Abigail’s anxiety dissipated at the entertaining scene happening next to her.
Preston grasped his hair as his eyes gazed at the wet spot in his trousers. He mumbled something about her bodily fluids draining his dry-cleaning bill. Abigail hid her smile with her hand.
Now they were even. He ripped her clothes. She stained his.
The elevator yawned to Preston’s foyer.
There stood a beautiful blonde—a beautifully naked blonde.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
She was the most beautiful woman Abigail had ever seen. Her presence oozed elegance. It demanded respect and recognition. Her skin was flawless, absent of any scars. Her hair was a wreath of wood shavings that leaped with every step she took toward her.
Lauren reached for Abigail’s hand. “I’ll get you ready for Master Trice.”
Abigail turned to Preston, but he was already gone. It wasn’t the reaction she had expected. Master Trice would’ve shut Lauren up. He would’ve straightened her curls with a harsh tug of his fingers. Instead, he disappeared, letting another take control. Though he’d warned her about the change of rules, she couldn’t help but think this was unlike him. Nevertheless, she stayed quiet. Like an obedient pet, Abigail took Lauren’s hands, following the new rules of her owners.
She guided her down the hall and into a room she’d never been in before. Through the weekends at Master Trice’s home, she’d only explored his bedroom. This room looked like a typical guest room. Glass windows, a bed with an impersonal duvet, and similar decorations. There was nothing special about it other than the woman who’d taken her into it.
Abigail was the first to break the silence. She extended her hand and exchanged pleasantries. “I’m Abigail.”
Lauren bypassed the shake. Instead, she brought Abigail’s fingers to her lips and kissed the pads of every digit. Abigail felt her cotton lips everywhere in her body. It was human instinct to retreat to such daring welcome, but she was mesmerized by the romanticized act—by the color of her eyes, the dulcet tone of her voice as she asked, “Have you ever been with a girl before?”
She shivered at the gentleness of her touch. At the way her lips kissed her neck, her chin.
“No.”
“A virgin,” she hummed. The purr was similar to that of Mr. Grey. With their lips centimeters apart, Lauren whispered, “I’ll make sure you never forget me. Now get cleaned. You taste like sex.”
Abigail nodded and retreated to the bathroom. She took a warm shower and dried herself with an adult-sized towel for the first time in Preston’s home. Although she enjoyed the hot shower, it was yet another reminder of the change in rules.
She didn’t understand why things had to change with Lauren around. Why was she now allowed a decent shower? Why couldn’t she sleep with her master? Was Lauren jealous? Surely not. She’d slept on his floor just as his other submissives had and had endured all, if not more than what he’d done to Abigail.
She wondered about her scars. Where were they? Where were the bruises that brought color to her otherwise alabaster skin?
Was her body too precious to be marked—her face too grand to be stained with tears?
It was too soon to reach a verdict on how she personally felt about Lauren. She neither liked nor disliked her. All she knew was she hated having to sleep with another and detested the way it had changed her master. By tomorrow she’d have an answer. She was sure Lauren would have one, too.
If Lauren didn’t like her, would Master Trice throw her away? Or would Abigail be able to bargain with Lauren’s existence in their relationship? Unless…Lauren was Master Trice’s hard limit. If she was, was Abigail willing to lose him because of her?
She wrapped the towel around her naked body and stepped out of the bathroom to clear her mind. The steam of the shower had condensed her brain for far too long.
In the bedroom she found Lauren sitting on the armchair by the window, sipping on a cup of tea.
The aroma of mint circled her body like pixie dust. Her legs were slim and long as they stretched along the ottoman. Her breasts were small, and her nipples were pierced with hoops. If for a second, Abigail had the desire to crawl to Lauren and sit by her side, but she refrained from the urge.
She would only kneel to her master.
No one else.
“Come,” Lauren’s dulcet voice tickled her spine, commanding her legs to move.
