The Chair

She felt him grunt in his sleep and it woke her up. As she tilted her head to look at the time, she felt the clink. The sound of the collar against the chain enveloped her; she sunk into submission as if falling back into a dream. It was 5:49am.

He had been chaining her to the bed for a while now, not because she might go anywhere; she wouldn't. He just wanted her to feel she wasn't even allowed the freedom to consider it. She was his, the mere notion bound her tighter than any chain.

In the dark, she stealthily hopped off the bed and set his slippers on the floor, kneeling naked in front of them, her head bowed down. Right after the alarm, she felt him shuffle and place his feet on the carpet.

"Good morning, Sir."

"Morning," he said groggily, stroking her head.

He clumsily put on the slippers and sauntered to the bathroom, turned the lights on and rummaged through the mirror cabinet. She heard his voice over the faucet while he groomed himself.

"So... I have special news for you today." —he paused, waiting for an answer he knew would never come—.

Only the running water could be heard.

"You're not gonna ask what that is?" he inquired, poking his head out the bathroom door. "C'mon, I know you're curious."

She shook her head no. He knew how little patience she had with these things and kept teasing her.

"Why's that? Answer. I want to hear it," he said, unable to hold his smirk.

"Toys don't talk unless asked to."

"Oh my. Is that so?" he inquired with feigned ignorance.

"Yes," she said hastily, trying to keep it short so he'd go back to the news.

The questioner wouldn't budge. He knew her too well.

"I would never have imagined it. Tell me more," he added casually as he walked back to her.

"Toys don't demand, they obey."

"Is that what you are? A toy?"

"No."

"Huh?"

"I'm your toy. My only purpose is to be played with and used, however you please."

"Good girl," he praised, revealing his grin.

He opened her collar with the small key and made her crawl towards the kitchen behind him.

"You've behaved so well, I've decided to give you chair privileges for your birthday. You get to sit on a real chair today, isn't that exciting!?" he exclaimed with sardonic indulgence.

They stepped into the kitchen where a cake with candles sat on the counter. She looked up at the calendar on the fridge. September 5th. She realized simultaneously that it was her birthday... And she hadn't sat on a chair in weeks.

Always on the floor, always at his feet.

Unknowingly, she was becoming the submissive she craved to be. One whose sense of property within submission became greater than her very sense of self. The thought filled her with content.

His eyes were fixed on her, implicitly demanding an answer.

"Yes, it's wonderful!"—her face lit up with joy—"Thank you so much, Sir."

She was grateful for so much more.

"In fact... I have yet another gift for you!" —he perked up, filled with excitement aroused by an untold thought—.

Her smile vanished.

Perhaps if she was a little less familiar with his nature, she would've missed the impish notes in his face. "This was suspicious," she pondered. This was a man who reveled in approaching both rewards as well as punishments with an almost sacred solemnity... "He was scheming something," she realized.

As soon as he perceived her angst, he let out a low, sly laugh.

She knew him all too well, too.

"Such a shame, I can't keep you fooled for long anymore," he grieved with genuine regret in his voice. "That moment when it finally dawns on you, though, is still delightfully priceless," he said with a grin.

She pressed her lips but kept silent.

"Oh, how I love seeing the world crumble before those eyes," he praised, "I've taken my pleasure, however. I don't suppose we'll have any use for them now." he said as he began tying the blindfold.

Reminding her not to move, he brought what sounded like a wooden chair and placed it in front of the counter, she reckoned. Her thoughts were interrupted by a "Sit", a hand on her back and another over her shoulder, guiding her down. He proceeded to crouch and tied each of her legs to the sides of the chair, leaving her spread and exposed. Then, he got up and bind her arms behind the back of the chair with an armbinder.

"Perfect," he said going around the chair, standing in front of her again. "Now for your second gift..."

She felt him handling something but couldn't make out what it was. "Cables?" she meditated. He plugged it in and walked back to her, seemingly trying to grab something from under the cha—.

Oh.

