“I need to mark you.”
The words roll over you, both exhilarating and frightening. You tense, turning slowly to face Him, the shirt you were folding falling back onto the basket at your feet. He is leaning against the doorframe, casually dressed in the way you love best. There’s hunger in His gaze, a fierceness that belies the gentleness of His tone. You swallow to speak.
“Mark me?” Your voice is soft, breathy, a little anxious; breaking the skin terrifies you.
“Yes, my pet. I need to mark you. A permanent reminder that you belong to me.” He smiles at you, reassuringly. But there is something of a predator in that smile as well.
“Sir, I do belong to You. No one else. Never anyone else.” You frown slightly, trying to think of why He would question your commitment to Him. You can’t quite keep your tone even and unworried. Marking sounded like pain, and pain was not something you were equipped to handle.
“Yes, but I want others to know that.” He moves forward, stopping directly in front of you, forcing you to gaze up at Him. His eyes are intense and hot, burning you, and you know you won’t—can’t—deny Him this.
Your hand reaches up automatically to lightly stroke the thin band of silver around your neck, the simple piece of jewelry that proclaims your slavery. It is a reminder of the vow you both had made to each other; it always seems like enough for you.
His smile deepens. He reads your thoughts as they flit across your face. “Silver can be removed, pet. I want a permanent mark. You belong to me.”
His words send tingles of joy through you. You swallow again, still gazing up at Him, breathing in His intoxicating scent.
“Will this hurt, Sir?” You hate the panicked tone of your voice, but you had to ask. Just to clarify.
“Yes, my dear it will. But I promise to take care of you. Do you trust me?”
You nod. You trust Him with your life.
He leans down to gently kiss you, whispering your favorite words.
“Good girl.”
The words roll over you, both exhilarating and frightening. You tense, turning slowly to face Him, the shirt you were folding falling back onto the basket at your feet. He is leaning against the doorframe, casually dressed in the way you love best. There’s hunger in His gaze, a fierceness that belies the gentleness of His tone. You swallow to speak.
“Mark me?” Your voice is soft, breathy, a little anxious; breaking the skin terrifies you.
“Yes, my pet. I need to mark you. A permanent reminder that you belong to me.” He smiles at you, reassuringly. But there is something of a predator in that smile as well.
“Sir, I do belong to You. No one else. Never anyone else.” You frown slightly, trying to think of why He would question your commitment to Him. You can’t quite keep your tone even and unworried. Marking sounded like pain, and pain was not something you were equipped to handle.
“Yes, but I want others to know that.” He moves forward, stopping directly in front of you, forcing you to gaze up at Him. His eyes are intense and hot, burning you, and you know you won’t—can’t—deny Him this.
Your hand reaches up automatically to lightly stroke the thin band of silver around your neck, the simple piece of jewelry that proclaims your slavery. It is a reminder of the vow you both had made to each other; it always seems like enough for you.
His smile deepens. He reads your thoughts as they flit across your face. “Silver can be removed, pet. I want a permanent mark. You belong to me.”
His words send tingles of joy through you. You swallow again, still gazing up at Him, breathing in His intoxicating scent.
“Will this hurt, Sir?” You hate the panicked tone of your voice, but you had to ask. Just to clarify.
“Yes, my dear it will. But I promise to take care of you. Do you trust me?”
You nod. You trust Him with your life.
He leans down to gently kiss you, whispering your favorite words.
“Good girl.”
can you PM me if you did so i dont miss it? 
