They call me Bella Sinns and of course, it's not my real name. I am not complex. In fact, I'm pretty fucking simple. I will tell you what I want and either you do it or you don't. I work by a simple formula. I reward those obedient and punish those who can't fucking listen. Such simple rules.
My body is built for your pleasure. Pure and simple. I am tall, a few inches under six feet with long legs. My toes treated with tender care by the hands of a small woman who massages them with oil and paints them the most dangerous shade of red. I pull on my black vinyl boots and zip them up to my well formed calves. The heels are daggers – long and straight – coming to a hard metal point.
I stand and turn to check myself in the mirror. My ass is tight and round. “Perfect” the man who used to posses me had called it then slapped it to a blistery red. He had used the dimples above my bum as thumb grips as he took me the first and only time I let a man use my ass for his pleasure.
I turn to the front and step into the vinyl straps of my panties. The material embraces me, like a serpent squeezing its prey before devouring it. I attach thin chains to the metal rings at the side of my bottoms then wrap them around my legs three times before attaching the end of the length to rings on my boots.
I run my fingertips over the vinyl straps of my bottoms. Their form creating a frame that exposes the tightly cropped brown patch of pubic hair above my outer lips.
My torso is lean and muscular. My breasts spectacular in both size and form – teardrops with dark areolas. You wonder if they are real and I can only smirk. If I'd ever let you touch them, massage them, kneed them with your hands and suck on them with your mouth, you'd still never know.
My black vinyl corset hooks in the front with steel clasps. The muscles in my biceps tighten as I cinch them. My breasts push up into a dark valley of cleavage.
I slide my sheer, fingerless gloves up my arms. I've had them specially made with a piece of rubber in the palms. The sound it makes when smacking flesh is one of the few things that make me wet.
Pulling my dark maroon hair back, I cinch it with a piece of nylon rope. Something I keep as a secret from my toys and use only on the most necessary of occasions.
Next, the simple black mask that covers only a bit of my face. Like one worn to a masquerade ball except without all the frivolous bull shit. The mask is black on black, cut only by the whites and emerald irises of my eyes.
Lastly, my collar. A tight black strap with nearly one hundred metal rings on it. Nearly one hundred places I could be leashed. I use it as a taunt. They will never posses me. I cannot be kept.
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