“Present, slave.”
Nisey Richardsen stilled and her heart raced. I know with my acceptance of his collar I promised to obey every command but this is the last thing I expected. After her new Master and lover, Caelan Doherty had whisked her half way around the world to Tokyo from Chicago, his command was unexpected. Mouth drying, she looked up into his amber eyes, expecting to see something, anything other than determination. And arousal?
“Máister?” The Gaelic word for master was barely audible in the dark but airy warehouse.
“I didn’t stutter, slave. “ His arms crossed over his wide chest. “Present, now!”
Ignoring the fact they were standing in front of an older Japanese man wearing faded jeans and pullover and his companion, the most extraordinarily beautiful naked Japanese woman she’d ever seen, Nisey reached for the buttons on her sweater. Slipping them through the holes, she couldn’t help but be aware of all the eyes focused on her. To stall for time, she neatly folded the sweater. Fingering the edge of her turtle neck, she slowly edged it up and over her head, ruffling her dark auburn hair. A shiver raced down her spine as her long hair caressed her back. After placing it on top of the sweater, she reached behind her, unhooking her bra. Letting it slide down her arms, she fought a blush. It was taking all of her gumption to slowly strip as was custom. Her Master loved a slow sensual strip above a quick removal of her clothing. It heightened his anticipation. Or so he claims.
“Your slave is slow, Master Caelan.” The man’s voice was full of censure.
“At my request. Anticipation is half of the pleasure. I want her to tease me. It’s like opening a package at Christmas.”
The rasp of his voice had her nipples tightening in anticipation. She dropped the bra to the floor, letting the cool air caress her breasts. In the dim lighting, the silver piercings adorning their tips gleamed. Licking her lips, she let her hands drift down her stomach. Her finger tips teased her own flesh until it took all off her control not to whimper. Flicking the button on her well worn jeans, she opened and then slowly lowered the zipper.
The sudden intrusion of hand in the back of her waistband had the whimper escaping her. She fought to not press back into the warm palm now cupping her ass cheek.
“I didn’t tell you stop, slave. Continue.” The warning was clear in his voice.
“Yes, Máister.” Giving a seductive shimmy of her hips, she allowed the jeans to pool around her ankles. Kicking her legs free, she sank to her knees to assume the familiar position of kneeling with her hands resting on her thighs, palm up while her legs were widespread.
“The underwear, slave. Remove them!”
She froze. Surely I haven’t heard him right. He never commands total nudity in front of others.
“That’s one, slave.”
“But Máister…” She darted a quick glance up at him. His face was blank. What the hell is going on?
“Shall I make it two?” His expression never changed. He still looked determined to follow through with whatever plans he had.
She shook her head. “No, Máister.” Hooking her thumbs under the elastic band of her silk thong, she wiggled out of them, never leaving her knees.
“Now present them to Master Yangchi. I will deal with your punishment later.”
Swallowing roughly, she went to stand when Caelan’s hands landed on her shoulders.
“No. Crawl, in this club slaves only walk when on a leash.”
“Yes, Máister.” Moving slowly across the floor, she laid the small white thong at the man’s feet. Keeping her head bowed she waited for him to accept her offering. After several tense moments there was a sharp bark of Japanese before the woman next to him retrieved the underwear. Holding her breath, she waited for Master’s next command.
©Dakota Trace All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.
Nisey Richardsen stilled and her heart raced. I know with my acceptance of his collar I promised to obey every command but this is the last thing I expected. After her new Master and lover, Caelan Doherty had whisked her half way around the world to Tokyo from Chicago, his command was unexpected. Mouth drying, she looked up into his amber eyes, expecting to see something, anything other than determination. And arousal?
“Máister?” The Gaelic word for master was barely audible in the dark but airy warehouse.
“I didn’t stutter, slave. “ His arms crossed over his wide chest. “Present, now!”
Ignoring the fact they were standing in front of an older Japanese man wearing faded jeans and pullover and his companion, the most extraordinarily beautiful naked Japanese woman she’d ever seen, Nisey reached for the buttons on her sweater. Slipping them through the holes, she couldn’t help but be aware of all the eyes focused on her. To stall for time, she neatly folded the sweater. Fingering the edge of her turtle neck, she slowly edged it up and over her head, ruffling her dark auburn hair. A shiver raced down her spine as her long hair caressed her back. After placing it on top of the sweater, she reached behind her, unhooking her bra. Letting it slide down her arms, she fought a blush. It was taking all of her gumption to slowly strip as was custom. Her Master loved a slow sensual strip above a quick removal of her clothing. It heightened his anticipation. Or so he claims.
“Your slave is slow, Master Caelan.” The man’s voice was full of censure.
“At my request. Anticipation is half of the pleasure. I want her to tease me. It’s like opening a package at Christmas.”
The rasp of his voice had her nipples tightening in anticipation. She dropped the bra to the floor, letting the cool air caress her breasts. In the dim lighting, the silver piercings adorning their tips gleamed. Licking her lips, she let her hands drift down her stomach. Her finger tips teased her own flesh until it took all off her control not to whimper. Flicking the button on her well worn jeans, she opened and then slowly lowered the zipper.
The sudden intrusion of hand in the back of her waistband had the whimper escaping her. She fought to not press back into the warm palm now cupping her ass cheek.
“I didn’t tell you stop, slave. Continue.” The warning was clear in his voice.
“Yes, Máister.” Giving a seductive shimmy of her hips, she allowed the jeans to pool around her ankles. Kicking her legs free, she sank to her knees to assume the familiar position of kneeling with her hands resting on her thighs, palm up while her legs were widespread.
“The underwear, slave. Remove them!”
She froze. Surely I haven’t heard him right. He never commands total nudity in front of others.
“That’s one, slave.”
“But Máister…” She darted a quick glance up at him. His face was blank. What the hell is going on?
“Shall I make it two?” His expression never changed. He still looked determined to follow through with whatever plans he had.
She shook her head. “No, Máister.” Hooking her thumbs under the elastic band of her silk thong, she wiggled out of them, never leaving her knees.
“Now present them to Master Yangchi. I will deal with your punishment later.”
Swallowing roughly, she went to stand when Caelan’s hands landed on her shoulders.
“No. Crawl, in this club slaves only walk when on a leash.”
“Yes, Máister.” Moving slowly across the floor, she laid the small white thong at the man’s feet. Keeping her head bowed she waited for him to accept her offering. After several tense moments there was a sharp bark of Japanese before the woman next to him retrieved the underwear. Holding her breath, she waited for Master’s next command.
©Dakota Trace All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.
