We can’t talk like normal people do because you and I aren’t what society would constitute as “normal” and until you start believing that you are normal, we will continue to set your limits through paper and ink.
Yes, as a dominant I should care for you after every scene but as I said before I don’t do that. It’s an intimate act. I don’t do intimacy. It’s the only thing I’m not good at. Shocker, right?
Lauren has informed me of her current health. You’ll meet her next week and she’ll give you the intimacy you so desperately desire.
You are allowed to speak whenever you please, however, you must know Newton’s Third Law. Your words will result in my actions. It is up to you to determine if they will be equal or opposite.
If in the middle of a scene you have a question you can simply ask, Abigail.
When you signed the papers without reading them, you gave me total control and total trust. No other person has ever done so, and trust me when I say, I’ll try never to break it.
She was curious to read what she had signed that night, so she made a mental note to read the contract when she got home. Before she continued reading what her master had written in response, it dawned on her that she did not have a copy of their contract.
“Can I get a copy of the contract?”
“What contract?” he asked, genuinely confused.
Abigail turned in her seat. “The contract I signed when we first met at your club, remember?”
“If you ever see a dominant legally binding their sub to be with them, do the sub a favor and report them to the NYPD. That’s along the lines of human trafficking.”
“Are you calling yourself a human trafficker then because you made me sign one?”
“Oh, Abigail, it was so easy to fool you. What you signed was a non-disclosure agreement and I didn’t make you sign it. In fact, I remember you signed it willingly. I made it seem like it was more to scare you, to test you, to see if you really wanted what I so badly wanted to give you. It was all about fear and relinquishment for you. I knew it since I saw you.”
She worried her lip, feeling cheated suddenly. “So, you lied?”
“No. I never lied to you. You never read the non-disclosure agreement. I’m an architect. You’re in my home at least two days a week. You will eventually see projects I’m working on and could tell others.”
“Do you really think I’d do that?”
“Don’t take it personally. I didn’t know you back then. I’ve been around investors and architects my entire career some of who have stolen my ideas. If you would’ve read the papers, you’d have known what you were signing.”
Abigail felt dumb and stupid and small, not in a sexual way but in a human way. She’d given him her complete trust the night they met, and he hadn’t reciprocated it.
“Can I at least read what I signed?”
He nodded, his eyes on the road. “It’s in my office at the club.”
“I’m an editor, you know. I read exclusive books and might talk to you about them. You don’t see me asking you to sign any papers.”
“I’m not going to apologize for your mistake. It’s done. Build a fucking bridge.”
How satisfying would it be to bash his forehead against the dashboard and make him bleed for a change? With such an image in mind, Abigail continued reading.
The reason why we’re doing this like we are, without setting limits before each scene, is because you’re new to this.
I could tell by your eagerness when we first met that you’ve been wanting this for a while, meaning you, at some point, were scared. If I were to explain everything I plan on doing before I do it, you’ll be apprehensive about most things and miss out on great pleasures. It’s much easier to say no to the unknown than to step forward, hold its hand, and walk by its side.
BDSM isn’t just about bondage, domination, and submission. It’s also about S & M. Let’s not neglect the part that represents us. I know what you need. I know what you want, and you know it, too.
So, to answer your question fully, if you don’t trust me then you may stop a scene to ask a question by simply using your safeword. I’ll always honor that word, even if I say I won’t.
PS: I knew you’d get my connotations and now that you’ve checked chosen food, I’ll be sure to feed you my cum for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Sincerely,
Master Trice
The sea of anguish that had grown inside her earlier began to rock her emotions. Why did she feel the need to cry?
Preston, Trice, Master Trice whatever fucking persona he liked to refer to knew her better than she knew herself. A part of her had known since the day she met him he was the one to break her barriers and set her free.
As the daughter of Melissa Sinclair, she knew about contracts and non-disclosure agreements. She knew what Preston said was true. It was her ignorance’s doing, not his. She’d signed the paper on her own accord because she’d seen the same glint in his eyes that stared back at her every time she looked in the mirror.
She wanted to unbuckle her belt and straddle his lap for being everything she’d always wanted. But that would probably result in both their deaths or the deaths of others, so she stayed buckled and discreetly wiped a tear as she answered her master back.
1. Of the following done to the submissive thus far, which is the submissive willing to try again? (check all that apply; unchecked boxes indicate the submissive will NOT like to try again)
✓post-orgasm torture
✓mild blood-play
Additional comments/questions: Thank you.
Always,
Your Whore.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The couple entered the club through the back door and got in the elevator that brought them straight to Preston’s floor. Not wasting any unnecessary time, Preston handed Abigail the leather dress he’d bought solely for her and told her to put her hair in low braids. If he was going to exhibit her to other dominants as his newest gem, she needed to look the part.
Preston leaned back on the leather chair in his office as he waited for his slave to get ready. It seemed to be a recurring event—him waiting on her. When was she going to understand his time was precious? He needed a power asserting punishment that was sure to teach her a lesson never to have him wait again.
