The collar

I put the collar on the console myself, beside the faders, slim leather. Headphones off, on purpose. The booth was dim and empty. Vince looked at it and then at me. I said I am asking you to put it on. Loose. Two fingers under it. It is not there to squeeze me. It is there so I feel the decision. I want you to edge me while I wear it, and I want to be able to talk the entire time. He picked it up, had me say the stop word was still in force, and buckled it when I lifted my hair.

I swallowed. I spoke his name. The leather sat at the base of my neck like a reminder, not a grip. He checked the gap with his fingers and kissed the spot just below it, mouth soft, nothing like a threat. Then he sat me back and started the long game. Fingers tracing my cunt until my cunt was wet enough that I hated the stop, then a full stop. He said use a better sentence if you want my hand back. I told him I wanted two fingers fucking my cunt, slow, and the collar left alone. He obeyed the brief. The edge came up fast and he felt it and went still with his fingers in my cunt, and he talked to me while I shook. You are all right. Stay with me. Ask again if you want the end. I waited because I like the burn of waiting when I chose it. The second climb he let get closer. My hips tried to take over. He held them down with a forearm across my stomach, not my chest, not my neck, and asked me to look at him. I looked. I said I want to come, Vince, now, please. He curled his fingers and stayed.

I came with both hands on the arms of the chair and the collar barely shifting, a long mean orgasm that rolled and rolled because he did not pull his fingers out of my cunt. After, he unbuckled the collar before I had to ask, set it back on the console, and rubbed my neck to show us both there was no soreness under it. Headphones stayed off. The fuck had been his hand. My cunt was still twitching, and the collar was only leather on the console again.