Things best not known.

Things best not known.

Silence. Darkness. Rain.

The cold spikes of water clank against your bedroom's window rhythmically. The liquids seep down and distort the window's transparency. A computer's fan roars quietly and is the only source of noise beside the rain. Thick, black clouds cover the sun's rays and night has fell a few hours ago. A certain person, you to be precise, a dragon, are sitting cross-legged on your bed, with a soft blanket over your head. Your have your eyelids squeezed together and the tears on the scales of your upper leg reflect the little beams of light that the monitor sends out. You have obviously cried recently. Sad thoughts swirl inside your mind, blocking you off from the outer world. A state of complete physical inactivity, while your mind grinds and grinds, seeking answers. You have your hands folded, white claws extending from your green fingers, and you wear only a pair of black and white striped socks and pink underwear. People would say you're a faggot, homosexual filth, scum from the anal cavities. You're feeling sad, because your internet-boyfriend Brandon has ditched you an hour ago, after trying to murder you indirectly. You and him have been chatting for quite a while; around five months. Today you decided to show yourself on the webcam. And things get spicy when you love each other. You've shown Brandon your nicely toned, scaled, dark-green body. Your strong legs and muscular abdomen. You both share a certain desire towards breath-play. After you had locked yourself safely into your own room, you turned on the webcam for Brandon and put on the new bondage gear that got in last week. A set of mittens, cuffs, collar, leash, leather hood and leather mask. You looked forward to showing Brandon your stuff for an entire week. You didn't know of Brandon's malicious scheme when you put on your leather hood and cuffed your hands behind your back.

You were partially immobile. The leather encased your head perfectly, your horns poking through the holes, your jaws shut, your noseholes covered. There was no way you'd get oxygen this way. But, as exciting as it sounded, you held your breath and locked your arms, inside tight mittens, behind your back. You kept your cool and sat down in front of the webcam, smiling, but Brandon didn't see it. He encouraged you to keep the gear on. Slowly, you felt the unavoidable need to breathe in air grow. Your heart pounded faster and faster, and you started to struggle, and wriggle. As a few minutes passed, you vaguely saw that Brandon was typing something. You felt lightheaded, close to passing out. Adrenaline saved your life. It gave you just enough power to break the cuffs, pull your hands out of them, and rip the leather hood off your innocent face. You fell off your chair, gasping, crying. A moment later, when you regained a healthy state of mind, you checked Brandon's messages. His skype icon turned grey.
"This person is not viewing his details to you."
Your glance digs through the messages you and he have exchanged. One new message.
''Haha. I waited half a year to see this. Thanks for the show, slut. Have fun suffocating in your new shit. Give the devil my regard, and FUCK YOU."
Your heart skips a beat as you read the last two words. Unable to realize what just happened, you send him a new friend invite. Confusion controls your actions. After a few minutes, there is no reply. You take off the remaining gear, walk towards the cold window and put your hands against the glass. You narrow your eyes, verifying what happened a moment ago. Brandon, that motherfucker. That sick, fucking bastard.

You feel the hatred burning inside your heart. It must be broken. You bare your fangs, wrinkles forming on your muzzle. Brandon tried to kill you, that's obvious. Your boyfriend tried to kill you, by having you commit 'suicide'. It wouldn't be intended suicide, of course, but everyone would've known that you deprived yourself of your own life with a leather hood and purple mittens. Though, as positive as you always are, you can even see a positive thing in this. You got to try out your bondage gear for someone else, and that's what you've always wanted.

A little more about yourself. You are submissive, you love to serve and master/slaveplay is the name of the game. You've been interested in this kind of play for around a year now, and you are very proud of your recently bought bondage gear. You and your boyfriend met through an online forum for BDSM on the internet. You two share many traits, virtues and interests. You've had sex with a girl before you met Brandon. This girl, Nathalie, was your mistress for three months. Evil under a hood, you and her had a lot of fun during those months. You experienced things not many have. Her special friendship with you vanished after she mysteriously disappeared during the night. You never heard from her again. Your primal urges were satisfied by Brandon and online friends in the meantime. You have the time of your life and have no troubles with health, parents or school.

And that's why you are able to look more positively to this event than others. The thought of suffocating strangely aroused you greatly, the lack of oxygen making your cock rock-hard. The struggling intensifying the pleasure. You wipe your eyes and glance upon the pile of gear. It is unnatural how you deal with emotions, grabbing that leather hood and fixing it on your eager muzzle again. You want to feel it again, the desperate feeling of asphyxiation. You want to feel your lungs burn and scream for air again. Your draconic hands slip into the mittens again and you lay on your bed, grinding yourself madly against the cloth. Gasping, sweating, you squirt your warm dragon seed on your pillow. Exhausted, you attempt to remove the mittens. This time you left the cuffs on them separated and open, in case something bad happened again. But, unexpected, they were locked and cuffed together. You feel two hands flip you over, exposing your nude body. The hands pin you down, a warm body presses you against the bed, the air slipping out of your lungs. A familiar voice whispers to you.
"You thought I would forget you, leave you, ignore you. Don't you worry, darling. I assure you that this will be the best moment of your life."

You begin to realize that it's Brandon who managed to get into your house, your room. He easily keeps you pinned with one hand, while skillfully whipping out his cock with the other. You can hear him moan as he grows hard. But oxygen is getting extremely scarce now. You gasp and struggle desperately, but Brandon has you good now. He rams his cock into your ass, and makes sure your last breath is worth it. You feel every limb of your body burn relentlessly, your lungs the most, though nothing can help you anymore. As soon as Brandon finishes to cum inside you, your soul has already left your hot body.

Funny, you've reincarnated as one of the masters of a master/slave household. Many slaves now follow your rules and your word is law. While browsing through the list of new, untrained slaves that need attention, you notice your heart skips a beat as you read the name 'Brandon'. This name... It seems strangely familiar to you. However, as you have no idea what your bonds to him may be, you prepare yourself for a good training session and pick him up from his room. The sixteen-year-older guy bows as you enter, and you greet him with a leather pack of payback. You assure he's tied up well and you can regulate the flow of air to his body. Then, you seal off the mask with your hand and watch Brandon struggle helplessly for a little bit of air. You love how he begs you for something as simple as air. You love it that much, that you forget to lift your hand, and that Brandon suffocates right on the spot.

"You had no clue, did you Brandon?"