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I love the concentration on your face as you bind or torture me, intent on the task at hand,
and then how you relax and grin while I squirm in your ropeleatherchains or whimper from your gifts of pain.
I feel able to endure anything for the reward of your smile, an affectionate caress or pat on the head, or a Good boy! or Good slave! that enflames my cheeks as it warms my heart.
I love the pride with which you say, Youre mine, fucker. I own you, and you can deny me nothing.
Certainly the last is true, for what lover can deny his beloveds demands, however unreasonable?
And doesnt ownership begin when a property claim is accepted by whoevers in the best position to challenge it?
What upholds your claim on me is that I want to be yours, always under your firm control, enjoying all that is good in life only as a gift from your hand.
I love worshipping your boots, your leathers, your cock, every inch of your body.
I love cooking and cleaning for you, fetching and carrying for you, working hard to make your life easier, more comfortable, and more satisfying.
I love obeying your orders, calling you Sir and Master, pering my part in the rituals of dominance and surrender you delight to devise.
I love making your happiness my job, my career, my guiding purpose.
And I love that you take this as your due, without hesitation or apology.
The more I give, the more you expect, because for you my acquiescence has no limit.
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