With This Collar (20 page)

Chapter Eight

She pulled out a matching bra and panty set, along with fishnet stockings and a garter belt from one of her dresser drawers. Over the last six weeks, accumulating new lingerie had become a passion. And he’d surprised her several times with deliveries to her office and home.

He was always effusive in his praise when she arrived at his condo, and she’d learnt to flaunt her assets, rather than being shy.

As always, this morning, she fumbled with the cursed fasteners on the garter belts, but it took her far less time than it used to.

Finally, she wiggled into a short skirt then pulled on a pair of fur-lined boots, an outfit she would have never even considered a few months ago. Being with Master Marcus had emboldened her, and she had to admit she liked the changes.

As she was driving over to his place he telephoned.

She pushed a button he’d installed. The stereo turned off, and the digital display showed his name rather than the title of the song that had been playing. Automatically she checked the time, making sure she wasn’t in trouble for running late before saying, “Hello, Sir.”

“My meeting is taking longer than planned,” he said. “I’ll be home a few minutes after you get there. Let yourself in and get ready for me.”

She shivered in anticipation.

“I assume you know what to do, girl?”

She loved it when he called her that. No one else ever had. Outside of a BDSM connection, it would never happen. It established and reinforced their relationship. “I do, Sir.”

He hung up.

She kept a firm grip on the steering wheel, needing to concentrate rather than think about him. Flakes were falling again. At times she forgot that March and April were Colorado’s snowiest months. She let herself be convinced that seeing the first crocus meant spring had arrived and that summer wasn’t far behind.

She was almost as comfortable in his place as she was in her own. They’d found a routine. She arrived either Friday night or Saturday morning and stayed until Sunday afternoon.

He often cooked for her, and he sometimes involved her in his business, showing her architectural plans and soliciting her feedback. At night, in bed, snuggled into his arms, she asked him questions. He told her she was nosy, but that didn’t stop her from pushing to understand him.

He was an only child and his father had taught him about leatherworking while his mother had taught him to bake. They lived in Sedona, Arizona, in a house he’d built for them. He’d invited her to go with him on his next visit, but so far she’d refused.

The first time they’d been together, he’d told her he didn’t subject his subs to things he hadn’t experienced. When she’d asked him if he’d really ever endured a beating, he’d told her about training beneath both Master Damien and Gregorio. There’d been no sexual component, just several different training sessions.

It had endeared him to her even more.

She parked in her usual spot and greeted a couple of neighbours in the hallway after she got off the elevator. He’d had a key cut for her, and she used it to unlock the door.

The routine had become familiar. She still wore nothing other than a coat and underwear, and, once she was inside, she laid down her purse, placed her keys in the small copper bowl, then hung up her coat and changed out of her boots into the high-heeled pumps she kept in the foyer closet.

Knowing what he expected, she knelt on a rug in the foyer, facing the front door. Since he still required her to kneel each night when they were apart, she’d had plenty of practice at schooling her mind and battling impatience.

When she heard his key in the lock, she adjusted her posture slightly so that it was perfect.

He came in, closed and locked the door, and she heard his keys land on top of hers then… Nothing.

She resisted the temptation to look up, but every part of her vibrated with the awareness of his nearness. She inhaled his crisp, mountain-swept scent. And his power pervaded the area.

He made sounds, then, and she knew he was shrugging out of his leather blazer and hanging it alongside hers.

The closet door closed with a quiet
snick
. He took a step closer, and she focused on the sight of his boots, trying to keep her reactions contained.

“You’ve learnt well,” he said.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Lift your hair.”

Even though she knew this was coming, it took some self-control to remain silent and accepting.

He fastened the thin, leather collar around her neck, and he needlessly checked the fit.

She waited for him to attach the leash, but he didn’t.

“Now welcome me home, girl.”

This was what she wanted, to touch him, and have him touch her. “My pleasure, Sir.” She stood, and the motion was much more graceful than it had been a couple of months ago, and she knew he was watching and appreciating the transformation.

