Fetish blog

The second night.
He has her cage in the cellar. She’s locked in, naked except for a leather collar and cuffs around her wrists, padlocked on short chains to her neck. It’s where she belongs.
The cage is just a few feet on each side, strong metal bars, a padlocked door. She can’t stretch out, but she can curl up and rest. She’s a caged animal.
In one corner there’s a dog bowl with her name on. Water. Next to it, another with food. Brown food. Dog food, from the smell, but welcome.
She knows he has a camera on her. Maybe he’s watching now, maybe he’s recording. She thinks he records all they do and he probably publishes them on the web.
She must not pee or he’ll rub her nose in it. She can’t help it. If she makes too much mess, he’ll bring the dog in.

It’s Sunday morning, a sunny Sunday, 8am. She’s standing at the door, dressed as she arrived, bruised and hurting but happy, ready to leave.
“Thank you. Same time next month?” he asks.
Of course, silly question. just being polite.
The peck on the cheek, and she’s out of the house.

The truth is that she’s enjoyed her weekend. She needed it.

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The stiff metal collar round her neck is padlocked and secure. The chain down her back ends in handcuffs. She is shackled. Her legs are set apart by a spreader bar. He is holding her down, under the water. She writhes but cannot get out. She hates the water torture.
Each time it is for longer. Last time she struggled to survive.
But it’s soon over.

She’s on the floor, tied down and helpless and he’s standing over her. He’s pissing on her. She feels it, a short squirt of warm liquid.
She’s always loved to drink his piss and she swallows gratefully. He’s controlling it and there’s more. He has good control, and she swallows it all, one mouthful at a time, not spilling a tasty drop.
He pushes her onto the ground, turns his back and crouches over her, anus right in her face.
What’s this?
Nothing.

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