Ambrus could count on one hand the times that Regine had required his presence for an entire day, and still have fingers left over; until Sunday, it had been twenty years since she kept him by her side just, apparently, to enjoy his company.
He couldn’t very well complain – despite the fact that the collar around his neck looked like jewelry, despite his comfortable and well-appointed nest, he was still a slave like any other – and he couldn’t ask her why, either: Excuse me, my lady, but is there any particular reason you want me home today? Any odd behavior on my part you want to stop without, for some reason, directly forbidding me? He might as well hand her the whip and bear his back to her. He might as well throw a blanket in the closet, because that’s where he’d end up sleeping again – if he was lucky. He didn’t think there was a dog house in all of Addergoole, but Regine owned the place; she could create one if she was annoyed enough, and he was quickly growing afraid that she would soon get that annoyed.
He didn’t allow himself to think of any of that on Sunday, though; he sat curled at her feet, watching TV while she read, and, like a good pet, enjoyed his mistress’ company and attended to her every want. She had few of those, wants or needs, that he could provide for her, but even the coldest, most rational woman, it seemed, sometimes wanted a good foot rub and the quiet companionship of a man who knew better than to talk back.
That night, in a move almost as rare as the day of companionship, she called him to her bed. She had no need for the sex, but she did, on occasion, indulge him, much in the same way as she’d share a bowl of ice cream with him, when she preferred raw vegetables and tofu.
Monday morning, whatever need or generosity had made her pull him to her side had passed, and she was out the door before he woke up. He took his time getting up, feeling bloated and over-full and yet still hungry, starving, the way he often did after sex.
Manira’s adorable smile was on his mind as he showered, and the way her body curved under her sweet-and-innocent little blouses. He took a very long shower, imagining the way that body would writhe under his, on the silk sheets on his giant bed. How she would look riding him, her hands on his shoulders pinning him down.
The wild expression he pictured on her face was nothing the sweet little 4-H’er would wear in reality, nothing he’d ever seen on a woman above him, but it felt right, perfect in his mind. She would take him, take him over, own him body and soul, and he would love every moment of it, even as she devoured him.
Devoured. He gulped, his ardor fading quickly. He had a problem, and, while Regine was his entire world, this might be a bigger problem than her displeasure would be. He tried to focus on his Lady’s perfect, pristine, cool body, on the tiny expressions she allowed herself in bed that made him love her all the more. All he could think of was the open-mouthed delight on Manira’s face at the picnic spot he’d found for them, the adorable tilt of her head when he was talking about something a little outside of her scope.
He toweled himself off roughly, and focused on getting dressed as if his life depended on it. His sanity very well might. Jeans, t-shirt, leave the torque on, leave the collar ON, Ambrus, sneakers. He wondered if he’d ever stop looking like a teenager. He wondered if he ought to care. Comb hair, put collar back on…
Damn. Whatever was wrong with his head, it was going to get him in serious trouble if he didn’t stop soon. Regine had no tolerance for disobedience.
Checking to make sure everything was in place, he slipped out into the halls. When he didn’t want to be noticed, as today, no-one would think twice about him being there. He wasn’t the only collared teenager around, although, he thought, a little snidely, all these kids in their little practice relationships were really only playing at it. They had an escape. Whereas he – he was in this for life.
She’s offered to let you go, an insidious little voice whispered.
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