Authors: Amy Valenti
"Good girl.” He gave me a swift kiss. “And maybe one day soon, you'll wear my collar around that pretty neck of yours for real, out of the bedroom."
He moved past me out into the hallway, leaving me dumbstruck and speechless. Officially collared to Pierce? I couldn't think of anything I'd ever wanted more. A huge smile spreading over my face, I smoothed down my skirt and returned to the lab, turning to the piles of evidence with renewed enthusiasm.
Around six months passed. We were far from casual—in private, we rarely called each other by our real names, and though I challenged him when I wasn't happy with a situation, I was mainly happy to defer to his orders.
My submission to him gradually deepened, growing outside the boundaries of bedroom play. I wore what he instructed, sought his consent before making plans, and climaxed when—and only when—he allowed it. Whenever I transgressed, he punished me, purging me of the sin and the guilt it carried. Whenever I completed a task he'd set me, he rewarded me with cheek-kisses and coffee in public, and with pain and pleasure in private.
Every now and then, we debated the terms of a formal Master/slave agreement between us. Pierce even wrote things down, including what my limits in a twenty-four seven power-exchange relationship would be. I got the sense a collaring was imminent, but as weeks passed with no direct mention of it, I decided I was probably reading too much into it, and he was just being thorough as a Dom.
On the night before my birthday, on one of the rare nights Pierce was working and I was free, I found a box on my kitchen worktop, wrapped in silver paper. Nothing as frilly as a bow, of course—that wasn't Pierce's style. But the label attached to the gift told me I could open it then and there, so I did, my fingers made clumsy by anticipation.
The gift inside took my breath away—a delicate silver ring, engraved with a pair of handcuffs. The idea of being able to wear something at all times that Pierce had given me made me smile, and I slipped the ring on to my finger, wondering why he hadn't chosen to give it to me in person.
There was a note nestled inside the box, and I unfolded it carefully.
This is only the first part of your gift, little tease. Tomorrow night, your place, nine pm. Wear the ring and your wrist cuffs—and nothing else.
My birthday seemed to crawl by, and, in between seeing family and friends, I tried to imagine what my birthday scene would entail. I was pretty sure whatever Pierce had in mind, it would be amazing.
A couple of hours before our assignation, I took a long, luxurious bath, carefully applied my makeup and styled my hair just right, clipping crimson hairpieces into my hair.
I fastened my black leather wrist cuffs, leaving the connecting chain on the coffee table, just as the doorbell rang. Smiling at the weight of them, I sank to my knees within sight of the front door and called for him to come in.
The look in Pierce's eyes captivated me from the moment I met them, and the words of greeting I'd planned fled my lips. For long seconds, he was silent, looking me over, his eyes going to the cuffs on my wrists and the ring on my finger first. Then he nodded, ordered me to my feet and stepped in close.
"It suits you,” he said, running his finger carefully across the handcuff ring.
"It's beautiful. Thank you so much, Sir.” I tried to keep my attention on him, rather than the box he was holding—a box bigger than, but otherwise identical to, the one he'd left in the kitchen yesterday.
Amused, he held it out to me. “Go on, open it."
I thanked him and ripped open the new gift, trying not to act like a five-year-old at Christmas. The collar inside was stunning—heavy-duty black leather with silver studs, and an O-ring I just knew Pierce was going to love tugging me around by.
Speechless, I looked up at him, wanting to ask if this was really what I thought it was, but unable to find the right words.
Pierce smiled. “Yes, little tease. If you want it."
Then he kissed me hard, as if he could see longing etched clearly into my face, driving the thoughts from my head and the strength from my limbs. Trembling, I stood on tiptoe to press myself closer, letting him know that he was
what I wanted for my birthday, and his arms closed tightly around me, crushing our bodies together.
"Happy birthday,” he said when we drew apart. “The ring is for you to wear at all times. The collar, I expect you to wear at home, unless we have company."
He brushed his fingers over my naked neck, and when he spoke again I knew a dramatic shift in our relationship was beginning.
"You know what these gifts signify?"
