Being Pet

Being Pet

From where I sat curled up on the floor at his feet I could hear his slow steady breath rising and falling and could easily imagine how his solid rhythmic heart beat would feel under my hand were I too reach out and touch his chest. Pets don’t reach out though. Nor do they touch unless Owner requests it.

Fed and watered I was a content little feline all comfy on the floor, head to the ground, lying on my side, one hand under my head the other resting on my lifted hip. Once I had rolled languidly on to my back but he tutted and shook His head signalling that I needn’t think I could get too relaxed.  He liked me warming his feet! I rolled back to my side and He reached down and petted my hair, down the side of my head, behind my ear, down my neck and lazily stroked over my shoulder, His fingers just brushing my naked breast as He leant back to His sitting position.

I was safe here. So happy and comfortable.

Being Pet was my favourite.


Master/Slave Fantasy: Six Months of Sweet Torture

Master/Slave Fantasy: Six Months of Sweet Torture

It has been six months service.

Six months of doing his every bidding.  My new role has shown up strengths and weaknesses in me that previous roles have not.  I have learnt so much, from Him, from being His, from the silence and peace which layer over me as I do what is required to make His life smooth, easy and exactly as He expects it.

It has been six incredible months of looking after and pre-empting his every wish and whim.  I have my protocols – the things I am required to do and our rituals – the things we love to do.  Whilst he can be cold and hard at times, especially when He flogs me when it is deserved, He can be gentle and kind to me.  He allows me time at His feet on evenings when it is deserved – he will stroke my hair.  He never tells me I have done well as this I understand is not my place, but I know in these moments that I am needed and that is all the thanks I will ever need.  These rare moments when I am allowed to touch Him, outside of our sexual exploits, such as these quiet moments of meditation on my knees, hands clasping His ankles is the real gift He bestows upon me.

Part of my initiation into His service has been a real bittersweet pill to take.  Whilst He allows me to suck His cock as and when He requires it, which is always a guilty treat for me, and He spanks, flogs, canes, binds and whips me, sometimes when it is deserved, sometimes because He has had a bad day, I am never allowed to orgasm.  He never fucks me, He never touches me in an intimate way.

If I had orgasmed, even once, then my services would have been rendered unneeded for one week.  One week to lie where I sleep outside His bedroom door in the alcove which I call bed.  Collar on, leashed to the floor.  I would remain in the child pose like that for 24 hours a day, for 7 days with only three requested bathroom breaks a day, one opportunity to hygiene each morning and three small meals a day to cover the food groups and ensure I keep my health up.

This concept of such restriction – restriction which even I feel would be unbearable – was nothing compared to the possibility of being unneeded by this man I have come to see as my everything.  As slave I should not feel pleasure as such but the satisfaction and fulfilment I get from being in His service means I steal myself each day against wanting to count my blessings, from smiling and sighing contentedly.  I am not here to be content, I am here to serve Him.

So with the fear of disservice hovering over my head each time we enter his bedroom, I have managed to hold back from the point of orgasm for six long months.  The pain and frustration period of this was the hardest.  The fact that I was used previously for sex meant that I was never without and although on occasion the sex would be hard, it was an everyday occurance which I got used to having.  It became second nature and so, to suddenly find myself in the service of a man who got his requirements fulfilled by other submissive women, sometimes in His home whilst I lay outside in my alcove listening to her moans of pleasure and pain and my Master telling her the things I so longed to hear, I was in utter despair.  The times He would request me to enter his room and touch myself whilst  watching as He fucks his submissives are the hardest.  I know He is not mine and the jealousy is fading with time.  I know I have my place in His life, one that these other women do not fulfil, but I simply find great sexual pleasure in merely watching Him and being around Him.  He is strong and powerful and His presence alone can make me wet.  So watching that powerful Dominance overcoming a bound female is sometimes too much to bear.  He does it to test me – I know it.  I am on the brink from mere seconds into his sessions with these woman.  Sometimes they are bound on their backs with their legs spread wide and open, wrists to  thigh.  Other times he hoists their arms up high so their breasts are pushed out for His hungry beautiful mouth to suckle on before he spanks and flogs them to tears.  Watching these women coming uncontrollably in His hands is incredible – something I feel blessed to be allowed to witness – their usually quiet eyes enflamed with desire and agony.  They beg Him to stop and continue in one breathe – He silences them with a gag, or revels in their begging as He uses it to pull Him further into his Dominant Masterful mind.

