**TW** Collared, a fantasy

[Te****]

**Trigger Warning** - Reason: Knife Play

 

The door opens; I admire.

Red hair and careful eyeliner. Tights and a black dress. White coat. He has silver hair and a smile like sunlight. It lights him from within, and I try to remember my manners and not stare. Not at them, not at their cases and bags.

My heart knows them.

I gulp more wine and answer honestly. How often do I use my safe word? Michael breaks in to explain: she’s in control. I recently left a relationship that I was very much in love, and need… comfort, but to be dominated.

Beth and I take turns in the bathroom. When we reach the dungeon, the magic begins. Rituals and flower petals; poetry and oil. Wine with bitter magic all.

I am very wet.

The knife slices through my dress with difficulty, a latent pile of indigo. I take a morsel of pineapple from the edge of the weapon, careful to avert my eyes. The edge of the blade traces over my breasts, my stomach. She kisses me and I tremble. I discard my boots; her soft chuckles rising.

She lets the boys back in, my back to the cross. She plays with my body as he sketches, and I shiver and moan. As we proceed through the evening, she repeatedly asks for my color. She cares.

“He wants to clamp you, but I can be your clamp,” she breathes. Her mouth wraps around my nipple and—oh god. She uses her teeth and her tongue, and I quiver. I don’t want her to stop. I want—

“—she knows what she’s doing, doesn’t she baby?” Michael pulls me from my reverie. Beth’s head snaps.

“Did I give you permission to address my sub?”

“No,” he says, raising his hands in surrender.

“You don’t tell him no, do you?” She stares at him as she whispers. “It’s okay. I’ll tell him no for both of us.”

The hourglass runs empty; he surrenders his pencil. Pictures are taken. A weighted clamp is put on one of my nipples, then the other. They hurt.

Mistress has me kneel to give head to her strap-on, instructing me to be thorough. I do, balls and all; it’s very lifelike.

“Oh, your Dom’s going to be happy with you,” she purrs. “Good girl. That’s enough.”

Michael keeps whispering to me. Promising. Coercing. Degrading.

Again and again, Beth stops him. She strikes him with a paddle, demands it. The control is no illusion; she won’t give it to him. I ask her for mercy, and she removes the clamps. I relax slightly, but only for a moment.

They hood me. It’s only my body they can use now. They beat me. Hot wax is poured on my body, my breasts, my pussy, my back. I know it. It pools down, rippling liquid, burning me. I love it. I revel in the beauty of sensation, even as they chain me down.

A careful finger is put in my ass, then my pussy. I’m being fucked with a hand so well. I thrust into it. A skilled mouth plays with me. Hands on my breasts, my body. Three sets of hands…

Before long, she fucks me. The hood has a gag, but I can easily speak around it, it doesn’t hit my lips. Big hood, I guess.

A magic wand is held against me, and I ride it, moaning. They discuss their next move as if I’m not there.

The fuck machine, he calls it. I pull at my chains wildly, but it doesn’t matter; he tells me so. All that matters is being used.

I scream stop, and, to my amazement, it’s considered before denial.

“She doesn’t mean it,” comes her soft voice.

I come hard on the machine, even though it hurts. I like them. I like how carefully the two pick wax from me, rub my feet, hold me. When they remove the hood, they see I’ve been crying.

My heart… my heart… but I promised, I…

She holds me. The boys begin discussing art, and she reads me a closing poem; apologizes for not having me make a sigil… reached into her box.

“You wrap magical things in silk,” she says, draping a piece of white around my neck. “You can keep this.”

I lean against her. Wordlessly, the thanks transmute. She insists upon a robe for my prone form; Michael supplies one. We see them to the door with promises to play again; to create together, to talk.

Her congratulations ring in my ear. Why? I ask Michael.

“She sees your value,” he says. “She’s congratulating me for collaring you.”

I clutch the fabric as I fall asleep.