, her leather-clad breasts brushed his shoulder and he nearly sobbed from the contact. She noticed the fresh drip from the cage tip and brought the crop down once more, harder than before.

"Beg," she said quietly.

Nathan dropped his forehead to the floor between her boots. "Please, Mistress. Let me serve you. Let me prove I’m yours. I need to please you more than anything."

Agatha smiled, the expression sharp and satisfied. She pressed the sole of her boot to the back of his neck, holding him there for a long moment while the crop rested across his burning ass. Then she lifted her foot and pointed toward the next task.

The afternoon stretched on in the same pattern—chores, corrections, worship, and the constant ache of denied release. Nathan’s devotion only grew with every stripe and every order. By evening his body trembled from exhaustion and arousal, yet he still crawled to her boots the moment she snapped her fingers, pressing desperate kisses to the leather while fresh tears tracked down his cheeks.

Agatha watched him with quiet pride, crop resting lightly against his upturned ass, ready to strike again at the first sign of faltering.

Agatha marched Nathan down the narrow stone steps into the manor’s dungeon, the crop snapping against his already striped ass with every faltering step. The iron chastity cage swung heavily between his thighs, dripping a steady trail of precum onto the cold stairs behind him. At the bottom she pointed to the heavy wooden St. Andrew’s cross bolted to the wall. “Up.”

Nathan climbed onto the cross without hesitation, spreading his arms and legs wide. Agatha fastened the thick leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles, buckling them tight until he was completely immobilized, body presented and vulnerable. She stepped back to admire the sight—his red, welted ass, the locked cock leaking steadily, the way his muscles trembled with anticipation.

She retrieved the ball crushers from the rack and knelt between his spread thighs. The cold metal cups closed around his trapped balls, and she began tightening the screws with deliberate slowness. Nathan gasped as pressure mounted, his balls compressed between the plates.

“Tighter, Mistress,” he begged, voice hoarse. “Please, make them hurt more.” Agatha smiled and gave each screw another full turn, watching his face contort while his caged cock twitched and leaked harder.

Next came the nipple clamps. She pinched each nipple into stiff peaks and attached the heavy clamps, letting the chain swing between them. Nathan moaned at the sharp bite, then moaned louder when she gave the chain a sharp tug. “Thank you, Mistress,” he gasped. “I love it. I want more.”

Agatha picked up the heavy flogger. She positioned herself behind him and began laying steady, measured strokes across his ass and upper thighs. The leather tails thudded and stung, layering fresh heat over the crop welts.

Nathan’s body jerked in the cuffs with each impact, but he pushed his ass back as far as the restraints allowed. “Harder, please,” he begged. “I consent to everything. I want you to mark me. I need it.”

She increased the pace, the flogger cracking loudly in the stone room while his ass turned a deeper shade of red. Precum ran in a thin stream from the cage tip onto the floor. When his begging grew louder she snapped her fingers.

A thick penis gag materialized between his lips, the realistic shaft stretching his mouth wide. She buckled it behind his head, muffling his desperate sounds to wet, needy whimpers.

Agatha set the flogger aside and selected the long, thin wooden cane. She tapped it lightly against his burning cheeks, letting him feel the smooth wood. Then she drew it back and brought it down in a crisp, vicious stroke across both ass cheeks.

The crack echoed through the dungeon. Nathan’s entire body convulsed in the cuffs, a fresh stripe blooming white then red. She delivered another, then another, painting parallel lines across his already punished flesh while he moaned around the gag and leaked helplessly onto the stones below.

Agatha snapped her fingers. Nathan blinked and the world shifted. He found himself bent over the padded bench in the center of the dungeon, wrists and ankles locked into thick leather cuffs that held him spread and helpless. His ass cheeks were already marked from the cane, the skin hot and throbbing, presented perfectly for whatever she chose next.

She stepped in front of him, the massive ten-inch leather strap-on jutting from her hips. She removed the gag from his mouth, and without a word she grabbed a fistful of his hair and shoved the thick head between his lips. The realistic shaft stretched his mouth wide as she drove it deep, the tip hitting the back of his throat. Nathan gagged around the girth but pushed forward eagerly, saliva dripping down his chin.

She face-fucked him with steady, powerful thrusts, burying the strap-on to the hilt each time. Every withdrawal left strings of spit connecting his lips to the shaft. She pulled it free with a wet pop, then slapped both cheeks hard with the heavy length, the wet leather smacking against his face.

"My bitch," she growled, voice low and commanding. "Look at you, drooling for it."

She strolled around behind him, boots echoing on the stone. Her gloved hands gripped his hips, and without warning she drove the thick strap-on straight into his ass. The sudden stretch forced a long, broken moan from his throat as the entire length sank deep inside him.

She started fucking him hard, hips snapping forward, each thrust burying the full ten inches and making his caged cock swing and leak onto the bench beneath him.

"Mine," she said, voice steady as she pounded into him. "This ass belongs to me. This body belongs to me. You belong to me."

Nathan moaned louder with every brutal thrust, body rocking in the restraints, ass clenching around the invading shaft while fresh welts from the cane burned under her grip. She fucked him relentlessly, claiming him with every stroke, his moans echoing through the dungeon as she took what was hers.

Agatha slapped his ass hard with each thrust, the sharp cracks mixing with the wet sounds of the strap-on driving deep. Nathan's moans turned desperate, his body shaking with the force of her fucking.

Every slap sent fresh heat blooming across his marked skin, pushing him deeper into submission as he leaked steadily from the iron cage, desperate to prove himself worthy of her eternal ownership.

He wanted this forever. Her control. Her dominance. He consented to all of it.

He had to come up with a way to prove to her that he was worth becoming one of her eternal submissives as part of her vow to not rest until she has claimed one thousand submissive.