Collared (Masters of Desires)

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 compose 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.