I can't help the moan that escapes my mouth at the taste of her tongue against mine, and my hips pulse reflexively up to meet hers. But before I can reach the heat emanating from her core, she grasps my neck in her hand and pushes me away, pressing...
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I think my brain just malfunctioned.
Imagine how much harder you'll come to the real thing.
I would think I'm dreaming this if it weren't for the very real pressure of the hand holding my waistband pressing against my lower belly, or her thumb resting on my lip. Or the fact that my heart is about to beat out of my chest yet I still haven't woken up, she's standing in front of me, her brown eyes looking into mine with so much determination that I feel dizzy.
I have no words. She has to be joking.
Right?
She takes a few steps back and, sadly, her hands follow. "Come, Kai. Let's get your costume."
Come, Kai.
Something about the way she said it felt like it was more than a command. It felt as if she was making a promise, and I almost winced at the strain of having a hard-on in jeans like this.
She saunters her way toward the far wall, hips swaying so hypnotically that I have no choice but to follow. She softly strokes the leather on a few collars before picking one and holding it up for me to see. It's a smooth black leather about two inches wide with a silver hoop where the leash would clasp into. I only get a few seconds to look at it, because Mistress V has already begun the process of buckling it against my neck.
Valencia.
Her name is Valencia, and it's so fucking fitting because it screams poise and power, and she owns each element.
"What are you thinking, Kai?" Her voice is soft, and I can't help but wonder if she would sound the same tightening this collar around my neck as she makes me hers.
Shut the fuck up Kai, she doesn't want you.
No.
She couldn't want you.
Valencia – Mistress V? I don't know what to call her in my head anymore because a deeply hidden part of me yearns to be familiar with both names.
She turns away from me after having thoroughly buckled the collar around my neck. It sits there comfortably, the soft fabric beneath the leather strokes my neck; however it's tight enough that I'm forced to acknowledge its presence, forced to remember that this material is a particular branding of the 'owned'.
God, I wish she owned me.
Suddenly she's in my face, holding a long strand of chains up to my eyes so I can watch her actions. A part of me feels like I have no choice but to let her take complete control, to trust that she knows the basic attire of a male submissive. But it sends heat to the dick already standing half mast in my jeans.
Valencia clasps the chain to my collar, and I can't help but watch every single expression that graces her face. She thoroughly examines the chain connected to my collar, wrapped around her hand several times. Without warning, she pulls the chain taught, and my body follows neck first.
