He didn't have to see her face to know she’d been hurt. Not wanting her saddened on such a special day, he tightened his arms around her, hoping the small gesture told her he was okay, they were okay.
“Don’t speak anymore.”
When the elevator yawned to showcase his home, Master Trice made his way down the hall and into the bathroom.
He sat her in the middle of the bathtub and turned on the faucet the highest it allowed. Abigail tried to escape the burning water, but he stopped her with a firm push on her shoulders. He watched the change of her fair skin turn a blush pink as the heat of the water engulfed her naked body.
“Don’t fucking move.”
Giving her his back, he searched the vanity for an unused toothbrush. He squeezed toothpaste onto the soft bristles. His fingers blanched as the blue paste flowed over the brush to the rim of the sink.
He knelt on the floor before her as he spread the paste on her lips and brushed them forcefully.
Her lips bleeding with a new coat of skin, he ordered her to open her mouth. She formed the most perfect O, enticing his cock to jerk in his jeans. With a sturdy grip, he massaged her upper and lower teeth in a circular motion. He used the back of the brush to clean her tongue until she gagged and coughed. With minty foam sliding down the corner of her mouth, she accepted the cup of tap water Master Trice gave her. He motioned for her to gargle and spit the remnants back into the cup.
Then he did it again, making sure no trace of the man who had his cock inside her mouth was left on her taste buds.
Abigail’s body was smeared with soap as he washed away the remnants of sex.
Saline beads slid down her face and wet her long eyelashes as he shampooed and conditioned her hair with the nails of his fingers.
Master Trice pulled her hair forward and pushed her wet body to stand on all fours. He slapped the back of her thigh and ordered her to spread her legs.
Two soapy fingers parted her labia, slathering it with his favorite unscented soap. He teased the little nub until she moaned under his expert touch. Her gray eyes disappeared under their lids as he traced the opening of her vagina and inserted three fingers. He applied slight pressure on her G-spot as he drew his fingers in and out of her, cleaning the walls of her pussy in the process.
He parted her cheeks and inserted a pair of bubbly fingers inside her taut hole. She gasped under the assault but relaxed her muscles as she took him deeper inside her. He twirled his fingers around, making sure her insides were squeaky clean.
She was his favorite pastime. He could spend hours fiddling with her body, exploring all her parts inside and out. But she was starting to enjoy the bath too much for his pleasure, so he removed his fingers and slapped her ass.
“Stand.”
Beads of water slid down her breasts, dancing in a vertical motion down her thighs. Her nipples stood in alert, demanding the attention he so desperately wanted to give her but wouldn’t.
Abigail let out a quiet yawn and rubbed her eyes lazily as he patted her dry with a towel.
“Are you tired, Angel?” he asked in a dulcet voice that was sure to give her cavities. She met his eyes and raised both eyebrows. “You may speak now.”
“Yes.”
“That’s too bad. Now it’s my turn to play.”
Master Trice picked her up and walked out of the bathroom. Guided by his sadistic tendencies, he followed his urge down the hall and into his playroom.
Welcomed by a bondage horse, he placed Abigail on the padded bench. If he hadn’t been invited to spend the weekend with her family, he would've replaced the padded surface with grainy sandpaper. Now he made sure not to mark her body as he locked her ankles and wrists with silver shackles.
Still, it didn’t mean he couldn’t choke her with his cock. So, he removed his trousers and rammed himself inside her mouth.
It didn’t mean he couldn’t fuck her as slow as possible until she begged to come and even then, he’d denied her. So, he entered her slowly, her insides squeezing the cum out of him.
It didn’t mean he had to use lubricant on her taut hole. So, he pushed forward, her hole tight and filling.
With his whore spent and defenseless, he stepped back to marvel at her as she laid on the spanking bench. His cum slipping out of her three holes was the sexist thing he’d ever seen. His cock was hard after such a holy image, he masturbated before her, letting his cock sprinkle beads of cum down her back, face, and hair.
“Listen carefully, whore. You are not to shower again. You will walk the streets smelling like me. You will go to work smelling like me. You will talk to others smelling like me. This whole fucking city is going to know you belong to me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master Trice.” His orgasm slid down her lips as she answered him. He pushed it into her mouth with the pad of his thumb.
She’d swallow him entirely, not a drop to be wasted.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
On the morning of her birthday, Abigail awoke to the ringing of her cellphone. With closed lids, she searched the nearby nightstand only to find her hand sliding across the cold marble floors. Her eyes opened abruptly as recollections of last night sprung to morning.
Preston morphing into Master Trice, an unforgettable birthday present, and a thorough body cleanse. Acts that months before were but an obsessive fantasy, Master Trice had made them a reality.
Her heart warmed as she felt the extent of his love in every crevice of her body. It blanketed her with an unbridled assurance that diminished any uncertainty she’d once had. Now she looked forward to the future, unafraid of giving every piece of herself to him.
At the ringing of a second phone call, she answered the device.
“Happy birthday!” Mike’s chirpy voice blasted through the speakers of her phone. “You’re officially a quarter of a century old.”
