An Erotic True Story: “Kept on a Leash”

Finding small expressions of my deepest inner feelings

We had just been to visit a bitch and her puppies.  They were the cutest little things.  A mixture of joy and curiosity, and limbs that were delicate and still a bit floppy.  She was thinking about getting a dog.

We stepped into a neighbourhood store and while she was looking at the food, its costs, bowls, and other accessories, I found myself drawn to the large panel near the door of collars and leashes.

“You’d look good with a collar on,” she joked, perhaps sensing depth in her own words of things not yet spoken of.  I took a simple black one, found it soft to the touch, held it to my neck for size, and then picked up its matching leash.  I bought them and they went into a brown paper bag.  How appropriate.

“Dogs are expensive,” she said as we left the shop.  And, “what did you get?” when she noticed the small paper bag I was carrying.  I pulled out the leash and collar and showed her.  She didn’t say a word, nor did I, but I saw plenty of spark in her face.

Later that afternoon we were kissing on the couch in the big, sunlit living room, and she ran her fingers deep into my hair, and then tightened, pulling, and pushing me off the couch, onto the floor.  “Kneel,” she said.

I was on my knees and she was sitting erect on the edge of the couch, her hand still holding my hair firmly.  “Did you get the leash because you want to be my puppy?” She asked.  And I looked into her eyes at such a beautiful and delicious question.

“Please,” I breathed, “please.  Good puppy,” I said, my tone expressing the depths that these feelings were coming from.

“Where is it?” she asked, all business.

“In the bedroom.”

She stood, and without releasing her grip, walked me quickly and forcefully to the bedroom, pulling me by the hair.  The bag was on the bedside table.  She took it, sat on the bed, and I knelt in front of her, arms behind me.  I cannot fully describe the full range of emotions that swept over me as her precise fingers fiddled with the buckle at my neck, or the feeling of the tugs that came as she found the right level of tightness.  It felt as if a thousand locks were closing.

“You are not to ever take it off or put it on.  Only I will do that.  Is that understood?”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“Do you really understand?  There’s no going back.  We have guests today.  I will not take the collar off.  Are you ready?”  I thought about it and shook my head yes.

When she affixed the leash the feeling of being owned suffused me like dark tea leaves colouring water, spreading its tendrils through me until it had taken me.  And as she gave the leash its first gentle tugs, and then walked me back out to the living room, I knew that I had just found my place.

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