Page 111 of Love By Design

Better yet, just wear what I tell you.

A familiar heat pooled low in my stomach.

Lincoln spit toothpaste into the sink and started singing an old blink-182 song.

Thank you, Sir.

Do you have black jeans?

Yes, Sir.

A white t-shirt?

Yes, Sir.

That with sneakers.No underwear.

The denim was going to be hell on my cock, on my thighs.

Understood.

Do you have a harness?

“What did Daddy say?” Lincoln shouted from his bedroom.

I cleared my throat, lips parched. “We’re talking about it.”

No, Sir.

A shame.

And no collar?

My teeth chattered together as I closed my mouth, palms sweating against the phone.

No one has ever given me one.

Did you want one? Did you like wearing mine on Wednesday?

I don’t know, Sir. And yes.

Wear what you’re told, Silas. Have a good night with your best friend. Stay with him unless he finds someone to host, then come over to my house.

Yes, Sir.

Thank you.

I love you. Begood.

I love you.

I stared at the phone to see if any other messages were going to come through, but none did.

“We’re good!” I called down to Lincoln.

He let out a whoop in reply and was waiting for me in the doorway of my bedroom when I made it down the hall. I dug out my black jeans and a white shirt just like Marshall had instructed, then stripped naked and got dressed again. My cock was plump from the conversation, thickening even more in response to the tightness of the denim. Lincoln didn’t say anything about it, and neither did I, and then we were in my car and on the way to Rapture.

The club was in full swing by the time we got there, dozens of people already packed onto the dance floor. The new downstairs room had people inside as well, and for the first time since Lincoln proposed the idea, I wondered if coming to Rapture was a good idea after all. Marshall had been so insistent when we’d first gotten involved that what had happened to me was assault, and while I agreed with him, I also didn’t. I hadn’t been victimized, at least not in the way others had been. It felt wrong to call it that, and facing the door of the room where it had occurred, I struggled to make sense of it being both at the same time.