And she does the following because she knows once she leaves you'll crawl a thousand miles after her direction with your back bent its lowest towards the ground since the day you met her: first, she'll tease you with her affection,(a hug and a cuddle thrown together is called a huggle); then, her fingers thread through her own silk, brazen locks of hair so nicely... this is the moment you notice her skin, the parts of her dress that are uncovered, and it'll feel like hours before you realize that you've lowered your eyes and are staring at the floor with her heel on your back. At last, when you regain consciousness, the next thing you'll remember: is her throat, licking your bone.
"Ma'am... please come back." You try to shout down the corridor after her, but her back is turned so when she replies, "What for?" you also beg her to face you... She was your beautiful muse, and you found the most divine inspiration in the curvature of her face, the peak of her nose, the ridge line over a pair of diamonds. When her back is turned, you're lost. So you mumble at last, "I'll... kiss your boots?"
"What good does that do me?" She begs for an answer. Of course she knows that your fealty is already won, and any additional showing of such is greatly appreciated, and that the will to submit being unbroken means she can always fling dirt from under her foot to any great distance for you to catch, but she wouldn't let you anywhere near the privilege of being her underling while her step is already headed out the door. This is it for now.
Your apartment starts to stink of your own fear. You back away silently, and let her depart alone. You think about the sound of her jingling purse trailing off as it happens. Her crushing steps down the staircase, confidently bouncing in volume and then ending before the SLAM of an angry door on the way out. She didn't want to have to break up with you, after all.
---------------------------------
Please know, I didn't want to have to write down any of this.
So, she came back into your life three months later. Figures. You could never stay out of her life, nor her yours. She calls you, and goes, ecstatically, "
Guess what I just found
?"
A million things race through your brain. The book you lost at her place? No, she returned that. A poem she wrote about you? A... "What did you find?"
"I just found your balls in my purse,
hahah
." Her voice crackled. "
Do you want them back?
"
"No... you can keep them." You said as your nipples began to pierce. For some reason, it felt good to feel the ghost of her hand petting the top of your neck. She didn't have to kiss your forehead to show adoration when her eyes, and that flat smile, would just point at what she wanted and it was hers. When her voice rang through the line again, your face was staring at your own lap.
"Are you alone?" She asked.
"Yes."
"Do you miss me?" She asked.
"I want to nudge you with my head again." Oh, your little pet games were so fun.
"You want to be my pet?"
"
Pah...
" A line in your heart cuts. If you weren't frozen with anticipation for every word of hers coming over to breed your dopamine, you'd be like slime on the floor.
"Say
please
..."
"
Please
..."
"
Like you mean it...
"
"Please!"
"Hmmmmmmmmm, talk again soon!"
------------------------
At this point, you were considering getting a lobotomy. You couldn't touch yourself without thinking about her. The image of your balls rolling around in her purse petrified you, but the imagined sound of her giggling and picturing her holding scissors, straddled over you - that had you wet, and wet is what you wanted to feel. It reminded you of her. And then it reminded you of yourself, and it always did, but something just wouldn't be cleared up about that until you conquered some kind of fortress in your mind...
"What do you want?" She finally picked up your calls after months of your staggered attempts to reach her cell.
"I... just wanted to see how you were doing..."
"I'm at my boyfriend's right now."
Then, all of the sudden: new snapchat notification, a buzz, it's her. She's in red lingerie. Her foot is up in the air behind her. You just want to beg at her, scream at her, "What are you doing?!" Before you can start to wither, and bask in it, the photo disappears and her voice from the phone goes,
"... hello?"
"Huh-um-"
"What do you want?" Her voice is solid, thoughtful. But serious.
"I..."
"I'm about to hang up." A pause. "What do you
want?
"
"...I want you to be my queen!"
"Goodbye." Cut line.
----------------------
One week later she started sending you pictures of keys, and you didn't respond. And two weeks later she sent you pictures of keys on chains, and you responded once, asking "What?" And then three weeks later she sent you pictures of keys, on necklaces, around her neck and fallen between her breasts.
