The hour Preston had spent being cordial with Abigail was the hardest hour he’d ever had to endure. But if she was going to be his submissive, he needed to show her the reality of BDSM as it was far more diverse than blindfolds and whips. He’d never given anyone a tour of his castle but by doing so with her, he’d been able to find her limits.
Her reaction to Liam and Scarlett’s scene wasn’t what Preston thought he’d see in Abigail. Yes, he saw fear and so much fucking desire. And that turned him on. What turned him off was the confusion that lingered in her gaze.
The whole premise of his club was to never judge, and she’d done so in one scene.
There was too much judgment in the world. That’s why he created a sanctuary for the people who were thought of less for having kinks. He allowed anyone—of all sexes, races, ethnicities, and sexual orientations to be free within his iron doors.
The people in his temple weren’t freaks. They weren’t dangerous or corrupted. Most of them had families or owned businesses. They were productive members of society, and they should be treated as such.
Abigail ruined his mission statement with one expression.
He’d been wrong about her.
He was never wrong.
It pissed him off.
“Stop!” She tugged on his arm, trying to get free.
Preston kept his steps long, the sobs and screams behind him, drew a sadistic smile on his face.
He dragged her down the hall with a hard grip on her upper arm. He needed to get her out of here. So why was he taking her to the elevator that only led to his office and den? He’d scare her shut, then she’d never come back again.
The elevator yawned as soon as Preston stood in front of it. When the doors closed, he pushed Abigail against the steel doors. He floated in the whimper it drew from her lips.
“I don’t want to leave. Not yet. Please, don’t make me leave,” she begged. And shit if Preston’s intentions went out the door and into the rabbit hole. He forgot he was there to shoo her away. He forgot she was too young for this. He forgot how to speak.
“This—” it was all he said before he went to her, caging her with his arms.
With his face only inches from hers, he could see the light freckles scattered across her nose and upper cheeks. Damn it, could she be any more beautiful?
And the fucking giggle she let out earlier was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. A close second to screams. Her lips were full and naturally rosy. Her eyes, big and innocent, begged to be stained with tears.
“Why are you here?” he wondered aloud, pressing his erection into her warmth, biting the thin layer of skin on her neck. She tasted like cotton candy—so addictive.
Abigail let out a soft gasp that went straight to Preston’s cock. “I—I want this.”
He wanted to break her and make her scream for having the audacity to speak back. But he knew better. Although this woman made it impossible, he needed to control his urges.
“What is it you want, Abigail?”
Abigail Bennett was a natural submissive who knew exactly what to say to please her master, so she licked her lips and slowly raised her eyes, “You, Master Trice.”
His name on her lips built an inferno that was impossible to extinguish.
Preston was thankful for the yawning of the elevator’s doors. He needed to distance himself from the woman who’d guide him to shipwreck.
When he was five years old, his father recounted plethoras of Greek mythology. The one that stood out to Preston the most due to the current circumstances was that of the Three Sirens, daughters of the river God, Achelous.
The three sisters were the most beautiful, talented nymphs of the Ancient Greek world. Despite what many believe, they weren’t mermaids, instead, half-human, half-bird. Thelxiepia, the oldest sister, had a charming voice. Pisinoe, the middle sister, played the lyre while Aglaope, the youngest sister, was skilled with the flute.
They were deviant, deceitful, nevertheless clever. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with. Their irresistible tunes promised a wild night of sexual pleasure, luring sailors to shipwreck on nearby reefs.
Could this be the reason Preston had never been in a serious relationship? Did he think all women would lead to his demise?
After much deliberate thought, he came up with an answer. Although it sounded silly, it was the only one that made any sense.
Abigail Bennett was a siren and she’d been trying to bewitch him.
He walked down the hall with purposeful strides. Although he’d love to take Abigail into his den, he needed to stay in control. No way was his dick doing the talking.
Once in his office, he poured himself a glass of scotch
What was this woman doing to him? There was something about her that captivated him. He knew he had to have her. But why? Why her? Why did he feel a pull toward her without even knowing her name?
