Chapter 3: The Collar on the Carpet
The whiskey burned going down, but Chloe barely felt it anymore.
She sat on the edge of Jamie's bed, the bottle dangling from her fingers, watching Jamie move around the room with that quiet, methodical precision that made her stomach clench. The robot arm had been righted. The soldering iron unplugged. The scattered circuit boards swept into a pile in the corner with Jamie's bare foot.
Neither of them had bothered to get dressed.
Jamie's hoodie hung loose on her frame, the hem brushing her thighs, and Chloe could still see the marks she'd left on her neck—red crescents where her nails had dug in, a bruise blooming on her collarbone. Jamie caught her staring and raised an eyebrow.
"Problem?"
"No." Chloe took another drink. "Just looking."
"At what?"
"You."
Jamie's lips curved—not quite a smile, but close. She crossed the room and took the bottle from Chloe's hands. Their fingers brushed. Chloe's breath hitched.
"You're shaking," Jamie observed.
"I'm fine."
"You're lying."
"I'm fine," Chloe repeated, and this time it came out sharper. Defensive. She didn't know why. Maybe because Jamie was looking at her like she could see through skin and bone, like she could read the want written in the tremble of Chloe's thighs.
Jamie set the bottle on the nightstand. Then she knelt in front of Chloe, her hands settling on her knees.
"You don't have to stay," she said quietly. "You know that, right?"
Chloe's throat tightened. "I know."
"Do you want to leave?"
"No."
"Then what do you want?"
The question hung between them. Simple. Devastating. Chloe didn't have an answer—not one that made sense, not one that didn't sound insane. What did she want? She wanted to crawl inside Jamie's skin. She wanted to be consumed. She wanted to feel that raw, obliterating pleasure again, the kind that erased everything else. The kind that made her forget she was Chloe-fucking-Bennett, head cheerleader, campus royalty, the girl everyone wanted and no one knew.
She wanted to be nothing.
"I want you to tell me what to do," she whispered.
Jamie's eyes darkened. Her fingers dug into Chloe's knees, just shy of painful.
"That's a dangerous thing to say."
"I know."
"You don't. Not really." Jamie leaned closer. Her breath ghosted across Chloe's lips. "You think you understand what you're asking for, but you don't. You've had one night. One taste. You have no idea what I could do to you."
Chloe's heart hammered. "Show me."
"Show you?"
"You said you wanted to break me open." She swallowed hard. "So do it. Stop holding back."
Jamie went very still.
For a long moment, she just stared. Her dark eyes searched Chloe's face—for what, Chloe didn't know. Doubt, maybe. Fear. An escape route. But Chloe held her gaze, steady, and whatever Jamie found must have satisfied her, because she smiled.
It wasn't a nice smile.
"You have no idea what you've just agreed to," she murmured.
She stood. Walked to her closet. Opened the door.
Chloe watched her pull out a box—black, unmarked, hidden on the top shelf behind old textbooks and a forgotten winter coat. Jamie set it on the desk and flipped the lid.
Chloe's mouth went dry.
Inside: a harness. Black leather, worn soft at the edges. A strap-on—silicone, sleek, obscenely thick. Handcuffs, silver and gleaming. A collar—black leather, studded, with a ring at the front. And a leash, coiled like a snake.
Jamie pulled each item out slowly. Deliberately. She laid them on the desk one by one, a museum curator arranging an exhibit.
"This is what I wanted," she said, not looking at Chloe. "The whole time. Every day for three years, watching you walk across campus with your perfect body and your perfect smile, this is what I wanted."
She turned. Her gaze pinned Chloe to the bed.
"I wanted you on your knees. I wanted you collared. I wanted to fuck you until you forgot your own name."
Chloe's cunt clenched. She could feel herself getting wet, the slick heat pooling between her thighs, and Jamie's eyes tracked down her body like she could smell it.
"Last chance," Jamie said. "Tell me to stop and I will."
Chloe's voice came out ragged. "I'm not telling you to stop."
"Good."
Jamie picked up the collar.
"On the floor."
Chloe slid off the bed. The carpet was rough against her bare knees, still damp in places from earlier. She knelt in the center of the room, hands on her thighs, and forced herself to breathe.
Jamie circled her. Slow. The collar dangled from her fingers, and Chloe could hear the soft sound of leather brushing against leather, the minute creak of Jamie's movements.
