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He crouches low over her, holding a choker up to her face, a silver dog license dangling from it. "Do you recognize this?" he asks, barely winded from the exertion.She nods, earning herself a lash between the legs. "Yes Master!" she whispers back hoarsely and desperately. It was the same one her Mistress had been wearing the night she was collared:"SlaveIf found unattended, call this number and have your way with her until pickup."He fastens it around her throat, then sets about binding her wrists and ankles to stakes set in the ground, chaining her securely spread-eagled in the moonlight."Master?" she asks with a tremulous voice, earning another vicious lash between her legs, making her writhe helplessly in her bonds, thighs straining uselessly to protect her aching, abused pussy."Yes, Slave, I really Am going to leave you like this. And you had better hope that the Mistress and I take pity on you before someone happens by, because that collar gives them carte blanche to do whatever. He prayed to the rosary every night and focused all his energy upon suppressing the wicked images in his mind. Each time he felt tempted he forced himself to recite the prayers instead. His dreams were plagued by thoughts of her over the next year and a half. Eighteen months whose nights were long, joyless eternities for a hormonally driven adolescent. Finally one night the urge was too strong and rather than ignore it he yielded to it. Intense emotions gripped him as his body surrendered to his hand and he quietly brought himself to climax. And it had felt good. So good in fact that the guilt didn’t affect him like he had expected it would. He did not confess his sin that week, or the week after. His critical attitude toward the Church had led him to question a few of the things he had been taught– a completely new concept for him. By the third week his mind was made up not to confess it at all. He didn’t care to hear the harsh words his priest would speak, nor did he desire the.
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