The Ties that Bind
It’s that place between the world you know and the world deep inside of you that wants to be freed. The world you know is a world of grey, the world you know as real. You’ve been there all of your life.
The world you fantasize about is a world of black, a place where things are different, where you are different. It’s where the thoughts in the deepest corner of your mind come out to play.
Your dreams opened the door to that world; slightly, at first. As you peeked in more and more, the black grew. As you saw the black, desired it, wanted it, your need began to open the door more and more until it was big enough for the black to come through, to take you inside, to make you cross into that world and leave the grey behind ...
The first spark of consciousness traces through your mind. That little touch of knowledge that you exist comes to the fore: not really actual thought, mind you, but that primal moment of realization that comes when you pass from the hold of nothing into the grasp of ... something.
You remember ... nothing. You know that something happened, but what that was or is … well, your thoughts are slippery when you try to recall the details. As your mind starts to regain focus, alertness, your senses begin to send messages to you ... messages you try to sort out as the fuzziness continues to roll like a warm spring mist over you ...
First, you notice the sheets beneath you: silky, satin fabric that is cool against your bare skin ... all of it. You are surprised to realize that you have not a stitch of clothing upon your body. You want to be embarrassed by the knowledge, but that spark is smothered underneath the thought that she wants it that way.
Second, you can’t see. Something is tied over your eyes. It feels like the caress of the sheets beneath you. You catch the barest hint of a subtle aroma, but you cannot place it just yet. It is familiar, almost soothing, and, for a moment, you want to relax and wait; that is, before your curiosity comes to the fore.
You try to raise a hand to remove it. It’s then that you notice something else: you can’t move your hands, for your wrists are bound with something that feels silky against your flesh, almost warm, as if alive, if that is possible. It’s not quite like the feeling you had before. You sense strength in these bonds, wrapped within the warmth. You think about trying to break free of the bindings, but all you can manage is to ball your hands into fists, feebly, against whatever holds you fast.
You suddenly grasp that you are tied to a bed or something similar, helpless, powerless, unable to do anything to resist what may come to be ... that realization sends a shiver through your body. As it passes, you cannot help the soft mewl that escapes your lips. You have no control. Nothing you can do at this moment can possibly free you, but, oh, that just makes those little fantasies you hide deep within you paint pictures in your mind that you can never admit to having ...
Then, to your surprise, you hear movement nearby … someone walking, the click of heels coming clearly to your ears. You turn your head reflexively towards the sound to see who it is. But you cannot see anything—you forgot about that, didn’t you? You try again to break free of your bonds, but they do not give, do not budge, and refuse to release you.
Your lips are dry, and you wet them with your tongue before trying to speak. For a moment, you think about crying out in anger and frustration, cursing and swearing at whoever is there. But then another surprise meets you. Before you can say a word, you feel the touch of a single finger against your lips ... and fall silent … hushed … quiet once more.
As that finger traces over your body, for the first time since you awoke, you hear a voice … a female voice … honeysuckle sweet. Her words are flowing over your mind like a warm summer river, the rush of them covering over your thoughts, questions, and concerns without effort. You cannot help but listen to every word she purrs, for her voice has become your world ...
“Welcome, my dear. It is so good that you are waiting for me. I do want you to be happy ... you are, aren’t you? Oh, of course you are ... You cannot help but enjoy this, can you? The hold I have upon your body ... how I can touch you wherever I wish, however I wish, and you cannot do anything but beg in need for more? That is something I will keep within you. I adore pets that need to please me, and you will ... won’t you, Pet?”
Your mind floats in the warmth of her praises … until she speaks of pets and, for an instant, you have a need to ask a question. Your mind begins to form that query, capture the words, and send them to your waiting voice, but all you manage is another mewl of excitement, a moment of need in your soul. For an instant—just one—you cannot help but wonder what it would be like to be her pet and obey ...
Then she begins to torture you ... Oh, not physically (that, you realize, would be beneath her). No, she tortures you not with pain, but with the slow, measured ebb of pleasure in your mind, body, and soul. You realize that she has chosen you, only you, to fulfill a purpose that only she can understand. That somehow brings you comfort; you are the one she picked. But you suddenly understand that, alone, isn’t enough.