She felt a hard, round shape against her pussy. Then, it clicked. He had attached...

"A Hitachi Wand!" he said in unison with her thoughts, "Ta-da!"

He had drilled a hole on the goddamn chair. And put a vibrator through it.

He turned it on. Just like that, her thoughts were washed away. She threw her head back and sighed along with the waves of pleasure.

"Excuse me. Aren't you forgetting someth—"

"Thank you. Thank you, thank yo..." she purred as he took her blindfold off from behind.

"That's better," he said looking down at her, satisfied.

"He seemed to dismiss that little fault too easily", she vaguely considered. She brushed it off as him being a little extra forgiving for her birthday and simply closed her eyes, moaning. He put his hands on her shoulders and started giving her a massage. "A massage? Mid-scene? Before aftercare? No way," she cracked.

Something was amiss. This was unlike him.

"What's happening?" she blurted out instinctively, looking at him dead in the eye.

"Shhh," he soothed. "You deserve it. Relax. Come on, cum for me."

She kept looking at him puzzled and slightly worried. His gaze darkened.

"I said... Cum for me," he commanded firmer.

The tone brought her back to her place and she let herself go, giving in and arching her back, pressing against the wand. From behind, he grabbed her throat with one hand as he kissed and bit her while she trembled with pleasure, finally getting off.

"Well done!" he congratulated.

He went around her once again to turn off the device, she thought. Instead, he grabbed a gag and a cane.

"Sir..."

"Toys don't talk unless asked to," he mimicked her, scathing-.

"Excuse me, you forgot to turn it off," she said in a weak voice, trying to push herself back away from the head of the wand.

"No, I did not."

There it was. The scheme. The sadist.

Horror was once more drawn on her face.

"Please, you know you can't win," he prodded. "I did not give you permission to stop cumming, so push your pussy back against it and keep fucking it."

She frowned and shook her head pleading, despairing and timid.

"Now."

"Sir, please, I..."

"Toys don't demand, they obey."

"Yes, but—"

"And what are you again?"

She opened her mouth but stuttered hesitant.

"WHAT are you?"

"Your toy!" she answered panting loudly.

"For me to use and play with, so shut the fuck up and do as you're told," he ordered as he gagged her.

Almost effortlessly, he wielded the cane and hit her left breast. She yelped, her eyes growing watery. Her mouth was dry and her clit was throbbing. She could no longer fight nor think, only feel. She was his toy in every sense of the word.

"Happy birthday... To. You," he sung in a raspy, deliberate staccato voice timed to each stroke. "Happy birth... Day. To. You."

Every one stronger than the last, her screams echoing the strikes. She bit down the gag, breathing heavily as tears ran down her face. She could barely stand the exquisite hell between her legs.

"Happy birthday... Dear fucktoy..." he paused briefly, admiring her pleasure and grief.

She came once again upon hearing that word and started jerking on her seat, whimpering desperately.

"PHLEASE" she yelled through the gag.

"Happy..." he kept singing, talking over her.

"Phhhlease stocj it."

"Birthday..." he continued, ignoring the pleas.

"It hurtcs, phlease SIR." she begged, high pitched.

"To... You."

He let one final, hard strike brand her skin, cutting her speech. Leaving the cane on the counter, he lit the candles and took one of them.

"Now, blow your candle. Don't forget to make a wish!" he suggested playfully.

Her pussy was numb yet hurt so badly she was trembling. She panted violently as if air could heal the welts that stung from the cane.

He took a candle off the cake and put it in front of her as she tried to blow through the holes in her gag.

"Oh, you don't want to?" he asked rhetorically, dismissing her attempts to blow harder. "Bummer. Okay then."

The toy mewled and cried as she looked at him, his face blurred through the tears. He tilted the candle and wax fell on her skin. Recoiling and shaking she closed her eyes as if she could somehow diminish the pain.

"Look at me," he demanded.

She lifted her lids and she saw it. The flame was still lit, but it was his eyes that burned.