Amity's Stories
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Once in a while, an illustration can be more powerful than a photo. I believe this is one of them. Click the photo to see where it originated.
She reviewed him, first briefly
from the front, before settling down on the arm of the chair to go
over the details with his Owner. The slave knew better than to look
her in the eye and instead focused on the wall behind her head. With
his body immobile, except to respond to his Owner's tugs on his cock
leash, he stood as Her property to be inspected and evaluated by another.
Again.
Conversation swirled around his head as they paid little attention to his nakedness. The shame he wore, to be naked in front of another woman, a stranger, an unknown, spread in a reddish glow from his chest to his toes in a single hue of mortification. His Owner never looked at him while he suffered not from their gazes, but from their evident disinterest in him.
She had secured his hands behind him, knowing he made a better appearance that way because it pushed his chest forward. His chest, matted in thick hair and looked so appealing in rope and chain, now stuck out prominently from his hips, as if the protrusion were offered as supplication to his Owner. She knew that the chain leash that gripped his balls needed a mere tug and he would scurry to twist, turn or hop to her side when She beckoned.
The women talked while he simply stood there not daring to shift his weight or look anywhere but the single focal point he claimed on the far wall. Sometimes, an image of a gloved hand entered his field of sight and he knew that hand did not belong to his Owner. She wore gloves, he had come to learn, only when she intended to use them on him or on the others.
He coughed involuntarily.
She glared at him.
He felt the heat of Her eyes sear through him.
In an instant, a muzzle was slapped against his face, straps fastened around his ears, and locked behind his head. The speed with which she gripped him in it amazed him and the severity with which she buckled it astonished him. He was tugged downward by a single, firm, harsh, unyielding, merciless yank on his chain leash. Unable to scream through the muzzle from the ravaging he was enduring, he simply fell to the floor and landed on his knees. His eyes looked up at Her briefly before he dutifully turned them toward the ground in a mixture of shame and obedience.
The women talked a while longer when he felt a sudden twist of his left nipple by leather-encased fingers. Then the other suffered a similar torture and his throat tried to utter noises that were blocked by the lip-sealing muzzle in which he was secured. He heard laughing, a gentle titter that was, he knew, directed at him. Voiceless, he suffered.
Leather pressed against his chest and down his stomach until it rested for a brief moment just above his closely shaved genitals as the woman felt his muscles and skin to see if it appealed to her. She kept him trimmed neat and clean, so She could display him whenever She chose. That was one of his first, and most severe lessons: learning that he was Her property -- to be shown or hidden away at Her whim. Sometimes he was one of many that She paraded for other women. Today, he was the only one.
The leather fingers felt his arms, prodded his shoulders, pressed against his thighs and ran along his hips until they rested on his lower back and pressed into him with a sense of demanding and command that he had learned so carefully to recognize. Obediently, he leaned forward and hoped his forehead would touch the floor gently. He knew what was required and he recognized what was coming.
Someone kicked his feet apart and he spread his legs wide in autonomic response to the demand. She liked him to be open and accessible to every woman who came to inspect him and perhaps, if he was selected, to use him for a while until she returned him to his Owner.
He felt the warmth of two women behind him, viewing his raised ass, peering inside him, checking out his potential for whatever use they might have for him. He couldn't make out their discussion but their intent was soon clear. He knew it as soon as the rope binding his wrists was cut. He knew what was required of him. He knew what he had to do, what he wanted to do, what he must do.
Reaching behind his hips, he pulled his ass apart for them.
It was the giggling that struck him the hardest and he squirmed under their amused looks. With his face pressed into the floor, he couldn't see their grins or watch their eyes dance as they explored his darkest secret. He knew only that he *must* expose himself to them, farther and farther, to please the woman and to make his Owner proud. Nothing less was tolerable either for him or for Her.
They took forever watching him squirm at their feet and tittered as he tried to pull himself even farther apart. Making Her proud was his goal; obeying Her wish was his objective; pleasing Her was his core.
It was horror that invaded his brain when a huge drip of precum slid from the tip of his dangling and erect organ toward the carpet.
But it was loud laughter that invaded his ears.
Sleep well, my sexslave, my fucktoy. I'll find you again when I want you or need you.
you are Mine -- through your core, which is also Mine.