“I never thought about you needing to be safe.”
“I know. I want to set things up correctly this time.” I stopped for a second, knowing there was more. “I was also wrong when I punished you.” She looked up in surprise. “Not so much for punishing you, but for not providing any aftercare.”
“Aftercare?”
“I should have come to your room that night. Talked. Held you. Made sure you were okay. Checked your skin. Made you sit down the next morning instead of waiting until lunch. Anything.”
“Oh.”
“I was so wrapped up in my own feelings that I didn’t give you the attention you needed.” I held her gaze. “It won’t happen again.”
She didn’t say anything.
“If I have to punish you again—when I have to punish you again,” I corrected. It was inevitable. It would happen. “I want you to understand that it’ll be different.”
We spoke more about aftercare and what she should expect. We went over what would result in a chastisement and what the various penalties would be.
When she didn’t have any more questions, I put an end to the discussion for another night and we took Apollo out for a walk. I showed her the cherry trees, pointed out where flowers would be coming up soon. As we walked, I reached for her hand and our fingers intertwined.
My phone gave a low double beep.
“Yes, Sara?” I looked at my watch and smiled. Five forty-five. I should have guessed she’d show up early.
“Ms. King is here, sir.”
“Thank you. Send her in at five after six. Once she comes in, you can go ahead and leave for the night.”
“Yes, sir,” she said and hung up.
It was a Friday night. Abby had told me she wanted to resubmit her application to Mr. Godwin and come back to my office for an interview. I thought it damn near the craziest idea I’d ever heard and told her no, but she persisted. After some discussion, I saw her point of view—it would make things more official, and Godwin knew better than to question any orders I gave him.
“You want me to forward just Abigail King’s application to you?” he asked. “No one else’s?”
“That’s right. Only hers.”
“I have a new one here. Looks promising. She asked for you.”
“Not interested. Call and tell her I’m not available. Indefinitely. And that goes for anyone else who asks.”
Abby had requested I recollar her that weekend. We talked about timelines in detail. I told her there was no rush—I’d even questioned her about it that morning in the shower—but she had been insistent.
I looked at my watch again.
At three minutes after six, I turned back to my computer and started typing.
Damn f**king lucky-ass bastard.
The door opened and closed. Abigail—Paul had told me it would be easier to keep in role if I thought of her as Abigail on the weekends—walked across the floor and stopped in the middle of the room. I peeked up and looked at her—head down, arms to her sides.
Whatever you did to deserve to have that wonderful creature in your life, I don’t know, I typed.
Damn f**king lucky-ass bastard.
Coming back to your office, giving you a second chance to be her dom.
Loving you even though you were such a f**kup.
Loving you, period.
Damn f**king lucky-ass bastard.
In the history of damn f**king lucky-ass bastards, you, West, are the luckiest damn f**king lucky-ass bastard.
Now, go give her what you both want.
I stopped typing.
“Abigail King.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge me.
I pushed back from my desk and walked behind her. I stopped for a second and smelled her. Delicious. I took her hair in my hand and gave a twist.
“I was easy on you last time,” I said, because it was the damn truth and she knew it. She also knew I would not be easy on her this time.
I pulled her hair, and she worked to keep her head down. Excellent. I had not yet given her permission to look at me.
“You told me once you could handle anything I gave you physically,” I said. “Do you remember?”
She didn’t speak—I had not given her permission to do so.
I jerked her hair. “I’m going to test that theory, Abigail. We’ll see just how much you’re able to handle.”
I let go of her hair and moved to stand in front of her. “I’m going to train you. Train you to service my every need, desire, and want. From now on, when I give a command, I expect you to obey immediately and without question. Any hesitation, raised eyebrow, or disobedience will be dealt with on the spot. Is that understood?”
She still didn’t speak.
“Look at me and answer,” I said. “Do you understand?”
Her head lifted and her eyes met mine. “Yes, Master.”
Yes, Master? She called me Master before I collared her?
Again?
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” I’d known she would mess up. Expected it, even. But I had not thought it would happen in my office. “I thought you learned that lesson last time.”
