By Invitation

by Zephyr

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© Copyright 2020 - Zephyr - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; blackmail; sex; bond; collar; cuffs; oral; rom; reluct; cons; XX

Continues from

Part 6

Saturday morning I woke up and knew it was time. Last Saturday at Standing Rock had been bad but Scott had been perfect to me all week. He had driven me to and from school and made sure I was fed. Anything I wanted all I had to do was ask. And he had asked nothing of me. The collar was still around my neck and I still felt beautiful in it. I probably could have done sex things Thursday night without pain but wanted to wait to let all the bruises fade and all the scratches be gone and they were. In return for being allowed to wear this beautiful collar I had made a promise and it was time to keep it.

Scott had been without for a week now. I suspected he had helped himself at some points but he had left me alone to heal. I was grateful for that. It was time to reward good behavior.

I leaned over and pushed him just enough to wake him. Then I whispered in a soft voice into his ear: “A collared slave would like to know how to please her master.”

He woke up fast with that. He still looked kind of confused so In his sight I tugged at my collar and repeated my words.

Suddenly I found myself flat on my back on the mattress and he was on top of me. I got a huge grin on my face as he plunged into me, long and hard and stiff. It didn’t hurt a bit. It didn’t take quite as long as normal but he came extra hard and extra long after all that waiting.

We didn’t have anything planned for the day anyway so we spent it in the house, mostly in bed and making up for lost time. He took me out to dinner and I felt beautiful in a thin-shouldered minidress that showed off the chrome around my neck. I was his perfect kitten. I let him play in every way he wanted, even pushed him into a few things. And always called him “Sir”. He had a problem getting used to that which just made it more fun.

We got home and I asked him: “So, as your slave, do I sleep chained by my collar to the foot of your bed?”

He laughed. “Hardly.” He pointed to the bed. “Your master has much better uses for your body and time.”

The next morning I eased out of bed and grabbed a pair of handcuffs from the dresser drawer. I held my hands behind my back and quietly ratcheted them down on them. Then I climbed back into bed and snuggled my way into his lap, found a semi-hard object that needed care and servicing, and began to work.

That woke him up. This didn’t happen too often but it had happened more than once before: me waking him up this way. Blow jobs were common in our bedroom play and he enjoyed having my hands cuffed behind me. When I was back-cuffed I was much more at his mercy and without my hands had to concentrate more on what I was doing. After a few seconds I felt his hand come down and caress my hair. Feels good baby, it said, keep going.

Eventually he looked down to see why I wasn’t using my hands and discovered the handcuffs. As expected and anticipated he became a little rougher now, grabbing my hair and holding me in place as I lapped my way up and down him. As often happened, especially when I was back-cuffed, he stopped and threw some pillows into the center of the bed and then rolled me with my hips on top of it. Then he took me doggy style. We both loved it. Afterwards and before he uncuffed me he rolled me over. I shot him a grin. “A wise slave will make sure her master is in the proper frame of mind when he wakes up in the morning.” And I giggled.

He looked over at me, “You can check that one off as complete, baby!”

It was Monday night and Scott and I were at the meeting. Phil and Von were there. Von was still on tiptoes around me and still very sorry but I did everything I could to reassure her that everything was over and everything was fine. A woman was the centerpiece, an older woman who actually looked really good for her age (40s somewhere probably). Scott didn’t mention the possibility of doing anything with her and I had no desire to. I think Scott thought her pretty but he had never been into older women. Plenty of other people were and she looked to be having a good time.

There was a shadow over it though for Scott and I. This might be our last time here. The next time we were here that would be me. I had been given enough time to reflect on it and if it happened it would be ok. I hadn’t minded the sex last Saturday. It was fine except for the few people that were assholes and I had never seen any signs of that at one of these meetings. Everybody here was serious; as far as I could tell almost everybody here was either a master or a submissive. As far as being the centerpiece and the group sex that entailed I could take it or leave it. Preferably leave it; I was a one-man woman. Sure. A host of different experiences were fun and educational but it wasn’t what got someone through the darker nights. And even on that subject I only sort of had that. Yes, Scott filled that role but he filled it because he wanted it and I couldn’t shoo him away.

