Page 22 of Silver

I flinch at the sound of a strange crack and realize he’s holding the crop. He just slapped his palm with it.

“Trust me when I say, you don’t want to feel this against your nipples.”

I gasp, shuddering. My vision is locked on my naked breasts, the tips hard. Traitors.

“Now, I want you to apologize. You’ll remain in this position until I’m satisfied with your groveling. That means it must be sincere, believable, and thorough. You may start when you’re ready.”

I whimper, licking my lips. Fucking tears keep falling. I hate that. They make me feel weak, but I can’t stop them.

Slowly, Silver paces around me. He says nothing, but occasionally he slaps his palm with the crop, reminding me that he could use it on me at any time.

I’m in so far over my head. Fucked. I’d rather be stripping in that club right now with dozens of gross men I don’t know pawing at my tits. It may have been humiliating, but at least I would be getting paid.

Minutes tick by. Or maybe it’s seconds. I’m not sure. Time stands still while I plot my escape, thinking about how I’m going to get out of here. How high is the window in my bedroom? Could I jump out in the middle of the night?

Where does he keep the keys to his bedroom door when they aren’t on him? I need to pay attention and watch him at all times. He’ll slip up eventually, and I’ll discover his hiding place.

I’m jolted from my wandering thoughts when he pauses in front of me, swatting his palm over and over. All I can see with my head angled to the floor are his thighs, legs, and feet. The jeans he fills out so perfectly and his tennis shoes.

I swallow. I need to appease him. My knees are killing me.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” That’s obviously not enough, but it’s very hard to get out. With a deep breath, I continue, “I’m sorry I didn’t take my clothes off immediately when you told me to.”

He rounds behind me and squats down. I sense this, even though I can’t see him. What’s he planning?

“I’m sorry for…” I try to think of all the things he’s punishing me for. Shit. “…for balking at the cage. It’s scary. I’m afraid I’ll feel claustrophobic in it. I know I’m masochistic, but pet play doesn’t appeal to me.”

Silver’s mouth comes near my ear. I feel his breath. He whispers, “Don’t move a muscle.” And then he reaches between my legs and strokes my clit over my panties.

I flinch.

“Don’t. Move,” he barks. He drags his fingers over my clit over and over until I’m panting and it’s hard to keep from swaying.

Then he’s gone. Back on his feet, walking to my front.

I’m panting. My brain is spinning. I’m so fucking horny, I’m not sure I can hold this position much longer. I glance at the ominous kennel and shiver. The thought of going in there…

He’s waiting again. I guess I haven’t groveled enough. I want to lift my knees one at a time to ease the pressure, but I’m afraid he’ll swat me with that crop. He mentioned using it on my nipples. That will surely hurt like a motherfucker.

What else do I need to apologize for? Oh, right. The door. “I’m sorry for thinking I could escape. I was scared, and I did consider running. I’ll try not to let it happen again, Sir.”

He sets a hand on the top of my head. “Good girl. Drop onto all fours.”

I’m so relieved to switch positions that I don’t even care how humiliating this new one is.

“Stay,” he orders.

I shudder again at the command. It’s the kind of thing one would say to a dog. I’m nearly naked on all fours, staring at a kennel I’m certain is my next assignment. I told him I don’t like pet play. That’s not going to stop him, though. I squeeze my eyes closed and rock forward and backward on my knees to loosen them. They ache badly.

I’m aware that he walked away, but now he’s back. He straddles me as if he’s going to ride me, which is not possible, but then he’s gathering my hair. He pulls it into a high ponytail and secures it with a band.

“Open your mouth,” he orders, holding my head back by the ponytail.

I’m confused, but I part my lips right before something rubbery is pushed between my teeth. Panic fills me, but when I struggle, Silver pins my torso with his knees against my sides. I writhe, shaking my head, trying to spit out whatever he’s stuffed inside my mouth.

He’s too strong for me. He manages to quickly fasten the gag at the back of my head. A second later, he slaps something else around my neck. It’s metal and heavy, reminding me of the shackle. Lastly, he clips yet one more item to the front of my throat.

I’m panting heavily, panicking more than ever, as he lifts one leg over me and rounds to the front. He gives a tug on the item in his hands, and I rear back. It’s a leash. He put a collar and leash on me.