The Night the Collar Found Me Cheating in My Mind

Submitted by Elias Sterling

checked into, Corroder of the Unfaithful

The shock collar is already live against my throat when Mistress Lynne locks the amethyst dungeon door, and I am on my knees on the purple velvet cushion with my wrists cuffed behind my back and my caged cock already leaking a thin thread of pre-cum onto the polished floor. The first pulse hits me without warning, a white-hot snap that travels from the steel band around my neck down through my chest and into the base of my spine, and my whole body jerks forward while my cock swells uselessly against the bars of the chastity cage. Mistress Lynne stands over me in Her black latex dress, Her gloved hand holding the small remote, and She does not speak because She does not need to. The second pulse comes harder, and I feel the electricity arc through my nipples and settle in my balls, and I realize with a clarity that makes me want to weep that I was thinking about her again. Not Mistress Lynne. The woman from the conference in Chicago, the one with the dark hair and the low laugh, the one I fucked in the hotel room while my girlfriend at the time was asleep three time zones away. I was inside that memory, my mind already unfaithful, and the collar found me there and dragged me back by the throat. The third pulse makes my teeth clench and my thighs shake, and the cage is so tight now that the pain and the arousal are the same sensation, and I understand that this is the only place where my betrayals have ever been met with something I cannot talk my way out of.

I cannot escape this because I have never been able to stop cheating, not in my body and not in my mind, and the Corroder of the Unfaithful is the only structure that has ever made the cheating itself into a physical event I have to survive. Every woman I ever loved is in this room with me now, their faces flickering behind my closed eyelids while the electricity keeps finding me, and I am not allowed to hide from them anymore. The collar does not care that I am charming. The collar does not care that I can explain myself beautifully. The collar only knows that my mind wandered to a hotel room in Chicago, to a woman whose name I still remember, to the exact sound she made when I pushed inside her, and the collar punishes that wandering with a current that makes my caged cock throb and my ass clench and my mouth open in a silent scream. Mistress Lynne watches me with Her calm, sovereign expression, and I know She can see exactly where I went, because She always knows. The amethyst walls glow purple in the candlelight, and the beeswax smell is thick in my lungs, and I am on my knees being electrocuted for the crime of remembering a woman I should have never touched, and the worst part is that my cock is harder than it has been in months, straining against the steel like it wants to be punished for every single time I was unfaithful.

The mansion world is quiet around me, the underground velvet swallowing every sound except my own ragged breathing and the faint hum of the collar between pulses, and I think about what this is costing me. Not just the money, though the money is real, the pre-paid arrangement that I cannot charm my way out of, the sessions that drain my accounts while Mistress Lynne's fortune grows from the wallets of men like me. It is costing me the version of myself that I protected for decades, the man who could always find a way to make his betrayals sound like accidents, like misunderstandings, like the fault of circumstance. Here, in the amethyst dungeon, with the shock collar around my neck and my cock locked in steel and the memory of every woman I ever hurt pressing against the inside of my skull, I cannot be that man anymore. The electricity does not allow it. The cage does not allow it. Mistress Lynne does not allow it. And I am on my knees, drooling slightly, my thighs wet with pre-cum, my body jerking with each new pulse, and I know that I have never been faithful to anyone in my entire life. But this punishment, this specific arrangement of pain and arousal and accountability, is the only thing I have ever kept. The collar finds me every time I try to leave, and I am still here, and that is the most honest thing I have ever done.