"You look good like this," Jamie said. "Kneeling. Quiet. Waiting."
She stopped behind Chloe. Fingers brushed her throat—light, almost tender—and then the collar was fitted around her neck. Jamie buckled it tight. Not enough to choke, but enough to feel. Enough to remember.
"How does that feel?"
"Good," Chloe whispered.
"What was that?"
"Good, Mistress."
The word slipped out before she could think. She felt Jamie's fingers tense against her neck, heard the sharp inhale. For a second, she thought she'd made a mistake.
Then Jamie grabbed her hair and yanked her head back.
"Say it again."
"Mistress."
"Again."
"Mistress."
The hand in her hair tightened. Jamie bent over her, mouth hot against her ear.
"You're a natural," she breathed. "A perfect little whore."
Chloe whimpered.
"Do you like that? Being called a whore?"
"Yes."
"You are one." Jamie's free hand came around, fingers trailing down Chloe's throat, across her collarbone, down to her breast. She pinched the nipple—hard—and Chloe gasped. "You're my whore. My personal, private, dedicated little dorm whore."
She released Chloe's hair and walked back to the desk. Picked up the leash. Clipped it to the ring at Chloe's throat with a sharp click.
"On all fours."
Chloe shifted. Palms flat on the floor. Knees apart. The leash went taut, and Jamie tugged, just slightly, just enough to remind her who held the other end.
"Crawl."
Chloe crawled.
She moved across the room on hands and knees, the carpet abrading her skin, the collar tight around her throat. Jamie walked ahead of her, slow, pulling the leash every few steps, and Chloe followed like it was the only thing she knew how to do.
They stopped at the desk. Jamie turned.
"Up," she said. "Bend over."
Chloe stood. Her legs were unsteady. She leaned over the desk—cheek against the cool wood, ass in the air—and felt Jamie step up behind her.
The first slap landed on her left cheek.
Chloe yelped. The sound was loud in the quiet room. The pain was bright and sharp, radiating outward, and she felt her cunt clench in response.
"Count," Jamie said.
"One."
Another slap. Right cheek. Harder.
"Two."
"Three."
"Four."
By the time she reached ten, her ass was on fire. Jamie hadn't held back—each blow landed with the full weight of her palm, and Chloe could feel the heat blooming across her skin, the blood rushing to the surface, the bruises already forming.
Jamie paused. Her hand smoothed over the reddened flesh, gentle now, almost apologetic.
"You're doing so well," she murmured. "Such a good girl."
Chloe's eyes stung. The praise hit her somewhere deep, somewhere she didn't have words for.
"Please," she whispered.
"Please what?"
"Please—I need—"
"You need what?"
"I need you to fuck me."
Jamie laughed. Soft. Cruel. "I don't think you've earned that yet."
She stepped back. Chloe heard the clink of metal, the rustle of leather, the soft click of buckles. When she twisted to look, Jamie was stepping into the harness, the strap-on jutting from her hips, thick and black and terrifying.
"Eyes forward."
Chloe faced the wall. Her heart was going to explode. Her cunt was dripping down her thighs.
Jamie's hand found her hip. The other pressed the head of the strap-on against her entrance—not pushing, just resting there, letting her feel the size of it.
"Tell me what you want."
"I want you inside me."
"Inside you where?"
"My cunt. Please. I want you to fuck my cunt."
"Such a dirty mouth." Jamie pressed forward, just an inch, and Chloe gasped. "But I don't think you've earned my cunt yet either. You want to be my whore?"
"Yes."
"Then I'm going to fuck you like one."
She slammed in.
Chloe screamed. The strap-on filled her completely—stretching her, splitting her, hitting something deep that made white sparks flash behind her eyes. Jamie didn't pause. Didn't give her time to adjust. She pulled back and drove in again, harder, setting a rhythm that was brutal and unrelenting.
"Fuck," Chloe sobbed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"
"Shut up."
Jamie grabbed her hips and fucked her harder. The desk creaked. The lamp rattled. Chloe's body slammed against the wood with every thrust, her tits grinding against the surface, her breath coming in ragged pants.
"Look at you," Jamie hissed. "Taking it like a fucking champ. You were born for this, weren't you? Born to be bent over and fucked."
