Aftercare

As soon as I returned home from work on Friday, Ms. Rouge cuffed my hands behind my back. My feet were locked into a pair of thigh high black boots, and a stiff leather collar was fastened around my neck. To complete the look, she secured a ball gag between my teeth.

Sleeping like this was next to impossible. I just had to lay there until I passed out from exhaustion.

"We need to talk," said Ms. Rouge.

She grabbed me by the loop of my collar and dragged me onto the couch. I flailed around until I finally landed face up in her lap.

Ms. Rouge removed the gag I'd worn almost non-stop for the last forty eight hours. My jaw was so sore, it took a while before I could close my mouth.

"You were disappointed you didn't get to suck off Frederick. I could tell," said Ms. Rouge. "When he was here you didn't even make the slightest effort to cover yourself."

"Only because you told me to present myself to guests, Mistress."

"Bullshit. I saw the way you were prancing around the room, showing off your ass. And that birth control excuse. Give me a break. If anything, that made you want him to breed you even more."

"I didn't want to have sex with him. I only would've if you told me to."

"You liar," shouted Ms. Rouge.

Ms. Rouge spread my legs. She rubbed her 'Property' -- the word written beneath my peeling skin.

"Your tattoo is healing nicely. As are the piercings." she said. "I'm already planning your next tattoo. Frederick did such a good job. It's a shame we'll have to find someone else to do the next one."

"Why can't Frederick do it, Mistress?

"He's a bit -- unprofessional. He found your instagram somehow and started following you. And a couple days after that, he asked you to get a drink."

"Where did he want to go?"

"It doesn't matter. I already blocked him," said Ms. Rouge. "Why? Did you want to go?"

I stared up at Ms. Rouge. Her sharp eyes bored into mine, searching for a flicker of defiance.

My wrists ached behind me. The cuffs bit into my skin, and the stiff collar forced my chin up at an awkward angle.

"No, Mistress," I said, my voice still hoarse from the gag's long tenure. "I didn't want to go. I was just... curious."

Her fingers tightened around the loop of my collar, pulling me closer until her breath brushed my cheek.

"Curious? You're always so curious, aren't you? About Frederick. About his hands on you. About what he might do if I weren't here to keep you in line?"

"I only want what you want for me, Mistress."

"I don't believe you," she said, spinning me onto my belly.

My cheek pressed into the rough fabric of the couch as Ms. Rouge pinned me down. Her grip tightened, and I felt the familiar mix of fear and anticipation coil in my gut.

"Do you prefer pussy, or dick?"

"Pussy," I said into the couch.

She cracked her hand against my ass.

"I can't hear you."

"Pussy. Your pussy," I screamed.

Ms. Rouge's hand lingered on my stinging skin. Heat radiated from where she'd struck me. She let out a low, throaty laugh.

"Frederick may have tattooed your skin. But I prefer to mark you the old fashioned way."

She wound up and spanked me again.

"Tell me the truth. What did you want Frederick to do to you?"

I gulped.

"I wanted him to fuck me on the table. I wanted to take every inch of him. I was horny and needed an outlet. I miss being wanted."

Ms. Rouge's hand froze mid-air.

"You miss being wanted," she repeated. "And you think Frederick -- some hack with a tattoo gun -- could give you that? You think he could own you the way I do?"

"No, Mistress," I said, my words muffled against the couch. "No one could. I just... I don't know. I lost in my mind. It wasn't real."

"Lost your mind," she echoed, her fingers tracing the still-tender lines of the tattoo. "You don't get to decide what's real. That's my job. You're mine--every thought, every filthy little fantasy."

"You wanted him to fuck you on the table," she said. "Every inch of him. Such a vivid imagination. Let's be honest--you'd break before he even got halfway. You're too fragile, too needy. You'd beg me to stop him before he finished."

"I wouldn't," I protested. "I'd take it. For you."

"For me?"

She laughed.

"Don't flatter yourself. You'd do it because you're a slut for attention. My attention. His attention. Anyone's. But you don't get to choose who gives it to you."

​​Her hand slid up my chest, pausing at the base of my throat. She tugged lightly on my collar, just enough to make me gasp.

"Here's what's going to happen," she said. "You're going to forget Frederick. His hands, his cock, his stupid little drink offer--all of it. Because if I catch even a hint of you pining for him again, I'll make sure you regret it. I'll mark you so deep you'll feel it every time you sit down, and no one--not Frederick, not anyone--will ever want to touch what's mine again. Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress," I whispered.

"Good." She released the collar and sat back, her weight still pinning me to the couch.

"Now, let's see how well you can prove it. Tell me again what you prefer--pussy or dick. And this time, make me believe it."

"Pussy," I screamed. "Yours. Only yours. I don't want anyone else. I don't need anyone else."

Her lips curled into a faint, satisfied smirk. "Better," she said, "But you've got a long way to go before I'm convinced. Let's start by reminding you who you belong to."

She reached for the ball gag again, dangling it in front of me like a promise.

"Open wide," she said. "We've got a lot of work to do."