BDSM Stories: Bound in Her Power Part 3: A Mistress in the Snow

She lifted her foot off the pedal, the low hum of the engine idling beneath her as she listened to the haunting final notes of Carol of the Bells. Snowflakes danced in the cold night air, specks dotting the windshield before being swept away by the steady rhythm of the wipers. The night was drenched in Christmas—the festive lights casting a glow on the otherwise dark streets, the distant jingling of bells, the heavy scent of pine and cold in the air.

But for her, Christmas wasn’t a celebration. It wasn’t an ode to religion or a nostalgic nod to old Saturnalia rituals. She didn’t deny those things for others, but she didn’t care for them herself. Christmas was a costume, a charade to exploit. And tonight, she was ready to don her mask.

A small smirk tugged at her lips as she reached into the passenger seat, her fingers grazing the soft velvet of the black Santa hat she’d carefully chosen. Oh, she would wear it alright, but not for joy, not for tradition. It was a message, a declaration that she was the one receiving gifts tonight—obedience, submission, and money. Lots of it. Whether her pet gave it willingly or she had to rip the decision from his weak, pathetic little mind, it didn’t matter. She would leave tonight richer than she arrived, and he would leave emptier, begging for her approval.

As the last bar of music faded into silence, she turned the key, killing the engine, and stepped out into the snow. The air was sharp, cold that bites through your clothes and makes your breath visible. She adjusted the brim of her hat, her stilettos clicking against the pavement as she approached the unassuming building ahead. Tonight, she wasn’t delivering presents—she was collecting her own.

BDSM Stories: Decked Halls, Stripped Power

She stepped through the towering doors of her private members’ club, a place where the wealthy came to surrender their riches and the powerful begged to be unmade. The air inside was warm, a large contrast to the snow-laden chill outside, and thick with the faint scent of pine and polished wood.The faint sound of a classic carol echoed through the hall: “There’s a tree in the Grand Hotel, one in the park as well…”

Her heels clicked against the polished marble floors as she moved deeper into the room. Then, she saw it—the pathetic figure kneeling in wait for her. One of her prized pigs, one of her obedient little toys. The sight of him—his head bowed, his trembling hands resting on his thighs—drew her attention like a wolf spotting its prey.

Her head tilted, a smirk curling the corners of her lips. The carol reached a pointed lyric, the words lining up with the scene before her like some twisted poetic harmony: “But the prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be on your own front door.”

A Sharp Command

She took a step forward, her smirk deepening. Without warning, her arm shot out, and the back of her palm struck his face with a sharp, resounding slap. The sound cut through the room, silencing the carol for a moment in her own ears. “Why the fuck are you wearing pants?” she spat, her voice dripping with venom and authority. “Did I give you permission to wear pants? Did I deem you deserving of such a luxury?”

The trembling mess before her looked up, fear wide in its eyes. “No… no, Mistress,” it stammered, its voice a pathetic mix of shame and panic.

“Then strip, cunt.” The venom in her tone hardened into ice, cutting through the air and leaving no room for hesitation.

Its hands fumbled awkwardly, trembling as it struggled to pull its pants down. The garment slid to the floor, leaving its cock exposed, already swollen and twitching with pathetic excitement. She let out a soft scoff at the sight, a single raised brow the only reaction she gave.

The Stiletto’s Tease

Her leg lifted with grace, her sharp stiletto heel gleaming in the warm light. She pressed the icy tip of the metal against the sensitive head of his cock, dragging it slowly across the surface with just enough pressure to make him flinch. A small gasp escaped his lips, and she laughed softly, a dark, knowing sound that filled the room.

“No,” she hissed, her tone mocking, “I did not deem you worthy.”

Her arm shot forward again, this time grabbing the thick leather collar around his neck. The scent of the leather mixed with his fear as she pulled him closer, her hand deftly attaching a leash to the D-ring. The snap of the clasp closing was final, a loud punctuation that echoed in the chamber.

She yanked the leash once, forcing his body forward until his face nearly hit the floor. “Stay on your fucking knees. Don’t move unless I say so. You exist only to entertain me tonight, you got that?” Her voice was low, commanding, and laced with promise—a promise of what was to come.

“Y-yes, Mistress,” he whimpered, his breath shaking as he struggled to hold still.

She smiled, the cold edge of her stiletto still scraping against him. This was just the beginning.

The Price of Christmas Submission

She held the cigarette in her fingers, the thin curl of smoke rising into the air before she extended her arm. Without hesitation, she pressed the glowing ember against his cheek. The hiss of burning flesh broke the silence, his muffled whimpering only fueling her. The mark it left was ugly, and perfect—a reminder of what he was. Her heel rested arrogantly against the growing pile of dollar bills behind her, a throne built from submission and greed.

“It’s Christmas, you pitiful waste of space,” she snarled, her voice low and venomous. “Do you know what that means?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he stuttered, nodding desperately as his trembling hand reached for the pants crumpled on the floor. From the pocket, he retrieved his wallet, his fingers fumbling to open it. He pulled out a stack of $1,000 bills, his hand shaking as he held the money out to her, his eyes pleading for approval.

Choking on Expectations

She smirked, taking the bills and folding them neatly. But satisfaction didn’t cross her face. Not yet. Without a word, she grabbed the leash hanging from his collar, coiling it around his throat with practiced ease. She yanked it tight, watching his eyes widen in panic as his air supply dwindled.

“A thousand? You think a fucking thousand dollars is a Christmas gift?” she spat, her grip unrelenting. Her words dripped with scorn, each syllable cutting into him as deeply as the leash constricted his neck. “A thousand is what I tip the valet after I’ve had dinner. It’s a fucking appetizer. Do. Better.”