But the meeting was over. Jerry had given the key to Scott and he had unlocked the collar. I hadn’t taken it off. I had sort of gotten used to it. I liked what it said about me, even if some of the things it said it didn’t.

Scott and Jerry noticed this; that I hadn’t immediately removed the collar. It was open but still around my neck. Jerry offered to hold on to the key until the next meeting in two weeks’ time if Scott wanted. I told Scott to give Jerry back the key. Either Jerry was getting the collar back or not but if not Jerry needed to be holding the key. Jerry told us ok, but that collars meant something. If I locked it back on my neck he now had the key and it was going to stay on until the next meeting.

I fingered the collar around my neck, feeling the enormity of the decision. If I pushed it back closed, pushed it hard enough to engage the lock I was stuck. Stuck with it around my neck for another two weeks which was no big deal to me. I had told people it was a one-week dare, so what would they think when it wasn’t gone in a week? I remembered what I said to Von last weekend out at Warner: My neck and my decision. But to get it off would be our fourth meeting. And there was no doubt what would happen to me then. And the only place we knew Jerry from was here. If I clicked the collar closed the only way to get it off, no matter how long I waited, was to come back and be the centerpiece for the first time with everything that entailed.

Scott looked at me. He and several other people realized it too, realized what I was doing and what I was setting myself up for. What I would have to do if the collar clicked closed.

I could feel the resistance from the locking mechanism it would slip past. Each time feeling it start to open the mechanism that if I pushed just a little harder would hold it inviolate for two more weeks. Pushing again. Daring myself. Tempting lightning to strike. No click. Pushing again. If it locked I was committed. Was I committed? Did I want to be committed? Being tied up and toyed with and made love to was not an issue. Water under the bridge. Won’t go there often but been there, done that. Would do it again. Non=issue.

Pushing against the locking mechanism again. Resistance, a little bit of give, a little bit of parting the capture mechanism. No click. But what did it say? Even if I did wear the collar for another two weeks I knew that was it. The trial period would be over. At that point either I took the collar for real and forever or I let it go. With Scott. There was no one else. Like any other if I made that promise I would keep it. More push. More give.

Let the stopper push itself out. Back off to safety. Back off to a normal life, such as I had one. Someday free of Scott, on my own, finding real love. More push. A sharp noise across the room. I jump and I think I’ve done it. But no, further than before, further than I wanted, but didn’t capture. The room around me was starting to get silent. I played with it some more. Push. On the knife edge again. Resistance. Tempting fate. Tied down naked, having person after person after person come up and have sex with me again. Tied down to Scott. Being submissive for another two weeks. Maybe longer if we missed the meeting. Pressing a bit again. A little harder, a little further than before. It felt beautiful there. I felt beautiful there. Could I really do this?

No. I couldn’t. I took it off and handed it to Jerry.

Ring around your neck, ring around your finger. If you were doing it right there were an awful lot of similarities.

I loved what it said about me. I felt beautiful in one, sensual, wanted. For people like Von who were doing it right it said I am strong and in control of myself and strong and in control enough to yield these things to another. And deeply, deeply in love. But it meant a commitment, a commitment I wasn’t willing to make to anyone right now and especially not to someone who was blackmailing me. No matter how it made me feel or how good we looked to the outside world. I didn’t think I could ever trust enough to truly give up, to promise to let go forever of that much control.

Beautiful. But not me.

Scott got a promotion at his job and he started working enough weeknights that I decided to take a night class and make up the one that I had done poorly on when we broke up originally. And that was where the real problems began.

Paul Brandford. Big, hunky, new to the college. His family owned a law firm with practices in about ten states and he was a shoo-in to take over the entire firm eventually. Sharp as a tack, witty, good sense of humor, fun to be around. The things that had once drawn me to Scott so long ago. And after a few classes it became clear that he liked me too. That pissed off Maryanne Clements who seemed to have thoughts of her own about him. It became clear that he liked Maryanne and she would have been an option except that he wanted me more.

