One fateful day, during a particularly intense match, Chotu’s hand slipped, and his friend Hari fell hard on the ground, bruising his arm. Hari ran off, crying, and headed straight to his mother. Rekha, a formidable woman known for her sharp tongue and stronger will. Rekha, incensed by her son’s injury, decided it was time to teach Chotu a lesson he wouldn’t forget.

Rekha, along with her equally robust friend Sunita, confronted Chotu. “You think you’re so tough, beating up these little boys?” Rekha sneered. “Let’s see how you handle a real challenge.” Chotu hesitated, but the women pushed him into the ring.

The fight was brutal. Rekha and Sunita, with their combined strength and experience, easily overpowered Chotu. He struggled, but their blows landed with unrelenting force, leaving him bloodied and bruised. His tears fell on their toes as he apologized and kissed their feet. Word of Chotu’s defeat spread quickly, and what began as a lesson soon turned into a daily spectacle.

Day after day, women from the village, sometimes alone, often in pairs or groups, took turns thrashing Chotu. It became the village’s primary source of entertainment, with crowds cheering as each new bout left Chotu more battered than before. Despite his injuries, Chotu was forced to participate. He even lost an eye in one fight. Also both his legs got broken.

Today, Chotu faced five women, each more ferocious than the last, surrounded him. The villagers gathered around, eager for the show. The women launched their attack, and Chotu was no match for their combined might.

Just as Chotu thought he couldn’t take any more and tried to crawl away, a new figure stepped into the ring. The crowd gasped as his mother, joined the fray. Chotu was in an awe and disbelief.

“Mother, please,” Chotu begged, his voice barely a whisper.

She looked down at him, her expression hard. “Not so fast, son,” she said, her voice steely. “The fight has just started yet.”

“I told you to finish your task by midnight,” she began, her voice low and dangerous. “Yet here we are, and you’re still groveling, begging for my forgiveness.“

He swallowed hard, the weight of her words sending a shiver down his spine. “I… I tried, Mistress, but—“

“But what?” she interrupted, her voice tightening. “Excuses? Is that what you think I want to hear?” The silence on the other end of the line was suffocating, each second heavier than the last. “Do you have any idea how laughable you sound right now?” Ayane’s voice turned mocking, cold amusement dancing just beneath her words. “You disobeyed me. Now you’ll have to pay for that.“

He felt a surge of both fear and desire. The power in her voice held him captive, and the sharpness of her words made him ache with submission. “Please, Mistress, I’ll make it up to you. Tell me what you want.“

A soft, cruel laugh escaped her lips. “Oh, you will make it up to me… but not how you think.” Her tone dropped, slow and deliberate, each word dripping with dark intent. “You’ll stay exactly where you are, on your knees. I want you to picture me—everything you’ve failed to serve—because for the rest of the night, that’s all you’ll have. My voice. My control.“

“Yes, Mistress,” he whispered, breath hitching as the humiliation settled deep within him.

“Good boy,” she purred, satisfaction seeping through her voice. “Now, beg for the punishment you deserve.“