Part IV
Despite my cool exterior, my heart skips a beat, my soul relents as you touch
the collar, almost afraid that if you touch it, it will go away, disappear in a
plume of smoke. No, it's not going anywhere, except around her pretty little
neck. That's what I came here for and I wasn't leaving until I got it. She was
not going to get away that easily. I knew her kind, more importantly, I knew
her.
Her face was an exquisite image, the glow of the firelight dancing upon it as
the harsh, rebellious lines faded and gave way to awe and rapture - submission
at its most basic level. It costs me an incredible amount of effort to bite back
a smile, she's amazing. Truly, this is a remarkable moment, one that doesn't
require fancy words or a camera to capture it...it will be with me always.
She's still stroking it, blinking back emotional tears. I long to fold her in my
arms and tell her it's ok, to reassure her, but that's not what she needs from
me, at least not yet. Oh, it's what she wants, I'm sure, but it is not what's
called for here. No, it requires a strong and patient hand to bring a feisty
submissive to heel, not a soft one, and I possess both. I know, too, the effort
I expend now will be worth it in the long run. I know it, I can feel it, and I
sense it more strongly than anything else before.
I lift a hand and run it through her hair. Her eyes close and her face softens
even more, now no trace of anger, defiance or challenge left, only peace. Yes,
peace. And I disturb it, clenching my hand in her luxurious locks and pulling it
a bit, tilting her head to the side. Her eyes fly open and stare right at me,
panic edging into the liquid blue depths framed by her spiky, full lashes. Her
gasp of surprise is mercifully silent, only evidenced by the small "o" formed by
her lips.
I brace myself and force a cold expression on my face as my hand jerks the
collar away from her inquisitive fingers. Her hand, trembling, lingers in the
air a moment, tracing only vacant space before she lets it drop to her side. My
fist curls tighter about the handful of hair and I hear her soft cry, anguished
and uncertain. I pull downwards a bit more, bringing her head with me. Her peace
has been effectively disrupted, her composure shattered.
I pull my hand roughly from her hair and begin preparing the collar for
placement. I assume a nonchalant manner, as if this were an everyday occurrence.
She will probably never know how precious the last few minutes were to me, or
how much I eagerly awaited the rest. But it was enough that I knew, that I
recognized it and, given time and her respect and obedience, she may yet get to
glimpse that side of me. Not tonight though, maybe not ever. It all depended on
her. For right now, I had a role to play, a part to fulfill. I had to bring her
to the other side, help her cross over, and gentleness played no part, at least
as far as she would know.
***
I couldn't get passed the collar. It filled my eyes and my mind. It hijacked my
heart and my soul. Even though utterly simple, it was the most beautiful thing I
had ever seen. It out shadowed even the posh decor of this incredible suite. I
was spell bound. I was adrift on a fantasy that I was sure would never be
realized, lost in a dream that I was sure I was going to be brutally, cruelly,
unfairly awakened from.
The transformation in me was instantaneous and miraculous and...complete. All
previous thoughts of mutiny, of escape were gone, vanished with out a trace,
erased by the translucent glow of the steel held before me, by the paradisiacal
band that offered a glimpse of unchartered heavens. No thoughts, no worries
existed in the face of it, just a sense of completion, a well spring of inner
joy bubbling up within my soul. There was no way I was going. How could I?
His hand in my hair brought me further under his spell, binding me to him,
holding me captive, awaiting the wondrous journey he would take me on. But he
abruptly yanked me from my fairy tale, pulling my hair, tipping my head to the
side. My mind silently screamed "Noooooo!" Don't shatter the allusion, don't
destroy the beautiful dream.
The collar was pulled away and pain, harsh and unrelenting filled my heart. I
was conscious of the unwelcome pressure on my scalp, but it didn't hurt, or not
nearly as much as my insides did. Don't tease me like this! It's so cruel to
dangle that utopia before me just to pull it back at the last moment, retract it
as I watched my heart cross the space between us, drifting to your waiting hand.
