“Make me,” his beautiful, naked, collared-and-leashed, demure, wonderful bride breathed, so softly he could scarcely hear her words. “Please, sir. Make me.”
Robert felt her body tense and he understood: she wanted to tell him not just in these urgent words but with her physical resistance that she had understood something important, something new about her own needs. Perhaps he had helped by reminding her of their conversation and of their wild lovemaking on the station, or perhaps having her governor turned up all the way for the past fourteen hours or so, while leashed and collared by her lord and master, had accomplished this result on its own.
He didn’t hesitate, then: he took Pet by the shoulder and overcame her rebellion. He raised the leash enough to tug at her collar, and he marched her toward the fucking block.
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