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Baby.He called me baby. Yes. Tears spring to my eyes.
And then he returns, with a smaller, narrower collar. He’s holding ankle cuffs, but the chain between them is twice as long.
Emotion floods me, and I start crying as he buckles the slender black strip of leather around my neck. I sob and sob and can’t stop. “Thank you, Master. Thank you, Master.” Horribly, humiliatingly, I sink to his feet and kiss them without even being asked.
Then I freeze. Will I be punished for my presumption?
No. Apparently he likes it when I act submissive. “I like that. Do it again,” he says calmly.
I kiss his feet over and over, and my hot tears splash on them. I press my lips over every inch of the tops of his feet, tasting the salt of my tears, sobbing and kissing and sobbing.
He stands there, accepting my utter degradation. Finally he says, “You may stand up.”
Oh God, I’ll never say no to him kissing my pussy again. I’m so grateful. So relieved. There’s an evil ache between my legs, but the freedom to move my head up and down, and take complete strides when I walk, overwhelms me. It’s afternoon before I realize that I didn’t even think to mentally deny that he was my master for hours after I left his bedroom.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
TAMARA
I spend the morning in the library, reading, eagerly devouring a science fiction adventure that lets me fly to the heavens, escaping my terrible earth-bound prison.
I eat lunch alone. But at dinner time, he joins me, and he actually smiles at me as I’m eating. There’s a twinkle in his eyes that I haven’t seen in a long time, an approval that warms my whole body.
“I loved eating your pussy this morning,” he says to me. The look he’s giving me is like a soft caress. How does he do that, seduce with just his eyes?
My face floods with heat, and my hands tremble so hard that food falls off my fork.
“Thank you, Master, I loved it too.”
“You can ask me one question,” he says.
I get the not-too-subtle message here. How could I not? He’s practically screaming the terms of my existence at me. This morning, I gave him something that he wanted. And today I wear a much smaller collar and longer chains, and tonight he’s interacting with me.
Punishment and reward. Treats for when I’m good. He’s training me like a pet.
But still…this is a win for me too, isn’t it? It was a decision I made that earned me these privileges, so doesn’t that mean I have some power over him?
Or is it all just an illusion? He’s got me so confused that I can’t think straight these days.
I consider what I should ask him. I settle on a question that I hope will please him. “What can I do so I won’t be punished, Master?”
His smile is gentle. “Nothing. I told you, I’m a sexual sadist. But the punishments will be much less painful once you give in completely. Often, they’ll be very pleasurable. Being whipped can be a truly erotic experience. Would you like me to show you right now?”
I flinch before I can stop myself, and he reaches out and strokes my hand with his thumb.
“I promise that you’ll love it. Trust me, Tamara.”
“Yes, Master,” I murmur. “Please show me.” I don’t trust him at all. What am I, crazy? But I don’t want to do anything to disappoint him. I don’t want to lose the kind, protective Joshua. I don’t want that horrible collar and the short chains to come back.
He places his hand on the small of my back as we walk down the hall, his fingers caressing me. Little thrills of pleasure radiate out from his fingertips. The sexual hold this man has on me is insane. I have no doubt that he could coax multiple orgasms from my aching flesh…if only I’d beg him for it.
And I fear that it’s only a matter of time before I do.
We go to the playroom, and he leads me to a restraint station. He has me strip off my shirt and bra, then fastens me hand and foot to a rack and leaves me for a minute.
When he returns, he says, “Ready, sweetheart?” When he calls me sweetheart, I want to melt. I want to cry with wrenching sorrow and overwhelming happiness.
“Yes, Master.” But I can’t stop my body from trembling.
