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Property Rights

(dedicated to my Mistress, my Captress)

Those economists. They love property rights. They maintain that the right to own and do with one’s property what they wish is fundamental in a productive, prosperous economy. Indeed, they’re quite certain that private property, free trade, and peaceful cooperation promote economic efficiency and enhance human welfare.

The subject is much deeper. But i was reflecting on a more personal experience with property rights. You see, i am owned. i am the property of a most exceptional and extraordinary Mistress. She owns me. i am her property.

If you’re hearing of an arrangement like this for the first time, you might recoil at the thought that i’m a prisoner. Like a lump of inanimate property, no better than a flower pot or some kitchen utensils. my subordination to a female-head-of-household is far different.

Perhaps a snapshot of a typical evening might present you with another perspective.

Last night i enjoyed a fine meal — salmon limone with couscous and zucchini ribbon salad. i ate alone but was most satisfied with both the preparation and the consumption of a lovely, delicious meal. i sipped a Pinot Noir throughout the cooking and dining and was nursing a gentle buzz.

i did the dishes lickety-split. There weren’t that many. And just as i finished those chores, through the door walked my Mistress…my Goddess…my Owner…my Captress.

She looked like she’d been out to a swanky and risqué outing. Slender and fairly tall, she just killed a stylish mini and some high-heeled sandals that added about three inches to her 5′ 6″ frame. She was tastefully adorned in jewelry. A super hip leather coat hid a loose-fitting, gossamer blouse. It made me want to search for her nipples with my eyes. i did not. Instead, i admired how her minimal makeup accentuated her nearly flawless skin. That is the creature to whom i’m a slave.

Now tell me, how many guys out there even know a woman so fucking sexy, so görükle escort tastefully packaged, so numbingly hot? Yet, there she was, returning home from an evening about which i was entitled to know nothing, which She may or may not choose to share with me.

“Have you eaten?” i asked respectfully. “i can offer You a delicious salmon dinner.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” she replied in Her customarily polite manner.

She tossed Her jacket hap-hazardly onto a living room chair. i fetched it immediately and hung it in the closet. Being the property of a Mistress/Goddess dictates that i pick up after her, which i’m not only willing but eager to do. You’ll see, the rewards are great.

She settled heavily into the sofa. “Get me a glass of wine and a bowl of sativa,” She ordered, with a tilt of Her head and a half smile.

She owns me. And since i am her property, She can utilize my services in any way she chooses. i submit willingly…actually, enthusiastically. So, i was excited to serve her.

i brought her a glass of Pinot and a small pipe stuffed with Her favorite cannabis, a lively sativa that was more energizing than soporific.

She partook of both. i lit the pipe for Her. i couldn’t help but admire her. Not just Her looks, which were impressively attractive, but her presence. She carried an air of authority…control…almost like a confident CEO convening a meeting of Her board of directors. (One of O/our favorite tee-shirts that She wears says “I’m in charge!” Perfectly appropriate.)

As She exhaled a lungful of smoke she said, “Take off your clothes for me…now…make it slow.”

Prompt and precise responses are part of my responsibilities, so i jumped right to it. Silly as i may have felt, as an average guy with average attributes (at best), i gave it my best shot, as She expected me to.

She watched, sipped and toked as i proceeded to remove all clothing. I stood there, in front of her, She so fashionably attired, i so…well, so naked. W/we could both feel the power differential, i’m bursa merkez escort quite sure. She had me take a long, deep toke from the pipe which i held…forever.

She pointed to the ground. i knew what that meant. i knelt before her. “Worship my shoes, slave,” She ordered. This was familiar territory. She knew i love to kiss and lick Her shoes. She must be feeling generous tonight, was my thought.

“Hands behind your back,” She reminded me. i knelt, clasped my hands behind me and placed my appreciative lips on her sandals. my kisses were tender and sincere. Far from being a chore, i considered it a privilege to worship her shoes.

After some reverential shoe tribute, She had me remove her sandals and kiss her bare feet. She bent her toes toward her shin and i paid special attention to the arches of her feet. She offered a Mona Lisa smile, reached under the sofa and pulled out several lengths of rope. And a blindfold.

She stood, approached me, and blindfolded me. She knows how disarming it is for me to be without sight. And she enjoys watching me squirm with nervousness.

With my hands already behind my back She proceeded to tie my wrists and forearms snugly. Then She wrapped another length of rope around my feet and ankles. Again, She tightened them to the point where i was truly incapacitated.

And with my immobilization She had reinforced her property rights. i was undeniably her property. Her prisoner, and a helpless one at that. W/we both realized, i’m quite sure, that She could do with me anything she pleased.

“Join me on the couch,” she instructed.

Somehow, i shuffled and wriggled my way on to the couch. Awkwardly, but obediently. Once seated she snuggled close. She liked to cuddle. And i love it when She does. She rubbed her divine fingers through my hair and then kissed me gently. As she continued kissing me, one arm encircled my shoulders, pulling me tight. The nails on Her other hand traced a gentle path, from the top of my knee to my groin, coming bursa sınırsız escort tantalizingly close to my genitals. i couldn’t withhold a physical tremor of excitement. i felt safe, cared for. Also powerless and defenseless. And owned.

She continued kissing me. It reminded me of a teenage couple, in full courtship mode, after finding a discrete place where they could finally “neck.” Only, my Mistress’s smooching revealed an expertise and experience that was far beyond any adolescent’s ken. Her skill was jarringly intoxicating.

And through the fog of my inebriated state i thought, you are her fucking prisoner. Her captive. She owns You. She can do with you as She pleases. And i asked myself, as O/our lips glided lasciviously, You really want to give up Your freedom and become the property of this Goddess? Do You trust Her enough to submit to Her? To sit here, bound helpless and at Her mercy, and accept it? To give yourself up? To relinquish power? To surrender?

Her hands cupped my balls and squeezed.

“Whose balls are these, slaveboy?”

“Mistress, those balls are Yours.”

“I know,” she purred. And She pulled my nuts and their scrotal sac as far as She could without eliciting a whimper from me. She knew my limits and stopped just short of my discomfort. Over and over. Then, while gently thumbing the head of my cock, she whispered.

“Now suck on this.” She stuck her tongue straight out and inserted it into my mouth while i gently sucked. i was lost in Her world of eroticism.

She brought me back to reality, briefly, when She repositioned Herself, leaning back on the arm of the sofa. She spread her legs, one over the back of the couch, and pulled my torso down. My shoulders were propped against the back sides of her thighs. She grasped my head with both hands and directed my face to her pussy.

“Please me, slave,” she ordered. And then she whispered so softly that i could barely hear. “You’re not the first tonight,” she remarked cryptically.

Bound, helpless and feeling owned, i obeyed assiduously.

And that, my friends, is a not-so-unusual evening in my prison. You should be so lucky!

Those economists are right about some things, like the importance of property rights. They are fundamental in enhancing human welfare. Especially mine.

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