Collared

I am not sure where I go when I am with him. I have some sort of temporary amnesia. I forget myself and lose myself and I am hungry and I am his his his. I don’t recall when the collar came out. I don’t recall the sensation of it being placed around my neck. I do recall a slight fumbling at the buckle and the click of the lead as it was attached to the collar (the mere thought of that click sends a zing of half pleasure to my clit). I do recall the faint scent of new leather, and the sound of the chain as it jangled loosely. I have three shifting memories. Three memories that attempt to escape me despite my best attempts at corralling them. Me on my stomach and he behind, his cock inside my wetness (oh so very wet) while he tugged at the lead which in turn tugged at the collar, causing me to raise myself up to relieve the pressure against my throat. Me ordering him between my legs and receiving that look in return, which told me that I should behave myself and ask nicely for what I wanted. And lastly, the chain taught between the swell of my breasts, pulled tight so it reached my clit (while he watched). I recall the chain and its coolness against my clit, me frantically rubbing, chasing a fast and furious orgasm. I know there was more. I know my mouth was on him and I know I wrapped my legs around him as he rode me. I know all I was wearing was a cream pair of knee high angora socks. I know we kissed and loved and became some sort of single entity. I know, I just know, that in losing myself, in giving myself to him, I have found myself so completely.

Post script: Mid sentence I just remembered his head between my legs, his mouth on my smoothness, and mouthed “Oh god” three times (as if for effect – even in real life I repeat things for effect). Yes. I remember that part now. Oh.