"Yes. God, yes—"
"You love it. You love being my little cock sleeve."
"I love it. I love it so much—"
Jamie's hand cracked across her ass. Then again. Again. Slap after slap, each one landing on her already-tender flesh, ratcheting the pain higher and higher until Chloe was sobbing.
"Please—"
"Please what?"
"Please don't stop—"
"I'm not stopping. I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk."
She grabbed a fistful of Chloe's hair and yanked her head back. Chloe's spine arched, her mouth open, her eyes streaming tears. Jamie's reflection stared back at her from the dark monitor—feral, hungry, utterly in control.
"You're mine," Jamie growled.
"I'm yours."
"Say it."
"I'm yours. I'm your whore. I'm your—"
"Slave."
"I'm your slave."
The word shattered something inside her. A wall. A barrier. All the bullshit she'd built up over years—the confidence, the popularity, the carefully constructed image—crumbled to dust.
She was nothing. She was Jamie's. And it was the most free she'd ever felt.
Jamie's hand cracked across her face.
Chloe's head snapped sideways. Her cheek stung, her lip split open again, and she moaned—a long, wrecked sound that came from somewhere primal.
"Thank you, Mistress."
"Again."
"Thank you, Mistress."
Another slap. The other cheek.
"Thank you, Mistress."
"That's right." Jamie's voice was thick. Wrecked. "You're learning."
She pulled out. Chloe gasped at the sudden emptiness—but only for a second, because Jamie was spinning her around, slamming her back against the desk, grabbing her thighs and hoisting her up.
"Wrap your legs."
Chloe did. Jamie stepped between them and drove back in.
The angle was different. Deeper. Jamie's mouth found hers, brutal and messy, teeth clashing, tasting blood and whiskey and salt.
"Cum for me," Jamie muttered against her lips. "Cum on my cock like a good little whore."
"Thank you, Mistress."
"I said cum."
"I can't—"
"Cum." Jamie's hand slid between them, thumb finding Chloe's clit, and Chloe's whole body went rigid. "Now."
She came.
It ripped through her like a hurricane—wild and violent and obliterating. She screamed into Jamie's mouth. Her nails raked down Jamie's back. Her cunt clenched around the strap-on like a fist, and Jamie fucked her through it, not stopping, not slowing, driving her higher and higher until Chloe was sobbing.
"Thank you, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress. Thank you—"
Jamie's hand clamped over her mouth.
"Quiet," she said. "You'll wake the whole floor."
Chloe whimpered behind her fingers. Jamie's hips kept moving—slower now, gentler, riding out the aftershocks until Chloe's body finally went limp.
They stayed like that for a moment. Jamie buried inside her. Chloe's arms around her neck. Both of them breathing hard, slick with sweat, trembling.
Then Jamie pulled out.
The strap-on slid free with a wet sound. Chloe winced. Her legs gave out and she slumped against the desk, boneless and shaking.
Jamie stood over her. The harness still on. The leash still in her hand. Her eyes were dark and unreadable.
"Don't move," she said.
She disappeared into the bathroom. Water ran. Chloe heard her cleaning the strap-on, taking off the harness, washing her hands.
When she came back, she had a wet cloth.
"Spread your legs."
Chloe obeyed. Jamie knelt between her thighs and wiped the slick from her cunt—gently, methodically, almost clinical. She wiped the blood from her lip. The tears from her cheeks. She unhooked the leash and unbuckled the collar, setting them aside.
Then she sat back on her heels and looked at Chloe.
"Can you stand?"
Chloe tried. Her legs buckled.
Jamie caught her. Of course she did. She always caught her.
"Come on," she said. "Bed."
She helped Chloe to the mattress. Pulled back the blankets. Tucked her in like a child.
Chloe's eyes were already closing. The world was soft at the edges, warm and blurry, and she felt Jamie slide into bed beside her, felt the warmth of her body, the weight of her arm around her waist.
"Jamie," she mumbled.
"Hm?"
"Tha's not m'name."
"What?"
Chloe burrowed deeper into the pillow. "Not Jamie. Mistress."
Jamie was quiet for a long moment. Then she pressed a kiss to Chloe's shoulder.
"Go to sleep, Chloe."
"Okay."
She was almost gone when she heard Jamie whisper:
"You're mine now. And I'm never letting you go."