His hands clawed at the leash instinctively, his gasps ragged and desperate. He reached for the wallet again, his movements frantic, and emptied it entirely. Fourteen thousand dollars, the crisp bills trembling in his hands as he offered them to her like a lifeline.

Her smile returned, slow and calculated. She snatched the money from him, tossing it casually onto the growing pile behind her. The sound of the bills hitting the stack was like applause to her ears. She tightened the leash once more, dragging him forward with a violent jerk until his face nearly collided with the floor.

Worship in the Dirt

“Kiss my feet. Show me just how low you’re willing to go for me.” she commanded, her voice cold. She shifted her foot, the pointed toe of her stiletto resting just an inch from his face.

He hesitated for only a moment before obeying. His lips brushed against the leather, but something inside him cracked. Desire overtook fear, and instead of kissing, his tongue darted out, licking the grime, salt, and snow slush from the heel of her stiletto. The taste was vile—dirt and melted snow—but he lapped at it as though it were the most decadent feast, desperate to prove his devotion.

“Fucking pathetic,” she hissed, her words sharp enough to cut. She tilted her head, watching him degrade himself further, his tongue darting out in frantic desperation. Her disgusted sneer only seemed to fuel him, his movements becoming more frantic as though his very life depended on her approval.

Her eyes flicked to the pile of money behind her, then back to the man licking her shoes like a starved dog. “This is Christmas,” she muttered under her breath, a cruel smile playing on her lips. “And you’re my favorite kind of decoration. Cheap and willing to break.”

A Command to Submit

The leash tightened with a vicious yank, dragging him upright until he was back on his knees. Her movement was swift, calculated, her leg throwing itself over his shoulders as her sharp claws dug into the back of his head. Without hesitation, she pulled his face between her thighs, her voice reverberating through the hall, cold and cruel.

“You’re a worthless bitch. Just like a dog. Dogs sniff. So now, you’ll do the same. Now, smell my cunt.”

Her thighs clamped around his head, holding him firmly in place, his face pressed against the warm, damp flesh beneath her dress. The scent of her essence overwhelmed him, smearing across his cheeks and nose. The mix of humiliation and arousal was electric, igniting every nerve in his pathetic, trembling body. His cock throbbed uncontrollably, a telltale sign of his subservient hunger.

“You like that?” she spat, her voice dripping with disdain. “You like this privilege, don’t you? Pathetic. A waste of my time, and you can’t even offer me a proper gift.”

With that, she wrenched his head away from her, her grip releasing just as her leg extended outward. The sharp point of her stiletto connected with his chest, sending him sprawling backward with a grunt of pain.

A New Christmas Idea

The Christmas carol playing softly in the background swirled through the air. Suddenly, the lyrics jumped out at her: “Oh-ho, the mistletoe is hung where you can see…” A wicked grin spread across her face. It was like the universe itself was conspiring in her favor tonight, granting her the perfect inspiration for her next act of dominance.

She bent down, her fingers curling tightly around the leash. Without another word, she yanked hard, dragging him forward like a ragdoll. His confusion was evident, his body fumbling to keep up as she pulled him toward the door. “Not a word,” she snapped, her palm smacking across his face with enough force to silence any thought of protest.

Outside, the cold bit at their skin, the snow crunching loudly under her heels as she bundled him into her car. She climbed into the driver’s seat, the leash still firmly in her grip, and started the engine. The journey was silent, save for the Christmas music softly playing in the background.

A Cold, Cruel Gift

Her house came into view, its painted red wood standing out against the white of the falling snow. A sense of satisfaction crept into her chest as her eyes landed on the metal cage hanging from the frame outside her home. It was a relic, a gift she’d been given years ago but never quite found the right occasion to use. Until tonight.

Pulling into the driveway, she climbed out and yanked her plaything out of the car, dragging it through the piled snow. The icy ground burned against its exposed skin, each step a fresh wave of cold that bit deep, but even now, its cock betrayed it, throbbing hard as if in anticipation.

The cage loomed like a sinister Christmas decoration, its iron bars glistening under the soft light of the nearby lanterns. She pulled the door open with a satisfying creak and snapped her fingers. “Climb in” she hissed.

Without hesitation, he obeyed, crawling into the small, confining space. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing in the frosty night air as she bolted it with a deliberate finality. Her hand reached through the bars, wrapping around the hard cock that protruded.

Her sharp grin widened as she removed one of her hoop earrings, the metal glinting under the dim light. With brutal efficiency, she thrust the sharp end into the swollen head of his cock, piercing it cleanly. His muffled scream was music to her ears as she threaded a thin metal chain through the new wound, tying it tightly to the bars of the cage.

The Final Touch

She stepped back, her breath forming small clouds in the cold air as she admired her handiwork. “It’s the most wonderful time of the year,” she sneered, her voice cutting through the silence. “Sleighbells, worthless cunts, and money bags. You’ll wait here until all the celebrations die down. Try to survive for me.”

Spinning on her heel, she left him there, dangling in the icy night, restrained and helpless. The fresh snow swallowed her footprints as she walked back to her car, her heels clicking against the ground like a drumbeat of triumph.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, she turned up the volume on the radio. “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” flowed through the car speakers, Michael Bublé’s smooth voice filling the space as she pulled out of the driveway.

She didn’t look back, not once. The thing she’d left hanging outside her house wasn’t her concern anymore—not tonight. Her smile lingered as the road stretched out before her, the chill of the night fading as she adjusted the heat in the car.

Then, her gaze shifted to the frosted window, her smile deepening. Her lips parted, and as though addressing an invisible audience, she whispered with icy amusement:

“Have a very merry Christmas, all of you.”