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The Initiation

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."

He is stepping closer. Tears are trickling down my face and I am starting to panic.

"I also highly suspect that no one else is going to help you, because they know what a whore you are, how much you want to be fucked, to be used. They know how often I make you cry out in pleasure. Because of all those times they needed to sleep with earplugs, they are not going to help you."

He has gently removed my hand resting on the door handle and brings it towards him. My vision is going blurry from the tears and I am starting to tremble. This must be a horrible dream of some sort.

"You are my girl and you belong to me. Come, it is time for me to claim you."

I can hear myself babbling "No no no no" and I am backing up, away from him. Directly into his bedroom.

He keeps up the stream of words, about all the things he wants to my body, how he can smell my arousal from where he is, how I want this, to be owned, to be fucked, how I'm a whore who spreads her legs whenever she can. All of his words punctuated by a slow, steady step into the bedroom while I am backing up, my head shaking in denial of his words. I am trying to convince him that I am a good girl, that I don't do those sorts of those things, but he doesn't listen.

My thighs back into his bed. My eyes widen as I realize I am trapped. I attempt to scramble up onto the bed, away, but he is too quick.

His hands are already at both my wrists, with a tight grip that means that there is no escaping him now. His legs straddle my chest as I futilely squirm against him, gripping into the sides of my body. One of my hand he takes and raises it above my head and to an angle. In one deft motion, he secures it into a cuff, tightening the leather strap. He reaches into his pocket and draws forth a lock, which he promptly places to secure the cuff in place. With the same efficiency of movement, he secures my other wrist.

I try to bite him, a move he easily avoids with a chuckle, tweaking me on the nipple for my impertinence.

He begins stroking, licking, nibbling on all of my favorite spots above the waist: my fingers, my neck, the undersides of my arms, my nipples. He knows me well enough to know that I am getting aroused, despite my best efforts not to.

Sure of his victory, he straddles me the other way and grabs a leg. In my momentary stupor, I don't realize that he has tied my legs so they are bent, with a long tail of rope extending from both of my ankles. He grabs both of these tails and climbs off me, which enough to wake me up from my muzziness. I realize with horror that he is firmly pulling on them, securing first one, then the other ends to the end of the bed. I am completely bound, my legs spread wide to expose my cunt, and I can't move in any direction.

He steps back, smiling at his handiwork. I'm eying him, uneasy.

"Wha...what are you going to do to me?"

"The ultimate sign of submission to a master is to allow him to do things to her body that she might not particularly like. She gives into the sovereignty that he holds over her and he often takes that opportunity to leave a lasting reminder of his ownership."

It is then that I see what he intends to do, seeing the implements on a table next to the bed. I try to thrash, but I can't move in any direction; all I can do is impotently move my hips back and forth.

Methodically, he placed a towel under me, wet my cunt with a washcloth, then proceeded to cover it in shaving cream. As he picked up the razor, holding it up high enough for me to see, I began to plead in earnest. Ignoring my words, or possibly simply getting more aroused at them, he held me still with a hand on my belly.

Even as I babbled my dissent at this new shame, I could feel myself slipping deeper into subspace. The combination of the bonds on my wrists and ankles and the slow, gentle movement of the razor were leaving me feeling increasingly relaxed. So relaxed that I didn't notice when he began wiping me down with the washcloth with long, smooth strokes along the lips of my cunt and over my clit. It was only when I let out a low moan that I realized that I was deeply aroused, my hips also betraying my arousal with their continued thrust into his hand. His left hand wandered up and down my body, brushing against my sides, playing with a nipple, stroking my belly. Washcloth abandoned, he slipped first one finger, then two deep into my cunt, and even I could hear how wet I had become.

He withdrew his fingers and I let out an impotent sound of frustration. I heard the sound of clothing being removed and then he was on top of me. Pulling on my hair, he forced my head back and looked me directly in the eye.

"You're going to let me fuck you like the good slut you are, aren't you?"

Transfixed by the intensity of the look in his blue eyes, I could only let out a weak, "Yes, sir." I cursed at him for how deep he had sent me into subspace but still moaned the first time he trust into me. I cursed him for paying attention all those times we had made love. He knew exactly how to vary the speed and the deepness of the thrusts, now barely coming inside me, now slamming into me hard. I could hear my moaning getting louder as I pulled hard on my bonds and clenched my hands tightly into fists.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh pleeeeeeeeeease!"

"Please, what?"

"Oh please, oh please, oh please please please let me cum!"

"What was that?"

"Oh please, sir, please let me cum. Please let me cum right now!"

"You know what will happen if you do?"

"Yes!"

"Are you sure?"

"YES, please please please please let me cum! Please!"

"As you wish." He abruptly releases the clips holding the cuffs to the bed, rolling off me but slipping his fingers back into my cunt, thrumming against my g-spot as I rub my clit furiously. All I can think about is the approaching wave of my orgasm and how to have it crash over me as quickly as possible.

His voice is at my ear, whispering what a good girl I was, how hot I was as aroused as I was, how it pleased him to see me like this. He is calling me his slut, his whore, his queen, his own. At just the right moment he tells me to cum for him.

...and I do, breaking apart into a million pieces of my orgasm, the extended moan of release coming from my mouth as the waves of pleasure wash over my mind.

The click of something at my neck snaps me back to reality and I reach my hands up to my neck to feel a substantial leather collar locked around my neck. He is smiling down at me like the cat who ate the canary while I try to get a handle on what has happened. He gets up to undo my legs and rubs at the rope marks, but returns, grabbing ahold of my hands and pulling me upright.

"There is one bit of business left..."

My mind flashes back to the contracts on the table. Somehow, on wobbly legs, I am pulled towards the living room until I am standing in front of them. He hands me a pen and I lean over to read exactly what it says. All rather standard, really, and I'm nodding along until I get to the last clause.

"A clit ring, within the week?"

"Don't pretend that the thought of it isn't turning you on right now." "Bwa?"

"Am I wrong?"

"No, but..."

"You've been mentioning being led around by a leash attached to a clit ring since we first met. Longer than that. J mentioned that you had talked about it with him since long before I came into the picture."

"But..."

"And it would please me a great deal."

"As you wish, sir," I say quietly and sign both copies of the contract.

After I straighten, he slips the length of the silver necklace around my neck and closes it with the tiny lock. He places the equally tiny key on a chain and slips it around his neck before kissing me on the lips.

"Now that you are mine, you can come with me."

I smile and let him lead me by the hand into the bedroom.

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