The Collar


Sandra stared at her reflection in the mirror; triple checking every detail of her appearance. She had never been a particularly vain person, preferring instead to focus upon what was on the inside as her grandmother would have said. This night though, she wanted everything truly perfect.

Six months and it was Valentine's Day. How those six months had sped by with Zane. They had met when she had messaged him about one of his popular writings on the kinky social networking site that she joined following the divorce.

Yes, thanks to those stupid books, BDSM had become the chic thing, like gourmet coffee and e-readers. She had tried to read the damned things, but had soon given up in the shallow quagmire of immature characters, irrelevant backstory and manipulation. One thing had resonated though: submission. Sandra felt like it was the key to unlock her soul, a key that had been missing her whole life.

Even with the key in hand though, she had been uncertain how to proceed. Recently separated after twenty years of marriage, it was so cliché: the devoted wife and mother tossed aside for a younger, thinner model. At first, she had been devastated. Her work skills were rusty to say the least; her resume was laughably thin after devoting herself to advancing her husband's career and her sons' upbringing. With the youngest in his final year of high school, Sandra had faced an uncertain future at best.

But as always she had a strength of spirit that carried her through so much, including a five year battle with breast cancer. Of course, she was not immune to the darker moments of human existence. In those times, she succumbed to doubts: was she less of woman for the loss of her breasts, was that why her husband had strayed? But she refused to stay in that dark place. She had beaten the cancer; her magic five year check-up had been just weeks before and no sign of the enemy. It was something else to celebrate.

Her job as manager at the local book shop was another. Books, romances in particular, had been her solace throughout much of her life. She had struggled with dyslexia as a child and still had the occasional problem phonetically with new words, but from the moment that reading had dawned like a sun rise, she had been a bibliophile. She could always be found curled up with a book in a corner while the other children ran and played. As a young mother, one of her favorite things about breastfeeding her boys had been the guilt-free relaxation of holding a book in one hand while her baby suckled upon the teat. She would often get so lost in the book that the baby slept undisturbed in her arms while the story unfolded in her mind.

So when she had seen the 'help wanted' sign in the window of her favorite shop, it had seemed like fate. It was all too easy to approach the older gentleman that owned the store. They had known one another for years. An application became nothing more than a formality. Over the past year, she had been given more and more authority to the point that Jethro was little more than a figurehead that stopped by the store on his way to his favorite fishing spot along the pier. It was an arrangement that suited them both very well.

Zane had been another stroke of fate. Over the past six months, she had almost forgotten the subject of that journal entry which had brought them together. But she could never forget the brilliance of the mind that enthralled her from the beginning. No, theirs was a partnership of equals, a meeting of the minds that few others could ever understand. At times, even she did not fully understand it. Everything had happened so fast; others would say too fast perhaps. But she knew, just knew, in her heart that time was too precious to waste when something was right.

Sandra was happy this night. Happier perhaps than she had ever been. At forty-five, she had everything she wanted in life. A job she loved. A small but cute apartment overlooking the beach. Her sons were settled and doing well at college. And a man that she loved, respected and could entrust with her most precious surrender.

She sighed and smiled as she adjusted the red corset that tucked in her waist and pushed her reconstructed breasts even higher towards her chin. She noticed the scars that extended from the cups towards her armpits, but they no longer held the same significance. Those scars had become badges of courage, a reminder of her victories.

She would never forget the healing stream of tears that had flowed form her soul as she lay in Zane's arms after they made love. His fingers had so tenderly traced along the numb, ridges of those scars. She had stiffened in his arms. His voice had taken that deep and ridged tone as he commanded, "Look at me." It was one order that Sandra wanted to avoid. She had even done the unthinkable, shaking her head in denial. The firm and loud smack of his hand connecting with her thigh had overridden her reluctance. "Do not ever disobey me again," he said as his fingers returned to mapping the tracts across her chest. "Now, tell me."