Abigail released the towel that wrapped around her nudity. Over the last weeks, the idea of shame and embarrassment when it came to her own nudity had vanished. What most people—including herself at a time—saw as vulnerability she now wore it as a jeweled crown.
“I was informed of your period. Have you ever used a menstrual cup?”
“I’m not heavy. I can just use a tampon.” Lauren stayed quiet, waiting for Abigail to answer her initial question. She cleared her throat. Jeez, she was Master Trice’s female version. “No, I have never used a menstrual cup.”
A wicked smile grazed her lips. “This will be fun. Sit here.” She patted the ottoman where her legs had rested and stood as Abigail sat down.
Lauren came out of the bathroom with a pink object in her hands. “This might feel uncomfortable at first, but it’ll be worth it. With this on, I’ll be able to suck your clit and penetrate you just enough to make you come in my mouth.”
Abigail licked her drenched lips, feeling hot all of the sudden. “You fold it in a U shape and insert it inside you. It’d be my pleasure to help.”
“Umm, okay.”
With her upper body on the chair and her lower body on the ottoman, Abigail opened herself to Lauren. The light touch on the gentle skin of her inner thighs created moister inside her, making for the cup to easily slide inside.
Abigail sat on the ottoman, giving Lauren her back as she braided her hair. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the pull of her hair, the massage on her scalp. So many questions floated over her head.
How had she met Master Trice? How long had she been with him? What was the worst thing he’d done to her? When and how did she know she had a submissive desire? What did she do for a living? Did her family know what she was sexually into?
“I’ve heard so much about you. I feel like I’m meeting God.”
That elicited a smile to form on Abigail’s lips. God? That was a little over the top.
“Thank you, unless you’re an evangelist. Then I should probably say, I’m sorry to disappoint.”
Lauren chuckled. “You’re funny.”
“You think so? I think Master Trice thinks I’m annoying.”
“Master has no sense of humor.” She tied the end of Abigail’s Dutch braid. “There. Turn to me now.”
Abagail faced Lauren. Her eyes were so blue they resembled the Caribbean Sea. She was sure she’d seen them somewhere but didn’t know where. With a long index finger, Lauren traced her jawline. She swiped her bangs to the side, running her thumb over the light scar that rested just below her hairline.
“What happened here?”
“I fell off my bike when I was five,” she vomited the words.
“Did you like it? The pain, the blood...”
Abigail sucked her bottom lip. It’d happened years ago. She didn’t remember much about that day other than a nurse telling her she had been a brave girl for not crying through the sewing of the stitches.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Abby. Why must you be humiliated by a man who cares not of you to be aroused?”
Woah! Where had that come from? Here Abigail thought she’d been making a friend, opening herself up to Lauren, literally. Where she was getting at, Abigail didn’t know. It could have been a daft question with no true meaning behind it, but Abigail took it to heart. She was tired of having to explain herself to others. She owed no one—especially Lauren who was a stranger, any explanation for her sexual needs.
Not even Preston who she was in a D/s relationship with had ever asked her that. Because he understood her—because he knew of all the
stigma that surrounded people like them. He didn’t need to question her needs, let alone her desires because he had them, too.
She need not be ashamed or troubled by other’s opinions because her master accepted her just as much as she accepted him. Truly and wholly, without reproach. Until today, she hadn’t known how alike she and Preston were.
Her chest expanded at the sudden epiphany.
She might not know Lauren’s motives behind her scrutiny, but one thing she knew was she wasn’t going to let her get inside her head.
Abigail stood and went to the door, her hand on the knob, ready to leave. “I’m ready for Master Trice.”
She found Preston by the fireplace in his usual Friday evening spot. Kneeling by his feet, she found her home, she found her Yang, she found herself.
Her maroon nails dug into her thighs, creating crescent moons. Abigail was determined not to let her emotions show.
Not now.
Not in front of Preston. And definitely not because of a conniving woman’s words.
