Chapter 28: A New Collar
The ache he left her with was a phantom limb. For three days, Elise moved through the world feeling the absence of his command like a hollow space in her sternum. The promised “real training” echoed in her dreams, twisting into scenarios both terrifying and delicious. She wore her innocence like a ghost now, a translucent sheath over something new and hungry he had built inside her.
When she returned, the office felt different. Smaller, or perhaps she was larger, filled with this buzzing anticipation. The record player was on, a slow saxophone line weaving through the air like smoke. Julian wasn’t at his desk. He stood by the window, backlit, holding a small, dark object.
“Close the door,” he said, without turning.
She did, the lock engaging with a soft, final thunk. The usual scent of sandalwood was undercut today by something sharper, cleaner. Alcohol. Surgical steel.
“Come here, Elise.”
She approached, her feet silent on the rug. He turned. In his hands was a collar. Not the one from before. This was narrower, sleeker, made of supple black leather. A small, polished steel plate was riveted to the front. He held it up. The engraving was simple, stark: Property of Daddy.
“You’ve graduated from theory to practical application,” he said, his voice calm, almost conversational. “This is a tool. A reminder. Your skin will learn it. Your mind already has.”
Her breath hitched. A shiver, half-fear, half-desire, traced her spine. She didn’t speak. She simply lifted her chin, exposing her throat. The trust in the gesture was absolute, and it darkened his eyes with pure, predatory satisfaction.
The leather was cool at first. He buckled it at the back of her neck, the adjustment precise, not too tight, but inescapably present. The steel plate rested just above her collarbone, a chill, declarative weight. He ran a finger along the edge, letting it catch on the skin.
“Marked,” he whispered, and the word vibrated through her. “Now, kneel.”
She sank to the floor, the new leather creaking softly. The jazz record settled into a low, rhythmic pulse.
“Look at me.”
She did. His green eyes were hypnotic even without the formal trance. He simply pointed a finger at the space between his feet. “Here. On your hands and knees. Present yourself.”
A hot flush spread across her chest and cheeks. She moved forward, settling onto her palms and knees, her head bowed, her ass raised towards him. The position was one of utter vulnerability, and the cool office air kissed her exposed skin. She felt the dampness between her legs begin almost immediately, a helpless, physical confession.
She heard the rustle of his clothes as he crouched behind her. His hands, warm and dry, settled on the backs of her thighs, spreading her wider. A soft, broken sound escaped her.
“Quiet,” he murmured, not unkindly. “Just feel.”
His breath touched her first, a warm shock against her slick folds. Then his tongue—flat, firm, and devastatingly deliberate—dragged a long, slow path from her entrance to her clit. She jerked, a gasp torn from her. He held her hips firm, his grip unyielding.
He didn’t feast. He mapped. He licked and probed with a scientist’s focus, learning every swell, every tremor. He circled her clit with the tip of his tongue, light and maddening, then plunged deep into her cunt, fucking her with it, mimicking the act with a wet, obscene precision. The sounds were filthy, open-mouthed, and wet. She could hear him savoring her.
“You taste like obedience,” he said, his voice muffled against her flesh. “Sweet and salty. Perfect.”
He built her up with ruthless skill. He’d bring her to the very precipice, her body tensing, her moans becoming frantic pleas, her cunt clenching around the empty air—and then he’d stop. He’d pull back completely, letting the cool air sting her wetness, while his thumb rubbed slow, infuriating circles on her thigh.
“Daddy… please,” she sobbed, her forehead pressed to the rug.
“Please what?”
“Please let me come.”
“No. Not yet. Daddy decides.” His voice was a low thrum of absolute authority. “Your orgasm is a gift I own. You beg for what’s already mine.”
He began again. His mouth was more aggressive now, sucking her clit between his lips, tongue flicking rapidly. He slid two fingers inside her, crooking them, finding a spot that made her scream. He pumped them in and out, his mouth never leaving her, orchestrating her ascent again. Her thighs shook. Her world narrowed to that point of contact, a coil of pure need winding tighter, tighter, impossibly tight.
He stopped again.
She cried out in real anguish, a guttural sound of loss. Her body convulsed, denied. She was drenched, trembling, her mind splintering with need. “I can’t… I can’t…”
“You can. You will. When I say.” He patted her ass, a condescending, proprietary gesture. “Again.”
The third time was torture. He used his tongue, his fingers, the gentle scrape of his teeth. He talked to her, his words a filthy counterpoint to the jazz. “This desperate little cunt is mine. This juice is for me. You’re just a hole I’m tuning for my pleasure. Aren’t you?”
“Yes, Daddy! Yes!”
“You’d come from this forever, wouldn’t you? Just my tongue on your slutty little pussy, until you lost your mind.”
“Yes! Please!”
She was babbling, incoherent, hovering on a blade’s edge of sensation for what felt like an eternity. The pleasure was so acute it bordered on pain. Just as she felt herself beginning to fall over the edge involuntarily, he pulled his mouth away.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
With immense effort, she twisted her head, looking back over her shoulder. His lips glistened with her. His eyes were black with power.
“Now,” he said, the word a soft detonation. “Come for Daddy.”
It was like snapping a bone. The release was catastrophic. A raw, screaming orgasm tore through her, so violent her vision spotted. Her cunt clenched around nothing, spasming in rapid, desperate pulses, and she felt a hot gush of fluid release, soaking his chin, his hand, the rug beneath her. She screamed, a long, unraveling sound of worship and shattered nerves, her body buckling as wave after wave of electric pleasure ravaged her.
He stayed there, letting her ride it, letting her soak him, until her screams dissolved into whimpers and her body went limp, held up only by his hands on her hips.
He stood. The sounds of his zipper, the shift of fabric, were loud in the ringing silence. She remained on her hands and knees, spent, dripping, the collar heavy on her neck.
He guided her head around with a foot under her chin. His cock, fully hard, glistened at the tip. He placed it against her slack, tear-stained lips.
“Clean it,” he ordered.
She opened her mouth, her tongue flicking out to taste herself on him. She licked the length of him, the salt and musk of his skin mingling with her own tart flavor.
“Enough. Open.”
She did, and he pushed forward, not slowly. He filled her mouth, then her throat, in one smooth, claiming stroke. She gagged, her eyes watering, but she didn’t pull away. He set a brutal, rhythmic pace, fucking her face with the same possessive intensity he’d used between her legs. Her nose pressed into his groin with every thrust. Tears and saliva streaked her face. The leather collar dug into the back of her neck, a constant, grounding reminder of her purpose.
“Take it. All of it. Your throat belongs to me too.”
She managed a choked, gurgling sound of assent. His rhythm grew jagged, frantic. His fingers tightened in her hair.
“Swallow it. Now.”
He spilled deep, his cock pulsing against the back of her tongue. The bitter, hot flood hit her throat. She swallowed convulsively, again and again, until he was empty. He withdrew, slick and spent, tucking himself away.
She knelt there, coughing softly, catching her breath. She looked up at him, her hazel eyes dazed, swimming with a love so profound it had erased every other facet of her identity. A strand of saliva webbed from her lip to his trouser leg. She didn’t notice.
“I love you, Daddy,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming and his use.
He reached down, his hand surprisingly gentle, and stroked her sweat-damp hair. He traced the line of the collar with his thumb. His smile was a quiet, cosmic victory.
“I know, baby,” he said, his voice soft, almost tender. “I know.”