So for the first week or two after that we did coffee shops afterward and talked quite a distance into the night. Part of me wondered what in the hell I was doing? Scott had all those pictures and it was true that Scott and I had fallen so far back into the dating sort of envelope that most people thought we were. Nobody knew me or knew that in this class at night.

I couldn't say I was loved by Scott, could I? He wasn't in love with me, he was blackmailing me and using me sexually. Damn infrequently these days, with his job, at that. We'd spoken, when we were dating, of long-term plans to both graduate before we would decide to marry and no talk of that was occurring these days.

I wondered what Scott and I actually had. In so many ways it was a loving relationship with a twist. But it wasn't that. The way things were in this relationship with Scott I couldn't say no. Not that it mattered too much anymore. I had been wearing shorter skirts and dressier things for so long that I did it now without thinking which was almost definitely one of the things that made me stand out to Paul. Excellent, healthy tight tanned bare legs in a short skirt or a tight top with cleavage stand out to any man. I wasn't a tart like a lot of the other girls around but really, really good looking and using things to full advantage. If I were still dressing the way I did when I broke up with Scott then Paul might not even have noticed me.

And I knew Scott and I might someday morph into something and it was inescapable that Scott fit me well. We had molded to each other over all this time. But it wasn't me. I wasn't free. I couldn't be myself, not with Scott and all those pictures hanging over me. This was not so with Paul.

So one night after class we went for the coffee but didn't stay for more than a few minutes. I took him home. Scott would be working for another three hours and then going home and sleeping so he could be awake at class. He never bothered me on work nights and had said he never expected he would.

Paul looked even better without his clothes than with them. Muscular but not overblown. Yes, the sight could make a girl's heart skip a beat. And a large member. And he knew how to use it. It was so different, sleeping with someone in a give-and-take when he was really, really trying to impress me. And yes the orgasm was incredible. And yes, he spent the night. He left me the next morning with a long kiss that I hated to break off but he went to his town home to study and me to school.

And Scott. It felt so much like I had betrayed him but had I? It wasn't like we had any sort of agreement except I'd do anything he wanted in exchange for him not destroying my life. But it still felt like I had cheated.

It was Wednesday and Scott had the night off. He stopped me after class and told me, asked me actually, if he could spend the night that night at my house with me.

But I couldn't. I knew it even though I couldn't tell Scott and made no outward signs. I had crossed my Rubicon when I came thundering in Paul's arms last night. What was I going to do?

I told him I'd be ready and ran.

I opened the door and Scott came in. My stomach was full of butterflies but I knew I had to tell him it was over. Scott would want me to sleep naked next to him, would want to make love, have sex with me, but he couldn't. I wasn’t his anymore. I had no idea how I was going to do this but I had to and I was strengthened by the thought that Paul was at the far end of it. I had dressed nicely, a short silk dress that was beautiful on me and heels. I felt I should look really nice when I did what I was about to do to him.

He came in and closed the door behind him. He reached for my dress to pull it off me but I grabbed both of his hands with mine and stopped him.

"Scott, I can't do this anymore, including tonight. I've met someone in my History class. I love Paul and he loves me and I want to build a life with him. We can't continue like this."

I'd seen a wide range of faces on Scott but never this one. He pursed his lips. He obviously hurt real bad but in his eyes you could see that he had feared this was coming, maybe even had been tipped off, and feverishly hoped he was wrong. After a long minute he slumped a little, shoved it under, and started talking.

"OK, I knew this day might come." Scott said. "Pull out your cell phone and set it up to take a video."

I did, not knowing what he was thinking but having no desire to argue with him even a little at this point. He nodded and I started recording.

"My name is Scott Andrew Winston, and I'm making this confession freely and not under duress. I've been blackmailing Regina Joanne Arthur for approximately the last nine months. I have used the blackmail to have a sexual relationship with her and we've had sex as much as three or four times a week over that period. Since she has been under threat that qualifies and I admit it legally to be rape."

"She had tied herself to her bed and had become stuck and had called me to come release her. Before releasing her I took pictures of her in that condition and had sex with her. I've used those pictures to force her to have sex with me whenever I wanted ever since. My name is Scott Andrew Winston, and I've made this confession freely and without duress." He motioned with his hands to shut it off and I did. You could see it in his eyes, the scream like one Edward Munch never imagined in his wildest nightmares. But he kept it under the surface. I marveled at his strength, overcome with surprise at how he had reacted. My own heart too was breaking. He continued.

"Sorry, I'm not giving you any of the pictures back or deleting them. But you can now send me to jail for what we've been doing: you have a full confession on your phone. I can't threaten you with the pictures any longer, you can threaten to give that recording to the police. Nobody else has seen any of the pictures and no one ever will. Now that it's over I expect you'll never want to see me again. I can't do anything about the classes we have together for the rest of the semester but I won't otherwise seek you out. I wish you and Paul well. He's one hell of a lucky bastard." With that he turned around and walked straight out the door and was gone.

The click of it as he shut it behind him was one of the loudest noises I'd heard in my life. I didn't believe it: He had just let me go. Just like that. No strings, no problems. Not even a farewell fuck for the road, which despite my earlier feelings at the moment I'd have given him. My head was going to explode, maybe from relief but I wasn't sure.

But it was over with Scott and I could have my life with Paul. I didn't know whether to scream, to cry, or faint or anything. I just stood there. Then I wobbled over and just sat in one of the chairs in the living room, literally for about thirty minutes, just breathing. And then I laughed: A merry, joyous laugh. And began planning my life with Paul.


Paul was good and stable and honest and kind and decent. He was the one my parents wanted me with and he was a good catch. Paul was going to have a thriving legal career given enough time. He'd be a good provider so I could have the 2.5 children, dog, and cat in the rich part of the suburbs. He was great in bed, no complaint there! But the one thing he was not was kinky. He was ‘missionary position with an occasional on-her-tummy’, but nothing more than that. If he ever tried to do anything outside of the bedroom, it was in the living room with the windows closed. My hints about spicing things up never seemed to register. I tied myself to the bed once before he arrived but the first thing he did was thank me for the thought and then he untied me (and then screwed me like a stallion).

I wanted my own business career. I'd be happy to help him with his but I wanted, needed, to be my own person and not just Paul's supportive beautiful wife and that’s what was coming. So could he and I could see the doubt growing in his eyes. He was perfect and everything I should want and I knew I should stop being an idiot and just be happy here and settle in but I couldn't. The truth was I still craved the scary, different, unusual, kinky life I had with Scott. The bad thing was, when I was taking care of myself my fantasies were of those kinky things and Scott.

Paul brought it out one day. "You're not happy, and with who I am and where my life is going I'm not sure I can fix that. You want your own life. I love you but I need someone to tuck in under my wing. Could you be happy doing that?"

I didn't answer. It was like the keystone in the dam gave way, and I just cried and cried and cried bitterly into his shoulder for forever. Cried for the disappointment my parents were going to have. Cried for the life that Paul could have provided for my children. Cried that I wouldn't be there to see him succeed, to share in his triumphs, to build him back up when he was down. When my crying had stopped he promised me he would always be there for me but what each of us needed wasn't in the cards for the other to give. And like Scott he walked straight out the door and was gone.

He wasn't stupid. He went to Maryanne for consolation. Maryanne took good care of him. Sank her teeth right into him and never let go. She had wanted to be there for him the full time it turned out and she would be happy to tuck in and happy to be what he needed and wanted. I think all three of us and maybe others, knew she was his fit, not me. Probably why she did what she did: just waited until Paul saw it too. And I was pretty sure they'd eventually get married and had a fine, strong, and quiet life. And be what each other wanted. Needed. Like I at the moment needed large quantities of alcohol.


I walked into Calc class a little early the next morning. Scott was already there, studying, trying to hide the hurt he still felt. We had talked a little every once in a while but it was always polite, painful and awkward. He looked at me, who had been crying the whole night instead of sleeping and hadn't quite put on enough makeup to cover it. That along with the denim miniskirt (the really short one he made me wear that first day) and wedge heels and tight silk blouse, pretty heavily unbuttoned with a clear vertical line of cleavage showing got the expected and hoped for double-take. But then he dropped his eyes and grimaced as he shook his head sadly and said nothing. He didn't need words, that brief look said it all: Why when I've lost you forever do you walk in here looking like my world class favorite wet dream? You will be sitting beside me all hour. Just felt like shredding my soul the rest of the way today?

"Ditch class with me." I said. Without a word he put his book back into his bag and zipped it up. We left.

We wound up driving my car back to my place in silence. In the door, backpacks in the entryway like we had a million times before. I told him about what had happened between Paul and I yesterday. I could feel another epic cry coming on. I grabbed his shoulder and did a repeat of Paul, let it all flow out again. When I was done, I looked up at him. "Fuck me. No, dammit, rape me. I need to get away from this ringing, echoing emptiness in my heart before it kills me."

He regarded me for a second. Then he grabbed my blouse where it was open below the collar and ripped it in two, taking it off me without needing to do anything else. I started pounding on him with my fists, kicking, scratching, yelling. It didn't stop him. He pushed me to the ground, grabbed the waistline of my skirt and pulled it and my panties off, ignoring my kicking legs. Then he reached down and grabbed the inside of my bra cups and tore it apart between the cups (Well, it wasn't that hard, it had a front clasp there holding it together. Before he grabbed it). And then he pushed me flat on my back, still kicking and fighting, screaming. He dropped his pants, pinned my arms above my head, and entered me. Slammed into me.

I kept fighting but he was on top of me. I was pinned and he was too strong and he just ignored me. God I needed this. I kept struggling, fighting, trying to break free to attack him. It was hellaciously therapeutic. Until I felt an orgasm starting to build inside of me and once that finally percolated through to my brain I quit moving and just let it happen. Not that I was able to stop him anyway. And it happened and as it did I thrashed and twisted and finally just lay still again, back to quiet sobbing. And then even that stopped. Scott, the gentleman as always, had waited while I worked my way down.

I looked at him and nodded but he just shook his head no back to me.

"I've spent far too much time taking advantage of you. Not this time." He told me. "If you want to you can make it up to me someday when your heart's not in tiny little pieces." And he just lay beside me and held me. I was quite happy there. I felt comforted. Safe. Warm. Where I belonged. It seemed like a million years since I had felt like that.

I never realized I fell asleep. I woke up on my living room floor still naked, a pillow under my head and a blanket over me and Scott nowhere to be found. The sun was setting outside the window. And I cried and I cried. It still felt like the middle part of my chest was gone. It was a huge hole but it wasn't a black hole any more. Scott still wanted me. And, with clarity, I knew. I gave in to needing Scott. He was my Maryanne Clements. He knew me. He knew how to play me so I sang. Protected me, even this morning from himself when he surely wanted more and had no guarantee he'd ever get it. Unlike Paul he was the key that turned my lock. But I had thrown him away, twice now! I quailed more in my heart.

I pulled my panties and skirt back on. I didn't bother with anything up top, didn't care. I'd have to go to my bedroom to get a functioning bra and blouse anyway. I found my cell phone, punched up Scott's number, started thinking about what I was going to say to the recording. But it clicked and I heard Scott's bass "Hello."

I was flustered straight out of my mindset. "Scott? You never answer your phone..."

"Well, yeah. Oops. Don't expect it to happen again. How are you?"

"We need to talk."

"Yeah, I'll bet. How long?"

"About seventy, eighty years."

That produced a long dead silence on the phone. The silence was terrifying. I felt chilled, my heart started to sink. Maybe I was about to get what I really truly deserved: Neither of them. The silence drug on and the fear grew. Then finally, quietly he said "Yeah. We could do that. I'll be right over." He hung up.

When he arrived I motioned him over to where I had my cell phone and the confession video he had made cued up and the delete confirmation on screen. As he watched I pressed the action key and after a second the video disappeared from the list.

"Oh damn." I said theatrically. "You've got all those pictures of me and I've got nothing against you. I'm in such deep shit."

He laughed. "Pictures? Who needs them?"


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