The box came in the mail to my office where it sat all afternoon in discreet brown packaging. Now, finally home and sat on my bed, the wrappings discarded, I run my fingers over my new wrist and ankle cuffs feeling the supple leather, the softness of the lining against my skin. A thousand scenes race through my mind at once. In all of them he's standing over me and I am powerless.
I know that I won't see the muse for another three months. Should I try them on now? Should I wait? Can I wait? Of course I can't, who do I think I'm fooling? Besides, he'll want photos.
The photos need to be just so. Five inch heels. My hair pulled back like it will be in May to improve the view of his cock sliding between my lips. The long black corset I bought last year to surprise him at Christmas.
I lay out the rest of the things I'll need - my camera and tripod, a dildo, the glass butt plug - get dressed, fasten all the buckles on my new restraints. I gaze down at myself. I look...well, how do I look? I turn to the mirror seeking an answer. Owned, replies my reflection. You looked owned.
