Utterly Owned

Holly's on her knees wearing nothing but a collar when Laura gets home. Collar and leash both waiting like a dare. Laura smiles at the edges of her mouth, takes the leash, snaps it on. The metal clicks loud in the quiet. She yanks. Holly crawls. Laura walks slow, deliberate, making her girlfriend follow across the hardwood like an animal that wants to be kept. They hit the bedroom and Laura wastes no time—bends Holly over the bed, presses her face down, ass up, leash wound tight around her fist. Laura fucks her hard. No warm-up, no mercy. She pounds into Holly with the strap, one hand gripping the leash, pulling back every time Holly tries to push away from the edge. The collar bites into skin with every thrust. Holly moans, wet and desperate, but Laura doesn't let her come yet. She flips Holly onto her back, hooks one leg over her shoulder, slams back in. The leash stays wrapped around her fingers. Every tug forces Holly's head up so Laura can see her face while she fucks her senseless. Sweat on Holly's chest. Spit on her chin. Eyes glassy. Laura leans in close and growls, breathing hot against Holly's ear, telling her she's nothing but a pet tonight. Holly shudders. Soaks the sheets. Loves it. Laura finally lets her come—makes her beg for it first, voice hoarse from being choked by her own collar. When Holly breaks, Laura keeps fucking her through it, rough and steady, until Holly's shaking and limp under her. Only then does Laura drop the leash, strip off the strap, and kiss the red marks around Holly's throat like they're a signature.