The story had flowed so freely then. All of it. Some things that she had not shared with anyone, not even her counselor. Her insecurities. The soul rendering pain of seeing pity in her husband's eyes the first time she had found the courage to bare them. Her withdrawal afterwards, sex becoming something to be endured in the dark. Her very womanhood thrown into question.

But Zane had never allowed her to hide in the dark; physically or emotionally. He of her had demanded everything; the best of her mind, complete surrender of her body for His pleasure or pain, and of course perfect obedience and submission. She shuttered as she smiled weakly at thought if the words of her favorite poem:

When our two souls stand up erect and strong, Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher, .... A place to stand and love in for a day, With darkness and the death-hour rounding it. (Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

It so eloquently described the love that she and Zane shared. She frowned in the mirror. When had she become so comfortable with the L word? It seemed odd that she should surrender her heart so easily after the battering that it had endured. Then again as Elizabeth Barrett Browning had said 'With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.' She had faced that death-hour and knew that this life could be a fleeting thing. Time was too precious to waste over-thinking some things.

She smiled at the soft rap on the door. "Coming," her voice rang out as she made her way through the tiny central room of her apartment that served as the living and dining rooms as well as a study of sorts. Its biggest asset was of course the sliding glass doors that covered one wall and led out onto the balcony that overlooked the ocean. She had dared to open them a crack earlier and the room was alive with the brisk sea breeze and its pungent aroma.

Her hand trembled as she threw open the door. Her actions were automatic as she dropped to the floor at His feet. Her knees spread wide, her cunt bare and open for His inspection. Freshly shaven, the smell of her arousal overpowered even the sea breeze. Her chest heaved and strained the confines of her corset. It was no longer the fear of discovery that had plagued her the first time she had received His instructions via text on the 'proper' way for a submissive to greet her Dominant. No, now it went much deeper: anticipation, arousal but most of all the utter completion of surrendering to her own submissive nature confident that the man to whom she submitted valued it and her.

Her eyes were down, as they should be in His presence. She waited there, her hands palm up on her knees as the moments ticked by. Whether seconds, minutes or hours, it did not matter. She craved only one thing: the whispered words that were her ultimate reward. "Good girl," His deep, husky voice washed over her. She inhaled deeply as if she could soak in the words as readily as she could the air; both were life-giving to her.

It was her cue; she could look up at Him now. He was not what many would consider the Dom-ly type. A greying man of middle age, He was beginning to thicken a bit around the middle. Rather than the stereotypical leather that many associated with the BDSM lifestyle, He wore khaki slacks and a plaid shirt, and a thin black tie. It was practical attire for the High School English teacher.

"I made dinner," she stammered almost nervously, though she had no explanation why she should be. Except for that dark twinkling in His eyes that warned her this night would be another journey of lust, love and kink.

"Food can wait," His words caressed her soul as His fingers sank into the thick strands of her hair that hung about her shoulders. She felt them tighten even as the knots of anticipation did in her tummy. His firm tug drew her head back until she stared up into His eyes. Her vision blurred just a bit as tears began to gather in the corners so firm was his grip upon her hair.

He used His other hand to close the door as He tugged upon her hair until she slowly rose up to her full height. "Are you wet?"

Sandra felt the heat rising in her cheeks as she nodded. Her voice was barely a whisper, "Yes Sir."

A stinging blow to her outer thighs was His unspoken command to spread her legs. The burn of her skin barely had time to register before she was stuffed with His probing fingers. She bit her lower lip as her eyes closed. The orgasm was intense as the smooth muscles of her cunt grasped at His probing digits, which were massaging the bundle of nerve endings just inside her.

"Cum for me, you dirty little whore."

Her finger nails dug into her palms as the contractions strengthened to the point of pain. Only His Hands in her hair held her erect as the sensation washed over her for several long moments. Just as her body began to relax, His words danced through her mind, "I said, cum for me, cunt."

This time she was unable to quiet the strangled scream from escaping her parched throat. She was also unable to hold back the gush of warm fluid that ran down His hand and her thighs to pool around the high heels that matched the corset.

