Collared (Masters of Desires)

The blizzard storm had covered the streets of New York with inches of snow. For the brave souls that stepped outside, the icy roads made for a death sentence. Wipers stuck to the windshields of taxis, making it impossible to move the flurries that took residence on the glass.

On a day most used to run errands and check off items from a grocery list, have picnics at Central Park or shop at Saks on Fifth Avenue, people stayed home. The city looked more like a desert in the hot Arizona breeze than the Big Apple. It was quiet outside, but for the impatient drivers who blared their horns.

A raven flew to one of the highest buildings in the city. It clasped its claws around the railing of the balcony, seeking shelter from the downpour. The raven shook its feathers, making it look like it was covered in salt and pepper.

The image brought a smile to Abigail’s face. It was the first time she’d smiled since last night. She wanted to step out and care for the bird, but she was naked, and it was snowing outside. Those two were ingredients for a cold.

So, she stayed on the floor and snuggled deeper into the cotton comforter. Her eyes closed as she swam in the citrus smell of the sheets. They smelled just like her master—manly, delicious, uniquely him.

Her heart sped. Her eyes grew wide. She leaped from the floor, releasing the comforter as if it was burning her fingertips. Holy hell she had his comforter in her hands. When had she gotten it? Last she remembered she was shivering from the cold.

Did she steal it from her master’s bed in the comatose of sleep? Her eyes went to his bed to see it made with a different comforter. Quickly, she gathered it in her arms and folded it. Not knowing where to place it, she slid it under his bed.

If he didn’t mention it, she’d pretend it never happened. If he asked her where it was, she’d give it back to him.

She inhaled a languid breath that turned into a yawn. Her body flexed and stretched its limbs. They felt old like they belonged to a fifty-year-old and not to a young woman of twenty-four.

As Abigail walked down the hall and to the bathroom, she thought of reestablishing her nonexistent workout routine. If she was going to endure all of Trice’s punishments, she needed to do it with a firm body and strong bones.

On Monday, she’d have a chat with Mike and ask him to join her on weekly workouts. It was much easier to work out with a partner than on her own. That way, it would feel more like weekly hangouts with her brother and not the impertinent chore it really was.

Abigail brushed her teeth and examined her welts as best she could. They looked worse than yesterday. Her back wasn’t just smeared in red but now tinted with hues of purple, yellow, and green. She reached under the sink and unclasped the medicated tube. She tried once more to reach the areas she couldn’t before.

Outside, a phone rang but Abigail paid it no mind. Her cuts were her number one concern right now. They hurt but what hurt most was her denied release.

Twice he’d done it, and she had a feeling he was going to punish her again today with the same excruciating treatment. All because he couldn’t get over her. She rolled her eyes. As if that was her fault.

Master Trice was keeping her on edge because she’d “teased” him last week. She didn’t know how she managed to “tease” him all the way from her home and workplace.

They needed to have a conversation so that she could know what she’d done to make him think she didn’t deserve an orgasm. She’d been good. She’d taken all his whips like a fucking Olympian gold medalist, and on her first time. For that alone, she deserved three orgasms. Not fifty whips!

Rinsing her hands of the ointment, she heard the ring again. Before she got out, she ran her fingers through her hair and brushed her bangs. She looked at herself in the mirror and saw a different woman.

One who’d been fucked and flogged. One who’d accomplished her dream. One who’d made a man so crazed, he’d fucked her against a wall. Against a wall, she now had to paint.

She couldn’t believe that’d happened. How he ran his tongue up her collarbone. How he bit the thin skin below her ear. How he kissed her. God, did he know how to kiss. What that tongue could do to her pussy she’d never know.

Her thighs clenched at the possibility. Her hand slid down her inner thigh. It was damp with the orgasm she never had. Her skin turned to bumps. She could make herself come with three simple circles. She closed her eyes. One. Her body trembled.

No. She couldn’t do it. Who knew how long he’d deny her next orgasm? Master Trice was crazy enough to place a chastity belt around her pussy.

Hearing the phone again, she stepped out of the bathroom and made her way to the living room.

Just like the streets of the city, the house was empty. The only sound was the crackling of firewood and the impatient person who couldn’t understand whoever left their phone didn’t want or couldn’t answer them despite the many times they called.

Seriously, people could be so persistent.

Abigail found the black iPhone rattling on the coffee table. She reached to get it but knew that would get her in trouble, so she settled on the couch and stared out the window. Before she got any more comfortable, she decided her place was on the floor, so she knelt by the coffee table instead.

There again, the phone rang. Abigail snuck a peek at the caller ID. Mother, and she’d called Trice five times. What if it was an emergency? Abigail looked around the grandiose space, searching for her master, but he was nowhere to be found. Knowing this would get her in trouble but reasoning it could be an emergency, she reached for the phone.

“Good morning.”

“Pres—Who is this?” a feminine voice asked, amused.

“Hi, this is Abigail Bennett. Um, Trice isn’t here at the moment…”

“Are you Preston’s new secretary? He never lets them answer his personal phone. Oh, God! Are you sleeping with my son?” the woman sounded intrigued, relieved, and jolly.