She looked completely confused.
“How do you address me before I collar you?” I asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“I let that mistake slide before,” I said, and walked to my desk. Could I do this? “But like I said, I won’t be as lenient this time around.”
I had to. To show her I meant it when I said I was easy on her last time.
“Lift your skirt and put your hands on top of my desk,” I said.
My penalty for improper forms of address varied depending on what the violation was and when and how it occurred, but I had nothing down for failure to use the proper name before collaring.
“Three strokes,” I said as she positioned herself. “Count.”
My first smack landed on the fleshy part of her right butt cheek.
“One.”
The second landed on the left.
“Two.”
My strikes were strong enough to color her ass—she needed to feel them—but not hard enough to leave any lasting mark. The final one landed on her sweet spot.
“Three.”
Just like that, it was over. I felt better. We were going to be fine. I rubbed her gently, noting she didn’t wince or shy from my hands. I smoothed her skirt down. “Go stand where you were.”
She walked gracefully back to her spot in the middle of my office.
“Do you remember your safe words?” I asked.
“Yes, sir. I remember the safe words.”
“Good.” I opened a drawer, took out a box, and lifted out the collar. “Are you ready, Abigail?”
A smile lit her face. “Yes, sir.”
I went and stood in front of her, collar in my hand.
“Kneel.”
When she dropped to her knees, I fastened the collar around her neck.
Mine.
“I’ll put this on you every Friday evening at six o’clock,” I said, repeating what we had agreed to, “and take it off Sunday afternoons at three.”
The collar looked so f**king good on her.
She would take me in her mouth now—it was the next step in the ritual we had decided on—but first, I had to do something . . .
“Stand up,” I said.
She rose to her feet, obeying, even though I knew she didn’t understand.
Every time I’d collared her in the past, feelings of possessiveness had overwhelmed me. The joy of seeing her in my collar, the sheer animalistic nature it released in me, was staggering. Every time before, I had wanted to kiss her.
“You look so f**king good wearing my collar.”
This time, I would.
I slipped a hand under her chin and brought her to me, crushing her lips under mine. Showing her with my kiss how she affected me. How the sight of her wearing my collar affected me. She was tentative at first, but responded at my urging.
I finally broke the kiss and pushed down on her shoulders. “Back to your knees.”
She dropped back into position and licked her lips. “Please, Master, may I have you in my mouth?” she asked, as we had agreed. I would put my collar on her, but in return, she would ask to serve me.
“You may.”
I closed my eyes as she unbuckled and unzipped my pants. Over the last few weeks, she had given me oral sex, but it had always been in bed and never on her knees. I’d wanted to save that for when I recollared her.
I took her hair in my hands and, when she tried to ease my c**k into her mouth, forced myself in. Showing her I was in control. She belonged to me. All of her. And I’d use her mouth in any way I desired.
For that was the gift she gave me.
And that was the gift I accepted.
I thrust in and out of her mouth and she worked herself on me. Running her tongue along me, sucking me deeply. I hit the back of her throat and still she took all of me, using her teeth, the exact way she knew I liked.
“Fuck,” I groaned.
I tightened my grip on her hair and thrust harder. Fuck, she felt good. My balls tensed up, and I knew I wouldn’t last much longer. She recognized I was close and grabbed on to my thighs in expectation.
I pushed my c**k to the back of her throat and groaned again as I filled her mouth. She swallowed around me, drawing me deeper down her throat as she did so.
I slipped from her mouth and slowly untangled my hands from her hair. I ran my fingers over her head, stroking her scalp, hoping to soothe away any pain.
“Buckle my pants, Abigail.”
Once she obeyed and my clothes were straightened, I told her to stand.
I cupped her chin and lifted her face so she looked at me. “I’m going to work you hard tonight. I’m going to bring you to the edge of pleasure and leave you hanging. You will not release until I give you permission, and I will be very stingy with my permission. Do you understand?”
She was silent.
“Answer me.”
Her eyes shone dark with desire. “Yes, Master.”
Very good.
“I’ll be home in an hour. I want you n**ed and waiting in the playroom.”
