Domination and submission punishment
Pamm adjusted the silk robe draped elegantly around her, a faint smile playing on her lips as she watched the screen. She wasn't looking for anything in particular, just casually browsing one of the more niche forums her friend, Pat, had insisted she check out.
Pat was, to put it mildly, complicated. In person, he was attentive, eager to please, and utterly devoted to Pamm since they started playing domination and submission games – a carefully cultivated dynamic that brought them both a unique brand of satisfaction. He was her neighbor and friend but behind doors she put him in a submissive role which he secretly yearned for with desperate enthusiasm that she found amusing.
Online, however, Pat had developed a curious alter ego. Pamm had stumbled upon "MasterPat_69" a few weeks ago, a self-proclaimed digital overlord who stalked various submissive-oriented chat rooms, spewing commands and dictating fantasy scenarios with a rather clumsy bravado. The language, the odd turns of phrase, the slightly over-the-top, almost theatrical declarations of dominance – it was unmistakably Pat though.
Pamm's smile tightened slightly. "MasterPat," indeed. It was a pathetic, yet strangely compelling performance. He was projecting all the power he craved but felt he couldn't manifest in his daily life. And while Pamm found it amusing for a while, a line had been crossed. He was her submissive. His desire to dominate others online, even if in a purely digital space, felt like a betrayal of their carefully balanced dynamic. It was an attempt to find a power he already possessed, but from a different source. And that simply wouldn’t do.
She leaned back, a plan already forming.
The next evening, Pat arrived at Pamm's house, a nervous tremor in his usual eagerness. He’d received a cryptic text: "Come over. We need to discuss your online activities." He'd known it was possible because he had talked online to a couple of her friends but did not think she would make the connection.
Pamm greeted him with a chillingly serene expression. She was seated on her chaise lounge, a tablet resting idly in her lap, displaying a familiar username.
"Pat," she purred, her voice low and dangerous. "Do you care to explain who 'MasterPat_69' is?"
Pat's face flushed crimson. He stammered, "Pamm, I mean Miss D, I... it's just a game, a silly thing. It doesn't mean anything."
"Doesn't mean anything?" Pamm raised an eyebrow, her gaze piercing. "My dear, when you are my submissive, everything you do means something. Especially when you're attempting to exert 'dominance' over unsuspecting individuals online, using the very techniques I’ve taught you." She paused, letting the silence hang heavy. "It seems, Leo, you've forgotten your place. You've forgotten who you are, and who I am."
He dropped to his knees instinctively, head bowed. "I'm sorry, Pamm. I truly am. I just... sometimes I feel so powerless, and it's easy online—"
"Easy?" she interrupted, her voice gaining a sharp edge. "Easy to be a coward, perhaps. Easy to hide behind a screen name and pretend to be something you're not. But it is not easy to truly submit, nor is it easy to truly dominate. And you, my dear, are neither a master, nor are you a free agent."
She rose and walked towards him, stopping just in front. Her shadow fell over him. "This little online escapade has shown me something important, Leo. It shows me you need a constant, physical reminder of who you are and where your loyalties lie. A reminder that will keep your mind firmly rooted in your true position."
Pat swallowed hard. "Wh-what kind of reminder, Dominique?"
Pamm smiled, a slow, predatory curve of her lips. She reached behind a nearby curtain and produced a discreetly wrapped package. As she tore the paper, a crisp, plastic backed, white adult diaper was revealed with tabs like a big baby diaper.
Pat’s eyes widened in horror. "A... a diaper?"
"Precisely," she said, holding it up. "From now on, until I release you from diaper discipline, Pat, every single time you log onto that computer, every time you open a browser, every time you even think about going online, this will be on you.
She ran a finger along the soft, absorbent material. "It will serve as a constant, physical reminder of your true place. It will keep your mind focused on your submission, on your lack of control over your own basic needs, and certainly, over anyone else's. How can you possibly project an air of 'MasterPat' when you're feeling the gentle press of absorbent padding against your backside, reminding you of your own utter dependence?"
Pat was mortified. The idea of wearing a diaper while trying to engage in his online power fantasies was excruciating. It would shatter the illusion entirely. It was brilliant.
"Now, get up," Pamm commanded, her tone brooking no argument. "Let's get you into your new online uniform."
He stood, trembling slightly, as Pamm expertly pushed him down on the couch into the diaper position, and fastened the diaper around him. The rustle of the material, the snug fit, the sheer infantilization of it, sent shivers of humiliation – and a strange, undeniable thrill – through him.
"There," she said, patting his hip. "Perfect. Now, you may go home. But remember the rule."
The next day, Pat found himself staring at his computer screen, dreading the act. He had the diaper on, feeling its bulk beneath his clothes. He tried to log into one of his usual chat rooms. He typed "Greetings, little ones," but the words felt hollow. The feeling of the diaper, the constant subtle pressure, was an inescapable anchor, pulling him back to reality, to his reality as Pamm's submissive.
He tried to issue a command, but his mind kept drifting to the fact that he was essentially in adult baby gear. How could he be a "Master" when he felt so utterly vulnerable and dependent? The power, the bravado, the illusion all evaporated. He pictured Pamm's knowing smile, her satisfied gaze.
He logged off the forum. He logged off the computer entirely.
Later that evening, Pamm received a text from him: "Pamm, I think I've realized my place. Thank you for the reminder."
A soft, triumphant smile graced her lips. The punishment wasn’t cruel; it was corrective. It wasn't just about humiliation; it was about grounding him, about reminding him of the security and purpose he found in his true role. And perhaps, a little reminder that while he might occasionally stray, Pamm always knew exactly how to bring her submissive back to heel. Especially when he spent too much time online.
