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Story Post: Crawling for him

The cold hit me the moment I stepped out of the car. A sharp, biting chill that made my skin prickle before I had even stripped down. The winter sun was deceptively warm in the sky, but I knew the moment my clothes came off, there would be no escape from the freezing air. That wasn’t my choice to make, though. My body isn’t mine to keep warm—it’s his to expose.

And today, he wanted me naked in the forest.

Shoes stayed on to protect my feet, but everything else had to go. My pale skin—usually covered, hidden—was now completely bare under the open sky, shimmering in the soft sunlight. My collar was snug around my neck, and the leash dangled from it, held firmly in my Owner’s grip. The first few steps felt surreal, like stepping into some kind of twisted fairytale, where the innocent woman is led deep into the woods, only to be used and ruined by the monster lurking within.

The monster in my case? He was right behind me, admiring his property.

At first, I was allowed to walk upright. He took his time circling me, letting his eyes roam over my body, occasionally tugging the leash just to remind me that, despite my temporary dignity, I wasn’t in control. His gaze burned into me as I walked ahead of him, knowing that at any moment, he could change the rules. Knowing that, no matter how exposed I already was, things would only get worse.

And they did.

“Down.”

The command came without warning. I hesitated for a fraction of a second—long enough for him to yank the leash sharply, pulling me down to the ground like a pet. Hands and feet only. No knees. He wanted me to crawl properly, back arched, ass up, moving awkwardly and degraded through the dirt.

Humiliating. Exhausting. Exactly what I needed.

The leash guided me, sometimes pulling me one way, then suddenly jerking me in another direction. I scrambled to keep up, my muscles already burning from the strain of keeping my knees off the ground. The cold, the dirt beneath my hands, the sheer helplessness of being paraded like this—it all sent me deeper and deeper into that floating, submissive haze.

Subspace. That beautiful, terrifying place where nothing else exists but him.

My eyes stayed locked on his feet. Step after step, I focused only on following him, anticipating his movements, obeying as perfectly as I could. The forest around us blurred, the cold barely registered anymore. My entire world was reduced to submission, obedience, movement.

And then he changed the rules again.

“Chest down.”

I sank lower, my knees hitting the frozen ground, my bare breasts pressing into the damp earth. The shock of cold against my skin sent a shiver straight through me, but at that moment, all I could think about was how much I loved it.

There’s something about raw, non-sexual submission that turns me on in ways I can’t always explain. The feeling of being controlled, used, reduced to something primal. For some, BDSM is always linked to sex. My Owner is like that—there is no BDSM without fucking for him. For me, there absolutely can be.

I love the intensity of it, the way it strips me of everything except obedience. But at the same time, my body reacts. Pleasure seeps into my bones, not from direct stimulation, but from the sheer act of being controlled. The cold, the humiliation, the dirt on my skin—it all fuels my arousal, and he knows it.

That’s why I wasn’t surprised when I felt him pull down his pants.

His cock was already hard—just from watching me crawl through the dirt for him, just from knowing that I was suffering, struggling, yet still obeying. He grabbed my hair and pulled my face up, my mouth already open and waiting.

I sucked him like the obedient pet I was, my knees sinking deeper into the mud as he used my throat for his pleasure. Every tug on the leash, every rough thrust, every degrading word whispered down at me only dropped me deeper.

And just as suddenly as he started, he pulled out.

No release for me. Not yet.

Instead, he turned me around, shoved me forward so I was on all fours again, and took me from behind.

Rough, fast, only for his pleasure. Not to make me cum, not to make me feel good, just to remind me of my place.

A few thrusts. That was all. Just enough to claim me, ruin me, own me.

Then he was done.

He didn’t let me rest. He pushed me back down onto my hands and f0rced me to keep crawling, leash tight, his voice sharp and demanding. My body ached, my mind was spiraling, and still, I obeyed.

And the whole time? I was dripping.

My submission had pleased him, and by the time we finished our walk, I could feel that his satisfaction had shifted into something softer. He wrapped me in a warm jacket, pulled me into his arms, and kissed my forehead.

Because a good Master punishes, degrades, and pushes his slave to her limits… but he also takes care of her.

And trust me, I left a wet spot on the car seat all the way home.