A Collar for Valentine's Day

Her fingers nervously adjust the string of pearls wrapped around her slim neck. She smoothes the white apron, and fluffs the full skirt of the 1950s vintage dress, straightening the glass tumbler on the tray, as she anxiously awaits his arrival home. She is going for demure, her natural curves tight and constrained beneath the dress. Closer to the middle of her life than the start, she is no longer a girl, yet still not quite a woman. She knows when he arrives home, he will be hungry for her. He always is. The dark look he gives her flashes through her memory, quickening her heart, dampening her panties. He is her teacher, showing her the depths of her desire, awakening her sensuality in a way she had never imagined possible.

In her life she has accumulated things, a handful of valuable possessions, some adult responsibilities, a scattering of vague achievements, a sprinkling of indefinite wisdom, she supposed she is a well rounded human. But the door that has been opened before her, the one that she tentatively stands on the threshold to, has her all consumed. It is him that stands on the other side, beckoning her. She is afraid, scared of the boundaries she has created, that each time she pushes against them, how easily they fall.

As she stands in their kitchen, she second guesses her gift to him this Valentine's Day. Her complete surrender. He is greedy, insatiable and seemingly without limits. He tells her to be scared of him. And she is. Terrified. He keeps her unbalanced. She knows better than to be complacent. He tells her this is just the beginning.

She hears the key in the lock of the front door, and she scurries out of the open plan kitchen, standing in front of the island, she waits for him.

His footsteps echo down their long hallway, heavy on the well worn boards, he strides with purpose. She clasps her hands in front of her to quiet the shaking.

And then he is there. The worst kind of iconoclast, taking her in, his eyes roam down the curves of her décolletage, she catches the slight flare of his nose as he passes the frilly apron tied at her waistline. Down her full skirt, over her silk stockings, before landing on her high stilettos. She has taken some liberty with the six inch heels, finding a pair with a cute bow on the toes to meet the 1950s brief she was given. She infers from the low growl that reaches her from across the room he approves. The sound reaches deep inside her core, sparking her desire. Her need to be taken.

"Welcome home Daddy." Her voice barely above a whisper.

"Hello little kitten. You look particularly delectable this evening."

"I dressed for you."

"Good girl." And with those words she begins to tumble. The now familiar fall into submission.

She approaches him, tentatively, like a mouse to a lion. He remains still as she loosens his necktie. Unable to resist the need to feel his skin under her fingertips, she tugs the silk of his tie, and as he drops his lips down to meet hers, she strokes his cheek. He kisses her deeply, showing the card of his own hungry need, his stubble rough against her soft skin, his body hard against hers as she presses against him.

Breathless she draws back, sliding the tie from under his collar.

"I'll keep that." he commands as he folds and pockets the necktie.

She shivers at her imagining of what he plans to do with it.

She steps around to his back. She pulls the suit jacket down his arms, hanging it on the coat stand. Returning to stand before him, she removes his cuff links, and unbuttons his shirt, revealing his broad chest. She takes his hand and leads him to his lounger, a gentle push sees him seated below her. His eyes sparkle with amusement as they follow her to the island bench, the clinking ice swirls in the freshly made bourbon she hands to him.

He eyes her over his drink, with unsure hands she pulls at the bow of her apron strings. His gaze never wavers, following her every move, she reaches behind pulling down the zipper of her turquoise dress. It drops to the floor leaving her exposed in a pale pink satin bra, panties, and garter attached to her silk stockings.

Dropping to her knees at her master's feet, she unlaces his leather shoes, removing them one at at time, and balling his socks. She takes one of his bare feet into her hands and begins to massage his soles, focusing on the pressure points she has learnt in the reflexology course she has taken to please him.

His body stirs, his blue eyes she sees are hard with desire, peering out from the blonde hair that has fallen around his face.

"Stand up." He commands.

She rises to her feet, he stands and he stalks around her, circling her, examining her. He takes the tie from his pocket and binds her wrists together behind her back. Her heart begins to pound. She has been craving this moment.

