One day, the girl decided that she didn’t want to be free anymore.
She went to him, and asked for his collar.
“Are you certain?” he asked. “Once you are collared, that’s it. You’re mine. Utterly. Mine to fuck, to caress, to torment; mine to lend out, to give away; mine to mark in any way I like. Do you want that?”
“Yes, Sir,” she said, her voice wavering only a little.
“Prove it,” he said. He handed her a collar – a simple leather collar of black leather, without ornament. A simple ring at the front for a leash, nothing else. A collar for a pet, nothing more.
She held it in her hands, and hesitated.
“If you want to belong to me, you must show me. You must put the collar on yourself. In doing that, you surrender yourself to me. But if you hesitate, I don’t want you.”
She bit her lip, and gingerly placed the collar around her neck. Her hands shook a little as she fastened the buckle. She pulled her hair out from under it, and looked up at her owner, blushing. Her heart beat faster as he looked at her.
“Yes, Sir.” She looked down demurely.
“Now we will see about the sincerity of your surrender. Do not disappoint me.”
She kept looking at her feet.
“Undress. You don’t own those clothes anymore.”
“Now, pet. Don’t start off on the wrong foot.”
She awkwardly began to strip. She did not know where to look, she was ashamed, her breath became short. She had imagined this… differently, at least. Not like this. Clinical. Finally she was naked, save for her collar. She covered her sex with her hands.
He gently took her wrists into his hands, and moved them to her side. His grip was firm, but not excessive. He moved with the assurance of possession. He leaned close to her. Her sex flooded with sensation, her mouth opened slightly, her breathing fast, shallow.
“Hands by your sides, Pet,” he said. “Do not ever take measures to conceal your cunt from me, or from anyone else. It’s just a hole, and it doesn’t belong to you anymore. Do you understand?”
“Good. Now get on your hands and knees. Your body, your desire will show you how.”
Automatically she descended first to her knees, lowered her torso, caught herself by her hands, slid them forward until her breasts rested upon the cool floorboards. She spread her knees apart, instinctively arching her back, presenting her ass and her cunt to him. His holes. She opened her mouth for good measure. She did not want to withhold anything from her owner.
“Good girl,” he said. “Very good. Almost perfect. Do you know what you are doing wrong?”
She remained silent, not wanting to close her mouth, her hole, to speak.
“You must spread your ass cheeks for me, Pet,” he said. “Your ass cheeks and your dripping little cunt. Will you do that for me, Beloved?”
His last word made her heart sing, she began to cry with the joy of utter surrender, of utter dissolution. She truly was his. She felt vulnerable, terribly vulnerable, when she moved her hands back and pulled her ass cheeks apart. Part of her was ashamed. Part of her dreaded what would certainly one day come: he would begin to claim his holes. She hoped it would be her ass first. She did not deserve to have her cunt used. She needed to earn that. She knew it, he did not need to tell her. She was his to dispose of in any way he wanted. Always.
He said nothing. She could feel his gaze crawling over her body. He left her like that. She heard his footsteps recede. He left the room. She did not dare move; she did not have permission to move his property. She waited, abiding in submission. Patient, content. This was what she wanted. She was owned.