I stand on all fours and balance unsteadily on my stumps. This is my reality, and I love it, the feeling of being his possession and surrendering all control to him. My helplessness fills me with joy. Since I cannot feed myself, I am completely dependent on my master who lovingly cares for me. At night he places a bowl of water with a straw on my bedside table, so that I can drink whenever I want. Dressing myself is no longer an option. He chooses my outfits, carefully dresses me, and then proudly admires me so that I feel loved and owned, like a trophy. Doing my hair and makeup, once a daily routine to feel pretty, is beyond my possibilities now, leaving me reliant on his touch to enhance my beauty as he pleases. Wearing my beloved high heels...how I miss that. The way they made my feet feel steady and strong, the sound of them on the floor, the way they shaped my walk...I will never feel this again now that my legs are gone. And those quiet moments when I’d touch myself, my hands caressing my breasts, exploring my vagina, playing with myself until I came. Now my stumps are too short to reach, so I rely fully on him for my release, making me feel even more owned by him.

My master did something truly ingenious with my amputated arms and legs, preserving them as constant teases to remind me of what I gave up. He had them treated somehow, in a way I’ll never understand, to look as alive as the day they were removed, their skin smooth and lifelike, the ends closed to mimic my own short stumps. My arms now hold the lights on the nightstands beside the bed's head, their hands gently grasping the lamps, positioned as if offering illumination to my new life. My legs serve as bedposts at the bottom corners of the bed, dressed in black stockings that hug their preserved curves, their feet adorned with my favorite pair of high heels. They stand there, elegant and unmoving, a mocking display of what I once was, reminding me with every glance that I chose this, gave them up to be his pet. Sometimes I stretch out my stumps to stroke their cool, smooth surface, following the familiar contours of my former limbs and enjoying the feel of the preserved skin beneath my touch. It's like a tender connection to my past that I maintain respectfully and that reassures me that I did the right thing.

Walking on my four legs is a challenge I’m still mastering, a journey I’ve enjoyed figuring out since I lost my limbs. Adapting was a crazy process...I thought it would be like walking on my elbows and knees...I was so wrong. Standing makes me wobble, my shortened limbs acting like unsteady stilts, each step requires effort to lift, my torso swaying as I learn to balance. My stumps graze the bed as I move forward, with my breasts repeatedly brushing against the sheets. I cannot lift myself high enough to avoid their touch, a sweet reminder of my lowly, submissive state. To shift from all fours to my side I clumsily tilt and wiggle my stumps and torso, it feels awkward but I know he loves the view. Pleasing my master is everything for me, the feeling of being his pet, helpless and devoted...I wouldn’t want to miss it.

I love when he plays with me, a special time that deepens our bond. He shows me my limits, reminding me I'm all his. He teases me with my beloved high heels, dangling them in front of me, allowing me to touch their smooth leather with my stumps, to lick the sole, the taste a bittersweet memory. He touches me with them, tracing the curve of my breasts, the cool heel pressing against my nipples, sending shivers through me. He then moves them further down, teasing my vagina, even entering me with the tip, the sensation foreign and exquisite, my body arching in response. He plays with me, commands me, and I give myself completely to him.

This is my dream, my perfect state...his helpless pet, forever.

A photo from an older shoot with Tara. I think it turned out pretty well. 😄

Model: Tara

Editing: Me (Gimp, no AI)

Please let me know what you think in the comments below.