Remove your panties

Remove your panties.

An unexpected message from his cell phone.

I am home alone.
There is no bar to immediate obedience.
He knows I will obey immediately.

I feel so open
So accessible.
So vulnerable.
My shorts are loose.
Fingers could easily slip up a leg hole.
Fingers could easily slip into my pleasing pussy.

Get the chain.
Keep it with you all night.

I'm in the bedroom.
A few steps and the chain is off the hook in the closet.
A few more moves and it is looped around my neck.
I throw it back over my shoulders like a soft silk scarf.
But no river of watery blues and green and purples
wraps around my throat and flows down my back.
My scarf is hard and cold and unyielding.
Steel links of silver grey, squeezing my windpipe
and reminding me who I am.

I am aroused.
It hurts.
I tell him.
My pussy hurts from wanting him so.
I feel his fingers inside me,
fucking me hard, hungry and merciless.

You may touch it lightly with the chain.
That is all.

The chain is cold and hard and unyielding,
yet kisses my pussy tenderly, like a precious pet.
My pussy opens and weeps with desire,
yet wants nothing more.

He wants to do things to me.
His thoughts would probably scare me.

It's a constant, delicate dance with no set choreography.
What he wants to do to me.
What I want to give him.
What he tries to protect me from.
What I can't handle.
What he can't stop from happening.
What I can't stop from happening.

Neither of us wants the music to end.

He is training me.
Teaching me.
Teaching me to take the pain
to want the pain
to submit to more before I feel the pain.

To beg for it.

I learn very fast.
I wish I could learn faster.

I wish I could learn faster so very soon he could do all those awful things to me that he thinks about - and I won't come apart. There will be nothing but his pleasure and his pride and my gratitude that I can give him so much and - especially - that exquisite intimacy that comes as, giving and suffering, we share the pain.