As I kneel there up on my heels, knees apart, fingers working over my desire soaked sex, I have to concentrate very hard not to tumble over the edge.  By this point, my need to climax is agony and it takes the near superhuman strength of a submissive woman who wishes not to disappoint her Master to channel that energy elsewhere.  He sees if I slow down my pace – His tests on me are cruel but so be it.  He forces my fingers on, and I have to delve inside myself when I feel the sparkling, tightening, blissful agony of release pushing nearer.  I have to occasionally avert my eyes from His hard cock pushing deep into His submissive’s ass as she animalistically cries out in a bliss only afforded to the luckiest of subs.

The tension rises and rises, I pray for it to be over.  His heavy breath as He falls steadily into His perfectly controlled and utterly divine orgasm sends my pulse rocketing every time.  My heart races until I think it will burst from my chest.  My breathing as I watch His eyes clench as His thrusts become long and hard and painful to His now depleted sub shakes my entire being and my throat dries up.

The mere second He is completed He looks to me.  He see’s my distress and knowing I have done my duty of not coming orders me to leave and return to my alcove to think on what I have witnessed.  I know He is training me.  It feels good and it feels so despicable all at once.

Occasionally the concept that He may never allow me release explodes through my mind and I whimper.  Only once this has occurred whilst He was near by and the look He shot me let me know I was in disgrace.  I was flogged bitterly that night.  I did not whimper again.

And now it has been 6 months.  I am beyond the physical requirement of an orgasm. I have moved into a near spiritual state to get over the fact that my body has this incredible pent up energy flowing through it.  Sometimes it screams and begs me to let it out. Other times it transports me to a higher plain of understanding and my submission to my Master is deepened by this internal gift He has lovingly given me.


He has called me to sexual service tonight.  He requests, as ever, that I am naked.  Hair scraped back into a low slung ponytail as requested.  I bend at 90 degrees over the side of his huge dark wood sleigh bed, elbow to hands on the mattress, shoulder width apart, as usual.  Head lowered, eyes open and looking directly at my hands as normal.  My legs are set at just over hip width to allow me some stability whilst he does whatever He requires of me.  I see the belt laid out.  Hard and wide, long and thick.  But that is all – usually He uses at least three or four different types of implement to allow me the full extent of pain and develop my ability to take more each time.  This is useful to Him for when His day is hard and He needs the full de-stress.  For this He often calls upon two or more submissives to take the full brunt, but His training of me to take it all eventually is one of the small accolades I allow myself pride in.

But why then is there only the simple belt? He knows I can take this well.  As I quietly recall our last session with the belt I feel myself become slick. I feel the swell of blood in my veins as I think back on the sounds and sensations as the leather beat against my skin – the burning, piercing whip of hard against soft and the resounding sense of falling into bliss in the moments between change over to another implement.  I sense my pupils dilating hard, the pulse in my throat quickens, the tightness of sexual tension which is always there and has become a part of my daily exsistance becomes painful.

It has been too long.

I hear Him enter the room.  My pulse doubles again.  He walks around me and inspects my position.  The arch of my long back just right.  The curve of my backside pushed out as He requires. My pussy and ass displayed proudly for whatever He wishes to do with them – which is nothing.  I am not here for sex.  I am here for punishment.  My legs dead straight.  My fingers long and together.  I see Him out of my peripheries walk behind me and assume, as normal, He is walking to position Himself for an initial spanking.


Instead, He sinks two long slim fingers deep into my aching, soaking, desperate cunt and hits my g-spot with ease.

I scream as I convulse instantly around Him.  He pushes His thumb into my ass up to the hilt and grips my hair back hard.

I fall and keep falling.  Six months of bitter, hot, delicious, agony.

I breathe deep for the first time in a long long time.