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“Sophie,” Neil called. “We really do need to go.”
“It isn’t that far of a drive,” I reminded him, stepping into a simple, iridescent black organdy gown with full, gathered straps.
Neil waited for me in the bedroom, still disappointingly in his jeans and button down white shirt with the sleeves rolled back. It wasn’t that didn’t I appreciate his forearms—oh, did I ever appreciate his forearms—but I’d hoped that he would get a little more spiffed up for my birthday.
“You look fantastic,” he said, giving me a slow, appreciative survey from the top of my head to my forest green velvet Manolo pumps.
At least, he’d gotten us a spiffed-up ride. I was rarely impressed with Neil’s supercars, but the Aston Martin Vanquish that waited for us beneath the porte-cochere took my breath away. I hardly ever remembered the names of the particular models, so that spoke very highly of the gleaming silver and sleek lines. It was the automobile equivalent of a gray silk nightgown, and very sexy.
Neil held the passenger-side door for me while I demurely folded my legs in. “I take it you’re concealing a surprise?”
“Not a surprise, no.” I waited for him to get into the driver’s seat to add, “I mean, it’s my birthday. You’re supposed to be surprising me.”
We pulled through the gate that warned of the danger of electrocution ahead—a particularly smart touch on Neil’s part to conceal the building
“We’d like to film everything this evening if you don’t mind.” It sounded like a casual request because it was; Neil and I both loved having sex on camera, so the ask was no big deal. It made for some fantastic masturbation material later.
I agreed readily. “Obviously!”
“What we have planned is fairly hard tonight,” he warned. “Do you want to know before we proceed?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek as I considered. I loved being surprised, and the element of fear that came along with not knowing what would happen made it so much more exciting. “No. But I reserve the right to change my mind on that after we start if I have to.”
“Of course,” he said. “You know you always have the option to stop or change what we’re doing.”
We had that in common; if Neil or El-Mudad became uncomfortable with our game, they could end it just as I could. That trust and mutual consent was intoxicating and freeing.
When we entered the building, the large, octagonal center room blazed with gold-tinged light, reminding me of a ballroom from a costume drama.
Once, long before it had been developed into a baroque sex dungeon, Neil had gone two thousand extra miles for my birthday, transforming this room into a Beauty And The Beast fantasy complete with a copy of Belle’s big, poofy ball gown made just for me. He’d even gotten into the spirit with breeches and a blue velvet tailcoat, but he’d drawn the line at actually dressing up as the Beast. “I’m not a furry, Sophie,” he’d argued. We’d had a lavish dinner and dancing with an accompanying string quartet, then we’d watched the animated movie on a huge inflatable screen on our vast lawn. Neil hadn’t even fallen asleep or complained during it, which would have sufficed for a birthday present all on its own.
I wondered if El-Mudad would indulge me in Beastly role-play sometime.
Not that tonight wouldn’t be appropriately beastly. The main room had been set up a little differently than usual. The bondage frame faced the fireplace, above which was a brand new flat screen television. I secretly hoped it wasn’t permanent; I really liked the back-in-time vibe of the place.
There was a camera, too, aimed strategically at the frame, but with plenty of room between the two, and a laptop positioned discreetly on one of the ornate antique tables near the hearth.
“Go get your collar,” Neil said, already commanding as he set about turning everything on.
Despite our on-site security, the signs warning anyone away, and the fact that only Neil had a key to the building, my collar was always locked up tight in its own safe. That was because it had cost Neil three-point-six million dollars. It was custom made, sized perfectly to my neck—I didn’t even want to know how Neil had taken that measurement—and crafted out of platinum and large diamonds, resembling an anniversary ring. I punched in Neil’s code—the ever juvenile and easy to guess “6969”—and pulled the handle when the lock beeped. My collar was the only thing that resided inside, its impossibly sparkly diamonds twinkling at the first hint of light.
I took it out and traced the inscription on the inside. Property of Neil Elwood. He’d given the collar to me only weeks after we’d started dating. We’d been pretty serious about each other even then, but he’d waited and had it engraved with those possessive words when we’d gotten married, as part of my wedding present.