When the spasms finally passed what seemed like an eternity later, she collapsed against Him. "Hello, my love," she smiled up at Him.

He returned the smile as He maneuvered her so that their lips were aligned perfectly. "And how was your day, baby girl?"

She could barely breathe, let alone think as His teeth began to nibble at her bottom lip that was swollen already. She mumbled something unintelligible as she leaned closer to Him.

He shook His head as a cocky grin spread across His face, "Always such a greedy little cunt, aren't you, my dear?"

"Always, Sir," she purred as she brushed her body against His.

"Well, tonight you shall have to wait, baby girl. I have other plans," He replied as He reached for the backpack thrown over His shoulder. "Turn around."

The tingles in the pit of her stomach were back as she obeyed Him instantly. She sighed as He gathered her arms in one hand behind her back. All cares drained from her as she felt the soft caress of rope about her wrists. He wrapped it about her waist a couple of times before tying it off. She closed her eyes in surrender as she felt the touch of silk when He placed the blindfold over them.

She would have stumbled if not for His sure guiding hands at the small of her back. She frowned as everything swam behind her closed eyelids. Then she was falling as He shoved her. Softness enveloped her. She was stunned as she tried to figure out where she was. But before her mind could begin to turn that quandary over, she felt her hips lifted higher into the higher as her face buried deeper into the softness. The echo of a strong bare handed slap mingled with her startled yelp as she jumped a bit at the sudden pain.

"Move again and I will tie you to the bed so that you cannot," He croaked as she heard the whisper of a zipper.

"Yes, Sir," she mumbled as she tried to picture which of His toys He would choose to torment her this night.

She did not have long to wait as the sharp crack of a bull whip filled the silence. A tremor raced along her spine. It was her favorite. The feather soft touch of the cracker as it barely met skin. The thunderous crack that preceded it. Or the occasional pain that marked her pale skin with criss-cross red welts. Just the perfect mix of pain and mind fuck. As perfect as the man Himself.

His hands were warm about her waist as He adjusted her. He lifted her upper body up until it rested against the back of the couch, she had her bearings now. Not that it mattered; she was certain whatever He did would addle her brain once more. He tenderly brushed hair back from her face as she felt the warmth of His breath dance across her sensitive flesh. "Good girl," He whispered. The smile that had begun to break across her face turned into a tiny plea as He sank His teeth into her ear lobe. His hands were firm as He arranged her among the cushions. "Do. Not. Move."

Sandra inhaled deeply and nodded her head as she heard Him step back. She waited. And waited. The deafening crack of the whip filled the pregnant silence. She shivered but felt nothing against her skin. This time. He was warming up. A couple more mind fucks before she felt the softest of a lover's caress between her shoulder blades. She held back a low moan. It was followed by several of its sisters.

Then out of nowhere came the intense stinging sensation and she knew that He had marked and scored her flesh. She could not hold back the moan then. He toyed with her like a cat playing with a mouse. She was captured and at His mercy, not that He had any more than that cat did. How long the whip melded with her soul she did not know. It could have been a few minutes or an hour, but she was long past caring. Her mind had gone blank, to that happy place that only He could take her.

His finger nails ran along the sensitized flesh of her spine. She purred and rubbed against Him like a kitten begging for its milk. She could not form a logical thought or coherent word. The whole world was reduced to feelings and He was at the core of it all.

She felt Him release her hands. He rubbed her arms, bringing the blood back into them. "Good girl," He whispered as His fingers brushed the blindfold from her face. She smiled dreamily up at Him as she squinted. Even the dim lights of the living room lamp and the fading rays of the sunset were too bright. "I know, baby girl." He flicked the switch on the lamp closest to the couch then gathered her in His arms.

He cradled her much as a parent would a naughty child after a spanking. Spanking. She moaned again at the thought as she stared up into His face fully this time. As if to memorize each plane and line of symmetry. He pulled the quilt that she had sewn from the arm and wrapped her in it. He cooed and hummed to her as she snuggled closer into His arms.

