Links of a new life

I woke up afraid to move. I wasn't sure if it was heat, emotions, life, or the warming feel of metal between my thighs. My body was trembling, from the inside out. My heart was a fury, as slow deep breaths were trying to control..everything. I felt cool grass from under the wagon burn from my flesh. I was sinking in mud, or so the vision was, not of fire, but of sprinkles of sweat running down my curves, across every freckled pattern, a glitter of droplets like hot summer rain dampening every part of me.

I could see it all in the tight squeeze of my eyes praying that I would let darkness that was once the comfort of slumber now a vivid reality of body taking control. I could breath in every strand of bladed nature and mothering earth that it was growing from. Even the flex of toes caused the pain of new need give a slow scorch across my skin. I didn't know how to stop it, how to make it go away. I didn't want it to stop, I wanted it to finish, but the start was something so delicious as I dare feel the stretch and cord of muscle spread my thighs, rolling links against the wet folds and let them grind into a pinch of slit flesh as I had nothing to hold on to, but the heaved sway of breast. Tips of nails would find taut grasping, twisted under a moan of breeze, falling to an arch of body's struggle. I wanted, I had no idea what I wanted, but all that was blazed in my mind was this feeling. I didn't know its beginning but I knew I had to search its end. I had never awakened with such an emotion of pure, lust. My fingers were not enough. I tried, it was like adding fuel to the fire trying to get its flames to lower. Every part of me was the core of heat. Running touch across stomach, navel, feeling the soft fine red curls forming against my sex. It was becoming foreign, this natural state of even my, oh, tongue was wet and thick with honey. Raw naughtiness. Feel the word, not ever rolled from my throat across my lips but to think it was something that gave another taboo of delight. Pussy. It was a sudden throb under watery folds and curls. Pussy. Ah, that was it. I wanted someone to want it. I could have saved myself some of the pain under fingered stroke, dipping and stirring like the honey dabbler in a jar. I could have.

My mind said, suffer. Let the world smell my need, each bit of warmly dipped soft honey candy coated in chocolate. I liked the aroma, it was very hypnotizing. This need, humbled me. I smiled even to the Bitch as she would walk by. Lust and submission, even to another slave? What an evil Pussy to make me feel this way. I don't think my stitches on my mending was ever so pretty of a pattern, or even the subs of the washing basin smelled so crisp and clean against the dishes. I kept my chain shorter. Still allowed me to work, eat, but its wrap across my waist, stroking under my navel like a pretty belly chain, just kept me, reminded. Of one need. Which was a nice little push, to another. To earn the right to serve. That feeling lucky was not a core of the Pussy that was keeping me glowing that day. It was one that was the center of the pit of that fire. That contained it. Allowed it to be fed.

That was the spirit inside of me, once again starting to warm. No one can make me happy, but me to start. Was I ready again? Silly slave on her third owner. No, I wasn't. But I was ready to try. To accept. To find me again, for collars could change, but the throat they rested on, was the same. One day, one might just have its perfect fit. For some reason that reminded me of a story about a ring of pure love, lost in a huge tub of others. Only the perfect finger would find it, and He would know once it was on, that this was what they both had been dreaming of. My ring was different, yet the same. It wouldn't be my finger. It would be something, a lot more sensitive.