Until I experienced it, I could never have imagined how difficult it is to climb a flight of stairs while crawling on all fours.
When You removed Your belt and once more looped it around my neck, it felt like coming home. I couldn’t help myself; I smiled happily up at You and breathed, “Thank You, Sir.” I was prepared for You to urge me to my feet again, to lead me wherever You wanted to go. But when You gently tugged me forward onto my hands and knees I astonished myself by groaning with arousal, unbelievable so soon after my overwhelming orgasm. Why do I love it so much when You treat me like Your possession and make me do things like that?
You made me wait while You tucked Your cock away and zipped and fastened Your pants. Then, holding the end of my ‘leash’ casually in one hand, You started across the living room, knowing that I would follow You.
Following You through the streets at the end of Your tether had been incredibly exciting, but somehow the humiliation of crawling after You on all fours again, as if I were nothing more than a dog being taken for a walk, shook me to my core, Sir. If You had told me to do so, I would have barked and wagged my tail for You, Sir.
Thank You for Your patience when we began climbing the stairs, Sir. You climbed up a few steps and then, when You felt me hesitate, You stopped and turned and waited for me to figure it out. It was incredibly awkward and even more humiliating than simply crawling after you on the floor. I loved it, Sir.
You led me into Your bedroom, Sir. You lit a single candle on your bedside table and then wrapped the end of my leash around one of the bedposts. Then You simply said, “Stay,” and left me there. I heard You walking down the stairs and after a moment I thought I heard a plastic bag being rustled. Then nothing.
I waited on all fours. I looked around the room a little bit, taking in its simple elegance. But I did not move, not one inch. I simply waited, quivering with anticipation.
A little while later I heard You climbing the stairs again. I was breathing so heavily that my mouth was hanging open. What more could You possibly do with me?
It didn’t take me more than a moment to figure out exactly what more You could do with me when You entered the room again and I saw the coils of rope dangling from Your hand: the same ones You had used to tie me to my desk.
And I’m sure You recall, Sir, how the very sight of You and what You were carrying, seen from my position on all fours and leashed to the bed, and the knowledge of what You were about to do with me, caused me to literally shake and start to hyperventilate as another orgasm rose up from between my legs and threatened to overwhelm me.
How quickly you reacted, Sir! You dropped the rope to the floor as you quickly knelt in front of me and seized me once again by my hair, pulling my head up and, seeing that I was about to lose control, slapped my face lightly, once on each cheek, as You commanded me, without words, to stop.
At first Your actions nearly had the opposite effect from what You intended, Sir: the way You took control of me, the stinging pain of Your slaps and above all the intensity of Your gaze nearly drove me over the edge. But I borrowed some of Your strength and fought down the orgasm, even as I cried out, “Oh! Oh! Oh!” over and over. It was so hard, Sir! I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything as badly as I wanted to come right then.
Except to please You, Sir.
And at last I succeeded, Sir, even though I collapsed to the floor again, completely wrung out by the effort. I may even have passed out for a moment. In fact, I think I must have, because the next thing I knew You were lifting me off the floor in Your arms and gently laying me down on Your bed.
Even in my dazed condition I felt You kissing me on the forehead and heard You whisper, “Good girl”. The room was dark, so I don’t know whether You were able to see the proud smile on my face, but it was there.
It felt so wonderful to just lie there as You gently removed my poor, abused panties and hung them from one of the bedposts before retrieving the lengths of rope from the floor, positioning my now-naked body like a starfish - legs spread wide, arms outstretched over my head on either side of me - before beginning to tie each of my limbs to one of the bedposts. I had to fight so hard not to writhe, Sir, and to remain silent, while You immobilized me, though I know a few whimpers escaped from between my lips.
And when all the knots were tied to Your satisfaction, and my arms and legs stretched almost painfully wide, leaving me completely exposed to Your gaze, You did the worst possible thing:
Nothing.
You stood at the foot of the bed, gazing down at me as if I were some kind of exhibit in a museum.
