Collared Cravings

[F/f] [lezdom] [kink] [collared]

Continued from: From Paddle to Pinot

Those strappy stilettos of hers click across the floor like little dares, each step closing the distance with that exquisite sex slave collar dangling from her manicured fingers—black leather supple as sin, rose gold accents glinting under the Facility’s mood lights, the O-ring begging for a leash that isn’t here… yet. She holds it out, bold as brass, her pouty red lips curving into a seductive command that hits me like a riding crop. “I want you to wear this to dinner for me.”

I raise an eyebrow, disapproval etched sharp, a heady cocktail of shock and curiosity bubbling up from somewhere deep and dormant. This little thing—ten years my junior, all princess poise and bratty fire, with her mini dress riding high on those endless legs—daring to collar me? Me, Mistress Andrea, the one who orchestrates symphonies of submission in this very domain, turning quivering subs into artful messes with a flick of my wrist? In my own Facility, no less, surrounded by walls that echo with the cries I’ve commanded? It’s absurd, intoxicating, this role-flip she’s engineering with those innocent eyes and wicked smile. Enchanted? That’s the word—I’m utterly enchanted by her audacity, this spoiled sprite who’s flipped the script so effortlessly, making my pulse quicken in ways I haven’t felt since my own subby days. 

But here’s the real shock: I don’t say no. Don’t pull away as she steps closer, her breath a warm tease on my exposed shoulder, gently draping the leather around my throat like she’s crowning me in reverse.

The buckle seals with a soft snick at the back, followed by the definitive click of that rose gold padlock—tiny, teasing, unbreakable without the key she dangles playfully before dropping it into her clutch purse with a mischievous smile that could launch a thousand sessions. Locked. Owned. The weight settles, cool and commanding against my skin, a constant tug with every swallow, every breath. Haven’t been collared in ages, not since those hazy, heady sub days that flood back now like a forbidden torrent: passion that scorched my soul, pain blooming into exquisite ecstasy across my flesh, degradation that stripped me bare and rebuilt me stronger, objectification turning me into a living, breathing toy for someone else’s whims. I was someone's prized possession once, a level of confidence that turned me into what I am today. 

God, the memories—kneeling in shadows, wrists bound, body arched for whatever came next—awaken my pussy beneath my luxurious black panties, a traitorous throb building, heat pooling slick and insistent as I run my hand over the smooth leather, fingering the rose gold O-ring like it’s a talisman of surrender. As long as she holds that key, this stays on. And damn if that doesn’t enchant me further, this shocking surrender in my own empire, where I’m supposed to be the unchallenged queen.

But Alexis? She’s not content with just the collar; no, she’s pushing her luck like a true brat, holding up a matching rose gold butt plug now, the jeweled base sparkling like her eyes, tapered shaft promising a delicious intrusion. “I’d also like you to wear this to dinner,” she purrs, her voice a silken command as she pops the tip into her mouth, wetting it with a slow, deliberate suck—tongue swirling visibly, eyes locked on mine—that makes my thighs clench involuntarily, a fresh wave of arousal slickening me.

I look down at her, expression all “not impressed” with a hint of thunder, but words? None escape. No resistance, no protest as she guides me—her hand light on my hip, yet somehow authoritative—to the arm of a nearby leather couch, the one I’ve bent countless subs over for their reckonings. 

Now it’s me bending, dress hiked up to expose the curve of my ass, the cool air kissing my skin as she hooks her fingers into my black sheer-and-lace panties, tugging them down in one smooth pull to bunch at the tops of my over-the-knee boots. The vulnerability hits like a rush—me, exposed in my domain, surrendering to this enchanting minx who’s turned the tables with such effortless grace. I arch my back, just a subtle invitation, an unspoken consent that betrays how deeply she’s got me hooked, my body yielding where my mind still reels in shock.

Then, oh fuck, the most amazing sensation steals my breath: her little tongue glides over my bare asshole, warm and wicked, tracing circles that send sparks straight to my core before penetrating, slipping inside with a velvet thrust that’s equal parts tender and tormenting. She tongue-fucks my ass like she was born for it, expert and unhurried, her rhythm building as her fingers find my clit, massaging in tight, insistent circles that coax the fire higher, my hips bucking subtly against her touch. The enchantment deepens—how is this happening? Me, the dominatrix, collared and rimmed by my own client, surrendering in waves of pleasure I can’t deny. The jeweled plug presses in next, cool metal warming against my slick rim, sliding home with a pop that fills me just right, the pressure a constant, teasing reminder as the orgasm crashes over me, ripping a gasp from my throat, my walls clenching hard around nothing but the intrusion, coming all over her fingers in shuddering pulses that leave me trembling.

She straightens, popping those cum-soaked digits into her mouth, savoring them with a hum like she’s tasting victory. “Mmm, my appetizer,” she says, eyes locked on mine, all cheeky triumph and unbridled mischief. Then, the order drops like a playful whip: “Pull up your panties, Andrea. Let’s go.”

I do, straightening my dress with hands that still shake faintly, the plug a delicious secret pressure with every shift, the collar a constant reminder around my neck, both marking this shocking, enchanting surrender. Brazen little minx—turning the tables in my own domain, and damn if I’m not utterly captivated, ready for whatever dinner… and after… holds.

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Pedal to Submission

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