He returns with a pair of scissors, he slides the cold metal from collarbone, down her chest, between her breasts, she shudders at the chilly touch, at the fear of his control. He opens the blades and with one snip, cuts her bra open between the cups. Two more quick snips and the brassiere lays in a pile around her feet. He runs the cold steel further south, over her belly, tracing the satin covered swollen mound between her thighs. Two more quick cuts and the ruined panties fall to join their matching partner. He leaves the garter in tact to confirm her nakedness.

"Kneel at my feet." She does as she is told. His darkened eyed locked with hers his deep voice reverberates through her,

"You belong to me.

You're mine.

You're my property.

You're my good girl.

You're my plaything.

You're my slave."

At each statement she utters an involuntary groan. A whimper. Naked, save the stockings, her skin flashes with goosebumps under his gaze.

She hears the sound of her masters belt unbuckling, the sliding through the pant loops.

"Present that cute ass to me. My ass."

She drops her face to the floor, and waits, anxious for the first strike. He circles her, once, twice, and again, drawing out her suffering, deferring her pleasure.

"My beautiful plaything. It's time to suffer for you Master."

She flinches as his calloused palm smoothes her bottom.

"You're shaking little one. Tell me you want this."

"Yes Daddy, I want this." She murmurs, unsure, afraid of the upcoming pain, yet desperate to be owned. To be wholly present only in this moment.

"You don't sound very certain kitten." he says as he runs a finger across her round cheeks, to the centre of her lower back. His light touch excites her, fires into her core. He traces down between her cheeks, igniting her pleasure as he passes over her puckered hole. He continues lower, finding her wet folds.

"Your soaking pussy tells another story little fuck doll." He chuckles as he slides a finger deep into her centre. She moans and pushes back into his hand, her desperate need for his touch instinctual.

He pulls back his hand and strikes her bottom hard with the belt.

She wails in shocked pain.

"Your orgasms belong to me. You will wait for me to decide whether you come or not. My eager whore."

He dips his finger back inside, she whimpers, turning her head, her cheek now pressed to the cold wooden floor, she holds still. His finger working her pussy, he delivers the second blow. The pain provoking the pleasure in direct contrast.

Her moans increase, she clenches her bound fists, fighting the urge to writhe.

"Beg for it little one."

"Please Daddy, hit me, stroke me. Let me come please Daddy."

"Good girl. But not yet cockslave."

He strikes her with the hard leather of the belt, over and over, a second finger joins the first. She is moaning loudly now, her hips grinding, to escape the mounting pleasure dam threatening to burst, or to force his fingers deeper, even she does not know.

"I love to turn your clever, quick mind into a pink fuzz." He chuckles again, his smooth voice falls like warm honey over her.

"Please Daddy, let me come." Her leg is shaking, her foot trembles, threatening to slide out of the stiletto, clinging only to her toes.

And then he is gone. She sighs in frustration, in desperation. Her pussy throbbing in emptiness.

"I think I am going to use your other two wet holes tonight, and ignore that hungry puss."

"Daddy, please." She lets out a sob.

He wraps an arm around her waist, and scoops her up, his strong form no match for her limp body. With deft hands he undoes the knot of the necktie, and lies her on her back across the kitchen table.

"So beautiful." He says, his eyes raking over her curves, tracing her smooth skin.

She catches his eyes, a hard look confirms his position of dominance, as he sweeps her hands above her body, binding them once again with the silk neck tie. He pulls the wrists together, winding the silk, firmly in place.

Beside her, his fingers comb into the French roll at the nape of her neck. He grabs a handful of hair, her neat knot destroyed in an instant, he slides her up the table, she cries out in shock at the rough jerk, his strength no match for her, she kicks her legs fighting for purchase. He rounds the end of the table, one hand holding her head, the other unbuttoning the navy suit pants. Her neck bent, she views the world upside down, as his shorts join the pants on the floor, she moans as his hard cock springs free.

He slaps the cock against her cheek.

"Open for me sweet cocksleeve. Let Your Master rape Your throat."