“Preston? Do you mean, Trice?”

“Yes, Preston Trice. That’s my son.”

Preston Trice. Now, she knew his name. His full name. It suited him.

“No, I am not his secretary,” Abigail said in answer to the woman’s question.

Abigail was sure Mrs. Trice was clapping on the other line. “Oh, this is just marvelous!”

She bit her lip. She had said far too much. She must zip it. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Trice. I really should get going. Could we please not mention this to Tri—Preston?”

“What are you apologizing for? This brings me great joy. How about we have lunch sometime? I know this little taverna outside the city. The food there is delicious. Oh, we must meet!”

“Abigail.” Her body began to shake.

Oh, no.

No.

No.

No.

No fucking no.

She whimpered when she turned around and saw darkness in Master Trice’s caramel eyes. He was furious. And, shit, he looked hot.

He wore gym shorts and a light gray shirt drenched in sweat. His hair looked like a sexy mess that begged her fingers to comb through it. She licked her lips.

“What are you doing, honey?’ his nostrils flared when he said the last word.

“I—the phone kept ringing. I—I thought it was an emergency…”

“Give me the phone.” She handed it to him. He grabbed her wrist and pushed her down on her knees. “Mother.”

With a handful of her hair, he dragged her to the chair by the fire. He turned her back close to the flames. It felt like her skin was burning her already skinned cuts. As he spoke to his mother, Master Trice played maliciously with Abigail’s hair. He tugged it as he parted it down the middle. He twirled it in a bun and then let it loose down her back.

As long as Mrs. Trice stayed on the phone, Preston wouldn’t do anything harsh to Abigail. All she needed was for Mrs. Trice to keep talking. Abigail was sure the woman didn’t need a hand with that. After speaking to her for less than five minutes, she learned Mrs. Trice was a talker.

“No. She’s not available for lunch. Goodbye, Mother.”

No.

Preston placed the phone down on the coffee table. Abigail didn’t dare look up. They stayed quiet for a few minutes. With each terrifying second, her breathing accelerated.

“Ask me, whore, how I thought this day would go. Go on.”

He had a great poker face. But it stopped fooling Abigail long ago. His voice, although it dripped like sweet honey, was poisonous. The soft kisses he planted on her shoulder burnt her skin like acid.

Abigail didn’t want to answer. All she wished to do was apologize for her mistake. She felt her hair being pulled and winced.

“How did you think this day would turn out, Master Trice?”

“Well, I thought you’d wake up. Crawl to me, unzip my pants, and offer your mouth. I thought you’d been such a good girl yesterday, taking the whips like a warrior and not coming. I told myself that you deserved a reward. Ask me, whore, what I was going to gift you.”

Her head started shaking. Her shoulders trembled. “What were you going to gift me, Master Trice?”

“I was going to tie you to my bed on all fours, drip wax over your wounds. I was going to kiss your thighs, spread them apart, and fuck your cunt with my mouth until you came over and over again.” Abigail moaned at the perfect picture he painted. “But then you did this. And now, that can’t happen. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, Master Trice.”

“You will be reprimanded. It’s the only way you’ll learn.”

He stood, pushing her aside. “We’re going to play a game. I will count to ten and you will hide. Anywhere you wish. When I find you, prepare yourself, whore, because I will be relentless. I have had enough of your fucking disrespect!”

If she ran, he’d catch her. If she hid, he’d find her, and the punishment when he found her would be much worse than if she ran. She didn’t know what to do, so she stayed in the living room, staining the white rug with tears, blood, and arousal.

“Eight.”

She looked up to her master and saw an abyss of darkness covering his features. For the first time in her life, she saw a man turn into a beast. His hands grew venous claws. His teeth grew sharp. His back curved with uprooted muscles. His bones cracked loudly.

“Ten.” He turned to her. Their eyes locked. Dark to light. Light to dark.

She bolted.

Where to, she didn’t know. She ran and ran. She was sure she’d touched every square inch of his penthouse. She could hear his solid steps behind her, loud like a giant.

She loved the chase as much as her master loved the hunt.

As she ran, she couldn’t help but think of what he’d do when he found her. What punishment he’d inflict. Her breathing quickened. She ran until she collided with a chest. Abigail didn’t need to look up to know whose chest her cheek rested on. A cry left her lips. It sounded like it came from a wounded animal and not an aroused woman. But wasn’t she an animal in his eyes?

Master Trice patted her hair, soothing her quivers. “Shh, shh. You had no chance, whore. I am faster than you.”

That was the truth. She never had a chance of escaping his wrath. He’d enjoyed making it seem as if she had a choice when they both knew she didn’t.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. The phone didn’t stop ringing and I thought it could’ve been an emergency. She’d called five times.”

“You thought wrong. You too have a mother. You should know the signs of an overbearing one. You’re scared. And yet you answer back to your master with ill excuses. Tsk. Tsk.” He raised her chin. “Have you learned nothing? I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You will receive no pleasure today. Those wounds on your back that have started closing will reopen today with a cane. I will gag you. If you must use your safeword tug on my shorts. And then, I will fuck you and you will not come. Sad, huh?”

“Pitiful,” she whispered.