It was a formality. We both knew exactly what was happening.
"They mean you own me, Sir."
He nodded approvingly. “They do. Once I put the collar around your neck, you'll become my slave."
I let the words leave their signature on my soul, finally allowing myself to believe.
His property. Owned by him. Collared to him. Bound to him.
He read the wonder and excitement on my face and smiled. “Are you still with me, little tease?"
I grinned, realising I'd been miles away. “Yes, Sir. Sorry."
"Stay there and close your eyes."
He moved away from me as I complied, and I listened to the sounds of him moving around.
A shock went through me as something cold brushed my breasts, and I gasped, realising it was the cuff-chain I'd abandoned on the coffee table. My nipples hardened, partly from the chill and partly from the touch, and I sighed when Pierce's warm mouth replaced the cool of the metal, his tongue teasing each peak for a fraction of a second before he withdrew.
Aching for his touch, I waited. Pierce took one wrist and clipped one end of the chain to the cuff, then repeated the motion with the other, restraining my hands behind my back. I couldn't help but give a tug at the cuffs, testing the restraints.
"Open your eyes."
I did, to find him looking me up and down with an expression that made me want to melt.
He circled behind me, and it took all my willpower not to turn my head to follow his movements. I could feel his appreciative gaze heating my skin.
"I should make you come to work like this,” he said idly.
Oh God, oh God, oh God...
The pleasurable ache between my thighs intensified at the thought, and I tried to hold still. But if there was a hotter scenario in the world, I couldn't find it.
"I should make you give me evidence reports while I push inside you and finger-fuck you until you can't stand..."
Had I just thought there was no hotter scenario? I'd been wrong.
Biting back the urge to beg for his touch, I squirmed a little, squeezing my thighs together to try and ease the demands of my pussy.
Pierce slapped my ass lightly as a reprimand, barely hard enough to sting, and I tried to relax. “I'm sorry, Sir."
"Since it's your birthday, I'm gonna go easy on you for that, little tease,” he said, but as I met his eyes I saw he didn't expect as much control as the words implied. At least, not tonight.
"Thank you, Sir,” I replied softly.
He smiled, stepped behind me again, and there was a rustle of clothing as he stripped off his shirt. When his chest pressed against the bare flesh of my back, I almost fell back against him.
He encircled my waist with his arms and pulled my body in line with his, my bound hands pressing against his obvious arousal. I closed my eyes as he began to trace his fingers back and forth over my abdomen, travelling lower with each pass. His measured breath against the side of my neck was driving me insane. For what seemed like an eternity, I waited.
He finally brushed one fingertip across my clit, and I couldn't help but cry out. The touch was gone as quickly as it had come, his hand moving lower, exploring my pussy with infuriating slowness. When his finger returned a second time, I clenched my hands reflexively into fists, pushing them back against Pierce's cock. His breathing caught, and he began to work on me in earnest, plunging two fingers inside me, bearing down on my clit with his thumb at the same time.
Shaking now, I tried to concentrate on keeping upright, involuntarily pushing down on his fingers, unable to keep from gasping out incomplete phrases of encouragement—
Oh my...oh, yeah...more, please, you have no idea what this...ah! Just like that, just a little more, oh God, I'm so...
And all the while he kept his fingers moving, adding a third as I moaned unrestrainedly. The only things keeping me from collapsing were his free arm wrapped around my waist and my own willpower.
"And Santoro...Layton...Beaumont...all the techs you work with... If they all walked in to find you there, hanging in my arms, trying to remember what a fingerprint match is while I had three fingers buried inside you...I wouldn't stop. I'd let them watch the show, let them see you're
It was too much—I could hardly stand it. I'd thought I couldn't get any more turned on, but his words lit a fire in my mind that burnt all the way down my body, and without warning I found myself on the verge of climax.
"Permission to come, Sir?” I whispered desperately, terrified I wouldn't be able to hold on for his assent.