“I know. I want to set things up correctly this time.” I stopped for a second, knowing there was more. “I was also wrong when I punished you.” She looked up in surprise. “Not so much for punishing you, but for not providing any aftercare.”
“Aftercare?”
“I should have come to your room that night. Talked. Held you. Made sure you were okay. Checked your skin. Made you sit down the next morning instead of waiting until lunch. Anything.”
“Oh.”
“I was so wrapped up in my own feelings that I didn’t give you the attention you needed.” I held her gaze. “It won’t happen again.”
She didn’t say anything.
“If I have to punish you again—when I have to punish you again,” I corrected. It was inevitable. It would happen. “I want you to understand that it’ll be different.”
We spoke more about aftercare and what she should expect. We went over what would result in a chastisement and what the various penalties would be.
When she didn’t have any more questions, I put an end to the discussion for another night and we took Apollo out for a walk. I showed her the cherry trees, pointed out where flowers would be coming up soon. As we walked, I reached for her hand and our fingers intertwined.
My phone gave a low double beep.
“Yes, Sara?” I looked at my watch and smiled. Five forty-five. I should have guessed she’d show up early.
“Ms. King is here, sir.”
“Thank you. Send her in at five after six. Once she comes in, you can go ahead and leave for the night.”
“Yes, sir,” she said and hung up.
It was a Friday night. Abby had told me she wanted to resubmit her application to Mr. Godwin and come back to my office for an interview. I thought it damn near the craziest idea I’d ever heard and told her no, but she persisted. After some discussion, I saw her point of view—it would make things more official, and Godwin knew better than to question any orders I gave him.
“You want me to forward just Abigail King’s application to you?” he asked. “No one else’s?”
“That’s right. Only hers.”
“I have a new one here. Looks promising. She asked for you.”
“Not interested. Call and tell her I’m not available. Indefinitely. And that goes for anyone else who asks.”
Abby had requested I recollar her that weekend. We talked about timelines in detail. I told her there was no rush—I’d even questioned her about it that morning in the shower—but she had been insistent.
I looked at my watch again.
At three minutes after six, I turned back to my computer and started typing.
Damn f**king lucky-ass bastard.
The door opened and closed. Abigail—Paul had told me it would be easier to keep in role if I thought of her as Abigail on the weekends—walked across the floor and stopped in the middle of the room. I peeked up and looked at her—head down, arms to her sides.
Whatever you did to deserve to have that wonderful creature in your life, I don’t know, I typed.
Damn f**king lucky-ass bastard.
Coming back to your office, giving you a second chance to be her dom.
Loving you even though you were such a f**kup.
Loving you, period.
Damn f**king lucky-ass bastard.
In the history of damn f**king lucky-ass bastards, you, West, are the luckiest damn f**king lucky-ass bastard.
Now, go give her what you both want.
I stopped typing.
“Abigail King.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge me.
I pushed back from my desk and walked behind her. I stopped for a second and smelled her. Delicious. I took her hair in my hand and gave a twist.
“I was easy on you last time,” I said, because it was the damn truth and she knew it. She also knew I would not be easy on her this time.
I pulled her hair, and she worked to keep her head down. Excellent. I had not yet given her permission to look at me.
“You told me once you could handle anything I gave you physically,” I said. “Do you remember?”
She didn’t speak—I had not given her permission to do so.
I jerked her hair. “I’m going to test that theory, Abigail. We’ll see just how much you’re able to handle.”
I let go of her hair and moved to stand in front of her. “I’m going to train you. Train you to service my every need, desire, and want. From now on, when I give a command, I expect you to obey immediately and without question. Any hesitation, raised eyebrow, or disobedience will be dealt with on the spot. Is that understood?”
She still didn’t speak.
“Look at me and answer,” I said. “Do you understand?”
Her head lifted and her eyes met mine. “Yes, Master.”
Yes, Master? She called me Master before I collared her?
Again?
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” I’d known she would mess up. Expected it, even. But I had not thought it would happen in my office. “I thought you learned that lesson last time.”
She looked completely confused.
