Five quick taps of her sharp red nails in unison dug my mistake deeper into my psyche. I thought she already started rolling. A sigh followed up with a "Hey guys," answered that question. "Natalie here." I lay beneath her gargantuan rear, smothered against her pillowy ass. The string tied around my arms is gradually digging into me. No doubt, I'd have more marks than these after this. "Much to my disappointment, but... not so surprising, I guess... my dumbass subby hubby here deleted my story!"

She pulled me from between her cheeks. Not quite me directly, but the pencil she had me tied to, dangling like bait over a pond. I was already bruised, battered, and dried with my own blood from her relentless beating at my less-than-normal size. I coughed through the pain she put me through, blood dribbling down from my mouth. "I'm sorry," I quite literally cried, "I'm so sorry!" I knew damn well not to ask for help. Not since the last time. ESPECIALLY not on YouTube.

""So, little subby hubby," Natalie swung me in front of the camera, "What are you gonna do to make it up to, not only me, but ALL of my devoted subby fans?"

"Anything!" I pleaded into the internet, "Please goddess, I will do ANYTHING!"

"Maybe I could see you to the highest bidder..." she so dangerously thought, twisting the pencil to coil me up against it, then dropping me down to nearly give me whiplash.

I wept at the thought of being with anybody other than my wife so worthy of worship. "Please, no!" I bawled, not a care in the world wide web that saw me. "I want to serve YOU, goddess! Please!" She brought my closee to her face, stone cold. "I worship you! I worship you, I worship you, I worship you!" with the last "you" barrelling off into greater tears of desperation.

"So he worships me," Natalie continued, looking into the camera, "but goes and deletes my work I so graciously made him slave over." In a fit of pent up rage, she swung the pencil to smack me against her desk.

"Fans," she continued, "lurkers, wannabe slaves, fellow dommes, horrified onlookers that clicked just a little too far down YouTube's rabbit hole... my stupid little subby hubby goes through hell for me. He begs for the solid underside of my shoe, not for his pleasure-- not even for mine at times-- but to prove his devotion."

An ankle boot clicked on the desk, fresh from her wonderful bare sole. Natalie balanced the pencil to keep me dangling in there, just barely touching the bottom. Enough that I couldn't reach the decadent, holy ground this goddess walks upon, but swealter in its leftover heat. I so eagerly took in as deep of breaths I could.

Her soft, hypnotic hand covered the opening of the shoe to muffle the sound of the outside world. "Folks," Natalie spoke into the web, "I struggle to find something that will genuinely punish my hubby anymore. He wasn't always so eager to sleep the night away in my little chocolate rosebud," (she added a giggle in post), "he once hated the food I chewed and spat back at him for his daily meal," (she giggled in real-time, here), "years ago, lil' subby would have NEVER thought he'd find himself two-inches tall licking the grime beneath my toenails--" as part of goddess' weekly pedicure procedure, "--let alone BEG me to LET him do it. I've so quickly and successfully warped this once-dignified man into the most humbled and debased subserviant husband, that I would be in jail were it not for the marital agreement we based Terms & Conditions off of." Natalie took a sip of her wine, but cut it from the final version of the video. "I'm at my wits at end with punishing him."

The fully edited version of her video cut to her BMW pulling into the plaza that housed a local sex shop. "So I had to get creative," she dubbed over the clip of me shaking in the backseat.

She segwayed scenes through a shot of her eyes looking through the rearview mirror at me, asking "Ready, subby?"

We wrote these things in Terms & Conditions. That's all it was; a story. Behind the screen, we kept our arraingment private-- as private as it could be plastering it all online. It's easy to debase yourself for all the world to see when your neighbors don't know, when employers don't know, when store clerks don't know. The secret was equally kept for her professional life as it was for me.

But then-- as you know, dear reader-- I fucked up.

My goddess dolled me up, like she had me write about, dressed me as her maid, like she had me write about, and shrunk me to two feet tall, like she had me write about. Little did I know how much of it was a threat.

Shaky hands clicked the door handle while a quivering voice answered "Yes, goddess."

