This, it appears, is what I end up thinking when I spend time in the garden.
I am stripped naked, exposed to my master’s gaze. My wrists tightly bound in rope. Dragged helplessly outside to be fastened in place, my wrists above me, defenseless. My body pressed against the brickwork, it’s roughness scraping my skin. I am whipped, head back, screaming. Begging for mercy.
Cut down, my hands still tied, thrown to the ground, raped for my master’s pleasure. His hands parting my thighs, his cock thrusting inside me. Pounding into me with his lust.
I am covered with his cum, its stickiness spread over my flesh. Its taste in my mouth, forced there by insistent fingers.
I am hosed clean where I lie. Writhing beneath the jets of water, until I am clean, and cold, sobbing and submissive.
I am his slut and he treats me like one.