To Command And Collar

He gave her only a touch, his finger lifting her chin. He leaned his elbow on his thigh and studied her. “Couldn’t what?”

Couldn’t face the dungeon, talking about it, seeing your disappointment. “I-” She cried harder, unable to say any of it.

“Carajo,” he muttered, and she flinched at the Spanish F word. “Tell me-clearly-why you hid from me.” He waited, offering nothing more as she struggled for control.

Her breath hitched, but she managed to whisper, “I was scared.”

“I realize that. Why didn’t you talk to me?”

Talk to him? Her brain stopped as if it had floated to the end of an anchor line. “I-I don’t know.”

His finger stayed under her chin, keeping her face exposed to him. She blinked the water from her eyes, needing to see his expression. Hard…but not cold. He had on the you-screwed-up dom face, but he wasn’t angry. Why isn’t he angry?

“Have I asked you to let me know when you’re getting too afraid?”

She tried to nod.

His eyes chilled.

“Yes, Master.”

“I make you so fearful you cannot speak with me?” She heard his unhappiness in his tone, in the slowness of his phrasing.

Her tears started up again. “No, Master. I’m sorry, Master.”

This time, he framed her face between his hands, using his thumbs to wipe the wetness from her cheeks. “Then talk to me now. Explain so I can understand.” Releasing her, he set his forearms on his knees and waited.

Why hadn’t she gone to him? Talked to him before she got too crazy in her head? He always listened. He’d hold her during panic attacks. He’d go slower if she was really scared. But… “I wasn’t thinking. I just hid.” Had he maybe not seen the missing toys? God, let her have a chance to put them all back first.

He frowned at her. “When you were little and scared, who did you run to?”

“Mom.” What did that have to do with anything?

“Not your father?”

Like he would have helped. Her laugh sounded…odd. She shook her head.

“Why?”

How to explain their family? “He… When I was younger, he treated me like a son. Boys don’t get scared.”

“No?” His mouth twitched. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Her mouth dropped open, and her brain started to kick in, erratic as a motor with some salt water in the fuel. Other fathers hugged their children…both sons and daughters. They’d comfort them and hold them if a baseball smashed into them or when a big dog chased them. Her father hadn’t been…fatherly.

“At first, he treated you like a son. What happened when you grew older?”

Her own fault. Her own choice. She didn’t regret it. “I decided I was female and started dressing like one. Helping my mother. So I was…nothing to him.”

Master R was frowning again. “You would have been a beautiful little girl. How could any papa not be proud?” His knuckles stroked her cheek, and she…yearned.

“I guess you had a good father,” she said.

“I did.” His fingers ran through her tangled hair. “Kimberly. Terror can make us like children. If you didn’t run to your father-a man-to comfort you, and considering your experiences with men recently, I understand why you hid.” His level gaze held hers. “But, chiquita, you must understand that while you are here, I expect you to come to me and share your fears. Even if I am the one causing them.”

Why did his uncompromising look make her heart stutter? “Yes, Master.”

The corner of his mouth curved. “I like all the Masters I’m hearing right now, slave.”

She flinched, chilling as if arctic water was seeping into her core.

His eyes narrowed. “This is the type of thing we discuss.” He paused. Then his voice hardened. “Slave.”

He rarely called her that horrible word. Surely he couldn’t understand the effect on her. How could he?

Now he expected her to talk as her insides shriveled like a jellyfish on dry sand. Can’t talk. She pulled in a breath. Must talk. I’m braver than this. Her shoulders straightened a little. Gabi would tell her to pull up her big girl panties and spit the words out. “The word. Slave.” Could she bleach her mouth out? “I never liked it even…before. Now it makes me sick to my stomach. Ugly.” She bit her lip and forced the rest out. “When you call me that, it’s…worse.” As if her security blanket had a snake on it.

“Mmm.” He picked her up, tucking her easily onto his lap and against his chest.

Every muscle in her body relaxed at the enveloping comfort of his embrace. A reward. He was rewarding her for her honesty. Manipulative? Kind of. But she’d take it.

“You don’t look sick when you say master.”

“It’s not the same-not ugly.” She rubbed her cheek on his chest; his faded T-shirt was soft over his solid pectorals. His masculine scent mingled with that of the laundry soap and had come to mean safety. “I like the master word.” She considered and added, “Although sometimes I want to throw things at you when you make me use it.”

His laugh sounded different, deeper, when her ear was pressed to his chest. “Bueno. Is submissive better than slave?”

“I guess.” She tried to imagine him calling her that. “It’s kind of blah.”

“Mmm. Perhaps sumisa-or even sumisita? It means little submissive in Spanish.” He shifted her so her face snuggled into his neck. “Someday we’ll discuss why I think the word fits you.”

Sumisita. It sounded…sweet somehow. He’d called Gabi chiquita a couple of times, so that term didn’t seem very special. Gatita was…more hers. And sumisita was more…ownery. His way of saying “mine.” “I like that, Master.”

“Good.” He tipped her face up. His approving kiss made her feel as if her boat had entered the harbor.

“I put a blank journal in your sitting room,” he said. “And a limit list as well. You know what that is?”

A list of BDSM activities where a submissive could check off what she might be interested in trying…and what she absolutely wouldn’t do. Sometimes a club dom would hand her one. She nodded.

“Fill out the list, and we will discuss it.” He tapped her nose. “I doubt we’ll actually play much, but we have reached the point where I need to know more about what bothers you.”

“And the journal?”

“Is mostly for you. Faith agreed you should use it.” He paused. “I want you to write one page for me every day, and we’ll read it together each night. The rest is only for you; I won’t ask to see the other pages.”

A journal. Bleah. “I get Faith’s reasons. But why a page for-to-you?”

“To avert problems like today.” He stroked her hair gently. “There will be things you need from me. Thoughts you can’t speak but might be able to write. So. You will fill the page, even if your words seem foolish to you. Clear?”

“Yes, Master.” Homework. Frigging what-I-did-on-my-slavery-vacation homework.

“Such a pout,” he murmured and kissed it right off her lips. His lips were warm, firm, controlling. His hand tightened in her hair as he took her mouth, punishing before he finished in gentleness.

Her head swam as if she’d downed three quick drinks.

When he pulled back, his gaze smoldered with as much heat as she had simmering inside. His expression hardened. “Now about what you took from the toy cabinet…”

She buried her head in his neck. Oh God.

“Bring them here and lay out everything neatly on the ottoman. For your punishment, you will pick one of the toys-just one-which I’ll use on you sometime in the next few days.”

“When?” she whispered.

“Wrong response. Try again, sumisa.”