This is how it was. This is how I'll remember it. This is what I have always wanted. This is what I'll crave, even when I am old and no one will want to hold me like this, standing stock still, bare feet planted solidly on the floor, nothing binding me at all except my desire to do your will.
I am standing, arms by my side, hands pointed gracefully toward the floor, fingers slightly curled, shoulders rolled back, breasts rising and falling with my breath, nipples painfully erect.
My legs are spread hip width. My pelvis is tucked, my back slightly arched, my knees soft so I don't fall, unconscious, to the floor. I have no idea, ever, how long you'll leave me standing like this. I've learned from experience how to endure this pose for hours. I feel sometimes as though I could stand this way for days, if only you would stand as you are, your warmth radiating from your body, one hand on my hip, steadying me, the other pressed firmly against the back of my neck.
If I dare to sway, to move backward, to try to leave this semi circle created by your arms, the pressure on the back of my neck says, "No, pet. Don't move."
Once in awhile, I will. I will test you because I will want something else. To sink to my knees, to lay down on the floor, to turn my body around and lean against you, but this is never about what I want. One slight movement, and I am reminded of that, and I fall deeper into that trance you so easily put me in.
We don't move at all for the longest time. My shoulders ache, my head wants to roll, to fall backward slightly, to rest, but your hand presses so firmly, and fingers curl dangerously into my hair. A gentle tug and oh yes, I remember now. Don't move.
I won't move.
My breathing is deep and audible. So is yours, since you've leaned in now and pressed your mouth to my ear. Your teeth are on my earlobe and you nip sharply enough to make me gasp, sending me further into the moment, causing a stronger pulse to begin in my center and spread from there to already aching nipples and throbbing clit.
You don't need to test me anymore. I've long since been conditioned to flood with moisture as soon as your teeth find their way to my ear. It's always the left, and if I want to feel instant, peircing desire, all I ever have to do is pinch that earlobe. I haven't told you that yet. It's my little secret, and one of the joys of being your pet that I indulge in without you.
The nip turns now to a kiss, and a suckling. The womb cramps down hard at this as though my earlobe were a nipple and you, a nursing child. I want so badly to be on my knees, let them go softer, hoping you'll feel my silent plea, but you tug again, not so gently this time, and I sway back upright again.
"You're so beautiful."
I hear the words and feel them spread from my tail bone to my face in a crimson flush. The flush turns my lips into a bashful smile. I live to be seen as beautiful in your eyes. Knowing this, that you have named me beauty, brings me deeper still, and in this place where you have brought me I have no name other than that: beauty. Your beauty. That is all. My identity is stripped from me along with clothing, jewelery, poise, pride.
I am only your beauty.
Your hand moves from my hip to my arm, and you run long fingers from my shoulder, ever so lightly down to the crook of my elbow, where your fingers linger around that tenderest of spots; gentle at first and then bone deep.  I will be bruised, I think. And then, I think, please bruise me.
Fingers dance lightly now down to my own curved fingers, lace themselves with mine, and squeeze -- not hard, just enough to lay claim to my hand. The hand you've woven into my hair moves my head now. You pull my head forward to rest on your chest, oh yes, and it seems such a blessed relief when all my weight centers itself in the middle of my forehead, and all pressure on my feet, my knees, my back, is relieved.
"Who owns you?"
"You do."
I'm whispering. I couldn't find my true voice if I tried now. My throat is dry from breathing so raggedly. My lips have been slightly open all this time, the way you like them. If I closed my mouth, even to swallow properly, you would raise your finger to my chin and push so that my lips would open again.
"Keep it open."
"Yes."
Your hand moves now from my fingers to my thigh in a quick motion that startles me. You grab that flesh, the flesh that has known your teeth, and cradled your body as it rocks mine, and you claim it, taking hand fulls of it, gripping tightly, molding the skin and muscle to palm of your hand.  I will be bruised, I think. And then I think, please bruise me.
