The Weight of a Baguette: Daily Submission and Controlled Humiliation

In the vast field of domination, there are subtle moments that transcend the ordinary. No need for a St. Andrew's cross or whips to reach the true essence of BDSM. That day, the mission was simple: buy a baguette and have a coffee. Under my orders, however, these mundane acts became a brutal test of submission.

A Shame Worn Like a Trophy

That morning, I had prepared not only her body but also her mind. The anal plug, adorned with a fox tail, was much more than an accessory – it was a statement. She could not ignore this constant intrusion, this humiliating reminder that her entire being was under my control.

Before her departure, I had taken care to choose her outfit: a tight leather skirt that suggested more than it concealed. Her cheeks were red even before she stepped out the door. Slightly trembling, she knew each step would be a trial. As she walked down the street, I was there, at a distance, savoring every moment. Her movements, amplified by the presence of the plug, turned the everyday into an intimate spectacle of devotion and shame.

The Bakery and the Silent Torture

When she pushed the bakery door, I approached discreetly, just enough to hear everything. Her trembling greeting to the saleswoman was almost a confession. While she waited, standing at the counter, her body betrayed her tension – lips pressed , legs slightly crossed, as if to alleviate the discomfort of the plug.

“A tradition baguette, please.” Her voice was low, but clear. The saleswoman, polite, may have noticed something. I wanted her to notice. Perhaps the slight red on my submissive's neck or that subtle protuberance raised silent questions.

I savored every second. I saw her trying to mask her distress, her gaze avoiding every curious eye. But she completed her mission without faltering. Her submission was not just an humiliation; it was a triumph.

The café and the Final ordeal

The café was the ultimate step. She had to sit on the terrace, enjoy her coffee while remaining still. The plug was still present, a constant torture preventing her from forgetting her role. I settled a few tables away, observing through my newspaper. She didn't know I was there, but her furtive glance swept the space, seeking my invisible approval.

When she sat down, i saw her slight grimace. The hard wood of the chair accentuated the pressure of the plug. She quickly straightened, trying to maintain a neutral posture. The waitress came to take her order. A simple mundane interaction that, in this context, was an exquisite torment.

Her coffee arrived, she took a few sips, her hands slightly trembling. I could almost hear her short breath. Each movement, each detail added to the tension of this moment. It was a public scene, but it was my private show.

Conclusion: A Day Etched in Flesh and Mind

When she finally returned home, her gaze was a mix of fatigue and pride. I made her kneel before me. The plug, still warm from her humiliation, was removed.

Without a word, she began to clean it with her mouth. Her tongue caressed every inch, her gaze lifted towards me seeking my approval. It was not just a task; it was a ritual, a silent declaration that her entire being belonged to me. I let her finish, savoring the echo of her submission.

This day, like so many others, was not just a trial. It was a triumph of our dynamic, another step in our relentless quest for devotion and domination. And next time? Perhaps the tension will be pushed even further. Because with her, limits are just invitations to go further.