Collared [Excerpt]

Chapter Six

A SEDUCTIVE TEMPO played across the burgundy room as Abigail stepped further inside.

There was no denying what the focus of the room was meant to be. The grandiose double staircase curved sultrily around black rims. Above it, hung a magnificent chandelier, sending cuts of crystals to each guests' cheeks. Once again, she wondered if the designer had done so on purpose.

But it was the rectangular stage that stood below it that made Abigail's body tingle with anticipation.

She counted fifteen seats in front of it.

Abigail felt a set of eyes watching her. Had she been caught? She took a cautious glance, turning her head from east to west, searching for the stalker in the shadows. Yet, she saw no one.

Most people had gone upstairs or saved a spot for the scene that was about to start. Not knowing what to do and too scared to head to the unknown upstairs, she took a seat on the last row in the array of chairs.

Waiters and waitresses dressed in black sheer jumpsuits walked around the room offering horns d'oeuvres and non-alcoholic beverages. With their hands bonded behind their backs, they could only balance the tray with the triangular chain that hung from the hoop of their collars.

Contemptuous men and women sat on the chairs facing the stage while their slaves laid on the floor. A leather collar, similar to the one worn by the servants, fully covered their necks.

Dominants took a bite of the bruschetta, not caring to leave some for their slaves. The submissives were fed half-eaten scraps of bread and patted on the head with a job well done. Except for one.

A red-headed sub sitting on the floor wrapped his tongue around the thumb and index finger of his mistress. Mistress slapped him firmly across the face. With a blushed cheek, he was tugged and dragged on the floor through the bumps of stairs. His owner couldn't care less that her slave was having trouble breathing.

The perimeter of the stage flickered with LED lights, drawing Abigail's eyes away from the redhead and the torture he'd no doubt endure.

A blanket of loneliness coated her shoulders as she noticed she was the only person without a Master or slave. No one to feed her. No one to drag her up the stairs. No one to torture her.

She looked around, searching for the dominatrix of nights past, but couldn't find her.

Nonetheless, she focused on the positives and enjoyed the experience even if her desires wouldn't be met tonight.

The lighted stage showed an empty table with a barrel in front. The water inside it was almost dripping. Abigail wondered what the scene would entail. She'd heard of rape-play, animal-play, daddy-play, baby-play, anal-play, but never water-play. The anticipation was making her itchy all over.

Seconds after Abigail wondered such thought, a man and woman stepped on stage. The man wore dark jeans and a naked chest that showcased a strong stomach and muscular arms. The woman, who stood with her face down staring at her toes, was fully clothed. Her black hair was pulled back in a French braid.

"Undress," the man demanded with an annoyed flick to her dress.

The brunette unbuttoned her dress to reveal full breasts and a shaved pussy. Her master inhaled a breath, seeming satisfied with what he saw. He walked toward her and cupped her sex. "Did you do this for me?"

"Yes, Master John." Her body shook as he inserted a finger inside her.

"This won't save you from what I'm going to do to you, but because you've pleased me, I'll make it hurt less." The woman nodded, not daring to meet his eyes. "Get on the table."