Eventually, you broke down. After two pictures, you asked her, "Why are you doing this to me?" She chuckled, "I can't tell you that. But I'll tell you I'm naming the key Turbo. Because I'm going to do this really fast to you."
You sent a photo of your shoulders shrugged in and your head bowed. It became a law in your two person kingdom that you were no longer allowed to post photos with your face showing, and so all of that changed on your social media. Your selfies all had to be deleted. She had no way of getting your password really, but the look in her eyes-... when she said, "... Or I'll do it for you," You just had to obey. It's okay. You know, I feel sorry for you too. That's why I'm writing this down.
Her old boots also arrived in your mail soon after that. Your job was to take a picture of it with your dick laid across its toes in exchange for what you now wanted: a picture of her boyfriend's cock laid across her cheek. And your favorite caption: "Do you miss my dimples?"
She calls you up on Tuesday nights to say, "Hey, I'm just checking in!"
"Oh, hey..." You say.
"How small are you right now?"
An invisible shame crawls over your shoulders, before you reply as prompted, "I'm very small."
"I can tell. Go to sleep."
"Do you mean- literally? Or,...
figuratively
?" You ask coyly.
"What are you talking about, you fucking idiot? I'm telling you to go to sleep."
Funnily enough, you woke up to her call two hours later on your phone on sound.
"Hey, I have a friend who wants a copy of this key. Do you want her to bug you too?"
"Wh-what does that mean?" You answer groggily.
"
Sigh,
basically, numbnuts, I'm going to give my girlfriend the
same key
I have around my neck and she's going to bother you maybe, like, the same amount that I do. Does that sound good?
Great.
"
"..." You manage a choking sound and then the line cuts.
--------------------
It starts out as hell. Sweet, blissful, blessed hell when from both sides it starts coming, and it feels like heaven when you finally send them that picture of you... on your knees! So broken down. So, broken down you start a tower in your pants, a size that they've never seen on a girl as cute as you. And that's when you notice they've slipped a rope around your neck. Not obliquely uncomfortable, but not really comfortable either. There's some slack given, but you haven't been allowed to check if it connects to a beam running across the ceiling either. "Isn't that nice?" One of them asks you. It's the friend. (
A friend of a queen is a... uhmm... Duchess, in this regard?
)
You finally learn how to use your meek voice when you ask, "Ma'am, what would you like me to address you by?"
"Oh, haha! How about..." But she never told you. It became rule de societe to never address her. Shame was one way to let your presence be known at her feet. Or admiration. Or respect. She listened to any stupid song you could think up and bleat, because they all made her laugh and pity you. Especially the chicken dance.
"Is this getting too medieval?" Your Queen finally asked you one day. And that's when, after you couldn't respond out of shame probably, they flew you out for 'petcare'. Using your card, of course.
-----------------------
You're back. They've started dating. And it makes you destroy a whole- really whatever you can find nearest to you, when they bring it up. They clink the keys together in front of you. They snap their heels together in front of your face. Worst of all, is when they both take one of your tits in hand from either side and whisper in your ear about how they're playing you like a videogame.
"How dumb are you?" One asks.
Your standard response is to raise your hands like paws and go cross eyed.
'Asking for it' is when you go on with one of your rants, which neither of them truly mind listening to. But the amount of times you get whipped is equal to your stories' lengths. And you thank them each strike. Or yelp. Either's fair.
'The Girlfriend' has finally told you she may be addressed as Princess. Her new favorite hobby is showing you how submissive she can act in front of The Queen. All they have to do to remind you of your place, or where your hands belong, or return you to the pet's perch, is dangle their key from their fingertips.
---------------------------
When they got back from vacation at the beach, the Princess let you rest your balls on her foot but were forbidden to hump her leg. Then the Queen slapped you for not cleaning the house how she specified. You took their bags upstairs, and after that returned downstairs naked with a swiffer. It got a few good laughs. They let you kiss the keys.