Abigail stretched the sleep out of her limps as she chuckled. “Thank you! You’re almost one hundred yourself, you know?”
“Oh, I can’t wait. I’ll be the hottest centenarian you’ve ever seen.”
Mike was the only person she knew who wanted to bypass life expectancy. “Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that.”
“How excited are you for today?” he joked.
She rolled her eyes and sarcastically said, “Oh, super!”
“Relax! Just tell Sir Trice to bring some of his toys and whip those bad boys out when Mom misbehaves.”
She felt the need to correct Master Trice’s proper name but refrained, knowing Mike would only drag the joke longer than necessary. “Mike, remember no one is supposed to know. Please, don’t say these things in front of anyone else.”
“It was only a joke. Relax.”
Abigail released a sigh. She dreaded the conversation she’d have with Preston about her breach of the non-disclosure agreement. “I’ll talk to you later. I have to get ready for work.”
“Wait! Do you want to ride with us or are you going with Preston?”
“I don’t know, yet.”
“Let me know. We’re leaving at four.”
“Will do. Love you.”
Keeping to her morning routine, Abigail folded the comforter and slid it under the bed. With her phone buzzing with birthday wishes, she walked into the en-suite. As she made her way further into the bathroom, she caught a wisp of Preston’s scent. His presence lingered in the steam that remained from his morning shower.
He was such an early riser.
Abigail was sure by now he’d replied to half of his inbox and returned a dozen phone calls. She couldn’t blame his work ethic as she too was a workaholic. However, she knew how to unwind whereas Preston was always answering the next email.
She cleared the fog from the mirror with her hand.
The remnants of her escapade with Master Trice decorated her inner thighs with droopy lines. She felt dirty and sticky and more owned by him than ever before. The condensed streaks on the glass revealed the light scabs the hard bristles had left behind on
her lips. Her shoulders shivered as the pads of her fingers grazed the borders of her mouth.
As subtle as it might have been, he’d left a mark on her.
A smile fell upon her face.
Had he left nothing more than the traces of his semen, she would’ve been disappointed.
Her stomach complained as she absentmindedly reached for her toothbrush. Not finding it in its usual place, she opened the bottom drawer where Preston kept an array of toiletries. Just as she was unpacking a new set of bristles, she thought it would behoove her to run it by Master Trice first.
[Abigail]
Am I allowed to brush my teeth?
As she waited for his reply, she grabbed one of his dirty shirts from the hamper and shrugged it on.
Abigail made her way to the kitchen, hoping this time he hadn’t locked the cabinets or pantry door. Nearing the corner, she heard the tap running and dishes being dropped in the sink.
Her heart sped.
He was still here.
She hurried her steps, wanting to catch him before he left to work.
“Good morning,” she greeted with a sensual smile as she walked to him.
The sleeves of his crisp blue shirt were rolled up to the elbows and his collar was absent of a tie, exposing the soft curls underneath. His brown eyes turned a shade darker as they danced along the curves of her body.
“Indeed it is.” Planting a kiss upon her lips, he wished her a happy birthday.
“Would you happen to know where my toothbrush went today?”
He tried to hide a smile but failed miserably as he said, “Not a clue.”
“Uh-huh.”
Abigail opened the pantry and searched for a box of cereal. She could sense his eyes judging her every move as she poured milk into a bowl. His profound sigh picked at the droplets of milk that slid onto the counter.
She grabbed her bowl and sat on the stool before the island. She hummed as the fruity oats settled in her stomach.
His obsessive need for cleanliness festered inside him as he reached for a paper towel and dabbed at the driblets of milk.
She shrugged. “I was going to clean it when I was done.”
“If what I have is your office as proof of how well you clean, then I did us both a favor.”
“Hey! Be nice. It’s my birthday.”
His harsh words took her back to the first weekend she’d stayed in his home. He’d been so cruel when he’d made her shower with cold water and left behind a hand towel to dry. When he’d fed her his cum for two nights in a row, she’d seen nothing but a sadist needing his fix and a masochist fueling his need.
Not much had changed of the arrogant man who’d reduced her to the mere use of a sex doll, yet everything was different between them.
The letters were a thing of the past, exchanging penmanship for conversation. The wounds in the middle of her back healed much quicker, now his hands tended to them. The love she once tried to suppress, now burst like the cork of a champagne bottle on New Year’s.
“Not a mark was left on your body, I have been nice.”
She licked the lovely reminders he’d left on her lips. He mustn’t have noticed the intensity of his grip when he brushed them. She wasn’t going to correct him, not wanting his effort to go in vain. The scabs were light enough to disappear by the end of the night and she’d already planned to conceal them with lipstick.
“Speaking of this weekend, Mike asked if I was riding with them to Rye.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I didn’t know, yet. Are you going with me or your family?” She swirled the spoon around the perimeter of the bowl, awaiting his response.
“As much as I’d like to see you squirm in the enclosed company of my family, my mother would rather beat the afternoon traffic. She’ll be there when we get there.”
Abigail sighed in relief. “So, only your mom is going?”
“My sister is going, too, with her husband and kids.”
She pushed her bowl forward, not hungry all of the sudden.
