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Sometimes he'll take me outside, letting me breathe fresh air. Letting me see the sun. It hurts my eyes, but despite the pain, I always, always end up begging him to let me stay a little longer just to feel the breeze. He never does. The voice demands my surrender. My obedience. Every time, I give in. Meekly accepting his control. His power over me. He takes me back inside, and I'm lost again in the darkness.

When he travels, he tells me that I'm going with him. He puts me in the Box. I can feel the movement. It feels like a truck, maybe a boat, sometimes. He puts the mask on my face, and I can hear the hissing from the air tanks, until the headphones go back on, and I hear him demanding my surrender. My obedience. I hear him telling me I'm his toy. His property. The tablet suspended above me is the only light in the Box. His face flashes between the psychedelic colors, spirals and jarring kaleidoscopic fractals. With nothing else to look at, nowhere to move, my eyes are always drawn back to it. I'm helpless. There must be something in the air tanks, because I always drift away, not asleep, but not fully aware, either. With nothing else for my mind to cling to, I'm forced to sink deep into his words. His demands. I can't escape the colors and lights. Every time, they draw me in and hold my mind captive. It's just as much his prisoner, his property, his plaything as my body is. I never know where I am. Even trapped in the Box, he still plays with my body. Using me. The toys he slips into me, or straps to my clit are always buzzing. Always writhing inside me or against me. On and off, on and off, high power, low power. I can't get them out, I can't take them off. Toys for his toy.

Sometimes he'll take me out. Feed me. Let me drink. Always bound. Always helpless. Always blind in the darkness. He'll tell me it's time for exercise. My arms and legs are strapped tight, forcing me to crawl on elbows and knees. His pet. His plaything. He uses the crop to turn me as I crawl. The sting isn't muted by the leather and rubber at all. He's taught me without words to respond to the whipping. The harsher the sting, the more I am supposed to turn. Trained like a pet. Forced to crawl. Forced to obey the pain. Forced to submit. He keeps me filled, his toys either inflated or buzzing away inside me. I can't even beg him to take them out or turn them off. I have to endure it.

There have been times where he'll force me to stand. My legs are always bound, painful shoes keep me in place. Lowering my heels will push sharp spikes into my feet. I never know how long it'll last. Minutes, hours. Sometimes it feels like days. I know it can't be that long, but I'm kept locked in darkness. No sight. No sound. No awareness of time. Just forced to stand. I can feel them, though. Touching me. Hands on the leather. Squeezing through the rubber. More than just his hands. He puts me on display. He lets them touch my body. Sometimes I think I can hear them laughing at me. I don't know who they are. I never see them. I'm forced to endure it. Bound, helpless, humiliated as strangers amuse themselves with me. Letting them watch as his toys overwhelm me, again and again, screaming and gasping. Sometimes I think he allows them to control the toys. Sometimes it just feels different. But the result is the same. His plaything, begging for mercy, garbled, muffled pleas muted by the darkness he keeps me in. Mercy never comes.

But ultimately, I'm his. They play with me, but only he ever claims me. Uses me. He's never trained me as his sex slave. He doesn't give orders. Doesn't make me perform. All he does is keep me from denying him. Resisting. He never gives me the chance. He's patient. No matter how he has me bound, he can manipulate my body into whatever position he wants. He always has the leverage. Always has me chained, tied. Even when I have the ability to move, I can only move within the limits the chains allow. The limits he allows. No matter how things start, what I'm wearing, how I'm positioned, eventually he gets me exactly where he wants me. Then he claims me. Uses me. It doesn't matter what I want. He takes what HE wants. I can't fight him. Resist him. My mouth is kept pried open with gags and blocks, letting him use my lips, tongue and throat to get himself off. My pussy is kept ready and wet by his toys, keeping my body ready and welcoming for when he wants to fuck me. He keeps me plugged, stretched, so all he needs to do is get some lube and remove the plug. Then he'll take my ass. He never trains me, just keeps me from resisting. He keeps me from denying him. If he wants me, he can use me at will, and I can't stop him. He's turned me into his plaything. His property.

The worst is when he just wants to play. No matter how much I struggle, the ending is the same. I scream and shriek, but I can't get away. The wand buzzes against me, forcing me to blast through one mind blowing orgasm after another. He controls the toys he slips inside me, setting patterns of intensity, randomly taking control himself, never letting me acclimate to the pleasure. His hands wander my body, reminding me every moment that he is in complete control. It'll only end when he wants it to. The sensory deprivation makes it all so intense. Too intense, but my muffled pleas for mercy are either too quiet to hear, or go ignored. All I ever hear from him is the voice in the headphones. Demanding my surrender. My obedience. Telling me what I am. Telling me I'm his property.