Page 197 of Pucking Them
I wrap my hand more firmly around the leash and give it a tug.
Shay is dragged closer to me by his collar with a yelp. The collar is a play one with a bell.
We chose the costumes from Everett’s shop. We excitedly picked them out in good time, but Shay still chose thesexy Totooption, despite Everett’s teasing.
Probably because of it.
The moment that Shay saw the sparkling, emerald leather leash and collar with a silver shoe hanging from it, he’d been unable to look away from them.
Shay craved to be his Sir and Ma’am’s Puppy.
Tonight, I am making my first public appearance beside D’Angelo as a Mistress, rather than a sub.
I’ve been nervous all day, but the moment that I stepped through the doors of On the RACK, everything settled inside me.
It felt right.
I need to explore this side of myself.
Tonight is a celebration for all of us — for the wins on the ice, as well as our wins against Anderson, Olivia, the Webbs, and Wilder.
We are survivors. Winners.Ourselves.
Tonight, I want to reclaim part of myself that Wilder crushed.
Tonight, I am Mistress Dorothy.
Dark Dorthy suits the sensation of power that washed over me, as soon as I pulled on the charcoal, distressed gingham dress with leather corset and silver, glittering stilettos. My hair is roughly dragged into bunches by black ribbons.
Shay and I sat together, and as an act of service, he drew on a ruby teardrop underneath my right eye, as well as my ruby lipstick.
I clasped Shay by his hair, before I worked the butt plug attached to his tail into his tight ass. I teased him, while not allowing him to come.
Hyperfocused on Shay, I was desperate both to care for him and tear him apart.
Is this how D’Angelo feels?
On a high, I’d been at ease with being the one in control.
Especially, as Shay has no idea of the secret that’s waiting for him underneath my dress…
I smirk.
Soon, Shay will receive exactly what he needs. Three doms, one sub, and the fantasy, to which we’ve been building.
Shay glances up at me through his thick eyelashes from his position kneeling at my feet.
It feels natural that he should be there.
He looks proud to be.
Then he taps with his gloved paw on the yellow brick road, which has been painted winding its way through the club. “See, the puppy is the smart one.”
“Puppy,” I emphasize. “You should be barking, remember?”
When Shay cocks his head, his black leather ears adorably flop over his eyes.
He is wearing an outfit that made his pupils immediately dilate with desire when Everett pointed it out on the wall: a slim black leather harness with silver rings, black ears and tail, and padded knee pads.
