The Stable - Leashed, Part 1
I was grinning like an idiot when she knelt in front of me. Still grinning when the cold metal ring snapped shut around my balls.
The stable smells of leather and old sweat. Hay crackles underfoot as Susan circles me, her boots striking stone in a rhythm that says she's done this before: size up a body, catalogue its uses. I stand with my hands bound behind my back, a gag wedged between my teeth, naked except for a cold, tight steel ring clamped around the base of my balls, with an eyebolt welded to the front for a leash. Control where I'm most vuln...