Collar....

It's fastened about my neck. Black leather. Wide and soft yet unyielding. When I tip my head back I can feel the buckle there and it gives me a shiver of delight. The wide strap attached sits against my spine and my wrists are bound. If I relax them, it pulls on the collar so I must hold myself erect. This is different because I must now force myself to keep my muscles tight. This raises my normal level of docility when I have a collar on. This is a new state of being.

I am aware of being there, aware of the disconnect. I can see myself in your eyes now. Hair loose about my shoulders and arms, I can feel it against my back. I am flushed and wanton. There is no disguising what I am, what I want.

I am there displayed for your gaze. Bound for your pleasure. Kneeling in submission and obeisance. The things I am when I'm not your toy fall away. All I want, all I need is to please you, to be used and owned. Later I'll think this over and it will make me uncomfortable, but not enough to change, not enough to stop the craving to feel it again.
Then your weight is on me, pressing against me. My nipples are abraded against the rug beneath me. My thighs are tightly together and you grunt each time you thrust into me. I can't move back against you. I can only writhe and moan. It won't be long before I begin to beg you.

"pleasepleasepleaseplease..." it's like a whispered mantra, a spell and it hangs in the air around us, mingling with the scent of sex.