With This Collar (Mastered)

by Cartwright, Sierra

  Dare she?

  She went back to his business website and clicked on the Contact Us page. There was a picture of him in a suit—a typical headshot—a brief bio, concluding with the reassurance that he really did want to hear from people. Boldly she took the next step and clicked on his picture.

  The next page didn’t provide his email address, rather it had a number of blanks for her to fill in. She hovered the pointer over the first field before exhaling and moving her hand away from the mouse.

  What was she doing even contemplating a hook-up with a billionaire? He was out of her league, and she knew next to nothing about the kinky lifestyle he professed to live.

  With a sigh, she closed her web browser and turned off the computer. She picked up the paperback before heading to the master bathroom to turn on the bathwater. Tonight a shower wouldn’t do. She needed a long, leisurely soak with bubbles, wine, a book, and a fantasy.

  An hour later, she’d read a hundred scorching pages that had left her feeling restless. She’d finished the glass of wine, and she’d reheated the bathwater twice.

  Myka slammed the book closed, dropped it on the floor, leant back against the bath pillow, and closed her eyes. Part of her wished she’d never read a page. She was more aroused and dissatisfied than she ever remembered being. Suddenly she knew what she’d been missing, what she’d been craving.

  Every one of her sexual experiences had been ho-hum and boring. She’d had plenty of missionary sex. One guy had preferred she be on top. She’d broken up with her last boyfriend six months ago, and clearly the drought was getting to her. How else could she explain the fact she suddenly wanted Phillip Dettmer to tie her hands behind her back and bend her over the bed? He’d use a silk scarf, or maybe handcuffs… He’d tell her, in detail, what he was going to do to her before slapping her ass hard.

  She opened her eyes. It was almost as if she could feel the pressure of his open-handed strike on her buttocks.

  What the hell was going on? Myka had always been practical and realistic, never given to flights of fancy. She’d studied hard, graduated with honours, and secured a great job. But now…

  She climbed from the bathtub and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel. Maybe it was because she’d read the book, or from the risqué lunch conversation, but she was more turned on than she remembered being. She grabbed a vibrator from the nightstand drawer and lay down on the bed.

  After turning on the switch, Myka parted her thighs and placed the egg-shaped vibrator against her pussy. She finally admitted the truth to herself. She was aroused, not from the book or from lunch with her friends. It was the chance meeting with Mr Dettmer that had her on edge.

  The scent of him, combined with his aura of authority and bold words, had turned her on. The humming, pulsing sensation pushed her to the edge. She continued to move the egg against her swollen clit, but the orgasm loomed, just out of reach.

  Reaching for a climax, she dug her heels into the mattress and turned the vibrator to its highest setting. She surrendered to her imagination and pictured things that Phillip Dettmer might do to her. She pinched her right nipple as hard as she could. The pain was exquisite. Would he do the same? Or would he use clamps on her? In her fantasy, he squeezed her breasts hard, then yanked on her nipples, showing no mercy.

  She doubted he’d be afraid to use scarves to tie her up. In fact, in her imagination he used bondage gear to tie her to the bed and rip orgasm after orgasm from her poor body. He’d be relentless in his demands. Even when she begged for mercy, he’d refuse to grant her any.

  He was completely in charge of the situation. His only requirement was surrender.

  In her fevered imagination, she submitted to him. She had no idea what that really meant, but she wanted to find out. She wanted to kneel for him, to follow his orders, to get rid of her inhibitions with a man who wasn’t afraid of her sexuality. For her, that was what it was really about. Even when she was in a committed relationship, she masturbated while her boyfriends were at work. No matter how much sex she got, it wasn’t enough. And when she articulated that, the men had seemed offended, as if she’d questioned their manhood.

  Her pussy got wetter and wetter as she imagined Phillip Dettmer’s hands on her body. His touch wouldn’t be gentle, but it would be what she needed.