Because she was a siren.
He hated her.
He fucking hated her with all his being.
At that moment, Preston made it his mission to make Abigail regret ever stepping foot in his palace.
“Um, Master Trice?” He heard her melodious voice from the outside of his office as she searched for him. He didn’t say a word, chugging down the rest of the drink and pouring himself another glass.
Not a minute later, she walked inside.
“Close the door. Lock it.”
Abigail’s throat moved with a frightful swallow.
Like a good submissive, she did as her master commanded. As the door clicked, Preston walked behind his desk and took a seat. With a grip around his scotch, he signaled a finger to the chair in front of him.
“Sit,” he ordered.
From a drawer, he pulled out a packet of twenty pages and laid it on top of the mahogany desk.
“This is an agreement between the master and his submissive. You’re to read the clauses, sign, and initial on the bottom of each page. You must understand what signing these documents entail. I will own you. Through and through. You will never question my decisions or choices. You will, however, always say Yes, Master Trice. Nothing more. Nothing less. Understood?”
Though her mouth remained closed, her eyes spoke volumes. Preston could tell she was overwhelmed by the entire night. She was confused. She was scared. She was aroused. She had so many questions—questions he was sure would yield the migraine he chased away.
“Do you have any questions?” She nodded but again didn’t say a word. “I’m asking, Abigail. I don’t ask often.”
What he meant to say was he didn’t ask ever. He took, not just the finger but the whole hand.
She cleared her throat, took a chocolate strand behind her ear, and looked at him. “Shouldn’t we have a safeword?”
“That’s for you to decide. You must never forget that word and it can’t be no or stop. During sexual activities, oftentimes people say no or stop, all along meaning yes and harder.” He leaned across the table. “What I’m more curious about is your need for a safeword when you know you’d never use it.”
Abigail’s gaze lowered, suddenly interested in her nail polish. “You scare me.”
His cock stirred when her eyes rose from underneath the curtain of hair on her forehead. “And that turns you on.”
“It does.” Her cheeks reddened.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“How far will you go?”
Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, he stood from his chair. In two simple, but deliberate steps, he was in front of her, his erection in her face. Abigail licked her lips. Preston wondered if that was an invitation.
Yet again, the urge to dig his fingers into her scalp and choke her until she vomited with his cock in her mouth titillated his mind. The thought made the whole situation uncomfortable as he had to wait for her signature to have her in as many daunting ways as he’d like.
The erection he’d harbored was past the enjoyable stage and border lining blue balls. His hands gripped the arms of the chair she was sitting in, focusing on something other than the beat of his heart in his cock.
Lowering his face to be inches from hers, he said, “As far as you’d let me.”
He hated admitting it, but it was the truth.
A misconception that the dominant was the one in power surrounded D/s relationships when that couldn’t be farther from the truth.
The submissive held all the power. Any moment, Abigail could say her safeword and Master Trice was to stop. No questions asked. No ifs, and, or buts. The dominant could only do what the submissive allowed. He could only go as far as she wanted to take it.
“I’m not aware of my limits. I’ll let you take me as far as you want.”
She was initiating a dangerous game and Preston couldn’t deny such an irresistible invitation sent to him by a woman who had no limits, who’d trust him to take her, them both, over the edge.
He stepped back, needing to get away from her intoxicating scent.
This could get messy.
Abigail was a Siren, of course what she said sounded attractive. He needed to be meticulous and know when to make his move.
Preston was aware of her limits, but it was Abigail who needed to find them—set them.
This was going to take some time. She was going to take most of his time…and patience. Unlike the other women he’d been with, Abigail was a virgin to this world. He was aware she’d broken a rule and people who broke his rules didn’t get punished. Oh, no. They got ruined.
As much as his sadistic side desired to ruin her, he couldn’t start with the torture apparatuses he loved. He’d have to start light and slowly drag her to the dark side.
He’d need her complete obedience and trust. How could he ask for trust when he didn’t even trust himself around her?
