Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“You’re cold,” he said, his voice full of concern. “Here.”
I watched him retrieve his tuxedo jacket from the chair he’d left it on. He draped it around my shoulders, pushing me down with gentle pressure to kneel on the floor atop my crumpled dress.
Though I hadn’t been invited to, I wrapped my arms around his thigh, clinging to him as I looked earnestly up at him and asked, “May I please suck your cock, Sir?”
The body part in question moved against his left thigh, a growing ridge beneath his pants. He palmed the back of my head with one big hand, but said, “No. Not yet. I haven’t given you the rest of your gift. Stay there.”
He left me alone so long that the marble floor warmed beneath my knees. I kept my eyes downcast and listened to the echo from his shoes as he returned. Every part of me reached out to him, though physically I wouldn’t dare. It was my place to kneel and wait, and I knew my place. By the time he stood directly in front of me, the polished toes of his glossy black shoes mere inches from my knees, my panties were plastered to my vulva.
“Look up.”
I raised my eyes. The artificial candlelight flickered on the gleaming metal and sparkling diamonds of my collar. He unfastened the clasp and tilted it toward me. “Read what it says.”
There, engraved in the formerly unmarked surface inside the shining platinum, were words that made my cunt tighten on frustrated emptiness. I licked my lips. My voice trembled as I read, “Property of Neil Elwood.”
“And what does that mean, Sophie?”
I wanted to speak without tears in my voice. It was a losing battle. “It means that I belong to you, Sir. Every part of me is for you to command. To touch. To fuck. To hurt.”
He tilted my face up with two fingers, pinning me with his intense gaze. “You knew that already.”
“I did.” I closed my eyes and a tear slipped down my cheek. “But it says ‘Neil Elwood.’ It doesn’t say ‘Leif.’ It doesn’t say ‘Sir.’” There was a reason for that, a reason that made my heart as tight and achy as the rest of my body. “It means…this is between us. Not between Sophie and her Sir. Not between Chloe and Leif.”
His thumb skimmed over my cheek. “It means that you are mine. My only sub. There will never be another.”
My chest hitched, but it took a moment to realize I was crying from the sheer joy of the moment. We had pledged our love as husband and wife in front of our friends and family, but this vow went deeper. No one saw my collar, apart from Neil and me. No one knew the depths of my submission to him, or knew him as their Dom. What was between us in our roles as Dominant and submissive would always be our most sacred, secret vow.
“Lift your hair,” he murmured. My hands trembled as I did, and when the cold band of the collar touched my throat, I held my breath until the clasp locked into place. Then, he stepped back, turned away, and ordered, “Follow me.”
He hadn’t told me to get up, so I crawled behind him on my hands and knees, the jacket falling from my back, leaving me exposed. He paused and turned, leaning down to run his fingertips from the small of my back over the round curve of my ass, following the line of my thong as it slipped between my cheeks.
“You dropped something,” he said. “Go and pick it up.”
I rose onto my knees, and he made an admonishing noise.
“I didn’t tell you to use your hands.”
Oh my sweet fuck, he was going to make me carry his jacket with my mouth. It was so perverted and degrading. I squeezed my thighs together and stifled a moan at the anticipation that weighed heavy in my pelvis. When I turned, he got a good look at my ass in my thong. I could feel his stare and practically feel the need radiating from him.
One of the things I find amusing about Dominance and submission is, no matter how much power Neil has over me, I hold his desire in the palm of my hand. While he got off on controlling me, ultimately, he wanted to fuck me. He wasn’t good at denying himself sexual pleasure. He’d only punished me by withholding intercourse a handful of times, and both of those punishments had turned into rewards when he gave in and took me up against a wall or bent over some piece of furniture in the middle of the next day.
Tugging the jacket along with my teeth was tricky business. If I placed a hand or a knee wrong, I pulled the coat from my mouth and, with it, a trickle of humiliating drool. I wondered if it was such a great idea to be smearing saliva, makeup, and floor all over a very expensive tuxedo jacket, but it wasn’t my place to say. Besides, I didn’t want to stop.