“How do you address me before I collar you?” I asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“I let that mistake slide before,” I said, and walked to my desk. Could I do this? “But like I said, I won’t be as lenient this time around.”
I had to. To show her I meant it when I said I was easy on her last time.
“Lift your skirt and put your hands on top of my desk,” I said.
My penalty for improper forms of address varied depending on what the violation was and when and how it occurred, but I had nothing down for failure to use the proper name before collaring.
“Three strokes,” I said as she positioned herself. “Count.”
My first smack landed on the fleshy part of her right butt cheek.
“One.”
The second landed on the left.
“Two.”
My strikes were strong enough to color her ass—she needed to feel them—but not hard enough to leave any lasting mark. The final one landed on her sweet spot.
“Three.”
Just like that, it was over. I felt better. We were going to be fine. I rubbed her gently, noting she didn’t wince or shy from my hands. I smoothed her skirt down. “Go stand where you were.”
She walked gracefully back to her spot in the middle of my office.
“Do you remember your safe words?” I asked.
“Yes, sir. I remember the safe words.”
“Good.” I opened a drawer, took out a box, and lifted out the collar. “Are you ready, Abigail?”
A smile lit her face. “Yes, sir.”
I went and stood in front of her, collar in my hand.
“Kneel.”
When she dropped to her knees, I fastened the collar around her neck.
Mine.
“I’ll put this on you every Friday evening at six o’clock,” I said, repeating what we had agreed to, “and take it off Sunday afternoons at three.”
The collar looked so f**king good on her.
She would take me in her mouth now—it was the next step in the ritual we had decided on—but first, I had to do something . . .
“Stand up,” I said.
She rose to her feet, obeying, even though I knew she didn’t understand.
Every time I’d collared her in the past, feelings of possessiveness had overwhelmed me. The joy of seeing her in my collar, the sheer animalistic nature it released in me, was staggering. Every time before, I had wanted to kiss her.
“You look so f**king good wearing my collar.”
This time, I would.
I slipped a hand under her chin and brought her to me, crushing her lips under mine. Showing her with my kiss how she affected me. How the sight of her wearing my collar affected me. She was tentative at first, but responded at my urging.
I finally broke the kiss and pushed down on her shoulders. “Back to your knees.”
She dropped back into position and licked her lips. “Please, Master, may I have you in my mouth?” she asked, as we had agreed. I would put my collar on her, but in return, she would ask to serve me.
“You may.”
I closed my eyes as she unbuckled and unzipped my pants. Over the last few weeks, she had given me oral sex, but it had always been in bed and never on her knees. I’d wanted to save that for when I recollared her.
I took her hair in my hands and, when she tried to ease my c**k into her mouth, forced myself in. Showing her I was in control. She belonged to me. All of her. And I’d use her mouth in any way I desired.
For that was the gift she gave me.
And that was the gift I accepted.
I thrust in and out of her mouth and she worked herself on me. Running her tongue along me, sucking me deeply. I hit the back of her throat and still she took all of me, using her teeth, the exact way she knew I liked.
“Fuck,” I groaned.
I tightened my grip on her hair and thrust harder. Fuck, she felt good. My balls tensed up, and I knew I wouldn’t last much longer. She recognized I was close and grabbed on to my thighs in expectation.
I pushed my c**k to the back of her throat and groaned again as I filled her mouth. She swallowed around me, drawing me deeper down her throat as she did so.
I slipped from her mouth and slowly untangled my hands from her hair. I ran my fingers over her head, stroking her scalp, hoping to soothe away any pain.
“Buckle my pants, Abigail.”
Once she obeyed and my clothes were straightened, I told her to stand.
I cupped her chin and lifted her face so she looked at me. “I’m going to work you hard tonight. I’m going to bring you to the edge of pleasure and leave you hanging. You will not release until I give you permission, and I will be very stingy with my permission. Do you understand?”
She was silent.
“Answer me.”
Her eyes shone dark with desire. “Yes, Master.”
Very good.
“I’ll be home in an hour. I want you n**ed and waiting in the playroom.”
