My Master has bestowed a precious gift upon me.
My willing submission to Them is without question, laid in Their hands long ago to be contemplated and enjoyed at-will. Now my Master’s fingers have closed inexorably around this offering — around my willpower, my heart, my future. I am Theirs; this is known. And for my service, I was given a demonstration of Their unwavering belief in my submission to Them.
I unwrapped my gift slowly, opening the cuffs my Master commanded me to use, tightening each cuff onto Them with reverent care. On each wrist and each ankle, I checked the slack and caressed my Master’s skin around the binding, being more careful, more mindful than I ever am with Them — more to calm myself than anything else. My heart pounded under Their dark gaze and slight, unreadable smile. I knelt between Their legs and stroked Their calves, admiring the tableau, salivating at the unquestionable dominance in Their eyes.
For a moment, my fingers closed too hard on Their ankle — not too hard for Them, in fact They hardly registered the gesture — when the burning thirst in my veins made my teeth tingle. It was an effort to settle myself down, and I wondered if my Master knew how much so. They knew I’m a switch, though it’s easy to forget in Their presence. I’ve had my toys as They have Their toys, and having a beautiful creature stripped bare and strapped spread-eagle beneath me riles up those instincts in me. If They were not Them and I were not so humblingly Theirs, a different scene could unfold.
I would bend down to exhale a hot breath against their aching cock, running my hands over their chest, down their sides, and between their thighs, until they bucked helplessly against my parted lips. I would lick the ridge of the head of their cock and lap up the bead of precum that would well up like the needy groan from their throat. I would nibble their hip bones and nipples and the corners of their jaw, while their body seized in my hands, and then suck each ball in turn into my mouth with tantalizing gentleness. I would drag my hard cock and dripping cunt over their cock as long as I please, pressing my lips to theirs to drink their cries — and when they finally begged to be inside me, I would pull away until the string of slick between our groins snapped and splashed against their shaft, and I would suck their cock into my mouth, swallowing slick and precum and soon their panting, shuddering orgasm. I would — if They were not Them.
The sensations would be enjoyable, if my Master ever permitted this roleplay, but even the daydream felt like sacrilege. Beneath me. I was being offered a shattering joy far above the creature contentment of flesh in my teeth.
My Master was not a lamb splayed out to be blooded and consumed, not a man to eviscerated and burned — no sacrificial language fits this, for it was an exercise in control.
My Master was Odysseus bound to the mast of his ship as she turns toward siren-infested waters, sacrificing the image of control to pursue intellectual curiosity and luxuriate in temptation, trusting the men who serve him to hold the course and free him after. Even tied and thrashing, Odysseus remained the commander of his fleet. As my Master retains command over me. They were much calmer than Odysseus on the mast, but Their body wasn’t. They pulled experimentally at Their restraints, Their cock deliciously hardening and rising from their shivering thigh.
My Master’s cock slapped softly against Their stomach and, kneeling between Their legs, I bent to it as though the sound were a command. I ran the tip of my nose up the shaft with parted lips, breathing in and rolling Their scent over my tongue. I was drooling already. I nuzzled again, this time licking a wet trail from base to head, and I was rewarded with a low groan from high above me. Their knee reared up beside me, bending as far as the ankle cuff allowed, and my ravenous, predatory hunger surged again. I exhaled, not lunging yet.
“Master, may I suck You?” I murmured, rubbing my cheek against Their cock, mouth parted and watering.
“You may.” They answered, and I heard the smile in Their voice.
I sucked my Master’s cock into my mouth with a single stroke, tightening my lips around Them as I pushed downward, feeling the hot weight of Them sliding over my tongue. I pulled up and savored the tongue slide again, my lips catching on the ridge of Their head — a surefire way to hear the gorgeous sounds that will sate the tingling in my teeth — and I groaned myself when I heard Them groan again.
I bobbed obediently, intimately familiar with the pace and rhythm They desire. The exact angle against my soft palette, the depth into my throat, the roll and press of my tongue against Their shaft. Our obedience is pleasure mantra kept time in my mind and helped me sink down, down Their shaft, down Their mind, down into submission from my predatory hunger, leaving useless thoughts behind. If They did not please or serve my Master, they were discarded.
“That’s it,” my Master breathed. “Let them drift away.” And even the thoughts I believed would serve Them were left behind.
My Master said other words too, smoky and curling, with lust and adoration, words that rolled through my mind and over my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. A constant murmur that made awareness of my body drift away too. Made it easy to let the drool from Their cock rubbing up and down my tongue dribble down Their shaft to Their balls. From very far away, beneath my palms, I felt Their body twisting, curling, tensing against the restraints, both desperate to come down my throat and not yet done. But those warring desires did not stop my Master’s murmuring patter, and soon even that awareness of Their body drifted away. There was nothing in existence but my Master’s cock and my mouth around it.
