Collar

"i'd like to get you a collar." he announced suddenly, in the middle of a training session. "would you like that?"

"oh, i don't know. i guess i might," i fibbed, knowing fully that i'd absolutely love it.

"why do you try to lie to me? you always look directly in my eyes challengingly. it's pretty obvious that you'd greatly enjoy wearing a collar and walking around on all fours obeying my whims."

i was instantly indignant. "maybe you're just arrogant and would like to think that my sexual fantasies revolve around your domination."

"that's true, but you're still bad at lying, and i still think i'm right" he said with a smirk. "besides..." the smirk vanished and he looked at me with sternness and something like concern, "what you need matters more to me than what you want, and you need to be collared, bound, and fucked in ways you haven't imagined yet. now, let's work on snap kicks."

he slid seamlessly back into training, showing small signs of amusement at how flustered he'd made me.

"quit worrying about the sub thing and focus on pivoting with your kick. if you really don't want to be submissive then you don't need to be, but if you do want to then you don't need to pretend. i'll get the collar.

it's up to you if you put it on."

Safe, secure, togetherness. An index ringer hooked through the ring at the front as he pulls me closer and kisses me with the sort of intensity my favorite fantasies are based on. Thick and padded, keeping my eyes locked with his, I can't drop my chin to look away if I tried. His fingers intertwined with mine, then around my wrists, tight as handcuffs; I have never been as naked as I am with him.