Maybe he’d mentally bound her. Have her stand in one place for a period of time until he deemed it long enough to dismiss her. Maybe he’d ask to meet at a restaurant and never show up, all while texting her he was close.
As he thought of a handful of punishments, he glanced at his watch, catching a glimpse of a drawer in his desk that contained one sole item. Although the remnant brought upon him thoughts of a past life, he hesitated. But a longing feeling overcame him, causing him to open the drawer.
A picture of a girl rested inside. He pondered the life of the little girl he held in his hand.
Her black hair, so similar to his, was swept by the wind. Her brows knitted together in concentration as she tightly held the Greek flag in her tiny hand. She wore a traditional Greek dress in honor of Queen Amalia for the Greece Independence Day and the Annunciation of Virgin Mary parade.
Ten years had passed since the picture was taken. He didn’t know the little girl’s name who wasn’t little anymore but growing into a smart woman. He hoped the last part was true.
If what had happened fifteen years ago had been done in different circumstances. If he’d been as mature and resilient as he was today, maybe things would’ve been different.
It was his biggest regret to let her go, and so he only allowed himself to think of her on January nineteenth. If he wondered for more than a day, he’d go crazy with rage and agony and remorse.
Unbeknownst to her master’s inner turmoil, Abigail knocked on the door. She had one up on Lauren, at least.
He shoved the picture in his drawer and locked it, as long as he didn’t see the little girl, he could pretend she didn’t exist. He took a minute to co
mpose himself before commanding his slave to crawl in.
The door gapped as Abigail came inside, closing it behind her with a flick of her foot.
Preston licked his lips like a starved dog. There was something animalistic about a woman on all fours that turned him lecherous.
He sauntered to her, barking orders, “Attention.”
Abigail straightened her spine, looking like a true slave for the first time. She wore a latex dress that covered her sternum all the way to her upper thighs. Her breasts were shamelessly out, obscuring the areolas with black pasties.
Preston couldn’t resist a bite of her olive skin. He kissed the top of her breasts tenderly as he always did when he was about to be malicious. When Abigail pushed her breasts further into his mouth and moaned in ecstasy, he bit down on the sensitive skin.
Abigail retreated with a gasp.
Preston pressed down harder. Hard enough to draw blood. Hard enough to leave a mark. Hard enough to bruise. Hard enough for every man in this club to know she was his. With a thirsty suction, he licked the blood off.
“I know this mark won’t stop your hungry pussy from flirting, so I bought something that will keep you pure for your master.”
He walked to the dresser next to his liquor cabinet and retrieved a few things before walking back to her. Raising her dress so that her bare pussy was exposed, he strapped the black belt around her waist. He then pushed a plug inside her wetness and locked the straps together with a padlock. Using the cuffs that chained from the belt, he cuffed her wrists so that they hung by her sides.
“Follow me.” He made his way to the bathroom with a devilish smile. The more she moved her arms, the farther the plug pushed inside her. Knowing his whore, she’d come any second if she wasn’t careful.
In the bathroom, he held the key to the chastity belt above the toilet and let it fall, tipping the handle. Abigail’s face radiated terror as the key whirled in the water. The panic in her gray eyes made Preston want to devour her on the bathroom floor but if he started now, he’d never stop.
“You will walk behind me with your eyes down. If another man or woman touches you, I expect you to show me respect by moving close to my side. I will say and you will do. As long as you remember that rule, you should be fine.”
“Yes, Master Trice.”
They rode the elevator in silence and made their way to the exhibitionist stage. Abigail was a few feet behind him. It would’ve been much easier to collar and drag her with a tug of a leash like most of the subs crawling around this place. He released the thought as quickly as he took his next step.
Collaring meant more than a leather strap around a sub’s neck as a sign of ownership. It was far more powerful than a diamond on one’s finger. It meant monogamy. To be completely responsible for another person—to care and to love, something neither Abigail nor Preston was ready to give.
He sauntered into the foyer where dominants and submissives sat around the stage. Preston went to his usual spot. Abigail knelt by his side, her eyes to the top of her thighs. Before the scene started, Preston gestured her to look up and enjoy the show. Her reflective eyes were the best seats in the room. They gleamed and widened as the Dominatrix gagged and tied her sub.
The woman walked on top of the man in her high heels. She pressed down on his balls with the flat of her shoe as the man muffled a scream. She hit his fat stomach with a riding crop as she applied excruciating pressure to his dick. His face turned red until he came, spurts of cum landed on her shoe. The Dominatrix pressed the riding crop under his chin as the man licked the cum off her shoe.
“Master?” she asked quietly by his side.
“Yes?”
With a roguish smile on her face, she asked, “Can I do that to you?”
“Not a fucking chance.” He gave her a wink. If only for a second, he forgot about the world as her smile turned fluorescent.
He heard a familiar whistle and the connection he held with Abigail vanished in the same second it had started. Preston gave a heavy sigh. Why had he done business with a nuisance? He already saw Elliott at holidays and family gatherings, now he had to see him here, too.