Preston made his way to her. “What’s wrong?”
“I hate my mother and I don’t remember your sister’s name.”
“I’m sure there’s a handful of people who’d agree with that statement.”
She stared at him intently. Now she not only had Mike’s and her mother’s mouth to worry about but Preston’s, too. “Please, don’t say that sort of thing in front of her.”
“All I am saying is there are plenty of people who hate their mothers, that’s all.” He shrugged innocently, though she knew better than to fall for his roguish tricks.
“Uh-huh.” She rolled her eyes.
“My sister’s name is Beth, by the way. She’s married to Joel. They have three daughters, Eleanor, Eloise, and Emilee.”
“Eloise? Why does that name sound familiar?” she wondered. “Oh, was that the little girl in the frozen costume?”
He smiled proudly. “That’s the one.”
“Preston, I don’t do well with kids.”
He kissed her temple. “Don’t stress. You’ll be fine, I promise.”
She held onto his promise as she stood up, more than ready to get the day over with. “Do you think Kenneth can drop me off at my house? I have to get ready for work.”
“There’s no need. I’m sure you’ll find something in the closet to wear.”
She scoffed. “I already smell like you. I am not going into work dressed like you, too!”
Preston crossed his arms and tilted his neck as if asking her to test him. When his eyes were the only muscle in his body that moved, she knew he wasn’t joking.
“Are you fucking with me?”
“Go to the closet, Abigail.”
Her body shaking with anger, she stomped into the master closet. The sensor light revealed an array of clothing. On the left side was a collection of solid-colored suits, tailored perfectly to Preston’s stature. The right side was quite the opposite with patterned blouses and spotted skirts, each screaming with personality.
Abigail turned to Preston whose smug face dripped with cockiness.
“Are these supposed to be for me, or do you have a crossdressing fetish I am not aware of?”
He mumbled something about being nice and cleared his throat before saying, “Lauren thought you’d find a better use of them if they were in a place you frequented often.”
She ruffled through the clothes with her fingertips, catching the price tags still hanging from the sleeves and hems of the fabrics. “Are these the same clothes she kept in her bedroom?”
Preston nodded.
“Is that what she said?” she inquired, finding it interesting how they all happened to be in her size, not Lauren’s.
“Yes,” he said as he lopped the end of a navy tie around his neck and created a tight knot.
Mesmerized by the sensuality of her man, she let the intriguing thought go and picked out an outfit to wear. She knew she couldn’t go into work smelling like a brothel in the nineteenth century and hoped the brand-new scent of the maroon dress she picked was pungent enough to wane the smell of sex.
Just as she slipped into her new pair of heels, Preston’s phone beeped in alert.
“We’ll be out in five,” he answered. He turned his attention to Abigail. “Are you ready?”
She nodded her response and corrected herself, “Yes.”
As they both waited for the elevator to open, anxiety started to rise in Abigail. She fidgeted with her shoes until the strap around her ankles chafed away at her skin.
“I’ll pick you up at five-thirty,” Preston said as the numbers began to decrease.
“I have to pass by my house.”
“Jackie will pack some of the clothes you have here. There’s no need.”
“Okay, but I’d still have to pass by my house to get Mr. Grey.”
His face contorted as if he’d smelled or tasted the sourest most rotten thing. “Why?”
“Mike usually watches h
im but since he’s going with us, I have no one else to look after him.”
He weighed his options. “I guess we can make a quick stop at the Humane Society.”
“Very funny, Preston.”
As Abigail settled in the backseat of Preston’s SUV, her phone chimed in her hand. She was sure it wouldn't stop ringing the entire day. Bypassing the birthday messages from family and friends, she went straight to a text from Lauren.
[Lauren]
Happy birthday, Abby. I’m certain Preston is granting your every wish, but if there are any others I can grant, know I’d be more than happy to please.
[Abigail]
Hmm, now that you mention it, a few ungranted wishes do come to mind.
By the way, I see what you did with your “old” wardrobe, very clever of you.
[Lauren]
I hope it didn’t scare you away. Preston seemed oblivious to my true intentions.
[Abigail]
I think I’m past the scared stages of our relationship.
[Lauren]
It pleases me to hear that. Maybe we can meet up someday soon and catch up.
[Abigail]
I’d love that.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Perched on the edge of one of the most prestigious lakes in Westchester County, stood a beautiful shingled home with atrium windows overlooking a gleaming lake. The craters of a lone moon reflected on the blue-black water and the only noise that was heard in the midst of the night was the chirping of crickets.
Standing amid a grove of cypress trees, Abigail took a bated breath as the faintest breeze caressed her cheek. It cajoled her mind to drift to childhood memories of idyll vacations at the waterfront.
Water-balloon fights with Mike and the Williams, grilled fish and toasted marshmallows, pillow fights in the summer, and a first kiss on the pier. Today, she added meeting the in-laws to the list of unforgettable occurrences in this very cottage.
She swept her forehead with the back of her hand and chastised herself. Not only had she made the dense decision to date the biggest sadist she could find but brought him home to Mommy and Daddy for a meet-and-greet.
Collared (Masters of Desires Book 1) Page 34
