Toy Closet Ch. 02

Chapter Two

I rummage through the top door of my dresser, looking for the toy I purchased on a whim the week before. I had passed by a shop and spotted the black and silver collar in the window, displayed on a male mannequin who's stoic stillness made me think of you, seated calmly in your chair. The woman behind the register demonstrated how the collar could be controlled, doling out short bursts of shock to the wearer whenever a certain button on the remote was pressed. I, the controller, could choose the length and strength of the shock based on the sort of punishment I deemed necessary. The idea of you feeling me from afar as you sat at home waiting for my return made my head go light. I bought the device and let my mind go to devious places as I walked home, running my fingers over the smooth leather and cold metal of the collar.

You had been sitting at the kitchen table when I arrived home, waiting for your next order, presumably, and while I took the toy out of the bag and waved it teasingly in your face, I told you we would be saving it for Friday night. I could see the twinge of panic in your eye, knowing you'd have to wait four more days before feeling the leather around your throat.

"Be patient," I chastised you, as I tucked the toy away in my underwear drawer, making sure you could see all the lace it lay atop of, "or the punishment you want so badly won't come at all."

"Yes, Goddess," you said, lowering your head as I shut my drawer loudly. "Thank you."

I waltzed out of my room and gave you a rough tussle on the top of your head.

"Good boy," I told you, before stripping out of my dress and sauntering towards the shower. You watched me until I turned the corner into the bathroom and listened to the water run as you sat paralyzed, picturing the excruciating but exquisite position you would be in on Friday evening, eager to get through the rest of the week as fast as possible. Now that the night has arrived, you sit silently in your steel chair, watching Em, Bea and I sip our cold cocktails and discuss the idea of collaring you.

You stare on intently, trying your hardest to hear our conversation without making it obvious you're straining yourself. You keep your back obediently pressed to the steel chair and watch Em flip her long, red hair over her shoulder as she turns to you and laughs. You cannot quite make out what we are saying but you see Bea's big blue eyes light up at the sight of the collar. Her shoulder length blonde hair falls in front of her freckled face as I take out the controller and show the girls how to use it. Em clutches the collar in her small, soft hand, ordering me to send a shock her way, just so she could feel what you will, if you don't pay our bill quickly enough.

"How hard?" I ask Em, flipping the controller at her so she could see the settings.

"Go soft at first," she says and I smile, pressing a rubber button and watching her for a reaction. A short jolt passed from the metal patch of the collar into her open palm, making her jump slightly at the shock.

"Shouldn't we be testing it out on him instead?" Bea asks, tying her hair into a short ponytail, as though preparing to take action.

"I think he should be surprised," Em argues, clutching tighter to the collar. I can appreciate both of their urges -- Bea's to see your reaction to the quick spurts of pain as soon as possible, Em's to watch you on the camera as we count down the seconds after sending you a photo of our tab.

"Let's wait," I decide and see Bea's puffy, pink lips sink into a disappointed frown.

"Fine," she huffs, "but can I at least play with him a little before we leave?"

"Do whatever you want," I tell her and turn my attention back to Em who is rolling her gorgeous, green eyes in response to Bea's bratty impatience.

"Want to see the rest of the place?" I ask Em, as Bea rummages through the kitchen cabinets. We find it's best to leave her alone once she gets an idea in her head, though I can tell we're both eager to see what she comes up with.

Em follows me down the hall to tour the remainder of the apartment as Bea takes a glass bowl down from a cabinet. Already I imagine what she is planning and I snicker at the thought. Bea snaps her fingers and commands you into the kitchen. You hesitate at first, uncertain if you should be taking orders from someone other than me. Your obedience gets the better of you and you stand slowly before slinking into the kitchen where Bea is waiting, tapping her barefoot impatiently against the cool tile.

"Make yourself a cocktail," Bea orders, nodding at the supplies still on the counter. The confusion on your face makes her laugh and you feel yourself blush, body burning hot with a debilitatingly euphoric embarrassment.

Your limbs feel light and almost boneless as you listen to Bea and ready the shaker. She watches you wordlessly, smiling in a wicked sort of way that makes your stomach drop into another dimension. You love the physical effect obeying has on your body, the way your need to please seems to drive every movement you make. Feeling the shaker frost over with a cool coating of condensation, you reach boldly for a glass but Bea stops you with a quick but firm slap on your wrist. Your eyes dart up to hers. She shrugs, as if to say, well, your collar isn't on yet and I have to punish you somehow. A silent understanding passes between the two of you and you retract your hand from its reach.

"Not a glass," she tells you, sliding the bowl forward, "pour it into this." The humiliation behind her intentions makes your body buzz and you nod submissively.

"Pour it and then go back to your corner to lap it up." Bea demands as you empty the cool cocktail into the small glass bowl. She is already laughing at the thought of you carefully carrying the bowl back to your chair. When you finish pouring she snaps her fingers, pointing to the corner from which you came. You walk slowly with the bowl and revel in the feeling of Bea's eyes burning into your back.

"Good boy," she says as you sit down in the steel chair, her praise prying a smile out of you despite your desire to remain still faced and stoic.

"Thank you, goddess." You whisper before leaning your head down towards the bowl in your hands. Bea, not used to the title, giggles at the depths of your devotion.