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Her legs quivered involuntarily as her hands touched her thighs to slip off the stockings. Had she not been angry and confused she would have indulged her aching desire for release. Her hands reached for the clasp on her collar, once there she stopped. Her mind wandered back to an earlier conversation we'd had about pets and Masters. She remembered our first discussion about wearing a collar. I'd told her that though anyone can wear a collar for someone else that doesn't make them a pet. Being a pet is about patience and submitting oneself to another however the Master chooses them to serve. A collar can be taken off whenever and without regard by someone who is not seriously dedicated to their craft and those type of people are definitely not pets, just someone with a fancy for imitation of a specific lifestyle. Likewise just because you tell someone to wear a collar that doesn't make you a Master. A Master must have respect for their pet, they must care about the pet's safety, they. Please don’t stop, Dave. You won’t do anything that will hurt me.’ ‘No, Emma. I will never hurt you,’ he said softly as he reclaimed her mouth. His lips slid from hers and down her jaw until he reached the sensitive lobe of her ear. He nibbled lightly then sucked it between his teeth. When he moved below to claim the tender skin of her neck, chill bumps danced and raced across her shoulders and tightened her nape. She made full use of her hands, delving into his brown hair, enjoying the crispness of the strands as they feathered across her fingers. His gaze sought hers as he rose from her neck and then moved to her breasts. There was something wild in his eyes. Where before he had seemed restrained, in control and patient, now there was an urgency, a deep wanting in those warm brown orbs that melted her heart. ‘Come to me,’ she whispered. ‘Be with me. Your Emma. The woman, not the girl.’ He stopped, his body going still against her flesh. His gaze penetrated her, dark and forbidding..
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