With This Collar (Mastered) Read online

“A week is one thing, Sir. It was all I could endure. It was fun, but I couldn’t take a steady diet of it.”

  “You might find you want it more than you’re willing to admit.”

  “Not likely, Sir. My knees, for one, couldn’t take much more of that. And I was so sore after our first meeting that I don’t think I want to be spanked more than once a month or so.”

  “There are other parts of your body to torment,” he said.

  She shivered. “I read about some of them.” Including the soles of the feet, labia and anus.

  “So there are some things that would be on a limits list?”

  “Not a lot on a hard limits list. I want to try some stuff rather than just saying I am against it. But I can say I read some things about knife play that freaked me out. I’m not sure I want needles inserted into my nipples.”

  “I was with a woman who could come just from the idea of that happening.”

  “That is definitely not me.”

  “Okay,” he said easily. “No needles. No knives.”

  “Blood.”

  “Reasonable. Anything else?”

  “I’m not sure about humiliation.” Even as she said it, she felt heat flood her body. “That’s a real murky area for me, and I was kind of hoping we could discuss it…” When he patiently waited, she continued, feeling as if she were flailing. “What one person might find humiliating, another wouldn’t. I read a blog about a woman whose Dom displayed her in a window. But since she was an exhibitionist, she enjoyed the experience. I would find it degrading. I’d be terrified of the police being called. There is no way I could enjoy something like that.”

  “Did he use it as punishment?”

  She shook her head. She stared into the rich depths of the wine before looking back at him. “Not at all.”

  “But if I required it of you, it would be punishment.”

  “I would use a safe word. I wouldn’t allow that to happen.”

  “What if there were extenuating circumstances? For example, what if it were at the Den? The place is secluded, and only other people in the lifestyle are allowed to be there. What if it were totally safe? What if I wanted you in that window because I find you so hot and desirable that I want others to see you?”

  Her skin still felt warm, but no longer from embarrassment. His tone, when he spoke of finding her sexy, sounded rough and honest. Despite what she saw as flaws, he thought she was sexy.

  “Would that be acceptable? What if I wanted your breasts flattened on the cold glass for the pure sensuality of your experience and for what you could learn from facing your fears and letting go of inhibitions?”

  “I honestly hadn’t looked at it that way.” She took a drink and was grateful for its fortifying powers. She was starting to understand why he wanted to talk so much. It wasn’t just to allay her fears—it was to open her mind to what was possible.

  “As you said, probably with more insight than even you realised, humiliation play depends a lot on your attitude, and perhaps on other external circumstances. Being displayed naked on the first floor of a department store in downtown Denver would be a different experience at the Den and another entirely on the top floor of a high-rise hotel in Las Vegas. Part of the adrenaline rush could be related to fear.”

  “So I don’t get to take humiliation play off the table?”

  “As you already told me, that’s entirely your call. But were you humiliated when we were in front of the window at the Den?”

  “A little,” she admitted.

  “And was it horrible?”

  “No. It was more scandalous than humiliating.”

  “You came hard when I finger-fucked you.”

  She took another gulp of her wine. “Yes.” With him she felt more freedom than she ever had, sexually, morally. He had made her venture into the BDSM experience feel like walking a high wire—risky, dangerous, disturbing, but also safe because of the safety net he’d put in place. “I’m glad I called you, Sir.” And she was doubly glad he’d invited her over.

  “When we talked on Monday night, I instructed you not to orgasm.”

  “I followed your orders, Sir. I desperately wanted to come,” she confessed. “But I didn’t. I’ve had a restless feeling in me all week. It’s been horrible. I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

  “Orgasm denial is one of my favourite methods to train a sub how to focus the mind and control reactions.”

  “And one I hate, Sir.”

  “Which is why it’s so effective.”

  All of a sudden, she understood power exchange in a different way. He couldn’t use denial as a tool unless she agreed. This relationship was more honest than anything else she’d been involved in.

  “I want to look at you. Stand, please.”

  He took her glass from her and put it on the table next to his. Other than that, he didn’t offer his help. Feeling self-conscious again, she stood.

  “Move back about two feet so I can look at you better. Shoulders back, looking straight ahead, your feet just a bit farther apart.”

  As they’d sat on the couch, she’d been desperate for him to get on with it. But now that he’d taken control, the butterflies assaulted her, full on.

  “Put your hands at the small of your back so that your breasts are more prominent. I can’t wait to clamp and whip them. Your tits will be even more beautiful when they bear my marks.”

  He’d taken her breath away again. She hated not being able to look at him and read his expression, especially since she knew he was studying her.

  “Turn a full circle, but do it slowly.”

  Fighting off the sudden attack of self-consciousness, she did as he’d said.

  “You’re exquisite, Julia.”

  Her heart hammered. She’d never been with a man who was so effusive in his praise. Compared with him, others had been stingy.

  When she faced him again, she remembered to look straight ahead, as difficult as that was.

  “I’d like you to remove your thong.”

  She pulled down the material, exposing her shaved pubic region.