  The lunch with her friends had been liberating. Kathleen had got what she wanted in her new relationship. Meghan had got her boyfriend to spank her. So it was possible…

  Myka tightened her grip on her nipple and imagined Mr Dettmer slapping her pussy hard.

  The idea and the slight pain was enough to make her cry out. Then she pictured him, naked, his cock erect, digging his hand into her hair before forcing that big dick inside her needy pussy. The image of him fucking her relentlessly pushed her to the edge.

  Wave after wave assailed her. She’d never had an orgasm this sustained. Shock waves of sensation flooded her pussy. This was what she’d always wanted, dreamed of.

  Soon the intensity from the vibrator became too much, and she dropped it, leaving it humming on the mattress while she drank in gulps of air.

  It took a full minute for her to breathe normally again. Finally, she sat up and switched off the small egg. Her legs were wobbly as she donned a nightshirt.

  The climax had been good, and yet the odd restlessness persisted. Usually she slept well after an orgasm, but not tonight. Scenes from the book teased her, only she was the heroine of the story and Phillip Dettmer tied her, spanked her, tormented and clamped her. He administered the pain she craved, until she screamed her pleasure and begged for the relief that he repeatedly denied her.

  Even though she slept fitfully at best, she was awake twenty minutes before her alarm clock rang. Her heart beat quickly, and her blood hummed as if she’d already had a pot of coffee.

  Sometime during the night, she’d reached a decision to get in contact with Mr Dettmer.

  She wanted the experience he offered, at least once. He might be disappointed in her, but she’d have the memory to last a lifetime.

  Before she could change her mind, she powered up the computer. While it was booting, she went into the kitchen and made a cup of coffee from her single-cup brewer. She took a long, fortifying sip before opening her browser, selecting the last site from her history, and clicking on his picture.

  She filled in her contact information. In the blank space for her message, she wrote, “Met you in the elevator yesterday. I’m curious.”

  Her hand shook as she hit Send.

  Myka spent the next hour alternately wishing she’d never sent the email and obsessively checking for a response.

  She was on the way out of the door, a to-go cup of coffee in hand, when her cell phone signalled an incoming email. She juggled the cup, her purse, and her tote onto the hallway table. There was no way she could tolerate the suspense of not knowing if the message was from him.

  Her heart momentarily stopped then raced on madly.

  The subject line read, “Call me.” There was no message, just a phone number. She collapsed against the wall and stared at the screen. She only had to touch the number to dial him.

  Dare she?

  Finally she took a deep breath and touched the number. The phone gave her the option to confirm her choice.

  This time she didn’t hesitate. She’d made up her mind.

  “Dettmer,” he said.

  Oh, God. She’d forgotten how rich his voice was, how compelling. With a single word, he made her damp. “Hello…” She paused, uncertain how to address him. Sir? Phillip? Mr Dettmer?

  He waited. Even through the phone lines, she sensed his patience. “It’s Myka Monroe. We met yesterday in the elevator.”

  “How was the book?” he asked.

  “You don’t waste time on small talk, do you?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “It might make it a bit easier.”

  “Is that what you really want, Myka? For me to make things easier for you? Or do you wan
t to confess to me that you played with yourself last night while you thought of me?”

  She gasped.

  Before she could formulate an answer, he spoke again. “How many times did you come, Myka?”

  The dialogue in the novel had been one of the things that had turned her on most, but now that Phillip Dettmer, the Phillip Dettmer, was being so blunt, she found herself flustered. “Just once,” she said.

  “Did you use a toy, or just your hand?”

  “Uhm… A toy.” The word sir was on the tip of her tongue, and she almost, almost, used it. She’d never had that kind of inclination with any man before, but then she’d never met a man this powerful, this self-assured, this unyielding.

  “Tell me more. Where were you? What were you thinking of?”