Julia couldn’t hold back her smile as she rose onto her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around her Dom’s neck. “I’m glad to see you,” she whispered against his ear. “I’ve missed you.” Sometimes the week between their visits stretched interminably long. She placed her hands around his head and drew him towards her. She instigated the kiss, capturing his chin in her hand and teasing his lips with her tongue.

He groaned. As she knew he would, he took control, flattening one palm on her butt, fisting his other into her hair to imprison her. He kissed her hard, using his tongue, silently dominating her as he communicated his desire.

More than once over the last month, he’d suggested she move in. Every time, she’d demurred. She needed her space, she insisted. If she didn’t keep her distance, the force of his determination would consume her.

“I’ve got to have you,” he said.

“Yes, Sir!”

He swept her off her feet and into his arms. The sudden motion shocked her. She reached around his neck, holding on desperately as he strode up the stairs towards the playroom.

“Undress then lean your body over the spanking bench,” he told her, gently lowering her to the floor. “Would you like to be secured?”

“Whatever you prefer, Sir.”

He nodded. “Then you’re bound by my will.”

Her mouth dried. This was the first time he’d asked that of her. Without questioning his directives, she stripped off her bra and panties.

“You may wear the stockings and garter belt. I like the look of the red marks against the black straps.”

“Is it permissible to hold onto the restraints, Sir?”

“It is.”

She turned her head so she could watch him. He slid open the glass door that protected his spanking implements and selected his favourite tawse, the same one he’d used on her the first night at the Den.

“This is an erotic spanking,” he told her, joining her and slapping the leather against his open palm. “You’re allowed to come. And I want you to enjoy.”

“Thank you, Sir.” He generally used spanking for discipline and he aroused her in other ways. So this was a unique experience.

“That is, unless you can’t keep yourself in position,” he amended. “In that case, this will become a punishment, and your orgasms will be denied.”

“I understand.”

He moved behind her and gently massaged her buttocks. She closed her eyes. Even though she knew pain was inevitable, she loved being touched by him.

He rubbed more and more vigorously, until her entire body was moving from the force. He dipped his hand between her legs and teased her clit.

“Oh, Sir, you’ve already turned me on!”

“A small reward for your excellent behaviour when I arrived.”

She smiled.

The first strike from his tawse stole her breath. It took all her concentration not to release her grip and reach back to rub her reddened rear. “This is supposed to be pleasurable?” she demanded.

“Relax into it.”

He rubbed her pussy again.

The sensation magnified.

“Good girl.”

He used the tawse again several times, but then he fingered her cunt. She let go of the mental fight and allowed the bench to take her whole weight.

“Perfect,” he said.

Somewhere along the way, she got lost in the moment. He blurred the line between pleasure and pain, and she could no longer tell where one ended and the other began. He fingered her vagina and inserted one finger in her anus. She shoved her hips back, meeting his hand, his tawse, and orgasm after orgasm crashed through her.

“I want to fuck you,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Release the bonds.”

She let go, and he effortlessly moved her, placing her on top of the bench and leaving her only long enough to grab protection.

He returned to her, instructed her to place her knees over his shoulders, and drove in hard.

She cried out at the depth of his penetration. When he squeezed her nipples, she thrashed.

“Wait on it,” he told her.

She didn’t breathe, she panted, but she held off until he said, “Squeeze my cock with your pussy. Come, girl.”

She felt him pulse and throb in her, and her orgasm was more prolonged than ever before. The longer they were together, the better sex was becoming.

* * * *

He held her while she dozed, then they shared the shower. He had work to do, and she’d brought over a movie to watch during the evening.

Later, while he prepared dinner, she filled wine glasses.

“You need to fulfil a fantasy,” he told her.

“Sir?” She glanced over at him.

He turned the grill on high and turned to face her. “I want you as the centrepiece on the dining room table.”

