Stalling while I thought, I felt the collar, stiff and heavy in my fingers. The leather smelled rich, and the silver studs and buckle were cool. There...was a ring attached to the buckle, so you could attach a leash to your dog. There was the possibility that Uncle Mitch wanted something more, something sinister. It was a visceral intuition, one that was more a feeling between my legs than a conscious thought. My brain felt deadened and confused at what was happening to me, and I couldn't think. This one… this one was both good and bad—roguish and wilful…Kim’s thoughts were becoming clearer, reflecting her true, inner being. Her soul, if you like.He smiled to himself. She was an artist. And a writer—he’d seen that! A writer of love, passion, and eroticism; she had a fertile imagination, coupled with a ribald wit. She liked to put herself into her stories, becoming the character she wrote—different, but the same. And in her stories, she enjoyed misbehaving.Just like she did in life.Yes,. More

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