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EROTICA | MARRIED | POWER PLAY | OFFICE SEX | COLLAR | FINGERING | DOMINATION | RISKY SEX | CONTROL | SUBMISSION

Controlled By My Vibrating Collar During the Million-Dollar Negotiation — 5

He made me cum on the table with his fingers deep inside me, then sent me back to work still wet and owned, the collar buzzing against my throat as a constant reminder.

PART 4

“Flattery will get you everywhere. What else?”

“I’ll be loud.” The words were more difficult, more rapid, more breathy, as his thumb moved faster. “Louder than the last time, I know you like it when I'm loud.”

“When you're honest, I like it. Loud is just evidence of honesty.”

Then I'll tell you the truth, I'll beg, I'll tell you just how much I want you in me, how much I want you in me when I'm empty.

His fingers glided down. Two of them, pushing at her entry, not yet inside, but threatening to be—promising to be—and Claire's hips jutted again, unwilling.Two of them, pushing against her entrance, not yet inside, but threatening to be—promising to be—and Claire's hips jutted again, unwilling.

“Empty,” he repeated, his voice lowered by a half octave. “When you're not in me, I feel empty?”

“Yes.”

“Even in the board room when the men seem like they're in charge?”

“Especially then.”

His fingers were shoved into her. Two at a time, stretching her, filling her so she could cling to the edge of the table, leaving marks in the obsidian.

So, who's doing the job, Claire?”

“You.”

“Say it louder.”

“You’re in charge.” Her voice ricocheted off the glass walls, bounced in the empty conference room, and she didn't care, couldn't care, because his fingers were moving now, curling inside her in just the way he knew she liked, in just the rhythm that made her vision start to blur at the edges.

“Good girl.” The collar vibrated. G - O - O - D. The word and the feeling came together at once, and the praise and the command, and she could not distinguish one from the other. “Now come for me.”

She shattered. It was like a wave, no, more like lightning, more like when a circuit is completed, electricity flows through wires that have been waiting for the connection. Her body trembled around his fingers, her throat crushing into his hand, her eyes rolling at the sides in a way that wasn't caused by the fluorescent lights overhead.

The collar vibrated. A single long pulse. Continuous. Steady. A hum, a humming that resonated through her nervous system, in her throat.

H - O - L - D

She held. She'd held the orgasm, held the position, held herself just as she was, bunched her skirt, spread her thighs, Marcus' fingers still in her, while the aftershocks rippled through her body. She held on through the shaking of her muscles that wanted to give way. She kept holding until the vibrations ceased.

Then she took a deep breath.

Marcus pulled his fingers out. Slowly. Carefully. His hand came loose from her throat and went to her chin, tilting her face up to his.

You're going to close on Thursday,” he said, and his voice was back to normal, the voice of a husband, talking about logistics. “You're going to get the royalty cap, you're going to get everything you want and more, and you're going to come home and tell me all about it.”

Claire nodded. When she could find her voice, it was croaky. “Yes.”

“And in the meantime—” He pushed up his fingers to the clasp of the collar, testing it as he had when he first came into the room. “You're going to wear this, you're going to think about it every time you speak, you're going to remember that every word you say, every deal you make, every victory you claim is mine, just like you.”

The clasp clicked. Not opening. Only the sound of metal settling, a reminder that it was there. That it would never go away. That the collar was as permanent as the wedding band she wore under her glove.

“Yes,” Claire whispered.

“Do you?”

She met his eyes. Held them. Show him everything; surrender, love, complete certainty that this is where she belongs.

“Yes,” she said. “I know.”

The collar buzzed. Short. Sharp. An ending of a sentence.

Marcus smiled. “Good, now put your skirt back in place, we have 14 minutes before the next booking.”

She slipped off the table. Her legs held—barely. Her panties were soaking wet with lace, and she would feel it for the rest of the afternoon. In her reflection in the obsidian surface she appeared thoroughly debauched, thoroughly owned, thoroughly satisfied.

She pinned her skirt up, she did. Because he’d told her to.

The conference room was just as it was before. The legal pads. The spreadsheets. Pens were neatly lined up in rows. There was nothing different, no sign of anything that is to say, but when Claire took another step towards the door she could feel the difference in her body. The good pain in between her legs. The warmth of the collar on her throat. She knew that she would be Claire Vance, Vice President, in 90 seconds, and she would be as untouchable as she could be, as unshakeable as she could be, in the hallway.

No one would know.

There would be no one to suspect what had taken place in this room, on this table, while the numbers were still glowing on the tablet screens and the aroma of coffee still pervaded the air.

Marcus got there first than her. His hand was on the small of her back, a possessive, but not intrusive gesture, a man's hand on a woman's back in public.

“One more thing,” he said, his voice so low that only she could hear. “The royalty cap. When you present it on Thursday, I want you to remember this moment. I want you to remember exactly how you felt when you came on my fingers in a conference room. I want that memory in your eyes when you look across the table at Derek Morrison. Understood?”

Claire nodded.

“Out loud.”

“Understood.”

“Good.” He opened the door. The hall was empty and polished, waiting for them. “After you, Ms. Vance.”

She stepped through. The collar vibrated. One pulse, so fleeting she could have imagined, but the message was loud and clear.

I’m still here.

She was still here. Still owned. Still controlled.

Still wrapped in the invisible leash of commands only she could hear. Thursday was two days away. Two days of wearing the collar, feeling its weight, waiting for the next vibration. Two days of being Claire Vance in public and Claire-in-the-collar in every moment that mattered. Two days until she sat across from Derek Morrison again, with the memory of Marcus’s fingers inside her and the knowledge that every word she spoke belonged to someone else. The collar buzzed. Three short pulses. One long. O - P - E - N Her thighs parted. Imperceptibly. Just enough. Thursday couldn’t come fast enough. PART 6