Your hand pushed my head even further as it escaped the tight cocoon of hair it
had created. My breath was lodged somewhere in my throat, too afraid or too
shocked from the coldness emanating from you. You played with the collar, the
symbol of my hopes and dreams as if it were a trinket, some prize removed from a
Cracker Jack box so that you could get to the last remaining morsels inside.
Didn't it mean anything to you? How could you be so callous? So cold? So
unfeeling? You couldn't have my heart! That was mine and I was going to keep it!
Was mine? Was mine? The truth, joyful a moment ago, but now agonizing in your
detached insouciance hit me. My heart was mine...a few moments ago, but not any
longer. You had tricked me, fooled me into giving it to you in a moment of
weakness and now it was lost, it was yours to do with as you pleased. How could
I have been so stupid? So blind? So naive?
A strangled cry manages to escape my lips and you look at me, narrowing your
eyes. You back away from me and place the collar on the mantle. Your cold words
do more damage to my heart than anything in my 31 years have done. "We'll save
this for later. You aren't ready for it yet."
I'm not ready for it yet? How could he say such a thing? How could he hurt me in
this manner? I'll show him who's ready for it? I'll show him...
***
She was an open book, very easy to read and I was thankful. It would spare her
needless pain and suffering, for in being open and vulnerable, she unwittingly
supplied me with many weapons. I was sure she didn't even realize it herself,
would swear up and down that she was not vulnerable, that she sealed herself off
from it. It was then that I placed the collar on the mantle, told her she wasn't
fit to wear it. And boy did that hit home. She gasped, harsh and broken and her
eyes turned to dangerous slits. I had pricked her pride. That was step one. Step
two would be removing it...and that was the fun part.
I walk over to her and lean down before her, taking her face in my hands gently,
allowing some tenderness to flow back into my features. I brush my thumbs along
her cheek bones, noting the confusion in her eyes. "That," I say as I point to
the mantle, "is something that you have to earn." My voice is low and seductive,
and purposefully at odds with the coldness of the words. Unbalance is a great
tool, confusion a great weapon.
Her eyes are pale blue eddies as she mulls over my words. Her eyes drift back
and forth between the collar, cold and lifeless on the mantel, and me, cold and
very much alive in front of her. She is giving this a lot of thought. She is
trying to deny the pull of the collar, trying to hide from it, from herself. She
can't, neither can she hide from me. She can try; she can give it her best shot.
In fact, I am counting on it. But in the end, she will be wide open, exposed for
who and what she is and I will revel in it. Ultimately, she will too. It is what
and who she is fated to be. Like it or not, it is. And I must help her accept
it, embrace it and come to cherish it as much as I do...for me as much as for
her.
One of my hands leaves her face and travels along the curves of her shoulder,
down her arm, and wraps itself around her dainty wrist. I look at it
reflectively. It is small and I could easily crush it within my hand...but
crushing her is not what I am setting out to do. I bend her arm, staring
intently into her wide, luminous eyes as I carefully pin it behind her back. Her
eyes darken and I hear her quick intake of breath.
She was born to serve...if not me then somebody else. It's her nature. And she
would eventually find herself in this predicament sooner or later. But I was
born to take and I wanted her, and I would have her, would mold her into what I
desired, and would lead her down the thorn strewn primrose path that was the
hallmark of the lifestyle. Yes, ours. Neither one of us could deny who and what
we were. It just was. Hot...cold. Dark...light. Sun...moon. Male...female.
Dominant...submissive. It just was. Who was I to deny it? Who was she? It just
was.
My other hand leaves her cheek and strokes her neck, caressing the line of it
down the center of her torso, down the valley of her breasts, her quivering
breasts, her pale creamy mounds of flesh that are begging for my touch. She will
know my touch and so much more before this night is through, know it, accept it,
come to crave it as much as I long to bestow it. My fingers walk up from that
luscious valley and curl around a nipple, squeezing and rolling it, causing it
to pucker, causing the dusky tip to darken and swell. She bites her lower lip,
to stop the trembling...it doesn't...or to catch the gasp...it doesn't, I don't
know. No, crushing her is not what I want to do...not at all.
