Out of the to-do list she’d made almost a week ago, she only accomplished three tasks. She went to the gynecologist just as her master ordered. She’d gotten a check-up and was tested for all kinds of STDs a person could have. Her results were all negative just as she knew they’d be.
Since Abigail got the contraception shot within the first seven days after the start of her period, she was cleared to have unprotected sex.
She’d waxed herself and edited two chapters of Katie Mahony’s book.
But she didn’t find the time in her schedule to talk to her brother or have lunch with the mother she worked with. Or buy herself a new pair of underwear. Why would she when Master Trice was going to rip them?
Hearing the familiar sound of her ringtone, Abigail walked to the kitchen to check the screen. She knew who she wanted it to be, and when the caller ID read unknown, her heart skipped a beat.
“Hello?”
“You’re wasting my time,” he said by way of greeting.
Curiously and precariously, she walked to the window she’d been facing earlier. With a sweep of the curtain, she saw a black SUV parked outside. The roof of the car looked like it had been sprinkled with powdered sugar. How long had he been waiting?
“I’m sorry, Master. I’ll be right out,” she said to no one. He’d already hung up.
This was going to earn her some beatings. She was sure of it. Pulling a coat from the closet in the foyer, she shrugged it on and walked out the door with only her keys and cellphone, just as Master had said.
She didn’t expect him or his chauffeur to be waiting for her outside and offer the courtesy to open the door in the blizzard. It would have been nice, though.
With a hard tug, she opened the car door. Her eyes went to the man sitting on the farther side of the leather seat. His legs were spread apart in a relaxed manner, though she could tell by the rigid grip on the glass in his hand he was anything but. The brown liquid whooshed as it rested against his anxious thigh.
He wore black slacks and a crisp white shirt. The sleeves were rolled to the elbow, showing masculine arms. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone. No tie. He was as handsome as she remembered.
Master Trice let out an annoyed sigh. “It’s getting cold, whore. Get in or close the door.”
She shook her head, getting rid of unfiltered images of him naked, and did as he commanded. She reached for the seatbelt and strapped herself in. She wanted to be polite and say hello but was scared it wasn’t her place. She knew enough about D/s relationships to only speak when approved by her master.
“Do you think you look beautiful?” Master Trice asked condescendingly.
She turned to face him, confused by his question. Was it a trick? “I... Yes?”
He pinched her chin. “You look like a sad fucking clown and you smell like the streets of Manhattan. Pure rodent infected garbage.” His manicured fingernails bit into her mandible. “When we get to my house, you will shower. I want to taste you, not cheap perfume. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Master Trice,” she said, without blinking, afraid if she did tears would spill down her cheeks.
He let go of her and focused his attention on the glass of liquor in his hand. He swallowed it in a gulp. The way his throat worked to swallow the dense liquid was so sensual, Abigail couldn’t stop staring.
“Is this the new whore?” At the unfamiliar voice, she remembered they weren’t the only passengers in the car.
By the way the chauffeur adjusted the driver’s seat to rest his foot on the gas, Abigail could tell he leaned on the shorter side. He wore a suit similar to that of her master but where Trice wore it with elegance, the man looked stuffed. His head was smooth and as shiny as the reflection of the moon on the dark waters of a lake.
“Yes. I’ll let you try her some time.”
Abigail felt him staring at her in the rear-view mirror. He raised a tweezed brow. “She’s got nice tits.”
“She does. Show him, whore.”
Abigail’s breath hitched. She felt hands around her throat, though no one was choking her. She thought about saying no but thought better of it. Trice was her owner. He owned her from Friday evening to Sunday afternoon. Those were their terms. She’d do as he said.
Releasing her seatbelt, she removed her coat to show near-naked shoulders. She shrugged off the skinny straps that held her shirt up and watched it cascade down her torso. Wanting nothing more than to please her master, she’d worn no bra, so her breasts were bare for the men to see.
“Nice.” The chauffeur licked his lips like a starved dog. He really should keep his eyes on the road. “Are they fake?”
Abigail’s eyes closed as she felt Trice move close. Her clit tingled with desperate anticipation. This was the first time he’d touched her, and she couldn’t hold back her moan when his cold hand grabbed her left breast. Her hand clutched the leather cushion and her teeth instantly clasped around her lip as he tweaked her nipple harshly. She was afraid she’d come on the spot.
“No. They’re real,” he said, slapping it. “Very real.”
The men’s chuckles lingered in the air long after they’d laughed.
Abigail felt self-conscious as if the men were making fun of the breasts she never felt belonged to her in the first place. And because she felt scrutinized and as small as an ant, she found the whole transaction arousing.
The work rush made it impossible to turn left as pedestrians crossed the walkway even when the screen didn’t show the silver figure. Most New Yorkers owed their good shapes to the city. If they lived anywhere else, they’d be as fat as hippos.
It took them almost forty minutes to get to a destination that would have taken them ten minutes on foot. New York City traffic wasn’t a joke, especially in the midst of a blizzard.
The chauffeur steered the car to an underground garage where he let Abigail and Master Trice out. Trice swiftly got out and walked to the elevator. Abigail, on the other hand, had no idea what to do. Should she pull her shirt back up or should she leave it down like she had the entire car ride because Master didn’t state otherwise?