You raise your hand to my face, cupping both nose and mouth so that I can smell the scent in which my thighs are bathed. I inhale deeply, as aroused by my own perfume as I've ever been by yours, knowing that you are it's creator, knowing also that you love it and that it arouses you. Your hand dips back down between my thighs, sliding easily, penetrating me, deeply, savagely, roughly, and now I can't stay still because I am impaled upon your fingers that hook themselves brutally into my sweet spot, the one a scant inch in, the one you found with such terrifying ease the very first time.
You stroke that swollen spot with two fingers for too brief a time and all my weight centers now, right there upon your hand until you pull your fingers away, leaving me off balance. I feel that I might fall, but do nothing to stop it. My arms do not rise to catch my weight, I do not flinch, I don't do anything at all but trust that hand on the back of my neck to steady me, and it does.
"Open your mouth wider, pet."
"Yes."
I let my chin fall a little more, let my tongue slide a little over my dry lips, and wait. Your hand comes up again, this time with your fingers slick with my lust, and you slide them between my lips.
"Suck."
I don't answer with words this time but with my absolute obedience. I suck vigorously, since this is how you've taught me to suck. You pull my head backward a little so that you can watch.
"Open your eyes, pet."
I open them, still sucking on your drenched fingers, and focus my sight on your face. You are smiling so tenderly, with such pure affection, that I feel my knees buckle yet again, and tears begin to fill my open and staring eyes.
"You are so beautiful."
You take your fingers away from my mouth, and I resist the urge to bite down to keep them there. A light grazing of my teeth does not go unnoticed though.
"Hungry?"
"Yes." I am so hungry. Please.
You laugh. "Of course you are."
You take a step forward, pulling my head in the direction of your step so that I step backward with you. I feel myself flooded again, a river of need flowing over my thighs. Yes, toward the bed, yes please, toward the bed. You stop and plunge still slick fingers into my wide open and throbbing pussy.
"Patience, pet."
I can't respond except to whimper, and there are your fingers on my sweet spot again, stroking it hard, fast, so hard it pulls my body forward with each movement outward. I feel my body arch, and your hand in my hair tugging to prevent it, but I don't care anymore, and the pain I feel when you tug only heightens the pleasure I feel building as your fingers stroke me.
You take another step forward, and I move another step backward.
"Please." I dare let the word come.
"Patience, pet."
And your fingers move ever more violently now, not just stroking but digging, hooking deeply into me, pulling sharply at me as though they would pierce right through the bone.
"I'm going to come."Â I say it urgently because I know this is not your wish.
"No, pet. You're not."
The pressure decreases immediately, painfully, but I am relieved that my body will so easily obey you, even when my mind screams that it must not.
Another step forward and I take another step back. I can feel the foot of the bed at the back of my thighs now, and the need to let myself fall backward onto it is somehow over-ridden by my need to please you. My body is torn in two directions as you withdraw your hand and raise it up to my mouth, gently filling it with your fingers.
"Suck."
And I suck. And suck. I am whimpering still, the spot right in the middle of my upper lip, the one that responds as though it is a minature clit, throbbing with every rough drag of your fingers beneath it.  I could come just like this, I think. And then I think, No. I could not. Not until you tell me I may. Never until then.
I am oblivious to anything but the suck. You are whispering to me, and I have no idea what you are saying at all. I am beyond words now. If you command me in this moment, I will have no choice but to disobey, because I will simply not understand you. But you know this. You know me this well. You know the place you've taken me, and you know how to bring me out of it, or push me deeper into it.
Your teeth find my earlobe.
Deeper, yes, now.
Your breath in my ear, your fingers in my mouth, your knee rising now, foot braced on the edge of the bed, and you pull my body by way of my hair so that my pussy comes down hard on your thigh. Oh, relief, that impact, and I am going to come.
"Not yet, pet. You will wait."
You've said it right into my ear, sharply enough to bring me up a little out of the depths. I hear you. I understand. The sound that comes out of my mouth, pushing itself out around your fingers is akin to a sob. The pressure declines sharply and you take your fingers out of my mouth.
"Sit."
