I'm on my knees. Not like that, you unimaginative heathen. I'm crouched over a trowel, smelling the damp black earth. The sun is warm on the skin of my bare back and the chains between the steel shackles make a pretty jingling sound as I work the earth in Master's garden. I'm happy to be outside on a nice day, free to do only as I'm told. The comforting weight of the collar and cuffs make me feel safe. I don't know how long I've been working when he comes ambling up from the house towards the garden. A pang of arousal runs straight down into my belly knowing he sees me, naked, chained hand and foot, serving him.
"Having fun making a mess, girl?" He asks mildly.
I want to sass back at him that manual labor is not supposed to be fun. But the fact is, I was enjoying playing in the dirt.
"Yes Sir," I say and smile to myself.
"Good, we'll go inside soon before you're sunburnt absolutely everywhere. I just finished an awful meeting with outside sales. Every single one thinks they are the priority. What a personality type. Especially this harpywoman, my god. She's calling every five minutes as if everyone lives to serve her."
His face is distant for a moment, thinking about the exchange with his coworkers and a smile plays around his lips as he remembers some witty exchange they had together. A strange emotion surges up inside me at the thought of him bantering with this woman, seemingly out of nowhere and I feel cold, as if a cloud has passed over the sun.
He's standing there in his fine work clothes and expensive watch talking about the real world. He's perfect. I'm a grown woman here naked in the dirt, playing at servitude like silly little girl.
How ridiculous
, I think,
he probably laughs when he tells people about this, if he's not too ashamed to talk about it at all. What am I doing? What kind of woman likes this? No wonder he would prefer some competent, smart businesswoman over some fuck toy who follows his orders.
Tears start to gather in my eyes.
"What's wrong?" He asks, alarmed and truly perplexed at the look on my face.
"I don't know Sir." It's not a lie.
"Tell me what you are feeling." He tries again.
I search for the words, shaking my head. "Sad... Embarrassed... Ashamed."
He tilts his head to one side as if considering, and then nods slowly.
"You will finish tilling this row. When you are done, you will come ring the bell. Do you understand?"
"Yes Sir," I say quietly and start digging, avoiding his gaze. He walks away without another word. Now I'm angry with myself for making him leave. We did this every weekend since the first session, over a year ago. He'd used me for every twisted fantasy and I'd loved it. Impact play. Rope bondage. Puppy play. Whatever his fancy was, and I'd ate it up. I felt free on these weekends. It was the only time I felt good really. So why do I have to be emotional like this? Why do I have to ruin everything?
I finish up and walk to the patio door, forced to take short steps due to the leg chain. I ring the bell and wait to be let inside, determined to make up for my emotional behavior.
After a few minutes passes, he opens the sliding door and looks me over. "You're filthy, slave. Get in."
I expect a shower or even a cold blast with the hose as I've gotten before but this time I'm guided to a different bathroom. Inside is a claw foot tub. He takes out some keys from around his neck and starts unlocking the chains running from the wrist and ankle cuffs to the collar. Then he throws the whole muddy lot into a bin.
"Get in." The command is gruff.
As soon as I sit down in the wonderfully warm, scented water, he locks my wrist cuffs to rivets installed into each side of the tub. Despite my shame at how I behaved earlier, being locked onto the tub is so erotic. I feel a tingling in my lower lips and begin opening and closing my legs slightly, gyrating my hips.
Master must notice but says nothing as he takes a sponge and begins washing me all over. At first, I'm uncomfortable. I'm used to serving him. This feels the opposite. But he pays especially close attention to my breasts and between my legs until I relax to let him play with me. I am soon panting, inconsolable with lust, pushing my cunt up towards his hand. There's some other strange feeling I can't pin point. His face is as handsome as I've ever seen it. I can smell him over the scent of the water and it's driving me crazy. I'm so frustrated that I shake my hands frantically against the restraints, struggling. It makes an awful clanging noise.
"Stop it! Why are you doing that?" He barks.
"I want to touch you." The words had come out before I even had time to think.
He stops washing for a moment. He's not angry but taken aback at this strange, disobedient behavior. "I am not to be touched. You are for me, to touch and use in any way I want."
"I know. I'm sorry Sir." I am also shocked. I am not a brat. I do
not
