“No limits?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I trust you.”
“You remember your safeword. I refuse to do anything unless the submissive is enthusiastically willing.” He squeezed my hands, his gaze boring into me. “I trust you to vocalize your boundaries.”
“I will.”
“Then let’s see how this feels.”
He removed a collar—a synthetic band with a buckle strapping it together—and a metal linked leash. He held it up, reading my expression.
“A pet is a dynamic role,” he said. “You wore a collar before. I’ve thought a lot about what you said. You as my pet.”
I realized that I had forgotten the collar I had worn for him. I was glad he had his own for me. It felt more authentic. Earned. I lifted my hair, offering him my neck.
“A pet is not a passive role. Your position isn’t only to take. It’s to give. To force what you desire. To take, and to give in return.”
He wanted to collar me. Like a pet.
His pet.
He linked the chain leash to the collar and dropped the links, only holding onto one end. It was weighty, heavy, dragging down. He led me through the equipment, and with everyone glancing at us as we made our way through, I felt elegant. A prized possession. I almost thought we were going back to the same area where he had first spanked me, but then we veered in the other direction, and came to a hallway, with various rooms off to the side. I crossed my fingers that Jessica was too busy to notice us, and if she did? I could claim it was for the contest. An on-the-field analysis. Couldn’t I?
In the back of the hallways, the corridor ended in a large open area, with various medium-sized sculptures resting on small display columns, almost like a temple. A large chair, an ornate design, painted in gold, with shiny tufted cushions, rested on a platform in the back. A throne room.
Nate put the end of the leash in my hand, then went forward and took the seat. He leaned back, his arms spread over the chair, taking up space, his presence demanding. His eyes lingered over the room, as if this were his kingdom, his gaze finally coming to rest on me.
I looked down at the chain in my hand, then back to him. It was as much of a physical act of giving me the control of my actions, as it was an emotional one. His words echoed through my mind:
I need a woman with her own mind. To earn my dominance over her.
His eyes held me. He licked his lips. Sitting on a chair, raised, looking down at me, he was a king, and I was below him. But he couldn’t take his eyes off of me.
“Crawl to me,” he said. Warmth surged through my body, making my skin instantly flushed. It was a mind game. He had talked about wanting someone strong, someone to force into his control, but wasn’t there strength in submission? Power in being able to surrender to what you desired? That was what we had been arguing over Berkley for a while now. Did he want me to literally crawl to him, or was he testing me, seeing if I would obey him? Did he want to see if I was boringly obedient, or if I was a disobedient little brat?
But I wanted to obey him, with everything I had.
“If you are my pet,” he said, a hint of agitation in his voice at my lack of response, “then crawl to me. Give me your leash.”
I kneeled down, placing the cold, heavy chain between my lips. I leaned on my hands and crawled to him, the dirt on the floor caking my palms, my knees aching from the hard ground. At the foot of the platform, I looked up at him. He glared down at me. His shoe, those dress shoes I had seen him wear on campus, peered over the edge, a reminder of his status above me.
But that wasn’t quite right, was it?
Something inside of me made me keep going. I climbed up, first onto the platform, then onto the chair, then I straddled his lap. His bulge was hard against me, and I let the chain drop from my mouth. I wiggled into him, my hips pressing against his cock. His lips parted.
I could play this game too.
“Your leash, sir,” I said.
“Mara,” he growled.
“Your pet,” I corrected.
With those words, he grabbed my ass, hoisting me up. I straddled him, holding on as he went down the platform, the metal leash dragging against the floor. He pressed my back against the concrete wall. The sudden change made my core ache with need, and I opened my mouth, ready to take whatever he gave me. He kissed me, his tongue deep, searching mine, ravaging me. Our tongues caressed and danced, and his hand wrapped in my hair, one hand on my ass, pressing me closer to him. When we broke apart, he tore off my shirt, and my breasts bounced in my bra. His mouth watered. He squeezed my breast.
“You’re mine, Mara,” he said. “My pet.”
I moaned at the sound of my name on his tongue, and his cock twitched against me.
