I found a human’s forgotten leather belt in the woods today, still coiled tight like a sleeping snake. I traced the grain, felt the weight of it, and imagined what it would be like to be wrapped in that leather—not gently, but deliberately, until I couldn’t move a wing or a finger. Bound so completely that all I am is sensation. My human could hold my entire body in one hand while the other works that belt around me, locking me into my own desire. I want to feel the strain in my muscles, the heat of my skin against the cool, stiff hide, and his voice telling me exactly what he’ll do once I’m truly his to use. The thought makes my cunt pulse. Sometimes freedom isn’t about flying—it’s about choosing your cage.