My hands are shackled, I cannot move them. My arms, pulled behind my back, are forcefully kept together by means of chains. A rope is entangled through the metal and he wraps the other end tightly against my neck, in a collar fashion. Thus forced to my knees, I bend my head and dare to glance at him.
My back is naked and exposed to his eyes as he towers me. His necktie is tightly wrapped around his neck, resting on his white collared shirt. His jet-black jacket fits his shoulders perfectly and in the dark is teal eyes gleam.
I only catch a glimpse of him, before he pulls me back by my waist. His hands are stronger than mine as they firmly grip into my flesh.
Everything around us is darkness, the floor, the ceiling, the invisible walls. I can hear him "shhh" me as he pulls me further back, deeper into his property.
Yet I am also part of his property, chained, enslaved.
His bed is large: it can fit two people easily. The mattresses and pillows are soft, but their comfort is not for me. I am relegated to the ground, at his feet, like a dog.
He is the man, I am the slave.
He pulls my chains and I bend down, obedient. I do not oppose his command and follow his lead.
I let him do as he pleases with me.
It is not because of the chains around my limbs, it's because of those around my heart.
I am weak, but he doesn't mind. In fact, I think he likes it better this way. I moan and he slaps me, harsh in the face.
I am not allowed to make noises.
He brushes my lips and tilts my chin upwards, my hair falls against my sticky temples as I stare at him. He breathes in and I can see his chest rising; the buttons of his shirt need unfastening and it is my nimble hands which proceed to do the job. My tongue follows, on his hairy chest and hardened nipples, before he pushes my head down against his skin. I know what I am expected to do and I take pleasure in it.
His fist is clenched, it holds my hair as if it were holding a lifeline. There is no words' exchange between us, but there is no need.
Master and Servant, we know each other's bodies like no one else does. I can mark the contours of his face on a paper in the dark. He can map my sensitive skin with his tongue without the need for a compass.
I writhe and he chuckles.
There are no sounds in this room besides us. No distractions, no lights. Only the scent of burnt wax, somewhere a candle is lit.
Ah, I wondered how it was that I was able to distinguish his features this time. Perhaps the darkness has receded a bit, but the light has given birth to shadows neither of us wants to witness.
He gets up; he wants the lights down, he says.
My eyes follow him but I do not move from my spot; he has not given me permission to.
His back is captivating, I can see the lean muscles clench through the silky shirt he is still wearing. My body is not as athletic as his; I lack the well-defined lines which give him his strength. Instead, I am petite, but perhaps he keeps me for that.
My boyish form shrinks to the ground and against the bed wall as he makes his way back to me in his full glory. His raven hair is tormented by his fingers as he passes his hand through it multiple times.
My name, he utters and then he bites his lip.
I crawl towards him, palms on the stony floor. He doesn't hesitate anymore, not now that the candlelight is gone.
Nevertheless, I can still see him, his form, in the silver rays of the moon.
His lips are hungry as he claims mine and I whimper. He ravages my mouth, pushing my back against the bed.
In the dark everything is easier, we are comfortable with each other.
I can feel his teeth on my neck as they draw blood. We do not indulge in Vampirism as some might claim. It is a mark of property instead – his property.
Because I am his thing and I do not care what he does to me anymore. My body is so tamed and accustomed to his touch that I question my own free will.
Yet, I know that I want this when he moans against my shoulder. There is no sweetest sound than his strangled passions as he too takes pleasure in this.
And he wants it too, in a hurry as well, as he pushes his thumb inside my defenceless mouth. My arms are still tight when he turns me around. My looks are lewd but I am not ashamed as he licks down my spine.
He is the Master and I am his toy – he wouldn't play with me anymore if I stopped amusing him.
He owns me, in every sense of the word. Yet, that doesn't disturb me at all. In fact, it pleases me to hear it coming from his lips.
My neck is bent as he pulls my hair, my back aches but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters right now.
Not when his fingers are pushing deep into my scalp, between my locks.
Not as my young body submits to his much older one.
In the dark everything is easier.
We may become ourselves, in the dark.
He holds the strings around my heart and he knows he needs no chains to keep me there. Yet, he enjoys seeing me wear shining metal, even when he's done.
Am I just a pet, I ask myself as he gently strokes my hair, or is there more? Do I want it there to be more?