CW: violence, metal bondage, objectification, spit, blood, knife, degradation, breath & fear play, d/s, marking through clothing, express consent, slight vulnerability, dominant narrator ("I") at reader
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On the floor, hands behind your back, your feet shackled to a metal ring using crude metal chains while a leash, likewise metallic, connects you to my hand. Naked you kneel there in front of me, standing tall in my black knee-high boots wearing black, lavishly-laced lingerie, a knife with holster strapped to one side of my panties, looking down with a glint of cruel malice in my eyes at that exposed body of yours. Well, not entirely exposed. A violet wristband, my favourite colour, marks your position. A toy, an object to please, to serve, just as agreed upon when you signed up, talking about your wants and boundaries. One of many, taken out of storage amongst others. A random body. As I think about all the things to do with you today I put a boot on one of your thighs and pull you towards me. The leash almost dangles, so quickly do you grasp the moment of almost devouring my boot that I can’t help it. I put my head back, letting out a moan of deep pleasure. Self-control never was a strength of mine. But it also makes using you so much easier and more pleasurable. Oh the anticipation ... My free hand grabbing the back of your head I bend forward, pressing both your face against my boot as well as my body weight right down onto that thigh of yours. A whimper as my heel forces its way ever deeper into your flesh. Good. “Keep that mouth open, toy.” I whisper, audibly intoxicated, yet again closing my eyes and leaning my head backwards: “it would be a pity after all if you miss a spot now, wouldn’t it?” Still pressing you against me I grab your hair, guiding you to where I want you, enjoying all those little moans and gasps of air among the drooling mass of spit you fight against. Then a slap. My hand on you lets go, so does my foot. A kick. And another one. Until you fall, lying on the floor sideways with your feet still shackled down. You do look uncomfortable down there. And those eyes. Frightened, terrified even. Oh what a beautiful, wonderful sight. Pure delight. And that is the only reason I ever need to do whatever pleases me to you. Just where I want you. Just what I need to send me from still slightly fragile to full, total control. Slowly I walk around you so that your back and ass are turned towards me. A kick. And another one. And another one. Another one. And screams. First individual ones, fierce in their expression. Until they become a continuous streak of pain, occasionally to be pierced by slightly higher pitched notes. But none of them your word or signal, none of them a warning as we practiced with you. And so I continue, trusting in your ability to speak up or move when needed. As your tone becomes weaker, gentle whimpers replacing your wails of pain I stop. Dropping the leash on the ground I go to the back of the room and get some disinfectant and tissues, laying them down next to you. Taking the leash I tighten its grip, a kick, strong but meant as a reminder of rank and not for pain, accompanying my command: “get up toy, kneel”. You manage to do so, supporting yourself with both hands on the floor. But that’ll do just fine. I spray your back, making sure to reach every wound that emerged. Than a tug at the leash. Gentle at first, but as I reach down towards you, grabbing your soft, delicate throat, I pull ever stronger, ever tighter, forcing you upwards, until your eyes meet my own. Still keeping it tight, not letting go even an inch I smile, my other hand gently caressing your face. Oh, what beautiful, horror filled eyes. What beautiful little twitches every time you take a breath. What beautiful little sounds you make. I can’t help but stop for a moment, taking in the entire beauty of all that this is, of what you’re giving me. Spit drips down at you, slowly, covering your face. A slap, strong and sharp, supported by my other hand as it keeps you steady. Then fingers around your throat. Tight, fierce, stripping away any chance of breath as I watch you, whispering: “oh, you are mine. Your body is mine. Your breath is mine. Your life is mine. Every single thought of yours is mine. And …” I pause, releasing you, letting go of the leash as you drop back down on your hands, noticeably gasping for breath. Releasing my knife from its holster I spray and clean it before returning, ignoring the leash, this time facing you, watching you. One hand grabs your chin, pulling your head up so that you face me. Oh my, you really are wonderfully beautiful when you’re in pain and terror. I smile. “Your blood” I whisper, as I bend even more towards you, guiding my words directly into your ear as my knife slowly cuts into your thigh, releasing that pure, wonderful liquid you carry in you, “is mine”.