A fitted braid of silver,
A petite cluster of rings-
(an illusion of Celtic remembrance),
the glistening circle nestled perfectly in the hollow of her throat.
Just a pretty necklace…
to the unknowing eye.
Take note of the clasp.
Or lack thereof.
The unique closure with no release.
The simple hoop.
she is Collared.
she is Owned.
she is His.
her mind is His.
He does not twist it, or toy with it.
His demands are clear,
her consequences understood.
He does not give and take his affections unjustly.
her body is safe; He will never surpass her limits.
Though he will test them.
He will push her.
He will bend her.
But He will never break her.
she is His; He protects her from harm,
from pain, from oppression…
by inflicting it.
He teaches her,
submission and strength.
He is protection and punishment.
her body is His.
His to do with as he pleases.
His to relish, and to violate.
To savor, and to chasten.
her skin to bruise and bare His marks.
her breasts to swell and ache for His touch.
her hands to be bound and unbound at His behest.
her arousal to be spent at His command.
her mouth, the pleas that roll from her tongue,
the sighs and screams that escape her lips,
the cries of pain, and of pleasure…
she is His to control and to command
and under His command….
She is free.
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