  “What a beautiful bald pussy,” he said.

  The comment should have embarrassed her. Instead it thrilled her.

  “Come a little closer.”

  He took her left pussy lip between his forefinger and thumb and ran a finger up the inside, exploring the length.

  This time, she felt colour scald her face.

  “I like how smooth this is, Julia. Very thorough job.” He checked that the other side was clean-shaven as well. “Are you getting wet just from this?” he asked.

  “Yes, Sir,” she whispered. She needed his touch, hungered for it. She knew she was slick for him.

  He pulled and said, “Now turn away from me and spread your legs as wide as you possibly can, and bend over to show me all of your hot little pussy.”

  He was truly gifted at this. He had barely touched her since her arrival. And when he had, it had been perfunctory.

  Each question he’d asked had uncovered parts of her that she hadn’t even known were there. He’d spoken deliberately, choosing each word with care. When she’d first arrived, his welcoming tone had put her at ease. Their discussion on the couch had made her feel closer to him. But when he was in Dom mode, every word was infused with command.

  “Now, girl.”

  She jolted. The sharpness in his voice instantly galvanised her.

  Suddenly grateful that she didn’t have to look at him, she did as he’d said. The angle made her tremble, and the exposure of her private region felt lewd.

  He remained silent for so long she began to squirm.

  “Run one finger over your clit until I tell you to stop.”

  Keeping her balance was tricky, but she managed what he’d asked. It took only a couple of light strokes before arousal built in her. She concentrated on breathing. Coming without his expressed permission would earn her a punishment, she knew, and, damn, she was already so close.

 
The blasted man said nothing even though he had to know how much he was torturing her.

  “Do you want to come, girl?”

  “Oh, Sir…”

  “Keep moving that hand!”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “And answer the question,” he snapped.

  “Yes, please.” Though she’d once vowed never to beg for anything, she’d learnt that need trumped pride. “I want to come, please, please. Oh… God… Sir!” She knew she needed to move her hand slower if she wanted to stave off the orgasm. But nearly a week’s worth of denial made that impossible. Without conscious thought she even began to move her hips.

  “Do you think you deserve an orgasm?”

  Did she? What were the criteria? She’d knelt each day. She hadn’t stolen an orgasm. She’d been honest with him. She’d shown up dressed the way he’d instructed. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Stop.”

  He whispered the word so softly she barely heard him.

  “I will give you an orgasm when I decide you’re ready.”

  She whimpered with frustration.

  “Think about it. What is the correct answer to my question, Julia?”

  How could she have been so stupid? “If you think I deserve one, Sir.”

  “Much better. Keep playing with your pussy.”

  Oh God. Oh God. “Oh, Sir, I’m so close, I don’t think I can hold off much—”

  “You haven’t earned one. Take hold of your ankles.”

  He left her there, frustrated, her breathing ragged, wondering what would happen next.

  “What time were you supposed to arrive?”

  “Sir?”

  “You were given specific instructions.”

  “Six o’clock, Sir. Prompt.”

  “And what time did you arrive?”

  Damn her inability to lie. She forced the words past a sudden knot in her throat, “It was about four minutes after, Sir.”

  “Is the definition of prompt open to interpretation?”

  The room temperature felt as if it had dropped several degrees. “No, Sir.”

  “Choose a punishment.”

  His words were so close to what she’d been fantasising about. She just barely stopped her first answer from spilling out. “Whatever you deem reasonable, Sir.”

  “Perfect. Kneel, facing me. Look at me.”

  Damn. She’d told him on the phone that she wanted to be tied and subjected to a flogger. And there were a dozen other things she wanted to try. She bit her lower lip to keep her mouth shut.

  “Now, answer the question.”

  She didn’t know how many more times she’d have the opportunity to scene with him. “Your belt, Sir.”

  “Be specific.”

  “Because I was late, I think you should beat my ass with your belt.”

  “This one?” he asked, unbuckling it.

  Bravado faltered when he dragged it through the loops. “Yes, Sir,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

  “Tell me your safe word.”

  She barely managed to bite back a sigh of frustration. He’d told her they’d go through this often, but it felt like a waste of time. “Red. Yellow to pause the scene, Sir.”

  “And what colour are you now?”

  “Green, Sir.” She felt a little nervous, but she was beginning to believe that would be a continuous situation when she was with him. It had taken a tremendous amount of guts to even call him.

  “I want you on the dining room table.”

  Nothing should shock her anymore. “Yes, Sir.” Her pussy still throbbed, and the idea of his belt on her buttocks only intensified the feeling. She stood.

  “In the absence of any other instructions, when we are scening, especially if you are being punished, assume you are to crawl rather than walk.”

  Even though he’d made her crawl before, she found something slightly humiliating about it. She was aware of the sway of her breasts and the way they hung down. All of it reinforced the fact that he was dominating her.

  “Just a moment,” he told her.

  She looked over at him.

  “Carry the belt.”

  She reached for it.

  He crouched in front of her. “Open your mouth.”

