I wake in the morning, wrapped in silken sheets. Instinct has me curling my arms close around me. The slide of the sheets causes me to shiver slightly. The newness of the material feels wrong against skin that has felt only rough fabrics. I run my fingers over the scars on my left arm, reassuring myself with a familiar gesture as the night before slowly unfolds in my mind.
Mistress. I belong to Mistress. I belong. Tears gather as I'm torn between believing and fearing what morning light will bring. While the filtered sunlight of the slaver's tent and the flickering candlelight of the bathing chamber might hide my form, harsh daylight will surely reveal what you have brought to your home, to your bed.
I stood yesterday in the market, apart from the experienced women with their jutted hips and flashing eyes. They projected a promise of sexual prowess, a promise I knew I could not match. I resented the way their obvious experience attracted the eyes of the wealthy patrons who trailed hands over breasts and buttocks. Appreciation of these women shown in their eyes, women who would chatter and gossip later through servants' quarters about a master or mistress's performance, offering comparisons with the others they had known. But that did not seem to matter because they could bring pleasure to their owners, and they communicated that promise with subtle arches into prodding hands and languid glances from beneath lowered lashes.
Shame fills me, remembering now how I stood back, away from these women who promised so much more than I knew. Despite the months I spent on the market block, few of the market-goers offered more than a glance at my rounded form, offering little more than degrading murmurs or smirks at my timid stance.
I roll the silk between my fingers, sliding it over my cheek. The contrast pulls me back from the memories of the lonely, bitter days and lonelier nights of the market. I breathe in deep the scent of your perfume and your sex. My cunt throbs in memory.
I stood so still before you in the market. Unsure if I should move to allow you to continue your exploration of the women on offer. You moved with such purpose, as though you knew exactly what you wanted. But you hadn't told me to move, so I held ever so still, trying to show how obedient I could be. Your breath brushing across my cheek as you lifted my chin, allowing me to meet your eyes, sent a warmth through my limbs. No one else had come so close. Could you read in my eyes the need to belong utterly, to obey, to please?
Shifting a bit in the bed, I wonder what is expected of me this morning. No commands have been offered, and I begin to fear that you have left me.
You belong to me. Your words come back to me, and I struggle to trust in that promise—a promise no one has ever cared enough to make. My anxiety rises because I cannot bear to think of displeasing you, and I don't know what you want of me now.
"Good morning, my Kitten." Your voice wraps around me with more warmth than even your strong arm sliding around my waist. I shudder with anticipation as your hand moves to cup my breast firmly.
"Shh," you whisper in my ear, pressing close to me so that I can feel your breasts against my back. I bite back a moan at the memory of your full nipples under my tongue.
"You were mine last night. You are mine this morning."
You seem to know my fears, and I can't help but feel sorrow that I need this reassurance. My world has narrowed to your presence, your pleasure. I struggle in your embrace, needing to see you.
"Please, Mistress." My whisper shakes with emotion that courses through me.
"Turn around, Kitten."
Your eyes stare into mine before I can drop my gaze in submission.
"Tell me what you need. You must not hide from me." You brush gentle fingers over my tangled locks.
I look at you, yearning surely shining from my eyes, but I cannot find the words to express the need. Last night you took me, made me yours, and began to teach me how to please you. In the light of morning, I need to know that I can continue to be yours, to show you. I simply murmur, "You, Mistress. Need you."
"My gentle Kitten. Come to your Mistress." You guide my mouth to your breast, continuing to stroke my hair.
