Three Strikes (Desire Island 3)

He spooned more ice cream into Abbie’s mouth and then continued, “She strapped me against the cross so my back was to her, and then she flogged me, spanked me, paddled me and even used a single tail. It hurt like hell. I didn’t love it, but I was determined to take it. When she was done, she let me down and told me to turn around. Then she stared at my flaccid cock, grinned at me and said, ‘You’re a Dom.’”

He laughed and, after a startled moment, Abbie laughed too.

Then Master Ryan pulled her up onto his lap. With one arm around her shoulder, he reached with his other hand for her left breast. He gripped her nipple and massaged it until it stiffened in his grasp, causing pleasure to radiate through her entire body. Keeping hold of her nipple, he pinched it and gave it a sharp twist.

Abbie gasped at the sudden pain, which sent a zing of fiery desire directly to her cunt. “Ooh,” she moaned, her clit throbbing in tandem with her nipple.

Ryan chuckled, the sound low and sexy in his throat. “You, on the other hand, thank god, are a delicious, masochistic sub.”

~*~

The next morning while Abbie was still sleeping, Ryan slipped quietly out of bed. This amazing, lovely, deeply submissive woman had proven herself worthy over and over in their time together. Retrieving his gear bag from the corner of the room, he unzipped it and pulled out the small silk pouch.

It was hard to believe more than a decade had passed since the BDSM gear and jewelry fair he’d attended in Asheville. Back then, still new to the scene, he’d been certain he would soon find the sub girl of his dreams. Yet, though he’d had a number of both disastrous and satisfying relationships over the years, he’d never found “the one”—until now.

Lifting the flap, he let the beautiful leather and jewel slave collar fall into his palm. He stared down at it, as enchanted with it as he had been the first time he’d seen it. The black leather was still supple and soft after all this time. Instead of a buckle at the back, it closed at the front with a jeweled clasp. The clasp was made of white gold inlaid with garnets and tiny seed pearls set in an intricate design.

The collar had been way out of his price range at the time, but he couldn’t stop returning to the booth to admire its elegant beauty. On his fourth visit in the space of a few hours, as he ran his finger over the jeweled clasp, he’d wracked his brain for a way to justify the expense, but came up empty. With a sigh, he’d replaced it on the tray and turned to leave.

The woman seated behind the counter called out, “You have good taste. That collar is one of my personal favorites.”

He’d turned back. “It’s gorgeous,” he agreed. “The workmanship is incredible. Do you know who made it?” Maybe there was a website or something, and he could connect with the artist one day when he had more cash flow.

“Miranda Steadman.” She tapped her chest. “That’s me. I made it.” Miranda was in her sixties, with silver hair framing a lined but still beautiful face. It was then he’d noticed she was wearing a collar similar to the one he admired, though instead of garnets and seed pearls, the design on her clasp was a flower, each petal made from a teardrop-shaped opal. “I’ve been watching you for the past couple of hours coming in and out of here and staring at that collar like it was calling your name. What is your name, by the way?”

“Ryan.” He’d approached the counter. “Ryan Summerlin.”

The collar lay on its velvet-covered tray between them. Unable to resist, he stroked the soft leather once more. “I have this dream that someday I’ll fall in love with a submissive woman who will honor me by wearing my collar.” He forced a laugh, adding, “And someday hopefully I’ll be able to afford something as perfect as this collar for this woman who doesn’t exist yet.”

“I like your romantic sensibility.” Miranda’s smile was kind as she added,

“And you never know—she might be waiting for you, too, Ryan. Lots of folks are into the kink of BDSM, but very few understand the passion and romance that underlies a true D/s connection.” She picked up the collar and ran her finger over the jeweled design. “It makes me happy to know there are kindred spirits out there.” She held the collar toward him. “I want you to have this. What can you afford?”

Ryan, taken aback, had held up his hands. “Oh, no. I couldn’t do that. You have to make a living.”

“No,” Miranda had said firmly. “I don’t do this for the money. It’s strictly a labor of love. You’re young yet, and there’s so much out there for you to explore. Take your time and keep an open heart, Ryan. One day, you’ll find the woman of your dreams—one worthy to wear this collar.” She proffered it yet again. “All I ask is that you make sure you are also worthy of her.”