Something seemed odd about him when he opened up the door to his apartment. Maybe it was something about the glint in his eye.
Coat, scarf, shoes removed, I go over to him to give our usual kiss of hell. A small smile playing over his lips he says, "I got your collar."
Suddenly everything is spinning. Yeah, we had discussed the idea of collaring as a joke before, and I'd written it off, seeing as he hadn't brought up for a while.
The idea was that if he captured me and made me cum, he would make me his. I glance over at the dining room table and sure enough, there are two pieces of paper, the contract, with the shining silver collar and luck sitting between them. It was to be the mark of ownership that I would wear every day.
"Wait, I didn't agree to this!"
He holds up a piece of paper: it contains the transcript of a chat we had. At the same time, he was slowly walking towards me, forcing me to back up deeper into the living room.
"No, no, that was just a fantasy, that wasn't real!"
"But I think you do want it, really, you just don't want to admit it. You say right here what you want to happen when I collar you. And you know the rules: if I make you cum, you are mine."
His eyes flashed with that particular brand of fierceness that both terrified me and excited me. His voice was low, reasonable, insistent, insinuating. He was laying a spell on me.
"No, that's not what I want at all!" I wrest my eyes away from his and down. It is then that I realize that the only way out is through the small entrance between the living room and the door, and the only way is through him. As I try to dart past him, he neatly grabs both of my wrists. He consolidates his grip so that he has both my wrists in his left hand, and no amount of wriggling is going to get them free.
He reaches over and removes my watch. "You don't need that here; it is now my job to watch the time."
He removes my glasses. "The only thing you need to see here is me."
He roughly shoves me up against the wall, hands above my head, the weight of his hips pressing my chest and hips into the wall. My shirt is shoved up, my bra clasp deftly unfastened, and both shirt and bra come off in one deft motion. "I want those breasts to always be available for me to finger and suckle." He takes his free hand and cusps my breasts, then, finding the nipple, he squeezes hard. I make a small sound.
"That wasn't just a cry of pain, now was it," he murmurs in my ear, hand running up to delicately stroke just behind my ear. I can feel myself blushing.
He releases the vice of his hips binding me to the wall, as the grip on my hands tightens and his other hand slides down, down. He grabs the waistbands of both my skirt and my underpants, dragging them off my ass, then letting them puddle to the floor. He is back to pinioning me to the wall, hard cock pressing through his pants against my bare ass.
"There, much better. Now you are always ready to be fingered or fucked any time I want it. Because that's what a toy is for now, isn't it?"
He backs up some, to admire the flesh newly exposed. His hold on my wrists weakens for a moment, and with a cry of no, I wrest my hands away from him and head for the door.
My hand is on the door handle when he says, matter of factually, "You have no clothing on."
"What?"
"You have no clothing on. It is February in New York, it's cold out. Also the doorman and the front desk are more than aware of ....how easily you spread your legs."
He looks down at my bare form, stopping at the Y of my legs, covered in dark curling hair.
"They seemed to relish the idea of taking you behind the desk and having their way with you. You definitely won't receive any help from them, my little slut. Every time they see you go by, they know you are here to have me fuck you."