His fingers wrapped around her chin. Her lip quivered as she met Preston’s eyes. For the first time, they showed something other than apathy.
“What did she say?”
Abigail shook her head and climbed on top of Preston.
Knowing he’d punish her for such a brazen move, she gifted him a kiss. It was nothing compared to what he’d given her, but it was a start in expressing her gratitude.
This thanks wasn’t written in blue ink. It was tangible, given to him on a golden platter.
A throat cleared in the background. Preston rested his forehead on hers as he breathed heavily. He kept his eyes closed, shielding any emotion. Abigail became fearful of what she’d see when he opened them.
Anger?
Remorse?
Would he push her away? Embarrass her in front of Lauren? Or would he ignore her, knowing it would hurt her most?
His eyes slowly opened. They looked everywhere but at her. Guess he’d chosen the latter.
“Get off me.” Master Trice stood, snapping his fingers behind him.
Both women obeyed his command, following their master into his Torture Museum. Discarding the women by the door, Master Trice sat on the velvet chair that rested in the middle of the room. He spread his legs as with his eyes he told Lauren what to do.
Abigail knelt in her usual spot in her usual position, awaiting orders. The anxiety of waiting, of not knowing the plans created for her by her master, made for arousal to moisten her pussy.
“Open your mouth. Suck.”
Abigail did what was asked of her and sucked nipple clamps into her mouth. Lauren bit her nipples with the clamps. Abigail let out a loud gasp at the sudden bite. The gasp was soon subsided by a pleasurable moan as her clit became hyperaware of every movement her body made.
Her eyes became obscured by a silken piece of fabric. She was then guided and placed in the torture rack. Her ankles were fixed on the stock and her hands tied above her head.
The flicker of a lighter and the scent of vanilla oceaned the room. Abigail squirmed in the device, clamping her nipples further. Lauren used sensory, temperature, and bondage play all in one scene. But Abigail was more than ready for the torture portion to start.
Of course, Master Trice waited patiently as any sadist did to their masochist.
It was when she least expected that her back bowed from the rack as the first drop of wax settled on her skin. The inability of knowing where the next drop would fall, and the knowledge that as much as she tried to move, she’d never get away heightened her pleasure.
Her body was hot, sizzling against the wax. She welcomed every welt and blister that formed under the scorching temperature. The drops poured on her shoulders, breasts, stomach, inner thighs, and labia. She screamed when the hot liquid settled on her clitoral hood.
“Shh,” Lauren cooed but didn’t stop. Abigail felt sharp teeth remove the dried wax from her clit and lips. Then a soft tongue cooled the warmth that had settled on the sensitive skin. It parted her slit with finesse—enough to make her wanton.
Lauren stilled. Her hoarse breathing was the only indication she remained in the room. She moaned lusciously against the lips of Abigail’s pussy. And then skin began slapping against skin. Master Trice groaned and Lauren kept moaning, and Abigail appreciated the blindfold all the more.
She wondered if this was Preston’s way of saying you’re welcome because her heart shrunk in size—the pain was all-consuming.
Her body replaced the emotional discomfort with the physical pleasure of Lauren’s expert tongue. It languidly traced geometric shapes on her slit. She pressed two fingers inside her as with her other hand she tugged on the chain.
Her left ankle got released from the stock and placed on Master Trice’s shoulder. Abigail failed miserably in getting away from the electricity her body emitted at the touch of his hands. A sharp blade sashayed on the inside of her calf. It pressed on her skin in warning, daring her to come.
The fire and the wax, the blindfold and the threesome, the restraints and clamps, the knife made for an out-of-body experience that had her touching the stars. Abigail came with a loud cry as she felt the warmth of her blood slide down her leg. She hummed at the touch of her master’s lips on her skin, sucking the blood.
The room was quiet for minutes. The only sound came from the breathing of three sexually sated beings.
A door opened and closed.