I stepped out of the car, and clicked my uneasy heels in to the sex shop. It was a slow day, thank god, but I still turned heads. I kept telling myself they didn't recognize me, but some did. Some had to. I saw it in the way they stared, and didn't look away.

The strap on in my hand looked comical at my size. No doubt people laughed. Then came the greuling part.

I turned to look out the storefront to find Natalie watching close. There was no avoiding it.

I found the nearest worker, like she told me to, and asked her, like she told me to, "Excuse me, ma'am...," I tried for that dainty, girly tone she had me write about, "Where can I find your..."

The woman didn't look amused, "What?"

"Chastity devices?"

I swear to god she knew... because when I asked, before she answered, she looked out the window at my goddess, then back at me and smiled before pointing me in the right direction.

And of course, given my adjustable size, she told me to buy the smallest one I could find.

At checkout, the clerk couldn't stop looking over at my goddess and back at my pathetic form. She had to ask; "Are you?" but pasued before trying again, "Are you the guy from pursuedsub?"

"Y-" my face blushed to match my makeup, "Yeah..."

She roared with laughter. I panicked, forgot my change, and ran to the car.

Natalie locked it, only presenting her hand to take the shopping bag and demand, "Change."

I stood silent and ashamed.

"You didn't get the change?"

"N-no, godde-"

Before I could finish, she demanded, "Go in there, say you're sorry, and ask for thr change." She cherried the top, "With a pretty please."

The clerk never took her eyes off me; hands at her side laughing as I returned to ask for my change.

It hung between her fingers, just out of my reach. The woman made me jump for it until I fell on my ass. She stood there lauging hers off.

"Hey," a dominant voice shut the store up; my divine goddess of a wife, "Leave my subby hubby alone, and give me MY change back."

The clerk was equally star-struck, and embarrassed. Natalie took the change and shrunk me down to less than an inch in front of everybody in the store. With a swift kick I've grown so fond of, her brown flat popped off. She didn't look at me, but I knew who she was talking to when she said, "Get in."

I obliged, taking note of the black toe prints I looked forward to lapping up.

I'd never been put into chastity before. Hell, I thought the devices were a myth until I met Natalie. Now I found myself trapped in one; the smallest size they had-- some days embarassingly too big, other days pathetically small. The reality took only a day to settle in, that she was not going to let me cum. So quickly did I yearn for stimulation; the kind I'd get rubbing against her toes when she took me to work with her at the tip of a heel, or humping her in worship traversing her panties throughout the day to spread her pleasure, or the little dribbles she so less than forced out toying with me against her divine like a sweet candy sucker.

Natalie later admitted that, "I don't have it," with a mocking laugh, in regard to the key.

I felt broken, sick at the possible reality of never, ever cumming again. "You don't...?"

"Nope," she said so matter of fact, "Mom does."

My jaw dropped when I heard that. Again, this was merely something she made me write about. I had no idea it'd turn into a threat. My mother-in-law, my keyholder. The one small step to release I so desperaty yearned for.

"D-" I didn't know where to start, "does she know?!" I asked in reference to our far below the standard for a nuclear family.

"Of course she does, dummy," she said with the utmost seriousness, "She's like, almost always the first one to watch my videos."

Every video Natalie made flashed through my head as if I'd just died, and it was my life. As far as I was concered, it was now. The first time I caught a wiff of her divine foot fragrance, and the update of that one where I (so whole-heartedly) proved my love of the scent; the time I BEGGED soak in her holy bathwater before draining; the time she made me sing "I'm a little teapot," for ten hours; ... the laundry day video... I shiver at the thought of Heather (her mother) watching those. Was it in delight? Disgust? Regret for her blessing in our marriage?

Natalie left me with an ultimatum: If I EVER want to cum again, Natalie will unlock me (with the spare key she fibbed about not having) if anybody has an archived copy of Terms & Conditions they would be willing to send us at pursuedsub@gmail.com

Please. I am BEGGING you, if you have it. Because the alternative to my sexual freedom is to convine my mother-in-law, Heather, to (as Natalie put it) release me. I have no idea what to expect with the latter option, and I dread it; choking on humiliation.

I know I meantioned earlier, she'd kill me if I asked this, but...

Somebody please help me...