  Thank God she hadn’t returned his call from the office. “Last night I took a bath.” She paused, but he didn’t fill the silence. She sensed he’d wait her out, no matter how long it took. Nervously she continued, “I had a glass of wine and I read for about an hour in the tub. You know, the book I had in the elevator.”

  Again he said nothing.

  “Then I went to bed with my vibrator.”

  “Continue.”

  With her free hand she pushed hair back from her face. “I was thinking about scenes I’d just read, but my imagination took over.” Admitting all this was embarrassing. Part of her wondered what she was doing. Myka reminded herself that she’d sought him out. “I was tied up.” Before courage could completely desert her, “I imagined a sharp slap between my legs.”

  “On your pussy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Say it.”

  “I imagined being slapped hard on my pussy.”

  “And then you came?”

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “Has anyone ever done that to you?”

  “No. Never.”

  “And would you like to have your pussy spanked hard, Myka?”

  Oh. God. She could barely breathe. There was something about the tone of his voice—seductive and firm—that undid her, seeming to send a bolt of electricity through her.

  “Answer the question, Myka.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Speak a little louder, please.”

  This man would never let her hide. Was she brave enough to face him? “Yes,” she repeated, a little more loudly. “Yes, I’d like to have my pussy spanked.”

  “Good girl.”

  His approval made her heart race.

  “What kind of real experience do you have with BDSM?” he asked.

  “Uhm… None.”

  “But you want your pussy spanked. And you want me to be the one to do it.” He waited a moment, and then added, “Ask me, Myka.”

  Her knees felt weak and terror vanquished her voice.

  With that seemingly infinite patience, he waited.

  Finally she cleared her throat. Hoping she was using the correct words, she asked, “Will you please spank my pussy?”

  “I’d be honoured to spank your pussy, as hard as you want. When?”

  She almost repeated the question before realising how inane that would sound. “Whenever you’re available.”

  “We have a few options. You can come to my home. We can go to a club. Or I can come to you. Or you can continue to wonder what it might be like to have your needs met.”

  She hadn’t considered the practicalities. If she went to him, she had the option of leaving if things spiralled out of control. At her place, she would feel more secure. She wasn’t sure about the idea of playing in public, but that was probably the safest option, at least until she knew him better. “I think a club would be best.”

  “Would you like me to send a car?”

  She paused for a moment. There were constant reminders of who she was dealing with. She was pretty sure he didn’t mean he’d send a taxi. “Yes, thank you.” Not needing to figure out where to park was the decision-maker for her.

  “Monday night?”

  Suddenly it all seemed too real. “Yes.”

  “Wear a short skirt and heels. The shirt should be a button-down. I’ll leave the choice of undergarments up to you. They won’t stay on long, anyway.”

  Her hand was shaking as he ended the call. She pressed the phone nervously against her chest. What had she just agreed to?

  Get your copy now

  About the Author

  Born in northern England and raised in the Wild West, Sierra Cartwright pens book that are as untamed as the Rockies she calls home.

  She’s an award-winning, multi-published writer who wrote her first book at age nine and hasn’t stopped since.

  Sierra invites you to share the complex journey of love and desire, of surrender and commitment. Her own journey has taught her that trusting takes guts and courage, and her work is a celebration for everyone who is willing to take that risk.

  Email: sierracartwright@hotmail.com

  Sierra loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.

  Also by Sierra Cartwright

  Signed, Sealed and Delivered

  Bound and Determined

  Her Two Doms

  Clandestine Classics: Jane Eyre

  Naughty Nibbles: Fed Up

  Naughty Nibbles: This Time

  Bound Brits: S&M 101

  Night of the Senses: Voyeur

  Subspace: Three-Way Tie

  Bound to the Billionaire: Bared to Him

  Halloween Heart Throbs: Walk on the Wild Side

  Homecoming: Unbound Surrender

  Total-E-Bound Publishing

  www.total-e-bound.com

  Take a look at our exciting range of literagasmic™

  erotic romance titles and discover pure quality

  at Total-E-Bound.