I don't put my hand behind me to feel for the surface upon which I am to sit. I simply let my body descend, knowing that your hand on the back of my neck, fingers twisted into my hair, will guide me. I am aware that my mouth is still wide open and tears of desperation are streaming down my face.
"Lean back on your arms."
"Yes."
And I lean back, as you disentangle your fingers from my hair. I let my head fall back, my back arch, as you take each leg, bend it at the knee, and place my foot firmly upon the mattress. I am spread as wide as I can be, and I wish for restraints so that I can stay that way, but tonight, I have to restrain myself. That is the lesson I'm learning. My power will not be taken from me by way of rope, but given up, willingly, every instinct in me to resist, resisted.
I tense the muscles in my thighs, imprinting the memory of where they are supposed to stay upon them. I brace my feet hard against the mattress, willing them to stay right where they are.
"Look at me, pet."
I can't, I think. Not when I'm here. My eyes want to squeeze shut and stay that way.  Please don't make me. You feel my resistance, and you wait, trusting me to overcome it on my own.
"Yes."
And I open my eyes, raising my head so that I can look right into your face and watch your every move.
You turn and walk to the corner of the room where a low stool waits for you. You pick it up and bring it over, positioning it perfectly so that you can sit comfortably directly in front of my spread thighs. You aren't smiling anymore. A look of sheer focus lives on your face now, and your determination serves only to heighten my desire.
Two fingers plunge viciously into me. I buck, forcing them deeper, but you lean in and rest your other forearm across my belly and hips, forcing me to be still, but only for a moment.
"You will be still."
I bite down hard on my lips. I am ready to beg for rope now, or a spreader bar, anything that will help me stay motionless.
"Yes."
You take your arm away, leaving my body completely vulnerable to it's own willfulness, leaving me free to disobey.  I bear down, pushing my weight onto my bones, digging them deeper into the mattress, eyes still open and focused on your face. It's from there that I'll derive my will to be still now. I stare, shameless, lip caught painfully between my teeth as I force my body to obey me, obey you, even as you work a third finger deep inside me.
You feel the flutter of my muscles around your fingers, and knowing me as you do, you stop the orgasm that is threatening to come.
"Not yet."
I hear you. My body hears you.
A fourth finger, and you see my brow furrow in frustration.
"No."
I bite down harder on my lip.
You tuck your thumb in now and push so that your whole hand disappears inside me. You are rotating your hand at the wrist ever so slowly, the bones of your knuckles pressing deeply into the spot within me that you, and only you, have ever owned. My eyes threaten to shut. My whole body trembles with the explosion that is just one "yes, now" away. I feel rage rise at your denial. I want to thrust forward. You tease. You fucking tease. Give it to me. Give me what I need.
"No. Not yet."
The sounds that are rising out of my hunger don't sound human to my own ears.  I am breaking down now, and I move from rage to pure, grunting need. My mouth is wide open and every muscle in my body is tensed, braced, begging me to let it move, make it come, make it stop, let me be anywhere but on this horrible edge on which I am precariously perched.
You stop moving your hand altogether. Your eyes are full on my face, watching it evidence whatever I'm feeling from second to second as I feel the pleasure ebb away. I will lose it, I'm thinking. If you don't move soon, don't renew the pace, I will be nothing but pain as the energy that built up ebbs completely way. I've been ready to beg for so long now, but this, this is too much to bear.
"Please. Please. Please."
I can't say anything but that.
"Please."
"Not yet."
I don't move again, not even my mouth. Every muscle relaxes, releases it's tension. I resign my rage, my lust, my need, my hunger. I let it all flow away from me along with the energy that built as you brought me closer and closer to release. My face softens, and I feel suddenly peaceful. This, I remember, is not about what I need at all. This is for you. All of it is for you, created by you, felt only because you will it. It is yours to grant, and yours to take away, and in that moment, I give myself over completely to you.
You know. You feel it. You see the pure adoration and submission in my eyes. You read the message contained within them, and though I never believed it possible, and though I gave up even needing it, you move your wrist once, pushing deeply against me.
"Yes. Now."
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Now.
