Protest...

“Um, that is no. I’m not a ****,” you object but it’s clear you are. You’d just been thinking exactly that when you came. Your vision had dimmed and something had changed. “Oh dear.” You whispered in your girlish new voice. Before you hadn’t been a **** but now... what was happening.

Todd seems to find your objection amusing. “You’re not just a ****. You’re my ****,” he declares and you swallow in trepidation as you realise his words are striking a cord of truth in you. You shake your pretty head in denial but it’s true. It isn’t the photos or even the leather collar tight about your slimly narrow neck. It isn’t your small breasts and delectably hairless sex. It’s something firmly lodged in your psyche. You’re his.

“Todd, um, we need to talk. I was watching this porn-“ you start to explain when he holds up a hand palm out and you stop. Just like that. You obey his unspoken command.

“You were masturbating to my pictures. Weren’t you?” He asked.

You nod in response. There was no denying it. He takes a step forward and looms over you. Tall. Large. Strong. Masculine. Everything you are not. He reaches out and grips your collar.

“Tell your master ****. What you were thinking about when you came?” He prompted.

“I...” You bit your lip and had the sense of self to blush in shame, your girlish features showing an innocence at odds with your arousal. “You had my ass high. I was on my hands and knees. You were taking me,” you admit. “Like a ****...”