“I don’t do monogamy,” he informed her, eager to get his terms out of the way. “I have another submissive. I expect you to fuck her. I expect her to fuck you. I expect to fuck both of you, at the same time. I will fuck you in front of others and then let them have their share. I will cut you, draw blood, and intentionally leave scars. I will hit you. I will take you in the ass, in your mouth, in your pussy. Wherever there’s a hole, I will fill it. I will choke you, gag you, suspend you. I will always take you for my pleasure, never yours. Consider it a kind gesture whenever I allow you to come. Do we have an agreement?”
“Yes, Master Trice,” she agreed easily. It didn’t go past him how she bit her lip when he said he’d share her.
There were other rules Abigail had to get acquainted with before they could start playing.
“I won’t dictate your life outside our sexual encounters. You’re allowed to do as you please. You are mine from Friday evening to Sunday afternoon. However, you are expected to use protection when and if you fuck anyone else but me. I won’t ever have vanilla sex with you. I won’t make you drink my urine. I won’t electrocute you unless it’s something you’d like to try. We’d discuss the terms as they come up. Something you must know, Abigail, is that I won’t take care of you after our scenes, that’s what Lauren is for. She’ll heal you and put you back together for me. You’ll do the same for her. As for the limits you aren’t aware of, you’ll try everything I say and use your safeword when you’ve had enough.”
“Is that what’s written in these papers?”
“In legal terms.”
Abigail reached for the black pen on Preston’s desk and signed the bottom of each page. He knew he should stop her, but he didn’t want to. The faster they got through the niceties, the faster he’d have her shackled and whipped.
Or was this another one of her tricks?
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, his nostrils soaring.
“I’m handing you control. It’s done. I’m yours. Fuck me. Abuse me. Do as you please.” It pleased him more than he’d ever admit hearing her say those words.
He yanked the packet from her hand and looked it over. She’d signed every page without reading a word. She was so stupid. This woman was wild. He was going to have fun taming her. Her lawyer, on the other hand, was going to have a fit.
Preston could care two shits about her lawyer because as erratic as she was, with that one act she’d given him her trust. That was a needed key in a D/s relationship, and she handed it over blindly.
What an imbecile.
“Stand up. Take off your panties and bra. I want to see what I own.” Preston thrived in the power it gave him to ask a woman to undress—to demean her into being the only naked person in the room.
Abigail did as she was told and stood in the middle of the room. She brought both hands to her shoulders and slipped the straps past her arms. Her bra was left discarded on the floor. She eased off her panties, revealing a line of curls that led to her clit.
Her skin was naturally tan as if she’d spent every summer in the Caribbean. She was voluptuous in her hour-glass figure with ample breasts and wide hips. There wasn’t a single imperfection on her body. She was beautiful and as perfect as he knew she would be. And all his.
He walked toward her.
“This—” he picked the panties from the floor, “—is not allowed. You’re a slave, not a queen. You will wear latex and leather, or nothing at all. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Master Trice.”
Something shone against the light on the side of Abigail’s inner thighs. At a closer glance, he noticed it was her arousal, spreading like butter on her slick body.
Holy shit, she was dripping.
He could easily get on his knees and taste her. He was sure she tasted as sweet as she smelled.
She wasn’t going to win. He would have her on his terms, not hers.
“You will get a full checkup and start on contraception pills. You will wax everything from the waist down. All of it. I better not find a hair in your asshole.”
His words painted a smile on Abigail’s face, though she tried to hide it. What was so funny about that statement? Preston couldn’t understand.
It sure as hell got him mad. He added that to the long list of reasons why he’d flog her when he saw her again.
“There will be a car waiting for you outside your home on Friday evening. You will bring only yourself.”
“Yes, Master Trice.”
“Excellent. Get dressed and go home.” She gathered her panties and made her way out the door. “Oh, and Abigail.” He waited for her to turn around. “You aren’t allowed to touch yourself. Your orgasms belong solely to me.”
“Yes, Master Trice.”