She’d thought nothing could shock her. He’d told her he wouldn’t take humiliation play off the table, and this was one of the most incredible things he’d requested from her. “I’m listening,” she said slowly.

“When I bring the plates in, I want to see you on the table, your knees upraised, your legs parted. You don’t have to stay there, but it’s an image I can’t get out of my head.”

Not knowing what to say, she settled for, “You, Sir, are kinky.”

“More than you know,” he agreed.

“Do I need to, uhm, ah, display anything in particular?”

“Just your charms. This time.”

She knew he wouldn’t force her, and her attitude would make the difference. This could be humiliating. Or if she took Lana’s initial advice and concentrated on his desires, Julia would be able to endure it, knowing it gratified him. “I’ll be in the dining room, Sir.”

“Come here.”

She walked over, her hips swaying in the high heels.

“You’re an absolutely wonderful sub,” he said.

She was going to protest his words, but he tipped back her chin and gave her the gentlest of kisses, wordlessly expressing his appreciation. When he behaved this way, she was susceptible to all charisma.

As she left the kitchen, she was aware of his heated gaze on her still-sore rear.

If anyone had told her she would actually do something like this, she wouldn’t have believed them. But she found it shockingly exciting. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her looking obscene before. In fact, the more she revealed herself, the more he seemed to like it.

In the dining room, she moved the candles to the sideboard, then lit them for the ambience. She dimmed the overhead light. After a moment’s consideration, she stripped and climbed onto the table. She lay on her back so that her pussy would be displayed when he sat at the head of the table.

He whistled low and long when he entered the room. “You look even more beautiful than I imagined. Your nipples are hard, your pussy deliciously pink.”

Despite a flush of embarrassment, she kept her legs spread as he set down the plates and returned with the wine glasses.

“Thank you,” he said.

She shivered as he skimmed his forefinger between her pussy folds. Unbelievably, she was turned on for him.

He then traced her collar. “I’m not going to be able to eat now that all I can think about is fucking you. Dominating you. Proving you’re mine.
Mine.”

A habitual protest arose, but before she could voice it, he grasped her nipples and twisted them viciously. She came instantly, grinding her bare heels into the polished wood.

“Oh, yeah,” he approved. “Perfect.”

He left her there for a couple of minutes, and she simply relaxed into the aftershocks of her orgasm.

Finally, he helped her from the table, and, as if nothing untoward had happened, pulled back her chair and invited her to sit on his left.

Since it wasn’t all that unusual to dine while he was fully clothed and she was naked, she cut into her steak.

After dinner, he advised her to take a warm bath to soothe her tired muscles while he cleaned the kitchen.

“I’m going to use you again,” he told her. He grabbed her hair. “My little slut.”

“Spoilt little slut,” she corrected. “Since I’ll be in the bath while you’re slaving in the kitchen. And that’s how it should be.”

She dashed for the stairs, grateful she was on bare feet.

The edge of the dish towel he flicked caught one of her thighs. “I’ll teach you to sass me, girl.”

“Please do,” she called back, hurrying up the stairs.

He bound her to the bed and used a feather to torment her before fucking her into a deep sleep. When she awoke, she was snuggled in his arms. Rather than feeling constricting, it felt nurturing. Part of her wanted to remain there forever.

It had apparently snowed all night, and many roads were impassable. So they dressed and walked down to a local coffee shop for a latte. She eyed a chocolate croissant, and he bought it for her, promising he’d help her burn off the calories after they went home.

She enjoyed every bite, as well as his promise.

Feeling a bit like a brat—something Lana had warned her could happen—Julia reached for a handful of snow and tossed a wet, sloppy snowball at him, hitting him square in the back.

“That’s it,” he said menacingly.

He stalked towards her, picked her up, then slung her over his shoulder, knocking the breath from her. She giggled and kicked as he carried her into the building.

“Hold the elevator,” he said to one of his neighbours. “Someone’s earned a spanking for throwing snowballs.”