To own is to…. Wound

My heart pounds in my ears in a sickening, whooshing sound as I’m guided onto the yacht, the smell of saltwater this time a very physical thing. I make a conscious effort to block out the sight of the murky, foreboding water that surrounds us. As much as the idea of being touched makes me want to shed my skin, I want to please the man at my back, to show him I’m capable of all the things I was trained to do. I can be useful to him. His hand firmly grips the back of my serpent collar. The gesture would’ve seemed attentive, possessive, endearing if it wasn’t wrought with tension. My collar itself is beautiful, resembling a serpent slithering around my neck, the trail resting just under my collarbone, the head stopping just above the valley of my breasts. It’s a stunning, heavy dark gold to match my dress, my hair left to fall in waves down my back. I freeze as the boat rocks, stepping back into Master. He simply tightens his hand, making the collar press against my flesh in warning.