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Language Barrier (short F/m story)


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Freedom can slip away before you notice.

They had met in his country. When he traveled to her homeland, she invited him to stay in her apartment. They made love again - glorious, kinky; he grinned as she stripped off his clothes.

When he woke, they were gone. So was she. There was only a note in the kitchen instructing him to make dinner with the ingredients in the fridge. He put on an apron and got to work.

Love the second night was even better than the first. It was as if a demon had gotten into her. He dozed off in a haze of bliss before she could even unlock his collar.

Again there were instructions for dinner - also for cleaning the bathroom. He shrugged and got to work. It was only when he found he was missing an ingredient that he realized there was no way for him to get it. There was no sign of his clothes, his wallet, his passport, his phone. He was stuck until her return. This time, in playful punishment for the imperfect meal, she had him sit by her on the floor and fed him tidbits with her fingers. When he asked to get his things back, she just smiled and pulled him into the bedroom.

The next day he woke with a new tag on his collar. He looked at it in the mirror, but he could not read her language. The toilet paper also ran out. He wrapped a towel around him and peeked out of the apartment, hoping to ask the neighbours. None of them understood a word he was saying. An old man saw the tag on his neck and started shouting at him. A woman waved the old man off, read the tag, smiled at him and talking energetically guided him back to the apartment.

He heard her talking to the neighbours when she got home. After that, whenever he mentioned his things she just danced around the issue. I had to wash them. They're not here. Maybe tomorrow. His only choices were to acquiesce or to escalate into a fight. But then she would kiss him and pet him, make kinky love to him, and his frustration just wasn't there.

The date of his flight home came and went and he was still there, cooking, cleaning, making love. Starved for contact, he looked forward to her returning home more and more every day. Gradually she shifted their interactions. Now he always ate on the floor. He obeyed all her instructions and notes. His collar, with its tag, was never unlocked. When the realization came that he was her slave - really, truly, with no escape unless she allowed it - he felt he had given consent every step of the way. If he didn't protest then, why now? He slipped deeper and deeper in a haze of habits, romance and contentment, until he could no longer imagine a day where he didn't wait anxiously by the door, listening for the tap of her shoes as she came home.

This feels forbidden to read and like but I can't help it đŸ˜” somewhere in my mind this pushes a button that is so seductive yet it feels almost dangerous to push it

"a button that is so seductive yet it feels almost dangerous to push it"

Warning: Don't try this... at home.

Thanks. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

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