They really needed to talk about their expectations. She looked at the man in the front seat for guidance, but he stared at her with a bored expression. She figured it was time for her to bounce. Pulling up her shirt, she got out of the SUV and followed behind Trice.
The elevator doors were about to close when Abigail finally caught up to him.
“You’ll be the first sub I’ll have chained to my hip. Make me wait one more fucking time, whore. I dare you.”
She swallowed a visible ball. “I’m sorry, Master.”
“Actions speak louder than words.” She was going to say more but he stopped her. “You will speak no more.”
They rode the elevator in silence. All eighty-seven floors. Abigail had never been in such a constricted space for that long. It made her nauseous. She glanced at the blinking buttons.
Floor forty-five.
Forty-two more to go.
She felt a bag around her face, caging her oxygen. Her fingers clasped the railing behind her as the image of Master Trice began to slowly blur. If Trice noticed her discomfort, he didn’t show it. He stared ahead the whole ride up as if she wasn’t even there.
Abigail tried to reach for him, for what, she wasn’t sure. She knew he wouldn’t help. She’d have to get in his elevator at least twice a week. She needed to get used to this sooner rather than later.
When the doors finally gaped, Abigail was the first to step over the threshold. She walked into the foyer of his home with clammy skin and a pacing heart. As the foyer expanded into a massive living area, she thought of the possibility of Master Trice taking her on the curved sofa facing a modern fireplace. She saw herself being fucked against the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf—so vigorously that books would fall down on her head. Or maybe he’d exhibit her body to the outside world as he fucked her on the balcony that oversaw Central Park?
His home looked too s
terile, lacking sentimental value. The only warm colors in the room came from the fire brewing in the fireplace. Abigail wanted to peek more into the man that was Master Trice, but to her left, she saw glass and to her right was her master staring down at her.
“You will walk behind me. Never in front of me.” His honeyed voice tickled her ears. “You have no place in my home. You have no room. You will sleep on the floor next to my bed and will be ready to please me whenever I want. You will only wear clothes when it’s time for you to leave. Get it through your head, you’re nothing but a sex toy.”
He continued, “Now, remove your clothes and take a shower. When you finish, you will come back here and sit on the floor next to that chair. You have five minutes to get ready. Don’t make me wait.” Dismissing her, he turned and went into the kitchen.
She removed her clothes and hung them on the hanger in the coat closet. On the first door down the hall, she found the bathroom.
Abigail turned the shower the hottest it could get and waited for the steam to smear the mirror she looked into. After all she’d done to look pretty for him, she was going to remove it all. She thought about picking up her hair so that it stayed wavy, but she didn’t want to get in any more trouble with him, so she left it loose to be wet and shampooed.
When the mirror didn’t fog, she placed her hand under the rain to find it as cold as she imagined Antarctica was. She turned the handle to the other side and waited a few seconds for the water not to change temperature. Fuck, he had to be kidding.
Didn’t he know it was January? Didn’t he know there was a blizzard storm right outside? Of course, he did. He just didn’t care. His sadistic ass!
Abigail cursed him the entire minute she was under the showerhead. Because the water was torturous, she decided not to wash her hair. If he beat her for it, so be it. She wasn’t going to get a cold, especially with the flu going around.
It was when she stepped out of the shower that she saw the hand towel she was supposed to use to dry her 5’4 body. As much as she was pissed at him, she thought he had an interesting sense of humor. What kind of person would do this? She chuckled when no answer came to mind. He was cruel and she enjoyed every minute of his cruelty.
Once she was less than half-dried, she stepped out of the bathroom. Wet prints were left behind Abigail as she found him in the living room. Her master sat by the fire with a magazine in his hand.
He looked poised and at peace. Whatever he was looking at, brought him immense joy. Abigail was curious about it and so she stepped forward as quietly as she could, wanting a sneak into what her master read.
“Did you enjoy your shower?” His voice startled her. He’d caught her, so she made herself known and walked further into the room.
She internally scoffed at the nonchalant way he asked but decided to humor him instead. “It was lovely, Master. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He placed the magazine down and waited for her to kneel by his feet.
His fingers found a home in her hair, he untangled the waves as he asked questions about her week.
“I see you’ve waxed. Good girl. Tell me, did you also go to the doctor’s office as I asked?”
She willed her eyes to stay down when she really wanted to roll them. He didn’t ask. He never did.
“Yes, Master Trice. I have the report in my coat.”
“Go get it.” She stood and started to walk back to the foyer. “Whore?”
She turned. “Yes, Master Trice?”
“Crawl.”
Her lips tugged upward as she bent on all fours. It pleased her to hear him intake a sharp breath as she crawled away, giving him her backside. The icicles on her skin had defrosted by the time she came back to him with the results on her lips.
With his index finger and thumb, Master Trice took the paper from her plump lips. Before she lowered her gaze, she saw the dent in his pants. She clenched her thighs, afraid her arousal would stain his very expensive rug.
“It says here you decided on the shot as contraception. I’m pleased.”