She smiled as her faced abraded the springy hairs that covered His chest. He had remembered even that. He knew how much she loved to be skin to skin with Him and sometime while she was blindfolded he had stripped to just His boxers. She sank further into the safe cocoon of His arms and was lulled by the sweet song of His heart beat just beneath her cheek.

They stayed like that as the final rays of the sun drifted beneath the horizon, as the sun dipped into the waters outside the window. She sighed as she finally lifted her head to stare into His eyes. Never had she felt so safe, so secure, so loved. Her throat tightened as it always did around that word. It seemed so enormous. Yet at the same time so inadequate to describe the depth of feeling that they shared.

His smile was broad as He pressed a kiss into her forehead, "Back to the world of the living are we?"

She shook her head and pressed a kiss over His heart, "No, not really. Reality is highly overrated."

The firm slap on her thigh was His answer. "Yes, well, someone promised me dinner, if I remember correctly. A special Valentine's one at that. So unless you want to taste the cane as punishment tonight, you should get that gorgeous ass moving."

She chuckled as she straightened her corset. "Yes, Sir," she smiled as she drank a final taste of His lips for the moment.

The kitchen was just off the main room, a tiny cupboard compared to the one that she had once been the mistress of. But that did not matter. She was happier here with Him than she could ever remember being. She puttered around, pulling plates from the cupboards and the food from the oven. She painstakingly arranged it upon the plate. She wanted everything to be perfect this night. Not that every night with Him was not perfect anyway. But this night she had something special to share with Him.

She smiled as she carried the plate into the dining area. He had taken the chair He usually did, but this special night she would not be sitting across from Him. She had other ideas as she dropped to her knees at His feet. As before her knees were spread wide apart revealing her bare cunt, all of her open and vulnerable before this man.

She lifted the plate of His favorite dishes as she dropped her head, "Yours, Sir." Whether she referred to the food that she had taken special care to prepare with love, her most intimate parts spread open for Him alone or her battered heart, it did not matter. All were in His care now.

"Perfect," He whispered.

She sighed contentedly as she lifted her head and placed the food on the table in front of Him. He reached for the fork on the table, but her hand covered His. "Not tonight, please, Sir. I want to feed you as good slave would her Master."

The smile that spread across His face told her that the words she had chosen so carefully were just the right ones. She lifted the fork and knife and began to cut His food. She smiled and slipped deeper into the magical spell of her submission with each bite that she fed Him. He ate in companionable silence; it was one of those moments when words were simply unnecessary.

As she placed the final bite in His mouth, she knew that she must break the spell, but was reluctant to do so. "I made dessert too, but it can wait," the blush once again rose in her cheeks as she considered the next portion of her plan.

He nodded and smiled, "Yes, it can. Come here."

Sandra shifted her weight preparing to stand up, but His deep voice stopped her. "Did I tell you that you could stand and walk?"

She felt her stomach drop, wetness pool between her thighs at His words. When He went über on her, it always did. "No, Sir," she replied, dropping her eyes once more.

"Good girl," He purred. "Crawl to me."

She could not stop the quick intake of air that betrayed her shock. They had seen this at the club where He once took her. He knew that she was shocked and appalled to see women on leash, crawling after their Doms. Their games were one thing, even the naughty words that He called, things that she would never allow another man to say to her. But crawling like an animal?

The silence was unbroken. All she could hear was her heart beat. She wanted so badly to look up into His face; get some sign of His intentions. But having dropped her eyes in obedience she did not dare. Instead she mulled her options over in her mind. She could stand up and flat out refuse, but that would be tantamount to withdrawing her submission and ending their relationship. She could red and end this night prematurely. She really did not want to do that though. She could yellow and they would stop to discuss her concerns. Or she could simply put her trust in this man as she had for the past few months. He had never done anything to truly hurt; physically or more importantly emotionally. Was it really all that bad?

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byTara_Neale© 3 comments/ 19581 views/ 8 favorites

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