When Pet Went Out to Play

My eyes are downcast, the leather of His collar bites uncomfortably into the soft skin of my throat, and I'm nervous.

She had me wait in a supplication pose, prostrate with my cheek against the cool concrete, my arms twisted behind my back, palms pressed together. After what seemed like forever, She acknowledged me; I uncurled my arms and, though they ached tremendously, used them to lift my body just enough to settle my knees beneath me. From here, I lowered my body forward again, forehead to the floor, with my arms outstretched, palms down, crossed at the wrist.

"We'll have to wait and see what He wants to do with you... this isn't the first time you've broken the rules."

She relishes Her superiority; it drips from Her. Her shiny black stiletto boots match so well with the long, sharp, polished black acrylic nails, and I flinch at the sound as She flicks the nails against each other and pointedly taps Her heel to correspond with the sharpness of Her tone. She then left me in obeisance to be ignored as people passed by, pausing to chat as song after song counted the minutes in their rhythm. I tried to guess how long I lay there, wondering, 'Would He wish to let me go?'

Was I, as I often feared, just a bit too much? Had I crossed the line one too many times or just so much so soon that He would see no reason to burden Himself with such a troublesome creature as me?

"Kneel." She commanded as if I were an afterthought.

My heart pounded as I lifted my head and settled back on my heels. My back straightened, and I kept my eyes fixed on the smallest imperfection on the floor before me instead of the staccato tapping of Her shiny leather boot. My ears strained to hear that confident stride I knew would be headed our way. His suede combat boots could create heavy and purposeful steps, making the ground tremble, or as in this instance, they could be furtive and light.

It wasn't until She snapped quickly to attention that I realized He was there, and His boot nudging my back caused me to cry out in surprise. "Straighten up, My pet. Remember what you are." My body had begun to protest its position, and my shoulders had started to sag. Somehow, His voice cut through the cacophony, though it wasn't particularly loud. Rather, He projected and enunciated the words so well and with such force that the rest of the room fell away.

I tried my best to hold the pose, though my body would soon begin to shake. I wasn't used to any of this; W/we'd barely been at it a month, and this after countless hours of conversation, addressing reservations, creating accommodations, and making suggestions for situations where W/we might give things a try.

I'd enthusiastically agreed to attend an event as His pet. The collar wasn't a decree of ownership, per se, but it allowed me to not appear as one of the many free-use individuals on the scene. They again ignored me as She attended to His immediate needs. The pair of latex gloves He wore for penetrative play carefully peeled off and discarded before, "You'll never guess where I found your new toy." There was the slightest lilt of joy in Her tattling as She glanced down to see if I'd be baited. But I had recently learned the importance of keeping my mouth shut.

I noticed He did not respond as She continued about Her task, washing His hands and gently patting them dry before moving to the opposite side and kneeling, facing me.

My cheeks burned as She sat there, smirking.

She had pulled me away from another of the dungeon's rooms while He was busy working over a well-seasoned masochist on the cross, and I hadn't seen the harm in slipping away. I wasn't interested in the heavy impact with which He played with His current companion, and I had heard whispers of an electricity session about to commence.

"She sits in Tower too long, Trixie. Go and get the board."

A particularly sadistic piece that had been custom-made for my punishment with every consideration for causing no injury but great discomfort. Trixie leaped up excitedly to attend to the task. My joints were perpetually inflamed, so while I tried diligently to learn and master the postures He required, I always fell short. He reassured me early on and often, "We can make adjustments, pet, it matters more to Me that you understand why you do this, not that you do it just right."

His creation included a bar to keep my ankles supported, a raised platform for my bottom to save my knees, and an Ishadaki board upon which to kneel; its tiny protuberances caused immense discomfort without any real damage done.

"You, stand and stretch my pet, then move into Inspection pose."

I did as He commanded. The rheumy crunch and pop of several achy parts accented my movements. The stretching felt good; I didn't want to stop because I knew once I settled in, with my legs parted and hands clasped behind my head, I would be expected not to move again. Balance was not my friend, and I knew my body would betray the anxiety I felt.

"Enough." His voice was so unnervingly soft, and the fluidity with which He rose from His chair belied the intensity that crashed across the meager space between us as He closed it.

I shook. I bit my lip. I tried to look down, but that damned collar again cut into my throat. And then He was there, His body half against mine so that when He leaned down to speak directly in my ear,

"You seem to forget too easily, my pet, that you belong to Me." His hands ran over my arms, grabbing my elbows for emphasis as He uttered, "Mine."

"These are Mine." He grabbed my breasts, squeezing and pressing so that I stumbled back, but His firm hand on the small of my back put me right.

"This is Mine." His hand crept down to cup my behind, pulling me forward, pressing between my thighs with His knee before the other hand reached down to caress me there.

"Mine. Every inch, every crevice, every slit and crack."

"Look at Me." I did. Tears burned my eyes, threatening the elaborate makeup I'd sat an hour to have done because I wanted to show off that night.

"YOU are Mine."