“Thank you, Master Trice.” She nuzzled her cheek on the inside of his thigh. She felt his dick snake toward her lips. It was firm and strong.
Her heart rose to her throat as he lifted her face to his. His eyes observed her as if it was a myth and not a reality. Trice focused on the freckles dotting her nose as if he was counting each light circle. He moved closer, boring into her eyes.
She too moved forward. She closed her eyes and licked her lips, feeling his hot breath on her cheek. Chills returned to her nape, covering her body like snow. It felt like she had a fever. She was hot, but her body was shivering.
Their lips touched.
Like a current of electricity, she felt the kiss everywhere in her body. Her toes curled. Her nails dug into her thighs to keep them from shaking.
It’d been so long since she’d been kissed, she felt like a virgin that night. She let him take control of the kiss when she really wished she’d straddle his lap and impale his dick inside her. Ride him as well as she did the subway.
She opened her mouth wider, accepting his kiss with gusto as she moaned into his mouth. His tongue caressed hers with a brush of bourbon. She sucked it into her mouth, already drunk on the sweet taste.
His hand burrowed into her butt cheeks, drawing her close to him. She stood on her knees and deepened the kiss further. They weren’t kissing, they were doing something entirely different with their mouths that neither could name. It was slow and fast. It was sensual and erotic. It was earth and outer space. It was something Abigail had never experienced. She was sure it was a first for her master too.
He dragged his teeth along her bottom lip. Abigail whimpered when she felt him tug starkly. He did it again until the kiss tasted metallic. She tried to pull away, but he held her face in place. He was biting her furiously now and Abigail felt her tongue swell as beads of crimson dripped from her lips onto her thigh.
He breathed harshly into her ear almost beast-like. She knew if she looked into his eyes, they’d be as dark as the night.
With an ambiguous tone, he said as he caressed her cheek with his, “Don’t ever rest your cheap face on my expensive pants.”
He stood, pushing her away.
“Come,” he called for her.
Dazed by what’d just happened, she stood on weak knees and followed behind him. Unlike the hall she’d walked into when she showered, this one was dark. With every step her master took, light shone from above almost as if Apollo himself placed a halo on his head.
At the end of the hall stood a red double door that covered the entire wall. Gold tridents were placed three quarters below the door for handles. It looked majestic and attractive enough to pique Abigail’s curiosity. Nevertheless, she gnawed her already injured lip as she reasoned with the devil on her shoulder.
She could do this. She was strong. She was smart. This was what she wanted.
“What’s your safeword?” he asked when they both stood in front of the door.
Abigail had known for a long time what her safeword would be. It was a word that represented peace after a struggle. And because she wanted to adequately represent her rebirth, she’d chosen it without a second thought.
“Rainbow.”
He pulled a key from his front pocket and inserted it below the trident. The door opened with a soft push of Master Trice’s hand.
Curious as ever, Abigail followed behind him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The room was everything Abigail imagined it to be and more.
Unlike the futuristic design of the living room, this room looked like it was taken from the early sixteenth century. It wasn’t due to the gold candelabras that impressively hung on the crimson walls. Or the large vintage chest drawer that resembled the color of Master Trice’s hair. The velvet chair in the middle of the room wasn’t the reason why it looked more like a medieval museum than a room built in the twenty-first century.
What gave the room an
antique ambiance were the apparatuses decorating every corner. To Abigail, they looked more like torture devices than machines made for sexual pleasure. Having had to take a classic literature course about the early books in history, she remembered most of the names of the apparatuses.
The Breaking Wheel was used to slowly break the bones of criminals. There was also a torture rack that was used to stretch the limbs of its victims. A chair with the legs spread wide sat in the room, accompanied by a stock, a St. Andrew’s Cross, and a table with restraints from head-to-toe.
When Abigail looked up, she saw spiked points staring back at her. She was afraid that at any moment, the cage would fall and puncture her body. There was an abundance of barbaric apparatuses that were built of metal like the iron box with restraints on all corners.
She felt overwhelmed just as she did on the tour of his club days back. Her eyes were opened to a whole new world. One she’d only read about in fictional stories.
Her body quivered as she stepped forward in front of a wall that housed a variety of floggers, paddles, whips, chains, and other equipment she’d never seen in her life and couldn’t even guess the name.
Her hand came forward to touch an enticing paddle that looked like it was made of icicles but heard the clearing of a throat and drew her hand back.
She was a slave. Slaves dare not look. Slaves dare not touch.
Abigail stepped back. She had plenty of questions to ask Master Trice but knew it wasn’t her place. And even if it was, she didn’t want him knowing her ignorance of this life, though she was sure he already knew.
The only good thing she saw at being the second sister-submissive was she’d be able to inquire Lauren of the questions she wanted to ask him.
“We are going to start with the basic positions,” he said. “When you walk into this room you will sit in a kneeling pose in that corner. Go and kneel.”
She walked to the corner he pointed at and did as was commanded. Her butt cheeks rested on the back of her feet. Her thighs parted. Her eyes were cast down.
“Move forward, cross your hands, and open your mouth. This is how you show me you’re ready to please me.”
Collared (Masters of Desires Book 1) Page 6
