Part I: The Summons

The message had been simple.  

*"Goddess Nagini, I seek your judgment. I have been disobedient, reckless. I crave your punishment. No mercy. No limits. Please."*  

She read the words with a slow, knowing smile. Most men who came to her thought they knew pain, thought they had tasted true discipline. But they only wanted the illusion of suffering, the fantasy of submission. This one, however, had begged for something deeper. Something real.  

Nagini responded with only an address and a time.  

Now, he knelt before her in the dim, crimson-lit chamber, his head bowed, muscles tense with anticipation. He was shirtless, his skin marked with the remnants of past indulgences. He had come prepared for torment, but nothing could have prepared him for her.  

She circled him like a serpent sizing its prey, the scent of leather and incense thick in the air.  

“You ask for punishment,” she murmured, trailing a single nail down his spine. He shuddered. “And yet, do you even understand what you are asking for?”  

“Yes, Goddess.” His voice was hoarse with desperation.  

Nagini let out a slow, mocking laugh. “No. You don’t.”  

The crack of her whip against the stone floor made him flinch. She caught it—the brief flicker of uncertainty in his posture. Delicious.  

“Men like you are greedy,” she continued, stepping in front of him, tilting his chin up with the tip of her boot. “You beg for pain, thinking it will absolve you. Thinking it will make you *worthy.*”  

He swallowed hard, staring up at her with wide, pleading eyes.  

“But punishment isn’t something you *deserve*,” she whispered, leaning down so close he could feel her breath against his lips. “It’s something I decide to give.”  

The first lash came without warning, a sharp, searing kiss across his back. He gasped, but no cry escaped him. Good. She hated the ones who broke too soon.  

Another. Then another. Each strike was precise, measured. Each one building upon the last, deepening his descent into the exquisite abyss of suffering he had so desperately sought.  

She watched him shake, his body writhing, but still, he did not utter a safe word. Not that she had given him one.  

“You wanted a goddess who wouldn’t say no,” she purred, kneeling beside him now, fingers curling into his hair, yanking his head back. His breath hitched as he met her gaze—mercy was a foreign thing in her eyes.  

“I am not here to satisfy *you,*” she whispered against his ear. “You are here to entertain *me*.”  

And with that, the true punishment began.  

---
Part II: The Claiming

The pain had become an almost unbearable symphony, each strike, each bite of the whip, a note in the composition of his punishment. His body trembled, every muscle taut with the ache of surrender, but still, he had not broken.  

Mistress Nagini stood before him, poised and powerful, her eyes gleaming with the promise of more. She was a force, a goddess in her own right, and she reveled in his submission.  

“You still haven’t learned, have you?” she purred, her voice smooth and cruel as it echoed in the chamber. “You still think you can handle what I give. But you’re only a toy in my hands. A plaything to break and build. Do you understand?”  

He could barely breathe, let alone speak. He nodded, lips trembling as he fought the instinct to beg for mercy.  

Nagini’s lips curled into a smirk as she trailed her fingers over his raw skin, pressing into the bruises that marked him. “Good boy,” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. “You’re mine now. You will learn your place. And tonight, I’ll remind you just how deep that place goes.”  

She stepped away from him, heels clicking against the cold stone floor. From the polished table beside her, she retrieved something new—something heavier. The chain links clinked softly as she lifted them, the weight of them familiar in her hands.  

“I told you,” she murmured, walking back to him. “I am not here to give you what you *want.* I am here to remind you of what you *are.*”  

With one swift motion, the cold steel of the collar snapped around his throat. His body jerked, the sensation forcing a strangled gasp from his lips.  

**Mine.**  

The unspoken word echoed between them, deeper than any lash, heavier than any chain.  

She tugged—just enough to steal his breath for a moment, enough to remind him that control was not his to hold.  

“Crawl,” she commanded, voice laced with quiet cruelty.  

He hesitated for half a second too long.  

Nagini yanked the chain, sending him forward onto his hands and knees. His body obeyed before his mind could catch up, instincts overriding pride.  

Good.  

She prowled behind him, the thrill of absolute power coursing through her veins. The moment of surrender was always intoxicating—the precise second when defiance bled into obedience, when a man accepted his true place beneath her.  

He had come to her begging for punishment.  

Now, he would learn what it truly meant to be *owned.*  

---

Part III: The Breaking

His body was trembling, every nerve raw, his mind floating in that perfect liminal space between pain and pleasure. He no longer questioned why he was here, no longer doubted why he had come to her. He was hers. Entirely.  

Nagini sat in her high-backed chair, watching him with a gaze that stripped him down further than any lash ever could. His body bore the evidence of her work, red and bruised, a masterpiece of suffering. Yet, still, he knelt. Still, he endured.  

She tapped a single finger against the armrest, considering him. “Are you ready for more?”  

His breath hitched. He knew there was no correct answer. He knew she would do as she pleased regardless.  

Still, he whispered, “Yes, Goddess.”  

Nagini rose from her throne with a slow, deliberate grace. She reached for the chain at his throat, twisting it around her wrist as she pulled him forward until his forehead nearly touched her knee.  

“You still think you have control,” she murmured, tilting his chin up. “That you get to choose.”  

The chain tightened. His breath caught.  

"You are not here to be pleased," she whispered against his trembling lips. "You are here to suffer for *me.*"  

And with that, she dragged him back to the cold floor, back to the abyss of pain and worship, back to the exquisite torture that would mold him into what he was always meant to be—*hers.*  

Forever.