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Something… different today on the Tale from me. It’s a little different, a little more dominant than what I normally do… At least there are Choices…


By TeraS


It is said that what makes humanity what it is comes down to choices. Good or bad, the choices made by each soul defines who they are and what happens to them. For the most part, the choices that are made seem, at the time, to be unimportant. Not every choice is one which your soul depends on–of course, they all cannot be.

But … sometimes … sometimes, they are.

The same can be said about those who live in the Realm. They have the ability to choose, unlike some others that do not. It is that choice, that ability to make a decision that is theirs alone, which makes them different. But —because this ability is part of who they are—these choices are important. Every choice is one in which a soul depends on.

Because they are.

A black collar, for example.

Those who are aware know that the deepest, darkest, ebony black of one specific collar—one  that is offered very rarely—is an honour which few can know. Many know that Tera, the Queen of the Realm, gives collars of red. The colour reflects her own, and the power she wields practically makes the collar hum.

But Tera’s other side, her Tail-self … that is black.

Some fantasize about submitting to the black … the feeling that they are going to serve, surrender, and obey; that they will feel every inch of the Queen’s dominance burning in them, commanding them, guiding them, collaring them; that imperfections, perfections, good, bad, none it will matter once they accept their submission to her will and give her complete control over all of them. She wraps her Pet in black latex … completely. Transforming her Pet into whatever she desired. Pouring submission into her Pet. Making that pet … anything.

Whatever she wishes, whatever the whim, her Pet moans and keens with desire to submit to her. Nothing could be more desirable. Being the focus of her Queen’s control, her dominance, her power … utterly at her whim and desires … utterly … hers, unable to think or desire anything else. The pet’s purpose is to become an example for his Queen of her power.

Her voice echoes in her pets’ thoughts. They need to obey, to do anything to feel her touch, to be allowed the pleasure that she can only give. Over and over again the commands rhythmically milk their will away, ebb by ebb. So empty, nothing but hers, all that is left to them is to obey their Queen … their Mistress … their All … The thought is slippery, but slowly gains strength as they whine and mewl in submission to her. They are hers now, each former persons becoming a possession of the Queen’s dominance now, surrendering all for her, now their all and only.

As pets tip over the edge, she twines the fingers of one hand into their hair, her lips draw close to theirs, her green eyes … so green … nibbling at their souls, one by one … the black dripping into them, covering their thoughts … the collars shining against their necks, warm, caressing against their skin, reminding them always of what they have each become: her Pet … always.

Each, in turn, manages a small sound of desire as while gazing—no, staring—at her with lust, want, need. There is no thought or desire for resistance. Her markings and name softly write themselves onto each soul, each essence. The truth descends over them as they know their place … where her Pets are always … where she desires them to be …

… They fall, their knees welcoming the place where they belong: kneeling before her,  To awaiting her desire, her command. Each pet’s eyes shine a perfect, complete green, with devotion, love, and submission the only emotions there. Their souls, their essence, everything they are, is locked to her, under her, belonging to her. The symbolism and the reality are utterly complete. They gaze from their places at her feet, needing to serve her, for in doing so they will gain the release they dream of. To hear her praise them, to command them, to choose whatever she wishes of them is ecstasy.

She rests on her throne and regards them each with a smile on her lips and her so-green eyes aglow. She is there, black tail and red hair, thigh high red boots covering her legs and black leash in her hand, red latex shining in the need of those who are devoted to her. Perhaps she will allow them worship to her? Lift a finger and have them respond, knowing what she desires? Others wish for her to wrap her black tail around them and guide them towards what she wishes for them to do. Rows upon rows of mindless pets await their fates, while she casually turns them into whatever whim strikes her.

All of them have simply accepted her desires, her view, and now it is their own. They have pledged themselves to that vision, that desire … to her and her world of lusts and seduction, all controlled and owned by her. Her visions, her lusts, her will be done. They are all puppets, dancing on her strings, seducing and being seduced, slowly surrendering more and more to her dominion and energy with each passing moment.

Their choice is made … forever. She now has the choice for them, determining what will happen to them next in whatever fashion she desires. She smiles, her tongue licking over her lips as she makes each pick, her lips parting, the words about to escape from her and descend upon them.

But then each vision, each fantasy, comes to an end, and they find themselves looking at the black collar once more. And at the choice to be made: to surrender to their fondest desires and give up all for the black? It is one choice, one of many. Or perhaps they will choose the red? Or neither? Or another choice that they have not as yet seen?

Eventually, they will each choose. As will she. For choice is what makes everything possible, including our own deepest needs and desires. The collar awaits, a hand hovering above it. Hesitating? Acting? The question is one only that person alone can answer, for it is each person’s choice … for now …

… but, perhaps, not always.

Where that choice takes each of them grows out of the choosing and, for once, perhaps, they know that choice is one which their soul depends on.

Because sometimes … sometimes … they are …


… like now.

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