Humbled and Disciplined: Zeek’s Submission to Madam Nora

Dear Madam Nora,

Writing this letter to you is one of the most nerve-wracking things I’ve ever done. Just imagining submitting to you feels like I’m stepping over a line, like my thoughts are somehow too bold, too unworthy. But I know it’s time to confess—Annie knows, and now you will too. I’m utterly captivated by you, Madam Nora. Your strength, your presence—it both terrifies and humbles me. I’d follow any command, do anything you ask, without question, because that’s the depth of my respect and awe.

Submitting to you isn’t something to take lightly; I know that well. There’s no room for pleading or bargaining. You alone decide when enough is enough, and despite my fears, I would trust you entirely with that judgment.

I’ve often pictured a scenario where I make a costly mistake, and the only way to set things right is to come to your estate for correction. The moment I step onto your grounds, I know it won’t be about pleasure or indulgence—it’s about discipline. About being brought to my knees by a woman whose command is the only restraint I’ll need. And, of course, I know duckie would be watching. He’d be there, quietly observing, thrilled to witness my punishment.

As I enter your dungeon—a place I glimpsed only once at the 420 party, back when I was still a guest—I would feel the atmosphere shift. There’s no more playful banter, no casual exchanges. I’m no longer a guest; I’m here to be corrected.

The first task would be straightforward but humbling. I’d kneel before you, eyes lowered, as you extend one of your sleek, polished boots. I wouldn’t need instruction; I’d know exactly what to do. My tongue would trace along the leather, worshiping each inch, my body trembling as I work. The taste of leather would fill my mouth as I press my lips reverently to your boot, knowing this is just the beginning—a reminder of my place even before the true punishment begins.

When you’re ready, you’d stand and direct me to the wall with a quiet command. I’d place my hands flat against the cold surface, legs spread, anticipating what’s to come. There’d be no need for chains; your authority alone would hold me in place. The first snap of the whip would land across my back, a quick sting that sends shockwaves through me. You’d continue, each strike harder, each lash igniting my skin with a blazing intensity. My back, my shoulders, and my thighs would become a map of red marks, each one a lesson burned into my skin.

You wouldn’t stop until my entire body felt raw, a reminder of my mistake. But even as the pain grew, I’d remain still, each strike reminding me of the respect and discipline I owe you. By the time you’re done, I’d be shaking, my body sore and trembling, humbled by your punishment.

But the lesson wouldn’t end there. After a quiet moment, you’d tell me to turn around. My body would be exhausted, but still, my arousal would betray me—a sign of my submission, as shameful as it feels. You’d pick up a flogger, one designed to deliver sharp, stinging strikes, and position yourself before me, calm and composed. The first blow would land on my shaft, a quick, searing sting that forces me to catch my breath. Each strike that follows would be carefully measured, each one building on the last, delivering that sharp bite keeping me on the edge.

Your strikes would move lower, the flogger snapping against my thighs and my balls, each hit a precise sting that makes my knees weaken. The impact on my balls would be light but firm, creating a dull, steady ache that makes me catch my breath, reminding me of the power you hold over me. The sensation would grow, each strike pushing me deeper into submission, my body held in place by the intensity of your control.

By the time you’re done, I’d be a trembling mess, my skin a tapestry of red marks, my body aching but profoundly aware of the discipline you’ve imparted. You wouldn’t say anything, but the silence would speak volumes, leaving me to absorb the weight of your authority and my respect for you.

In that silence, I would know, without a doubt, that I am yours to correct, to teach, and to follow. And for that, Madam Nora, I am endlessly grateful.

Yours in humble submission,
Zeek