To Command And Collar

his arms over his chest, he studied her, his dark gaze skimming over her face, her shoulders, her hands, her legs. Under the discomfort of the heavy silence, she shifted her weight as the flutters in her stomach increased. An experienced dominant. She saw the signs in his posture and in the way that sometimes she reacted to him as a dom-not a monster.

He’s a monster. Never forget that.

“What is your real name?” he asked softly.

My name. Part of me. Not answering this. His chin lifted and under his gaze, her defiance that had infuriated Lord Greville bent as inevitably as a palm tree in a tropical storm. “Kimberly. Sir.”

“Thank you.” When his face softened in approval, her muscles relaxed even though she knew-she knew-he was a slaver. And he-he wanted to use a flogger on her.

He grasped her shoulders and turned her so her back was to him. Why wasn’t he being rough with her? As he traced lines down her back, his fingers were warm, the calluses scraping lightly. “You’ve been whipped. Was it before or after your slavery?”

Her throat went tight. Slavery. Why did hearing the word send disbelief through her every time? This can’t be me. Can’t be happening. “After.” Lord Greville’s eyes, crazy mad, the pain, falling to her knees, blood everywhere.

He grunted. “Assholes.”

What? She forced herself to stillness.

“You are not going to escape this evening without some pain, chiquita.” Even as she stiffened, he pulled her back against him again, his body like a brick wall, his arm circling her waist. He fondled her breasts, his gentleness disconcerting. His breath teased the curls at her temple. “Did you enjoy being flogged before all this happened?”

That was a different life, no relation to the one now.

“Kimberly?”

She should never have told him her name-hearing it now, used in a master’s authoritative voice, shook something inside her. My name. I’m real. I’m still me, Kimberly Elizabeth Moore. She swallowed, remembered the question about BDSM clubs and play parties. Before. “I- yes.”

“Good girl.” His resonant voice relaxed her, even as she tried to keep herself defended. “And restraints? Do they bother you?”

This seemed like before somehow, the dance of negotiations, while finding a partner who liked what she did. But it isn’t, Kim. You’re a slave. A fuckhole. A slut. She stiffened.

He nipped her earlobe, making her jump and raising the oddest tingle inside her. “Stay in the present with me, Kimberly,” he said, his voice so very different than earlier. Low and rich and smooth with a hint of a Spanish accent. As unexpectedly warm as a sunny day in the spring. “Answer me now. Do restraints bother you?”

“No. Not really.” Not like enclosed spaces, hoods, cages. Her stomach turned over, and her chest constricted.

“Something bothers you. What?”

As if she’d give him a weapon to use against her. To punish her with like the Overseer had. Her mouth compressed into a thin line.

“No?” He sighed and turned her to face him. As he regarded her, he massaged her upper arms, his grip powerful, controlled…warm. “I am going to restrain you and flog you. I will use my hands on you, perhaps my mouth. I know you don’t have a choice in this”-his eyes chilled for a moment-“but you might find it easier, knowing I won’t exceed those boundaries.”

He-he was right. He planned nothing she hadn’t enjoyed at one time-nothing she hadn’t survived since. No cages. The relief blanked her mind, and a thank-you escaped before she could pull it back.

One corner of his mouth tipped up. “I like hearing gratitude.” He ran his knuckles over her left breast. As always, since soon after her capture, she felt nothing. No pain, no revulsion, just…nothing.

His eyes narrowed. He stroked over her breast again slowly, this time studying her face as he did. Without lifting his hand, he stroked upward and over her shoulder. Her neck.

The skin on his fingertips was a little rough. His palm melted the ice under her skin the way the heat from the sun would dissipate morning fog on the water.

“You will need much work, chiquita,” he murmured, “but this is not the night.”

“What?” Shocked that the word had escaped her, she took a hasty step away, tensing in preparation for his blow.

Ignoring her mistake, he jerked his chin at the rack of restraints. “Pick out comfortable wrist and ankle cuffs, then return to me.”

She hurried, relief making her knees wobbly. He hadn’t hit her for speaking without permission. Either time. But what had he meant by work to do? She shook her head and concentrated on doing as he ordered.

Once the cuffs were on, she returned.

He nodded. “Hands laced behind your neck. Open your legs farther. Eyes on me.”

She followed his orders, spreading her feet apart slightly wider than her shoulder. Other slaves had been taught this position, she knew. Her experience had been…other. The restricted sensation from the cuffs started her stomach roiling.

“Very nice.” He checked the fit of her cuffs. To her surprise, he loosened one overly snug ankle cuff.

He eyed her for a moment. “You’re a lovely woman, Kimberly.” He strolled around her, inspecting her, and somehow, perhaps because of his light touch, she didn’t feel the usual nausea and fury. He explored the marks on her back where Lord Greville and his staff had whipped her bloody, then the bruising on her hips from when the Overseer… Her mind winced away.

Again his finger ran over the knife scar, giving her the odd sensation of tingling and numbness from damaged nerves. He frowned at the purple bruising on her foot left by the Overseer’s boot from when she’d spilled a drop of his coffee.

After running his hands over her hips, he touched her pussy. Bare. Smooth. She’d become adept at shaving in the past weeks. She felt the stroke of his hand, but it brought nothing but memories of other hands and cocks.

“Pobrecita,” he said under his breath and looked her straight in the eyes. “I am going to check you more closely, Kimberly. I need to know if there are any problems.”

More closely? Understanding hit in a dizzying wave when he moved to the table and squirted lubricant over his fingers. Oh God. She closed her eyes and simply waited. Don’t tense. I’m not here. It’s a good day to visit the beach. Grains of sand under my feet, the ocean breeze…

To her surprise, she felt only the heat of his body, the brush of his silky shirt against her breasts, his breath on her cheek. “Look at me,” he said, ever so softly.

I don’t want to. She raised her gaze. His face was close to hers, his dark brown eyes filled with such understanding she almost whimpered.

His hand cupped her mound.

No. She turned her head, only to have him give a warning sound from low in his throat. He’d given her an order. Expected her to obey.

She raised her eyes to his.

His lubricated fingers slid over her in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. He watched her silently as his fingers touched her clit, then separated her labia. He pressed one finger inside her, and she couldn’t help the instinctive cringing away.

“Shhh, chiquita.” His other hand cupped her bottom, holding her in place. He kissed her lightly as if to reassure her, then slid a second finger into her, pressing upward. She tried to close her thighs and realized his feet were inside hers, keeping her legs open. After a moment, he slid his fingers out.

Not done, though. He stepped back and took a latex glove from the box.

I hate this. Hate you. Hate you all.

“Bend over and spread your cheeks, girl.” His voice was cold. Cruel.

She blinked at the change, then noticed the Overseer approaching. Did the dom’s manner change to chilly because of the Overseer? The thought was…

“Now, girl.”