I'm wearing you out first. I'll let you fight because struggling against me will drain all of your strength. I'm watching the panic build in your eyes as I pin your wrists above your head. There's something special about watching a person sit and fight down their panic, watching them try and calm themselves so they can find a way out, only for every attempt to fail.

You swallow down the bile in your throat as I start to work your top off. The sound of a knife clicking open stills the last dregs of your panicked struggling. Stubborn buttons and lacy underthings are cut aside while the heat from your body warms the cold blade.

I'll take my time in exploring your chest, searching out every sensitive spot. Slowly kissing across your ribs before I move across your belly. Little by little your panic will mix with pleasure. You'll squirm before catching yourself, ashamed at how easily you respond to my attention.

“Am I the first one to take the time to find all these spots? Or has it just been that long pretty thing?”

How ashamed will you be when you moan for me? How ashamed when you reflexively arch into my mouth? How desperate will you be to grab my head and pull it into you as I finally wrap my greedy lips around your nipple?

How quickly will all those emotions chill when my knife presses against you?

“Just hold still dear. I'd hate to hurt you.”

When I've had my fill; when your chest is littered with hickies and bite marks, I'll drop myself lower. The last stitches of whatever you were wearing cut away and left to fall around your hips.

How hot will your shame burn when I point out how badly your body aches for me? Will you deny, protest? Or just sit in mortified silence?

Warm, inviting, so perfectly soft and yielding. My mouth is all the things the knife isn't as I take you past my lips.

How long until you're arching into me again? You'll whimper for release, though I think you don't know if you mean from knifepoint or across my tongue. I'll take my time here, the same as with your chest. Carefully mapping the spots that make your thighs twitch, memorizing what makes you draw in with those beautiful little gasps. I'll drag your body to the edge before yanking you back to reality with the tip of the blade pressed to the inside of your thigh.

When your body can no longer bear it, I'll allow you to finish. You'll shake, knicking yourself as your body vibrates and twists in desperate passion. After, while you listen to me swallow you down, some clear headed part of you will relax, hoping this means I'm finished with you.

I'm not.

I've taken so long learning the motions and responses of your body, building you up, so I'm going to savor you long past you the point you think you're done.

You'll stay. I'll take everything you have and more. You'll learn the consequence of catching my eye.

(If you would like to support my writing and help me relocate to a safer place I've included my cash app below or you can DM for my paypal)

So let her. Let her serve her man. The men. The Patriarchy and beyond. Give her the licence to do what her slavegirl cunt is telling her to do. She's been dreaming about it. Frigging to it. It's in her genes. Her natural state. Be chivalrous and enable her.

and as sweet as that might sound, it's not a good thing for you. because you didn't even know i existed till say, an hour ago, did you? but i know about you, pet. i know everything about you.

i know your schedule, i know your address, i know the people you love...

don't look so scared, pet. i won't do anything unless you're disobedient. and you're going to obey me, hm? because i own you now. because you're nothing more than a pet to me, and a disobedient pet is useless, and i get rid of useless things.

i could ruin your life with just a few clicks. show everyone what a pathetic little mutt you are. and you don't want that, hm? i don't want that either. i want you to be good, and still, and mine.