I look at my left and sure, on the floor, in a black tray is a red collar.
With the lump still seated in my throat, I pick it up and latch it around my neck.
“Tighter.”
Banks’s voice moves through my chest, my n*****s, and straight down to my cunt . I without room for refusal obey.
Tightening the leather until it hooks against my skin. My vision blurs slightly at the edges. I ease it back one notch.
“Fix the chain to it.”
I spot a bowl on the tray, placed face down. I lift it. Beneath it: a silver chain. And beside the chain — a n****e clamp, something I have come to recognise as a c******s clamp, and cuffs.
My entire body hums with a current that makes me both ache and embarrassingly wet.
I pick up the chain. It rattles loudly. I find the hook and attach it to my leather cuff, jol