If for a frightful second, Abigail thought she had been left alone but then someone was removing the rope around her wrists and the stock on her right ankle. She sat on the rack. With her hands now free, she removed the blindfold. Her body was covered in red and white studs. Her nipples felt numb, yet aware at the same time. Her calf was bleeding, streaking blood on the floor where Master Trice’s weapon of choice laid.
“Help me clean this up. We’ll shower and take care of those wounds when we’re done.” Though her body endured no scars, she looked satisfied and sounded sated. The woman standing before her did not compare to the intimidating woman from before or the inquisitive one who’d asked such personal questions.
Not a word was spoken in the ten minutes it took them to clean the room. Not until they were in the comfort of their own room.
“I didn’t mean to insult you earlier,” Lauren said as Abigail submerged in the warm water of the clawfoot tub in the en-suite of their shared bedroom.
Abigail stayed quiet.
Her eyes examined every move Lauren made, wondering if she was a friend or a foe. She dropped green leaves in the clearness of the water. It soon turned a light green color. Lauren didn’t get in the tub with her. Instead, she settled on the floor and ran a washcloth over her back.
“It was but mere curiosity,” Lauren continued, her voice soothing. “You must have explicit reasons for wanting to feel pain. I was trying to get to know you better. That’s all.”
“Shouldn’t you know the answer, though? You’re the same to him.”
“I might’ve been the hole he used but you were the one who got him off. Believe me when I say, you and I are not the same. Not in his eyes.”
Abigail hugged her legs, feeling shy suddenly. Resting her cheek on her knees she said, “You’re in love with him.”
Lauren showed a sad smile as if knowing her love for Preston was her demise. “Aren’t you?”
“No.” Abigail wasn’t sure how she felt about him. She wasn’t sure if she felt anything at all, really. All she knew was he’d given her desires validation. And for that, she will forever be indebted to him.
Her sad smile turned into an eloquent smile. “You will soon.”
She was getting ready to say more, but Lauren stopped her.
“Did you enjoy our scene today?”
“I did.”
“I’ll let Master Trice know. It’s time to get out. Stand.”
It didn’t go past Abigail how Lauren demanded—never asked.
She wondered if Preston was aware he h
oused another dominant and not two submissives. Figures, Abigail had wanted to kiss her feet since the very first day she met her.
“This will bruise by tomorrow.” Lauren pointed to her neck. “You might have to wear a scarf or choker throughout the week.”
Abigail panicked. “Shit! I have a birthday party Sunday.”
“I can conceal it before you leave. I’m very good with makeup.”
“That will work. Thank you.”
Lauren told her she was here to help and to never be afraid to ask anything of her. As long as she could, she would provide for all her needs. She covered Abigail’s body with Aloe Vera gel and bandaged her calf. She offered her a cup of chamomile tea to help her sleep.
Abigail swallowed the warm liquid fully. Feeling her lids become heavy with sleep, she retreated to the bed. Lauren covered her body with silk sheets to help the small welts on her stomach. She spooned Abigail from behind and whispered something incoherent about being perfect before planting a soft kiss on her shoulder.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Aftercare was an essential part of a D/s relationship. It was when the dominant took care of the submissive after a scene that trust began to build. If neglected, it could be detrimental to the submissive’s physical and mental health. When given, it was an emotional intimacy that went deeper than any wound.
No less than twenty-four hours had passed since the women had met, and Lauren knew more about Abigail than Master Trice did. That was the power of aftercare.
As Abigail discussed her previous scenes with Lauren, Lauren reiterated her bravery for enduring such painful pleasures. She spoon-fed her and caressed her body in a way no other person had done before. She cared for her outer appearance, providing zinc capsules to help with the bruising around her neck.
Abigail was beginning to see Lauren as a friend, not a foe—definitely not an opponent.
Feminine laughter was heard from outside Preston Trice’s guest room as the women shared stories. Their room felt like a sorority rather than two submissives waiting to be summoned by their master.
Collared (Masters of Desires Book 1) Page 18
