Master left me here

"Are you ready to be a good pet for me?" The voice, low and commanding, cut through the thick evening air, and a delicious shiver raced down my spine. I could only offer a muffled whimper in response, the soft silicone ball gag firmly settled between my teeth. "Mmmph…" "That's my girl." My world had narrowed to a collection of intense, overwhelming sensations. The rough bark of the ancient oak tree at my back. The cruel, beautiful bite of the silk ropes around my wrists, pulled taut and secured somewhere above my head, leaving me standing, exposed and achingly vulnerable. The cool night breeze that whispered across my naked skin, raising goosebumps on my arms and making my nipples pebble into hard, sensitive points. And him. Always him. My Master. He had led me here, to this secluded corner of the city park, just as the last rays of sun bled from the sky. The walk had been a lesson in submission itself; the long, dark coat he’d made me wear was open, flapping in the breeze, offering anyone who might glance our way a fleeting, tantalizing glimpse of the leather harness and nothing else beneath. My cheeks had burned with a mixture of humiliation and raw excitement, my every step a silent, pleading confession of my deepest desires. Now, the coat was gone, discarded on the damp grass. I was his canvas, and he was the artist. I heard him move, a soft rustle of clothing, then the click of a metal clasp. A sudden, supple weight settled against my hips, followed by the secure, final click of a buckle. A belt. A tail. The soft faux fur brushed against the back of my thighs, a constant, humiliating reminder of my role. His pet. "Such a pretty creature," he murmured, his voice a warm breath against my ear. His fingers, trailing down my sides, making me jump at the contact. "So responsive. So eager to please." His hands found my breasts, and I arched into his touch, a silent plea for more. He obliged, pinching my nipples, rolling them between his expert fingers until I was gasping around the gag, my hips shifting restlessly. The denial of speech, of sight—he’d blindfolded me the moment the ropes were secure—heightened everything. My entire universe was the sound of his voice, the scent of his cologne, and the electric map of sensation he was tracing across my skin. He dropped to his knees before me. I felt his breath, hot and steady, against my inner thigh. I trembled, anticipating his touch, my core clenching with a desperate, empty ache. He was making me wait, drawing it out, learning the landscape of my submission through my involuntary twitches and stifled moans. Then, his tongue. A slow, flat, devastating lick from my entrance to the very apex of my need. I cried out, the sound swallowed by the gag. My legs threatened to buckle, but the ropes held me firm, a prisoner to his ministrations. He didn't dive in. He teased. He explored. His tongue painted lazy circles around my clit, each one sending jolts of pure lightning through my veins. He would feint and withdraw, blowing softly on my wetness, the cool air a shocking contrast that made me writhe. "You taste like devotion," he growled against my flesh, the vibration alone nearly pushing me over the edge. He knew. He always knew. My every hitch of breath, every tensed muscle, was a page in a book only he could read. He was learning me, mastering me, and the sheer psychological surrender of it was as potent as any physical act. His mouth closed over my clit, and I saw stars behind the blindfold. The suction was perfect, relentless. His tongue flicked over the hypersensitive nub with a precision that was maddening. One of his hands slipped between my legs, two fingers sliding into me with ease, crooking upward to find that sweet, secret spot inside. The dual assault was unbearable. Pleasure, hot and coiling, began to tighten deep in my belly. My breathing became ragged, frantic little puffs of air through my nose. I was close. So close. I pushed my hips against his face, begging for the release that was shimmering just out of reach. He pulled away. The sudden absence was a physical pain. A sob caught in my throat. I was left hovering on a terrifying, agonizing precipice, my body screaming for a climax he had so deftly denied me. "Not yet, my pet," he chided softly, standing. I felt the hard plane of his chest against my back, his arousal pressing into me. "Your pleasure is mine to give. And I'm not finished with you." His hands roamed my body, claiming me, reminding me of my bonds, my role. He pinched my nipples again, twisting slightly, the sharp bite of pain a brilliant counterpoint to the throbbing need between my legs. He ran his hands over the curve of my ass, squeezing, then delivering a sharp, stinging smack that echoed in the quiet night. I jolted against the ropes, a fresh wave of heat flooding my system. The mix of slight pain and overwhelming pleasure.