Raptured Slave

Looks like another dead submissive male blog. Marc L wrote:

I enter the room. My Mistress lies comfortably in a Louis XV chaise lounge. One foot – dressed in a black, strap sandal – is resting on the floor; the other is naked and flexed ever so slightly, as it rests on the velvet upholstery, bringing her beautiful, exposed calf to a perfectly tapered end. The shimmering gold-leaf motif of the carved wood and the deep maroon of the plush velvet are the perfect backdrop for this Angelic creature. She is dressed in a black, strapless evening gown that hugs her firm body, as if it wants never to let go. Her skin shimmers. Her face glows. With one hand, she slowly caresses her thigh through the silky fabric of her gown, while the other cradles a telephone handset next to her ear. She whispers into the mouthpiece, intermittently licking her soft, inviting lips. “Is it hard?” she asks the caller. She giggles as she receives his answer, then glances casually in my direction, noticing my presence for the first time.

She slowly extends her arm, then her perfectly tipped index finger, and points downward to the far corner of the room. I walk over to where she points me and examine the space; I see nothing. I look back to her, inquiring. She points again to the floor. I kneel for a closer look. Now I see it: it is a small breadcrumb, about the size of a pinhead. I promptly position myself on all fours. I lower my face to within an inch of the floorboard, then, extending my tongue, I retrieve the breadcrumb and deposit it happily into my stomach.

I turn and crawl back to her. She glances at me for the briefest of moments, then nods – almost indiscernibly – as she gently warns her caller, “not yet.” I crawl back toward the door. I stand and exit the room, closing the door behind me. Grateful and filled with a quiet joy, I return to my cage to wait eagerly for that crystal bell to summon me once again to her service.

Raptured Slave