“Who’s this?” Elliott said, his eyes on Abigail.
“Elliott.” Elliott ignored his friend’s warning, bewitched by Abigail’s beauty. He clasped her chin. Abigail tried to get away, but he held a stern grip and pushed her to the floor. Fear resonated off her body as she tried to push him off, albeit failing. He patted her hair condescendingly, raising her dress as he worked his micropenis out of the zipper of his jeans.
“There’s no need to be shy. You’ll be screaming for more in a minute.”
Preston settled in his chair. His elbows rested on his knees as he watched his friend intently. His index finger rested above his lip, hiding a light chuckle. Elliott could try all he wanted. He wasn’t going to get inside his slave anytime soon. He fucked anything and anyone that had a hole. Good thing Abigail’s holes were both filled and locked.
“What the fuck?” Elliott mumbled when he saw her chastity belt.
“Get your own sub,” Preston said as he helped his slave up. He guided her to the stage, whispering in her ear, “Put on your best show. Do not disappoint me.”
Abigail swiped the room with her eyes, looking at everyone who watched her with interest. Her eyes stayed with her master and then they widened in angst as he showed her the remote in his hand and turned it to the highest degree. It was a heinous crime to do this when her pussy needed healing from the torture it’d endured only a few nights before. But Abigail saw this as a test. A test she knew she couldn’t fail, so she did as her master commanded and put on the sexiest show she could.
Her hips surged forward and her back bowed as both plugs inside her began to vibrate. Her shoulders sagged, giving in to the pleasure building inside her. Her head tilted back in euphoria as a wave began to rock her insides.
It didn’t matter to Preston other men had their cocks out, receiving pleasure from watching his slave orgasm on the stage. They could admire beauty as long as they didn’t touch beauty without his approval.
Everyone around him faded into darkness as Preston focused solely on his slave who pleaded to come. His torturous stimulation had worked just as he knew it would. His slave learned to control her orgasms, hold them in as long as she needed to, even if her body was overstimulated.
“Come.” He mouthed, and like any trained pet, she did as her master said, never breaking eye contact as she whispered his name on her lips.
Preston walked to the stage and unzipped his pants. With five strokes of his shaft, he came on her breasts.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Cozy up New York! A winter storm is expected to hit the east coast Friday morning. Temperatures will be dropping to the double negatives…” Mike read on about the storm.
“This winter storm is such a nuisance!” Abigail shouted from the restroom in her office. She shimmied out of her pants and settled her bottom on the toilet. A satisfying sigh left her lips as she released her bladder. Straightening her shoulders, she stole a peek of the city from the small circular window that rested just above eye level.
Snow bled down the narrow streets, powdering the city in flecks. She idly watched the white and gray flakes fall tediously on the windowsill. Could someone remind her once again why she lived in the coldest state in the United States? She could live in Florida, basking in the sun or in California working on her tan. Yet for whatever reason, Day After Tomorrow New York was where she resided.
Don’t get her wrong. Abigail loved the city. The diversity around her made New York a true America. She enjoyed the liberties that came with not owning a car, especially in a city where everything was within walking distance. She'd also become friends with Bernie. They talked all the time in the subway when she visited Niall and Mike in East Village. Of course, Bernie was a rat but that was beside the point. All she wanted was for winter to be over.
Abigail gathered toilet paper in her
hand and wiped herself. She rolled her eyes at the sight of blood. She had doubted Master Trice would pick her up with the roads being closed because of the winter storm. Now there was no doubt in her mind he wouldn’t pass by when she was on her period.
To Mike, she asked, “If you had to contact someone, and you didn’t have their number, what would you do?”
Abigail heard a mocked gasp come from outside the restroom. “Don’t tell me you’re pregnant!”
“God, no!” The thought made her shiver.
“Google the writer,” Mike suggested. “They probably have a media following. Tweet them or something.”
“He’s not a writ—huh? That’s actually a really good idea.” This might work. Abigail reached for her phone. She typed the name Preston Trice into Google search. In less than two seconds, Preston Trice stared back at her.
The man was heaven and hell—pure sin.
Her holy grail was to get his phone number. However, a rebellious finger flirted above the Images tab. There were so many pictures of him—alone in his office, with Prime Ministers and Presidents, buildings he’d designed and built. They were top-notch extravaganza—regal and impressive. It awed her how so much talent was stored inside a human being. She could spend hours gazing through his portfolio, but her current task was to get his number, so she put his portfolio on the backburner, and clicked on All, where she found his website and contact information.
Knowing she couldn’t contact his office with Mike in the other room, she reasoned email would work best.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Exposé
Good afternoon Mr. Trice,
This is Abigail Bennett from Sinclair Press writing to you about the exposé Sinclair would like to showcase on our website. I’d love to ask a few more questions to authenticate the article.
Please give me a call. Preferably a text as I tend to be in meetings all day.
Cheers,
Collared (Masters of Desires Book 1) Page 15