AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The box mocks me. So do his words.
I still think what he said is bullshit. Whatever is inside doesn’t have the power to make me either fully commit or flee. He doesn’t know me—even if he knows how to make me beg for his cock and his kisses.
My cheeks heat with shame as I remember the actual begging, how I promised to be a good little pet for him if he would just let me come. I begged with my words and my gaze and the deep muscles of my cunt that squeezed and rolled the length of his meaty cock.
“Fuck it!”
Swearing at the empty room, I sit up and reach for the switch on the lamp. My hand dips at the last second to lift the box from the lid and explore his gift in the dark.
Carefully, I place the top on the floor, standing it upright between the bed and nightstand. Returning to the box, I trace its edges before my fingers brush lightly across the surface of packing tissue.
I remove the layer of paper and brush my hands over the contents.
Something leather or latex—I can’t tell. Either way, it has no business being in an Alstrom’s box. It’s not high-end enough or old enough for the company.
Frowning, I remove the item and drape it across my lap. I am more than a little disappointed that the gift consists of nothing more than thin straps and metal rings.
Unaided by light, I try to figure out its shape and purpose. I count nine metal rings, their diameter that of a quarter. My brows lift with a sudden realization as to what it might be. With a little snort, I turn on the light and confirm my suspicions.
Montgomery is a drama llama. The one-piece leather harness is kinky—but in no way persuasive. There is almost as much to the outfit as the dress he had me wear earlier.
Taking the harness with me, I move to the mirror attached to the dresser. It takes a few seconds and several experimental positions, but I figure out how the outfit is intended to fit.
I put it on and look at my reflection. A triangle of dark brown leather frames each breast. The thickest strap runs between my legs, but the slit in its center ensures my pussy remains easily accessible.
My dripping wet pussy, judging by the glistening thighs and small beads of moisture dotting the ends of my exposed hair. Just putting the outfit on has made parts of me hungry for Montgomery’s cock all over again.
Staring at the mirror, I reassess the gift. I am still confident it is not enough to make me break the contract. But now I must consider if it will ensure I stay. I focus on the way my body responds to wearing the harness. My nipples are hard, swollen. My pussy rhythmically tenses.
Switches I didn’t know were wired into me are suddenly flipped on. My fingers dance with the need to explore the slitted panel along the crotch, to see just how much pressure it takes to part the leather and penetrate my pussy.
Not my pussy—Griffin’s.
For the week at least. If I am going to stay, I still can’t touch myself without his permission. I cannot come without his permission.
With a soft groan, I bring my hands up to tease my breasts, plucking at their painfully swollen tips in search of relief. My hips respond to the hard tugs on my aching nipples with a rough jerk forward.
Fuck…oh, fuck…don’t come...not allowed...mustn't come.
Snatching my hands away from my breasts, I release a shaky breath and turn to the nightstand. Bending down, I retrieve the lid, my movement slowing as I notice how much tissue remains in the box.
Peeling back the layers of paper, I see the hint of more leather. This leather is old but well oiled, much more like something Alstrom might auction. Then I see a ruby inset within one broad strap, a gold grommet holding it in place.
I push a little more tissue to the side, exposing the straps’ edges and more precious stones.
I lift the object until it is free of packing tissue. The leather wrist restraints trigger a memory of the final auction at Alstrom’s that I attended on behalf of the charity I last worked for.
No part of the memory is pleasant. The auction was right before the charity exploded with a scandal of embezzled funds and coked-up sex parties. Only the director had been implicated in that shit storm, but his behavior tainted everyone professionally associated with him. Of the dozen people I worked with, only two landed somewhere else and only at entry-level positions.
The rest are waiting tables or living off savings…
Or signing on as weeklong whores for billionaires.
Lifting the restraints from the box, I take care in examining them. Their donation, along with several other items in the deceased collector's gift, had caused a bit of a stir. The auction at Alstrom's had been carried out through a closed circuit broadcast—the bidders unknown to anyone but the auction house.
Dan—the bastard of a director who fucked everyone over—guilted me into assisting the auction master by wearing the restraints, accurately guessing that seeing a pretty enough girl in them would fuel a bidding war. I had been uncomfortable in front of the camera, both because it had been so long since I had so many eyes focused on me (no matter how hidden the audience) and because of the restraints around my wrists and the auction master's questions that grew bolder as the bids rose higher.
Are they comfortable, Kate?