Pat was, to put it mildly, complicated. In person, he was attentive, eager to please, and utterly devoted to Pamm since they started playing domination and submission games – a carefully cultivated dynamic that brought them both a unique brand of satisfaction. He was her neighbor and friend but behind doors she put him in a submissive role which he secretly yearned for with desperate enthusiasm that she found amusing.
Online, however, Pat had developed a curious alter ego. Pamm had stumbled upon "MasterPat_69" a few weeks ago, a self-proclaimed digital overlord who stalked various submissive-oriented chat rooms, spewing commands and dictating fantasy scenarios with a rather clumsy bravado. The language, the odd turns of phrase, the slightly over-the-top, almost theatrical declarations of dominance – it was unmistakably Pat though.
Pamm's smile tightened slightly. "MasterPat," indeed. It was a pathetic, yet strangely compelling performance. He was projecting all the power he craved but felt he couldn't manifest in his daily life. And while Pamm found it amusing for a while, a line had been crossed. He was her submissive. His desire to dominate others online, even if in a purely digital space, felt like a betrayal of their carefully balanced dynamic. It was an attempt to find a power he already possessed, but from a different source. And that simply wouldn’t do.
She leaned back, a plan already forming.
The next evening, Pat arrived at Pamm's house, a nervous tremor in his usual eagerness. He’d received a cryptic text: "Come over. We need to discuss your online activities." He'd known it was possible because he had talked online to a couple of her friends but did not think she would make the connection.
Pamm greeted him with a chillingly serene expression. She was seated on her chaise lounge, a tablet resting idly in her lap, displaying a familiar username.
"Pat," she purred, her voice low and dangerous. "Do you care to explain who 'MasterPat_69' is?"
Pat's face flushed crimson. He stammered, "Pamm, I mean Miss D, I... it's just a game, a silly thing. It doesn't mean anything."
"Doesn't mean anything?" Pamm raised an eyebrow, her gaze piercing. "My dear, when you are my submissive, everything you do means something. Especially when you're attempting to exert 'dominance' over unsuspecting individuals online, using the very techniques I’ve taught you." She paused, letting the silence hang heavy. "It seems, Leo, you've forgotten your place. You've forgotten who you are, and who I am."
He dropped to his knees instinctively, head bowed. "I'm sorry, Pamm. I truly am. I just... sometimes I feel so powerless, and it's easy online—"
"Easy?" she interrupted, her voice gaining a sharp edge. "Easy to be a coward, perhaps. Easy to hide behind a screen name and pretend to be something you're not. But it is not easy to truly submit, nor is it easy to truly dominate. And you, my dear, are neither a master, nor are you a free agent."
She rose and walked towards him, stopping just in front. Her shadow fell over him. "This little online escapade has shown me something important, Leo. It shows me you need a constant, physical reminder of who you are and where your loyalties lie. A reminder that will keep your mind firmly rooted in your true position."
Pat swallowed hard. "Wh-what kind of reminder, Dominique?"
Pamm smiled, a slow, predatory curve of her lips. She reached behind a nearby curtain and produced a discreetly wrapped package. As she tore the paper, a crisp, plastic backed, white adult diaper was revealed with tabs like a big baby diaper.
Pat’s eyes widened in horror. "A... a diaper?"
"Precisely," she said, holding it up. "From now on, until I release you from diaper discipline, Pat, every single time you log onto that computer, every time you open a browser, every time you even think about going online, this will be on you.
She ran a finger along the soft, absorbent material. "It will serve as a constant, physical reminder of your true place. It will keep your mind focused on your submission, on your lack of control over your own basic needs, and certainly, over anyone else's. How can you possibly project an air of 'MasterPat' when you're feeling the gentle press of absorbent padding against your backside, reminding you of your own utter dependence?"
Pat was mortified. The idea of wearing a diaper while trying to engage in his online power fantasies was excruciating. It would shatter the illusion entirely. It was brilliant.
"Now, get up," Pamm commanded, her tone brooking no argument. "Let's get you into your new online uniform."
He stood, trembling slightly, as Pamm expertly pushed him down on the couch into the diaper position, and fastened the diaper around him. The rustle of the material, the snug fit, the sheer infantilization of it, sent shivers of humiliation – and a strange, undeniable thrill – through him.
"There," she said, patting his hip. "Perfect. Now, you may go home. But remember the rule."
The next day, Pat found himself staring at his computer screen, dreading the act. He had the diaper on, feeling its bulk beneath his clothes. He tried to log into one of his usual chat rooms. He typed "Greetings, little ones," but the words felt hollow. The feeling of the diaper, the constant subtle pressure, was an inescapable anchor, pulling him back to reality, to his reality as Pamm's submissive.
He tried to issue a command, but his mind kept drifting to the fact that he was essentially in adult baby gear. How could he be a "Master" when he felt so utterly vulnerable and dependent? The power, the bravado, the illusion all evaporated. He pictured Pamm's knowing smile, her satisfied gaze.
He logged off the forum. He logged off the computer entirely.
Later that evening, Pamm received a text from him: "Pamm, I think I've realized my place. Thank you for the reminder."
A soft, triumphant smile graced her lips. The punishment wasn’t cruel; it was corrective. It wasn't just about humiliation; it was about grounding him, about reminding him of the security and purpose he found in his true role. And perhaps, a little reminder that while he might occasionally stray, Pamm always knew exactly how to bring her submissive back to heel. Especially when he spent too much time online.
36-40, M