For a long moment, he drew out my torment, and I felt myself beginning to tip. Mortification dawned in my mind as I realised I was going to disappoint him, and it was enough to pull me back from the edge for an extra split second, long enough for him to growl in my ear, “Come for me, little tease. Let me hear you..."
His palm grinding down against my clit was all it took. I cried out wordlessly, riding wave after rhythmic wave of pent-up pleasure as it ebbed from my muscles. He withdrew his fingers, holding me up as I sagged against him, trying to regain awareness of where I was.
"Thank you, Sir,” I murmured, as soon as I could remember how to talk.
"You're my slave in everything but name, little tease,” he said when I could stand without support, his gaze intense and affectionate all at once. “Are you ready to wear my collar?"
"Of course, Sir."
He really has to ask?
He kissed me, and I melted against him again, basking in my Dom's love. Drawing back, he told me, “Go to the bedroom, kneel and wait for me."
Without further discussion, I did as he asked, dropping into position beside the bed.
It was at least ten minutes before he joined me. I resisted the urge to fidget, feeling my nervous expectancy fade to calm acceptance. The message was clear—this would happen on his terms, not on mine.
After a while, he entered the room, stood in front of me and said, “Look at me, little tease."
I did, drinking in the sight of him as my eyes travelled up to meet his. He held the collar in both hands and, as I watched, he unbuckled it, then gestured for me to stand up.
"Do you consent to become my slave?” The words were as formal as any wedding vow, and I answered accordingly.
"I do, Sir."
"We'll work on your slave contract more over the next few days. For now, turn around and hold your hair back, little tease."
I did, closing my eyes as the leather strip brushed against my throat. It took him a couple of seconds to fasten it, but when his hands dropped away, the collar settled around my neck. It was little weightier than the play collar I'd been wearing up until then, and my newfound status finally hit home.
As he gently turned me to face him, my eyes filled up with tears. I wasn't actually crying with happiness, but I was close.
Pierce looked into my face, a small smile on his lips. “My slave,” he said, kissing my forehead and enfolding me in his arms, squeezing tight. “My beautiful little tease."
"Yours, Sir,” I whispered against his shoulder. “All yours."
This was a gift I would carry with me always.
Faye appeared at the top of the basement stairs, wearing a suggestive smile. I looked up from the box I was clearing out, playing dumb. “So?"
She rolled her eyes, skipping down the stairs to stand in front of me. “Santoro's into kink, Sir."
I stared her out, knowing exactly where she was going. “I noticed."
She bounced a little on her toes as she realised I wasn't going to make it easy for her. “Permission to speak freely, Sir?"
I drew it out—the idea of bringing Santoro into our game was one I was pretty happy with, and I felt almost playful. “Am I gonna regret it if I say yes?"
"No, Sir.” Her eyes begged me to hear her out.
I relented, keeping my amusement inside for now. “Go ahead."
"Can I call Santoro out here to come and play with us, Sir? Please, pretty please..."
Santoro had always carried himself a little delicately on certain Monday mornings—sitting down slowly, keeping his wrists covered by his shirt to hide the cuff-marks, occasionally wearing a turtleneck to hide the marks left by overzealous use of lips and teeth.
Faye was enough for me on her own, but earlier this week, I'd noticed her watching Santoro with a small, secretive smile hovering about her lips. When I'd questioned her about it later, she'd said, “Oh, come on, Sir. He's probably been bound and gagged all weekend..."
"You noticed too, huh?"
Her answering giggle had been devilish, and I'd tugged a little on her collar, prompting her to meet my eyes. “Think he knows about us?"
She'd pondered that question, weighing up variables before shaking her head. “I don't think he could hide it if he knew."
"Want to tell him?” I'd asked casually, and heard her breath catch even as I'd turned to pick up my coffee. I'd already known the answer—it was just a matter of time until Faye enticed him into our bed.
I hadn't expected her to jump at the chance this quickly, though. It had only been three days.
I pretended to consider it, turning away to set down the box of junk. Faye waited in silence, watching me, showing more restraint than she had when I'd first began to top her, nearly a year ago. She'd come a long way, and I was proud of her.