With blind obedience, led by a desperate need to give all of herself over to the man who owns her so completely she opens her mouth, wide like he has taught her, her tongue forward. He glides the thick shaft along her wet tongue, instinctively she wraps his length. He pushes deeper, until he meets the resistance of the back of her throat. She gags lightly, and he draws back.

"Good girl." He murmurs.

He runs his free hand down her collarbone as his cock pushes into her mouth once again. He reaches her nipple before his cock hits the back of her throat once more, and he pinches hard on the taunt bud. She elicits a moan, opening her throat allowing her Master entrance. He grunts, one hand pulling and squeezing her nipple, the other still bunched in her hair.

She tumbles deeper into submission, a warmth encompasses her, as she lets go of all that is real. He pulls her closer, her nose pushes into his underside, closing off her last airway. Her bound hands raise over her head, pawing at his shirt, her legs writhe on the table. He pulls back allowing her a breath, her pussy gushing at the sensation, she moans and gasps around his cock. Tears stream two black eyes, her chin covered in drool, loose strands of her hair fall around her face. Ruined, she raises her head, now wanting him deeper, needing to be joined as fully as physically possible.

It is then he pulls back, knowing he has claimed her mouth, knowing another piece of her resistance has been shattered.

She lies spent, attempting recovery. Trying to slow her heart beat, endeavouring to stop her breathless panting. She listens to his heavy footsteps padding across the hard floor, and yelps as he pulls her roughly by the ankles, down the table. He enters her pussy without warning, rocking into her, slamming into her wet, dripping hole. Her arms hang above her head, her breasts proud, supine she wraps her legs around his waist, in a futile effort to pull him to her. Her cunt clenches around him, the abandoned orgasm quickly resurfacing.

"Should I let you come little one?"

"Please Sir. I need to."

"Wait for your Masters permission."

Her toes curl in her shoes, her fists open and close as he fucks her deeper, harder, faster. Claiming her more with each thrust. His cock grinds against her sweetest spot, each pass maddening.

"Daddy." Her voice sounds garbled to her ears, he chuckles darkly.

"I'm going to use this body all night. I want you desperate, clawing at the eyes. Not yet little one."

He reaches behind him and unhooks her ankles from his waist.

"No!" She yelps in painful need as he withdraws.

He looks down at her with an adoring gaze. She is crying, her tears cut black lines down her cheeks.

"My beautiful girl. Now roll over."

Slowly, not at all in control of her weakened body she rolls onto her belly.

Bent over the table, through teary eyes, she gazes across the river, to the twinkling lights of the city, unending along the horizon, she whimpers from the pain, she moans from the pleasure of the pain.

As he takes her from behind, her last cavity claimed, she pushes back, forcing more of him inside of her, trying to find a foothold, her stiletto heels sliding on the floor. He drops down to wrap her body in his. His breath hot on the back of her neck. His sweat mixes with hers, slippery against her tied forearms. The dining table begins to creak as his stands once again, hands gripping her hips tightly in place, he pounds into her, her sounds grow louder, and more urgent, and then he is gone.

She moans in complaint and desperation. He pushes her thighs together, and hooks his knees outside her legs and drives himself inside once again, deeper.

"Oh," she breathes, "that's the best."

Softer this time, he rocks into her, teasing.

She tries to speak but fear clamps her jaw. Piece by piece he breaks her. She shatters like glass against the solid mass that is him. His cock grows harder inside of her, and he slides his hand below her shuddering form, the heel of his hand presses against her clit, his long fingers enter her pussy.

She cries out, a scream of pleasure and pain mixed and contrasting, taking her higher, while sinking her lower, she is gone into the all encompassing light and dark that is him.

Her scream is unending as her ass clamps around the base of his hard, thick, wonderful cock. The pleasure pole her universe now revolves around. As he explodes inside of her, his beastial roar unancors the last of her sanity and she comes in rolling waves, she is drowning but finally free.

Eyes closed, breasts pushed to the hard wooden surface, his member still buried deep within her, he tugs hard at the necklace, the pearls scatter across the table, absently she hears them roll onto the floor. He slides a leather band around her neck. The buckle jingles as he fixes the collar to her neck.

"Mine."