Her finger leaves you, and you cannot help but moan at the loss of her touch. The thought enters you that she has left you now, leaving you here … alone, discarded. But then you hear the sound of her footsteps and know that she has not left you, but continues to examine you. You know, for certain, that she possesses you. That brings you a moment of worry; are you going to pass her scrutiny or fail utterly?
Then she touches you again. Her finger now begins its caress at your little toe, the nail stroking it a bit as her sultry voice ponders “this little piggy” and its new home: your new home. You find that thought immensely erotic, the image of being at her feet, gazing at her, worshiping her above all else sending a wave of heat through your body.
She hums faintly as she continues to explore. You follow in your mind as her nail traces against your flesh. Then the sensation of her nail tracing over the sole of your foot becomes clear. You want to gasp in surprise as that feeling makes you shiver. Then you hear her talking about man’s feet of clay and how they can be moulded into a new form ... how malleable clay is … how your body can be reshaped so easily if she desires it to be so ... and how you want that now ...
She finds a new point of interest now, her hands moving there. You can almost see the slight smirk of amusement on her lips—ones that you have not seen yet, but that you now need to see—as your mind paints the picture for you. Oh, and that need is becoming stronger and more insistent by the moment now.
Her touch now moves over your Achilles’ Heel, the slight pressure of her nail there leaving a mark against your skin, you are sure. She speaks, in that amused tone she uses, talking about how some have a single weakness that can be exploited once it is discovered ...
Then you feel warm breath on your ear as she purrs into your mind about how that weakness can be used to bring you to heel. An image comes into focus now: you, on your knees, at her side, your eyes not looking up towards her, but down. The floor is there beneath you—it must be there—but you care not what it looks like. No, you are focused upon the sleek, shiny black latex leggings that grip her long slender legs so tightly, the light shimmering against the inky blackness. You find yourself watching the light as she moves slightly beside you. Then her voice gives you permission and you rub ever-so-carefully against those legs with your hands, memorizing every curve there ... because you are her perfect Pet.
The image clears and you mewl again, the words “I want to obey you … forever” trying to escape you. You want to tell her how you want to be brought to heel ... to know the obedience that she demands of you ... the touch of her crop against your skin ... the collar marking you as hers fastened around your neck. You try to keep that all within you, but the idea of her taming you ... totally ... almost makes you cum.
You cannot help but want to pull the wants … needs ... desires ... all that she is pushing … into you, to make you hers completely. She strokes that finger against your calf and purrs, to you telling of the never-ending arousal that will flood into you … teach you … make you respond to them as she, and only she, wishes. Your entire purpose shall be focused upon furthering her wants … needs … desires … however she wills …
You feel the bed shift slightly and realize that she is creeping onto it … on top of you. A whimper escapes at the idea of being trapped beneath her, and she answers with a giggle of bemusement. She pauses for a moment, as if deciding what morsel she will claim from you next. Then she continues her slow path towards your submission …
Her hands are now on both legs, tracing upwards, making you want to twitch, until you suddenly realize that you cannot do so … she has not allowed it. Her hands fall upon your knees, and she talks about how knees are meant to be used in submission, how wonderful it is when one is upon them, looking up towards one’s owner in bliss and submission. That is where you feel you should be.
She strokes them and tells you how kneeling makes one weak … how kneeling makes one want to obey … how one is unable to defend oneself when kneeling in submission … how being there, looking up towards the one who claims you, enforces her hold upon your mind. You find that compliance to her wishes is becoming deeply seated in your thoughts. And that makes you want to cum again …
She passes her hands around your now damp sex, leaving it needy for the moment, then moves her hands now over your stomach, telling of the ache within, the need that burns there, the need to serve, to obey, to fill that ache with the ambrosia of submission ... telling you of how the essence of it burns within you now … of how, when you give in to her, you will see and understand … telling you of how, when you submit, it will be everything to you …
Her nails press again into your skin, marking you. There is a pattern to their movements, but your mind is foggy again … She purrs about how the sweet honey of a smoothed-over will tastes … about the deliciously filling warmth of it in your soul … about how it is an ache within you … but, like the ache one feels when the strings of mind and body are pulled just right, it fills you with liquid bliss. But it rubs your heart … your mind … your soul. Your gasp is sudden as you understand what she will do to you.
