I am trapped, confined to the dark corners of this cramped cage. My world has been reduced to a few square feet of cold, hard metal. The air is stale and thick with the smell of my own sweat and fear. I am naked. I have no name here, only my master's wishes and desires. I am his plaything, his toy, his servant. I exist to please him, to serve his every need and whim. I am nothing without him, and I know it. I am completely and utterly dependent on his approval, his affection, his attention.

I have been locked away in this cage for what feels like an eternity. I have lost track of time, of days and nights. I am at the mercy of my master's schedule, his whims, his desires. I am his to use as he sees fit, and I am grateful for every moment of his attention.

I spend most of my time on all fours, my knees and hands pressed against the cold, unforgiving metal floor. It is more comfortable this way, more natural. It is how my master prefers me, and I am eager to please him. I wear only knee pads, to protect my delicate skin from the rough metal surface. They are black, like the hood that covers my head, leaving only my mouth exposed.

My master likes to use me in many ways, and I am always eager to oblige. He takes what he wants, when he wants it. I am his property, his possession, and I am happy to serve him. I am his fucktoy, his whore, his slave. I am his to use, to abuse, to pleasure. I am his to own.

I think back on the times he has used me, the things he has done to me, the things he has made me do. I remember the first time he took me, the way he forced himself inside me, the way I screamed and cried, the way I begged for more. I remember the first time he made me suck him off, the way he grabbed my head and forced me to take him deep, the way he came in my mouth and made me swallow every last drop. I remember the first time he made me service him in front of others, the way they watched and cheered, the way I blushed and squirmed, the way I came harder than I ever had before.

I remember the way he would make me wait, the way he would tease me, the way he would edge me, the way he would bring me to the brink of orgasm only to pull away at the last moment. I remember the way he would make me beg, the way I would plead and cry, the way I would promise anything, everything, just to be allowed to come. I remember the way he would make me suffer, the way he would punish me, the way he would hurt me, the way I would scream and cry, the way I would beg for mercy, the way I would promise to be a good girl, the way I would promise to be obedient, the way I would promise to be his.

I remember the way he would make me crawl, the way he would make me grovel, the way he would make me worship him, the way I would lick his feet, the way I would kiss his boots, the way I would suck his toes. I remember the way he would make me service him, the way he would make me take him in my mouth, the way he would make me swallow every last drop. I remember the way he would make me fuck him, the way he would make me ride him, the way he would make me take him deep, the way he would make me scream, the way he would make me cum.

I remember the way he would make me serve him, the way he would make me do his bidding, the way he would make me do his chores, the way he would make me do his errands, the way he would make me do his bidding without question, without hesitation, without complaint. I remember the way he would make me submit, the way he would make me surrender, the way he would make me give myself to him, the way he would make me give him everything, the way he would make me give him my body, my soul, my heart.

I remember the way he would make me suffer, the way he would make me hurt, the way he would make me scream, the way he would make me cry, the way he would make me beg, the way he would make me plead, the way he would make me promise, the way he would make me submit, the way he would make me surrender, the way he would make me give myself to him, the way he would make me give him everything.

I hear the sound of the lock on the closet door being undone and the closet door opening, and I feel a shiver of fear run down my spine. I feel his presence, and I feel a wave of relief wash over me. I am his, and I am safe.

"Come here, my pet," he says, his voice low and commanding. I scramble to my feet, my knees and hands slipping on the cold, hard metal floor. I crawl towards him, my body trembling with excitement and fear.

"Good girl," he says, his voice soft and approving. I feel a warmth spread through me, a sense of pride and belonging.

I am his, and I am proud of it. I am his, and I know it.