Their soft endless voice suddenly crystallized and something sharper glittered in the facets. I still couldn’t capture the exact words but the words could capture me. Commands.
I will obey them. I will obey Them.
I bobbed my head on my Master’s cock, and just as They have done in countless scenes before this, They grabbed either side of my head to set the perfect rhythm. Far softer than usual, though, fingers just ghosting through my thick curls.
Wait isn’t my Master still bound? Did I release Them already? Strange. I don’t think—
No. What was strange was the softness of my Master’s hold on me. They always grip my head properly, to better move me precisely as They desire. On realizing this, Their fingers settled against my scalp to control my head. My hair was pressed down and back under Their palms. It was also puzzlingly falling into my eyes. I wonder—
—the awareness of a confusing sensation skitters away.
My Master set my rhythm, a mechanical, metronomic up-down. I relaxed my throat and rolled my tongue against Their shaft, squeezing the head of Their cock between my tongue and the roof of my mouth on every stroke down and deep. Tongue and shaft and roof and head, those are all that is. No neck, not even a jaw remained. When the rhythm is my Master’s, I needed only pay attention to how my mouth should best please Their cock. It wasn’t long until, yes Master please—
“Three,” my Master began softly.
“Two.” I drew in the deepest breath I could.
“One.” They pulled my head down fiercely, pushing Their cock deep enough in me for me to kiss the very base of Their shaft.
For a moment, I remembered from previous depth training the feeling of drowning, choking on the drool and precum running down my throat, desperate for air. Not this time. This time, Their cock slipped into my throat as readily as it slips into my cunt.
My Master anointed my throat with drips of precum, and I swallowed gladly. The drool, I let spill from my lips pressed against the base of Their cock, and it ran softly between the crevices of Their balls. More drops, more drool — a precious communion, more precious than air.
Something disinteresting tugged in my chest, an absence— a need—? Nothing important.
I bowed deeper, clinging to my Master’s cock with my tongue.
This. Need my Master’s pleasure, need Their rhythm, need—
I reared back with a gurgled choke, at my breathless limit, and grabbed my Master’s hand to desperately tap out.
No — grabbed my own head? My hand felt only hair.
Oddly bereft, I blearily looked up at my Master, limbs still bound. Despite realizing that was obviously the earlier command and therefore something my Master desired, I feel a prickle of embarrassment at how I had so easily believed an obvious irrationality. I sheepishly lowered my hand from my hair. The feeling warred with the wonder rising in my chest, until my vision cleared and I better saw my Master’s face.
Exultant. Proud. Possessive. They looked down on me with a rapacious, wolfish smile, both sated and starving, complete at last but never done.
I had not been fooled, I had been consecrated. Another step of dedicating my mind as a possession to my Master, setting it apart for Their purposes and enjoyment. I am wholly Theirs, even when They are bound to the altar and I am not.
Although I am also bound to the altar, helpless to crawl over my Master’s body and breathe directly from Their mouth.
I am sure there were more words exchanged between us, but any memory of them slipped away. My liturgy required no words, only my willing enthrallment and the rhythmic slide of my cunt against my Master’s cock, soaking our thighs. Waiting. Building. I do not know when or by which words I asked my Master to fuck me, but surely I did, because Their cock slid into me to the hilt.
Theirs. I am Theirs. No greater calling than to please Them and be pleased by Them. Being hypnotized and fucked into a drooling, mindless pet was made righteous by Their will and possible by Their power.
I rode my Master’s cock, each ache in my shaking thighs, each jolt from Their head as They bottomed out, part of the sacraments of my submission to Them. I had carried other covenant signs from Them before, bitemarks on my shoulders, cum oozing between my thighs throughout the day, but this was new. My consecration had carved pathways through my mind for my Master to use later; They had taken me to a trance space before but now They could create new realities in that space for me.
I rode Them harder, gasping. My palms pressed into the chest of my (Re)maker, my cunt seizing around Their cock. Pleasure spiking so high, it tugged me upwards from the depth of my trance.
“—tribute to me.” My Master coaxed, fingers digging into my hips. Finally, I could make out the words. “Come for Me. Give tribute to Me.”
My Master remade me. My Master altered my reality. I can only quake before Them. And I did, coming hard enough to white out as I convulsed over Them, clutching with my cunt and my hands.
Time blurred again without memory. I know we spoke, I know I quickly released Them (this time), but my mind was gone and my body shaking apart. I could feel myself dissolving— atomizing— in the face of overwhelming pleasure, being unmade and not yet being remade. Trepidation. Almost— too much— until my Master’s arms encircled me, clutching me to Their chest.
I breathed evenly, leaning into Their grounding warmth. My Master kept murmuring to me, with love and affirmation, and something akin to reverence. Bringing me up, bringing me home. Exalting me as Their slave and Their pet, a most precious gift for us both.