She rests her hand upon your chest and talks about your lungs being awash in the vapours of submission; how you will breathe them in … deeply … rhythmically … over and over … until you cannot think of anything but submission; how they will sap away your strength … conquering you … taking you … and then … then they will convert you into what she desires you to be. Then her hands move over your shoulders to your arms, making them leaden, unable to move without the desire of your Mistress. You know that now: she is Mistress; you want to obey her. Nothing but your total submission will do now. Your palms are sweating from the need to obey, to make what she tells you real by your own hands.
Another image forms now. All thought is lost in this image of you proclaiming yourself as hers, and only hers. You turn to all of her slaves and see that she chose you above them all. You see that they are under you … and you are under her … forever.
The image vanishes then as you feel her hands stroking against your skin, telling of the strengths you have within. But, though you are strong, she has already conquered you, taken those strengths and subjugated them to her will. You feel her nail stroking against the nape of your neck, her voice describing the mark you will wear there ... a collar: a symbol of her ownership, the mark of your complete and total subservience to your role in her world ... forever. You know what color it will be: black; so black that light sinks into it and thus becomes hers as well. A symbol of the void within you that only she can fill with her will.
Your lips part as you try again to say something ... anything ... just to show that you are hers. But she stops you by touching them with her finger again. She tells of a voice that is yours, but it is not. You know that, like all that you are, it is hers to command. You want so much to moan her name in need, to plead that you are obedient to her, that your submission will be total and complete forevermore ... as she commands it to be.
You shiver as she strokes her fingers over your cheek, the heat of a blush forming there under her touch. You moan slightly as her finger leaves your cheek and touches the cloth that covers your eyes. Then you can sense her touch over your eyes and try, but for a moment, to move yourself closer to that touch, but then feel shame at not waiting for the command of her voice to obey.
She tells of the darkness you are awash in now, how there is only that darkness now within you. You are lost, both within and without, and you whimper in reply, for you know with certainty that she is perfectly correct. She purrs about seeking the light ... her light; how your emptiness will be filled with the light of submission; how her will, poured into your form, will fill every part to overflowing.
She then traces over your ears with her fingers, opening the passage to your mind, body, and soul, wide and forevermore. She commands that you will only hear her words. You will obey her will and hers alone from now until the end of time.
Then ... she moves away. You feel her no longer. She is there, but she does not allow you her touch of pleasure. Fear grips you now: what must you do for her? How can you make her understand that you are everything that she has spoken of? Her voice is still honey-sweet, but, beneath that, you can feel the cold dominance of her will in her words she speaks to you: “What are you? Whose are you?”
Then, to your surprise and overwhelming relief, you manage to say but two words: “Oh Mistress...” The moment that those words leave you, a shudder passes through you, the words and the power they have over you marking your soul now. You hear her soft laughter, and then the words you need: “Yes, Pet. Tell me.”
The words come rushing out of your mind, taking control of your voice as you cry them into the darkness around you: “I am yours ... I am your servant, slave, pet ... everything that was is for you to decide ... everything that will be is up to your dictation ... everything ... is now conquered, filtered, and an extension of your desire, purposes, wants, loves, and lusts ... purely ... I ... am yours ... Mistress ...”
For a moment, she says and does nothing. You know that she is judging you now. Her decision, you know, is final, and there is nothing you can do except hope that you have pleased her enough for her to claim you now totally ... but then you realize that, from the moment you first awoke, she had you—then, now, and forever.
You feel something form around your throat now and you want to cum so badly ... you know what it is. She spoke of it and now ... now you know that her will is changing you permanently. For a moment, her collar is cold against your skin, but you overlook that for the mind-altering thought that you are now Pet. Her pet. The collar seals your fate to her will now, leaving you forever ready to serve her needs and wishes in whatever Mistress commands ... now and forevermore... a pet, a slave, whatever she wishes, it does not matter, you will be that for her.