At first I wanted to scream in frustration. I wanted desperately to somehow sit up, grab you by the arms and pull you down on top of me. But then I realized that of course my inability to do so was exactly the point, and my gift to You. So I met Your gaze and, without words, offered You everything: my panting, open mouth; my erect nipples and my gaping, dripping pussy; my arousal and my helplessness. I offered my complete and utter submission to Your will, Sir. I offered my very self as Your possession.
And in my surrender it was as if I began to see myself through Your eyes: a possession, yes, to be used for Your pleasure, but so much more than that. For the first time in my life I saw myself as truly beautiful and desirable, and not just for my body but for who I am, and who I’m continually discovering myself to be under Your care. I was utterly vulnerable and yet completely safe; humiliatingly exposed and yet cared for, even cherished.
I wanted to stay in that moment forever, Sir: completely open to You, seeing myself only as You saw me in Your compelling and yet compassionate gaze. And I think You must have sensed this, Sir, because we remained like that for quite some time, drinking each other in.
But of course the moment couldn’t last forever. I was mindless with arousal, and I began to babble, “Please, Sir… Oh god, please, Sir…”
But You walked around to stand beside me and, putting Your forefinger to Your mouth, hushed me: “Shhh.”
Then You plucked my panties from the bedpost and stuffed them into my mouth.
In an instant I was right back here in this office, the picture you had taken of me earlier - tied to my desk with my panties in my mouth - filling my mind. I groaned with arousal and my hips began to buck of their own accord, so desperate was I for release.
But I was helpless.
Voiceless.
Yours.
Sir, just writing this has made me so fucking horny! I’m still on all fours, of course, with my ass in the air and my legs spread, and right now my pussy is literally quivering in my panties, the moisture running down the insides of my thighs. Please come soon, Sir, I can’t take much more of this!
You let me writhe and whimper for quite a while, Sir, my eyes wide and staring into Yours while You regarded me calmly. Then You slowly sat down on the edge of the bed. You smiled at me and stroked my hair, soothing me and telling me softly that I was doing very well, that I was being - Oh, Sir! - a very good little girl. I would have smiled back at You if I could, Sir, if my mouth wasn’t already full of my disgusting, soaking wet panties. But I did manage to settle down somewhat under your ministrations, Sir.
Not for long, of course, as I’m sure You remember, Sir. It wasn’t long before Your hand drifted downward, once more pinching first one, then the other, of my fully erect nipples, making me arch my back with the pleasure of it. You did this for what seemed like hours, Sir, teasing me ever so gently, going back and forth between them, watching me carefully as you built up the fires of my arousal once more.
You began to pinch them harder, Sir, filling your hand with each breast in turn, squeezing and massaging each one, observing me as if I was part of an experiment You were conducting - which I suppose I was. You began giving my breasts little slaps, alternating that with Your ongoing treatment of squeezing and pinching them.
All the while completely ignoring my poor, desperate pussy.
I quickly gave up all pretense of control - not that there had been much left anyway - and began to writhe in earnest, moaning and babbling through my panties and begging You with my eyes.
But You showed me no mercy, Sir. Thank You, Sir.
You brought me to the very edge of orgasm, my back arched and my hips involuntarily thrusting, a scream trying to force its way past the panties in my mouth.
And then You stopped.
You folded Your hands in Your lap and again You simply watched me thrash and moan and whimper on the bed. You only touched me once during the next several minutes, and that was when You took a tissue from the box on Your bedside table and used it to gently blot away the tears that were leaking out of my eyes, leaning down to kiss me on the forehead once more as You did so.
And then, when You decided that I had sufficiently settled and regained control of myself, You began again, Sir. You ran Your hands all over my body, slowly, molding my flesh as if it were soft clay. You caressed my arms, my face, my breasts, my stomach, my thighs, my shins and even the soles of my feet - everywhere but the one place I would have given anything for You to touch. Then You worked Your way back up again, more slowly this time, massaging me even more deeply.
It was torture.
It was wonderful.
And then You rested one hand on my abdomen, the tip of Your middle finger resting lightly on my clitoris, and with the other You plucked the panties from my mouth. You began stroking my clit, delicately, as You leaned down, looking deeply into my eyes, and said only one word: