Chapter 40: The Collar
The ache from the night before had subsided into a dull, persistent hum. It lived in his bones now, in the faint tremor of his hands as he tried to focus on a textbook. The phantom sensation of the collar’s leather against his neck was more real than the words on the page.
When her text came—Foyer. Now.—the hum became a live wire.
Julian descended the grand staircase, each step on the marble echoing like a drumbeat. The afternoon sun streamed through the high windows, striking the gilded mirrors and throwing blinding rectangles of light across the floor. The air smelled of lemon polish and, underneath it, the perpetual jasmine. And something else. Perfume. Something expensive and sharp.
Izzy stood at the base of the stairs, a silhouette against the brightness. In her hand, a coiled black leash led to a second, heavier leather collar.
But it was the chaise that held his gaze.
Sloane Kensington reclined on the velvet upholstery as if it were her own. She was a year older than Julian, a brittle, porcelain beauty from the country club set. Her blonde hair was artfully messy. Her dress, a slip of champagne silk, was bunched around her waist. Her legs were spread, bare and elegant.
And between them, glistening thickly on her inner thighs and the trimmed blonde curls of her pussy, was the evidence. Milky, viscous streaks of someone else’s cum. It was fresh, some still seeping from her pink, swollen folds.
Julian stopped at the bottom stair, his brain refusing to assemble the scene.
“You’re late,” Izzy said, her voice cool. She held up the new collar. It was wider, with a sturdy D-ring. “This one’s for show. Come here.”
He moved as if through deep water. The marble was cold under his socks. Sloane watched him, her blue eyes glazed and heavy-lidded, a slight, secret smile on her lips. She didn’t bother to cover herself.
Izzy’s fingers were businesslike as she unbuckled the thin collar from last night and replaced it with the thick black one. The leather was stiff, unforgiving. The buckle clicked shut with a finality that made his throat constrict. She attached the leash, giving it a short, testing pull that jerked his head forward.
“This proves you’re Mommy’s bitch now,” she purred, the words soft and lethal in the vast, sunlit space. She yanked the leash again, forcing his chin up, making him look at Sloane’s splayed, used cunt. “Look at that. Beautiful, isn’t it? A proper fucking. Something you haven’t given anyone.”
Sloane let out a breathy little sigh and ran a finger through the mess, bringing it to her mouth. “He was very… enthusiastic,” she said, her voice a lazy drawl.
“Now,” Izzy said, her grip tightening on the leash. “On your knees. You’ll lick her clean. Every drop. Like the good little cuck you are.”
The word landed like a physical blow. Julian’s knees hit the marble. The pain was a clarifying shock. His own cock, traitorous and urgent, thickened against his zipper, a direct rebuttal to the nausea climbing his throat.
Izzy gave the leash a slack, holding it like a trainer. “Go on.”
He crawled forward. The scent hit him first—the cloying perfume mixed with the salty, musky, unmistakable odor of sex. Of completion. His face was level with Sloane’s pelvis. She shifted, spreading wider, offering herself.
“Better not waste any,” Sloane murmured, threading her fingers into his hair. Her grip was possessive.
He closed his eyes and leaned in.
His first taste was complex—bitter salt, a metallic tang, the underlying sweetness of her own arousal. It was a violation so profound his mind short-circuited, leaving only animal response. He lapped at her outer lips, cleaning the streaks from her skin. His tongue moved to her entrance, where the stranger’s release was thickest. He gathered it, swallowing convulsively.
Sloane moaned, a genuine sound of pleasure. “Oh, God. His tongue is so soft.” She rocked her hips, grinding her slick, messy pussy against his mouth. “Get it all. Yeah, just like that.”
Julian obeyed, his world narrowing to the task. Lick, swallow. The shame was a fire in his chest, but beneath it, a horrific, degrading arousal burned hotter. Each slutty, wet sound from Sloane, each tug from Izzy’s leash, wired directly to his groin. He was painfully hard, the fabric of his jeans a torturous cage.
He heard the rustle of silk. He dared a glance up. Izzy had parted her robe. She was watching them, her emerald eyes dark with a predatory gleam. Her free hand was between her own legs, stroking herself slowly, her fingers shiny with her own wetness.
“See how well he cleans?” Izzy said, her voice husky. “See how hungry he is for it? That’s training.”
“Mmm, he’s a natural,” Sloane gasped, her hips moving faster, fucking his face in earnest now. “Don’t stop, Julian. Make me come again. Come on, lick my clit, you desperate fuck.”
He focused on the hard little nub, circling it, sucking it. His jaw ached. The taste of the other man was mostly gone, replaced purely by her. She tightened around nothing, her thighs clamping against his head.
“Yes! Fuck, yes!” she cried out, her body bowing off the chaise. He felt the rhythmic flutters against his tongue, tasted a fresh gush of her. He kept licking, through her climax, until she pushed him away, spent and panting.
He knelt back, breath ragged, his mouth and chin wet. Izzy was still touching herself, her movements lazy, satisfied.
Sloane looked down at him, her smile warm and condescending. She patted his cheek, her fingers damp. “Good boy.”
Izzy attached the leash to a ring on the chaise’s leg, tethering him. She walked over to Sloane, bent, and kissed her deeply, a slow, possessive kiss. She then helped Sloane to her feet, smoothing her dress down.
“You’ll join us for dinner, Sloane,” Izzy said, as if arranging a casual social event. “We’ll discuss the Paris trip.”
Sloane nodded, shooting Julian a last, indifferent glance. “Of course.”
As Sloane gathered her purse and slipped out the front door, Izzy came back to where Julian knelt, tethered and aching. She crouched, her robe falling open. She smelled of sex and power.
She cupped his face, her thumb smearing Sloane’s wetness across his cheek. “You did very well,” she whispered. “This is just the beginning. After you go to college, you will marry her. A nice, respectable match. Your father would have loved it.” Her smile was a razor cut. “And you will both be mine to control. In every way. You’ll come when I say. You’ll fuck her when I allow it. You’ll even watch when I choose others for her. This,” she said, tapping the thick collar, “is just a reminder of the leash you’ll always be on.”
She stood, unbuckled the leash from the chaise, but left the collar fastened. “Dinner is at eight. I expect you to be presentable. And hungry.”
She walked away, her robe trailing behind her, leaving him alone in the sun-drenched foyer. The taste of another man’s come was still on his tongue. The imprint of Sloane’s thighs was on his ears. His own desperate erection throbbed, a futile, ignored plea.
The grand space felt like a beautiful, empty cage. The mirrors reflected a boy on his knees, collared, his future written in the fading scent of jasmine and violation.