I tug her leash. She leans away from the chain that holds her collar, using her entire weight to fight my pull. Her bare feet scrape against the hardwood floor but she can’t gain any traction. She grabs the chain and tries to pull but my strength is so much greater than hers.
Step by resisting step she comes closer to me. Her naked breasts jiggle from her struggles. Her long hair whips around as she shakes her head in denial. The muscles on her legs bulge as she tries to stand her ground.
I keep pulling her leash. As her physical fight becomes more hopeless, she resorts to other tactics. She whines. She begs. She offers her friends and her loved ones. When all else fails, she curses me.
The leash grows shorter as I wrap the end around my arm. Her struggles turn to panic. She knows what I will do to her. She knows how I will use her mouth. She knows what distress waits for her breasts, ass and cunt. She knows that I will mount, fuck, ride and posses her. She knows my appetites. She knows where I will come on her. She knows what will happen when there is no more leash between us.
I pull her to me. She hates me for the things I do to her. She hates herself for enjoying it so much.
She is my collared slut.
2 Responses to “Fiction: Pull”
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Oooh … I like it. :)