She reaches out and tousles your hair, her fingers sending sparks of need and desire through you. You need her, her touch, her dominance ... you melt. You know that she does not have to tug on the leash you know she will hold when she returns to the world she came from, you following behind in her wake. She doesn’t have to, because you are, forevermore, her perfect pet.
You know that Pet will not ask or plead, simply accept that Pet is Mistress’ toy, and that alone will make Pet eager to please her before all else. Pet will be perfect. None shall see a single flaw within, for Pet is perfectly submissive to Mistress and the envy of all. For you are Pet. Nothing else matters.
She then slips a finger underneath your blindfold and begins to pull it away from your eyes. You are blinded for a moment as the darkness that had hidden her from view is replaced by the light that lets you see her at last.
You see the latex she wears… Tight, sleek, restricting… Light shimmering off the curves of the one sealed within. Black. Black like the control she holds within you now. She wears a black corset that hugs her chest like a lover. A black skirt wraps around her waist, split down the side. The leggings trail down towards the black heels she wears easily, her stance there of complete dominance over you. Her flame red hair cascades in wild curls over her shoulders and down her back. The pair of ebony black horns in her hair are matched by the long, black, spaded tail that moves behind her like a snake waiting to strike.
Her green eyes sparkle in amusement as, again, you try to catch your breath at seeing her. In one black-latex-covered hand she holds the leash. Her leash. You know it well: another symbol of her control over you. Idly, she reaches out with her hand and, with a flick of her wrist, one by one, the bindings tying you to the bed come loose. But then, instead of freeing you, they coil around your wrists and ankles. You are still bound to her, physically and mentally; that binding has not gone just because you can move now.
She steps away from you, leaving a short distance between her and you. Without a thought, your body moves from where you had rested towards where she stands, your eyes focused upon her. You follow with your eyes the finger of her other hand as it points to the place where your submission to her begins. There is a sweet smile on her lips as you sink to the cold floor in submission to her will. She purrs seductively as you worship at her latex covered altar…. forever. The bliss of ecstasy that follows as you serve her will makes you shiver and moan.
Your mind goes blank again as you please her, for that is what matters now. She tastes of cherries … But of course she does. Your mind now remembers that you have pleasured her so many times that the number doesn’t matter. Just that you have done so. Her hands twine into your hair and you move to obey the slight pushes of her hand there. She moans in pleasure and you cum with her. The knowledge that you have pleased her makes the release surging through you so much better. You come back to awareness still on your knees, worshipping at her temple, and you know now, perfectly, that everything is exactly as it should be.
She reaches down then and clips her leash to your collar. As it clicks into place you feel your slave clothing shimmer into existence around you: the tight red latex shorts against your skin; the shiny red slippers encasing your feet. You look at your hands and see that they are coated in red latex gloves. You shiver as you come to know that you are now properly marked as her property. None that look at you can mistake her marks upon you. That fills your mind with bliss, and your fingers rub your sex against the coating she has placed over it, making it feel even better, as it does forever in her power.
She holds your leash by a single fingertip. Nothing more is needed … ever. You cannot imagine anything but obeying her. It matters not what her commands are; you need, to the very fibre of your being, to obey. To do anything less would be shameful, awful, the end of your existence. That, you know full well, will never happen.
Without even a tug on the leash, you follow as she begins to walk away. You move quickly to be close to her, just within her shadow, precisely where a good slave and pet would be expected. You catch the slightest nod of approval and manage to hold your mewl of pleasure within you. A gateway to her domain appears in front of you. She is taking you home. Her home. Her world. Just before she steps through, you hear the words, “You are Pet. Mine, above all else ... forever. Isn’t that right, Pet?”
The only answer you manage is a soft moan of “Yes, Mistress.” Then you pass from the grey world you cannot remember anymore into the black world, the one you finally realize has always been where your heart and mind existed…
The Realm is the creation of TeraS, also known as TeraSuccubi, the owner of Succubus.net, who is the owner of all copyrights to this literary universe. All characters, places and stories that are written by her are not public domain and may not be used without her express written authorization.