Ever since then, when we officially christened the increasingly kinky, power-mad, worshipful relationship we’d created, I’d felt like I was on a permanent sexual high. One look or command or even a touch was enough. I liked the way Kirk dominated me because it wasn’t about pushing me to the limit every single day. He knew when to back off and when to go full throttle. God knows, sometimes I was hornier than him and he seemed to be laughing at me as he’d spend five minutes of his morning playing with my nipples, pinching and biting them, maybe giving them a tiny slap that made me gasp, then sending me on my way. I had to get permission to masturbate, and he only granted that on special occasions when the rest of my life was so stressful the relief was essential. Even for me, a pretty kinky girl, this was a whole other level of submission, one that worked its way through my head just as powerfully as it did my body.

‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, gasping as I took in every aspect of the handcrafted new addition to my wardrobe.

‘Turn around,’ he instructed, and I did, lifting up my hair so he could clasp it around my neck. Feeling his fingers brushing the nape, and the slight pressure against my neck when he buckled it into place, almost made me buckle. He knows that the front of my neck is right up there with my nipples in terms of sensitive, and that even the slightest pressure there makes me ache. I’d be aching whenever I had it on.

‘It does come with one condition, Kath,’ he said, marching me over to the full-length mirror on the back of our bedroom door so I could see myself, naked, his name around my neck. He’s just a head taller than me, but at five nine, I hold my own, and I looked at the contrast of the stark silver with his name in black against my tumbling red curls, and pale, freckled skin. The hint of fuzz on my pussy didn’t seem to hide my arousal, and certainly my pointed, proud nipples didn’t either. I watched my mouth drop open again as four of his fingers sank inside me (by now I know how many fingers he’s using at any given time). ‘It’s not a weekend, part-time, once-in-a-while gift. I want you to wear it all the time. Every day. Every night. You can take it off to shower, but that’s it. I want everyone you meet to know exactly who you are deep inside, to know what’s really important to you.’ My mind started protesting silently even as I started trembling against his hand, shutting my eyes as he slowly finger-fucked me, his thumb tickling my puckered back door as I bent my knees to sink down just so, to maximise the impact of what he was doing and saying.

My body responded with a rush, clasping his fingers, even as I thought to myself, he has to be kidding. There was no way I could wear the collar to work. Even though I run my own business, a relatively small but growing combination hair/nail/waxing salon, and technically I’m in charge, I still feel like I have to appease my employees, not to mention my customers. I don’t wear Laura Ashley or anything, or even suits and pumps, and the tattoos on my arms are usually visible, but I do maintain a businesslike professionalism. I’d like to think you can tell who’s in charge before I even speak, from the way I walk and survey my domain. My office is way in the back but I make it a point to check things out at least once every two hours, making sure women and men are being made more beautiful in a cultured, calming environment. My name is on the door ‑ Kathy’s Oasis ‑ and that’s exactly what I want my work to be. In some ways, it’s an oasis from my relationship too. There I’m not the horny slut who will do anything her master desires, who can get achingly wet from a look, who’s gone way past her own limits in the name of love, and submission.

At work, I was a servant in a sense, but to the customers. I was there to make them happy, but ultimately, I was in command. This collar would just make everything about me. I’d be a laughing stock. The woman who’s “made glamour fun again”, according to my local tabloid paper, would be seen as someone who just wanted to please her man. Not that that wasn’t true, but I’ve never been one to mix business and pleasure. Kirk’s teeth sank into my neck and brought me back to the topic of pleasure in a profound way. ‘You’re getting wet just thinking about it, Kathy, you know you are. You know how hot it’ll be for your fellow passengers on the train to see you with this around your neck, trying to figure out just what it means. They’ll picture you being led around with a leash, maybe on all fours, maybe strung up by your arms and legs and taking a beating. Maybe they’ll picture you with a butt-plug up your adorable ass sucking some guy off. Maybe they’ll picture you being the spanking demo ass you were at that last convention and getting your butt reddened by, what was it, 20 different people? I bet they’ll picture themselves doing things to you even I haven’t managed to come up with yet. If you make eye contact with any of the guys, I bet they’ll make it clear how much they want you. And the whole time you’ll feel this delicious pressure where you like it most.’ He slid a finger between the collar and the back of my neck and simply wiggled it there while his other hand continued to slip-slide through my pussy.

‘Don’t you want to thank me, Kath? I think you do,’ he said, pulling his fingers away from my slickness to pinch my clit, hard. He then began slapping my pussy. I spread my legs wider to let him until I simply couldn’t take it any longer.