  The man was masterful at compounding his orders. She took the leather and felt her mouth dry.

  “No teeth marks. It’s one of my favourite belts.”

  The wooden floors were horribly uncomfortable on her knees, and the dining room seemed to be a mile away.

  He followed closely behind her, making her aware of every motion. The one good thing—she was no longer as sexually ravenous.

  In the dining room, he turned on all the lights and removed the candlesticks and a blown-glass bowl from the tabletop. He moved several chairs out of the way, placing them against the far wall.

  “Remove your shoes.”

  Since he hadn’t given permission to rise, she struggled to remove the pumps without her hands. She managed, though.

  “Up you go,” he said. “Face away from me.”

  The table’s surface gleamed, and she knew it would soon be marred by fingerprints. He offered no assistance as she climbed into place.

  “Now place the belt on your back.”

  Somehow she managed that, too.

  He allowed time to drag. Her body began to tremble, both from the discomfort and apprehension.

  Finally he took the belt from her.

  “How many minutes late were you?”

  “Four, Sir.”

  “And how many spanks do you deserve?”

  “As many as you see fit, Sir.”

  “Twelve.”

  Her body went rigid. That sounded excessive. Most people wouldn’t have even noticed four minutes.

  “I’m going to rub your ass a bit.”

  His touch was so vigorous she could hardly stay in place, and she had to fight for her balance. All of a sudden, she realised she had nothing to hang onto. He expected her to remain on the table with no way to support herself.

  “After every hit, arch your back and then lift your hips for the next one. Unnecessary delays will cost you. Any questions?”

  She shook her head. Then, remembering his rules, said, “No, Sir. Please, Sir, will you punish me for being tardy?”

  He landed the first across both buttocks, scalding her.

  She screamed. The pain had lanced her, so unexpected in its intensity. She wanted to get up and run away.

  Other than her sobs, the room was silent. He hadn’t touched her again. Obviously he was waiting for her to continue.

  She slowly got back into position.

  She offered a quick prayer that they could find a rhythm that would enable her to get past this quickly. She couldn’t—honestly could not—take a dozen like that.

  He caught the backs of both legs and she folded up on herself, anything to escape.

  Again, he said nothing, allowing her to sort through the experience on her own.

  Several minutes passed before she got herself back into position.

  The next was placed beneath the first, and she bit out, “Fuck!” She hated not being able to see him. She hated that it felt so coldly impersonal. The first time he’d spanked her, he’d engaged her, had talked to her and had even reassured her. This time truly felt like a punishment. She hated it—hated it.

  If he wanted to ensure her good behaviour in future, his method was effective. They were only twenty-five per cent finished, and she knew she’d leave an hour early the next time they were supposed to get together. If they saw each other again.

  She forced herself to get ready for the next impact. Feeling wanton, she stuck her ass high in the air.

  Instantly he obliged, again catching the backs of her legs. He was being methodical, one on top, one on the bottom, then filling in the space between.

  She blinked back blinding tears and took a couple of deep breaths. She told herself she knew what to expect now. She had figured out his pattern. Th
at made it easier to endure.

  The fifth blazed across the bottom of her buttocks.

  Despite her determination, she dropped her head to the tabletop.

  Her body shook from the relentless pain.

  “Tell me your colour, Julia.”

  The sound of his voice blasted through her internal dialogue. Somehow the fact that he’d spoken to her helped ground her. She could do this. “Green, Sir.”

  He never hurried her. Instead he waited patiently for her, letting her take her punishment in her own time.

  Within a fraction of a second of her getting into place, he striped her again.

  Her entire rear, the curve of her bottom to her knees, was singed. But they were halfway there.

  “Are you horny, Julia?”

  “Good God no, Sir.” She was struggling back onto all fours, determined to endure. Pain had obliterated any thoughts of sex.

  “I’d like to see for myself. Spread your legs. Put your forehead on the tabletop, your ass really high in the air.”

  His voice, the heat where his belt had impacted, all melded. He stroked her pussy.

  “You’re right. You hate this entirely.”

  “Nooooo!” Stunning her, her pussy was wet.

  “You hate to be punished, don’t you?”

  He inserted a finger deep inside her and fucked her with it. He found her G-spot and pushed against it. Within moments, she was ready to come. Like a shameless hussy, she forced her body back, silently seeking more.

  Her body vibrated with knotted tension.

  Before she could steal an orgasm, something she was willing to do at this point, he stepped back.

  She remained where she was for long moments, silently pleading with him to finish what he’d started. When he didn’t, she drew a ragged breath, lifted her head, arched her back and waited. She decided to mentally start the count over. Twelve was a lot of strikes. Six was doable.

  He started over, too, catching the top of her buttocks.

  She’d found that stalling between each hit didn’t really help. She wanted it over with. Curling her hands into fists, she waited for the next.

  She was sliding a little, so she decided to place her palms flat on the table for the next blow. She was accustomed to the belt now and, like her first punishments over a month ago, she tried to relax into them, no longer fighting—absorbing it, breathing with it.