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" Are ya gonna wear a collar for daddy then, girl?" He looked wolfish, hecould turn the smallest things into blackmail."Pleease." My voice a mere whisper."Are Ya?"I took a quivering breath. "Ys."Then tell daddy, tell me ya wants ta wear a collar for me."I looked at him pleadingly and he countered my look with an aggressivestare."I, I want to wear a, a, collar for you daddy." It was more of asubmissive whimper than anything."Yea, course ya do girl." He must have had the collar in his pocket ashe produced it magically. It was pink kid leather and about an inchwide. It had a silver coloured buckle on it and a silver coloured halfring sewn into it. There was a silver heart dangling from the ring withthe words "Daddy's girl" engraved onto it. I almost choked, getting upto run from him when I saw it, but his hand snaked out and grabbed me,his grip fierce and vicelike on my arm."Ya do as ya're told, ya sissy or by fuck I'll send all them photos toya boss an I'll make the blog public to. How he must hate her, and yet he would still ravish her.He narrowed his eyes when she had no response to him. No response wasn't good enough. He threw his belt aside and lay on her again, but this time his hand snaked between them and tore her vest. She made a sound, an angry noise, and fought him.He pushed himself against her undergarments, rubbing himself on her. She shuddered and went still again. Smiling, he unlaced her shirt, pulling the material aside to expose one round breast.Her back arched of its own accord. His huge hand on her breast sent a lightning-sharp sensation down her body. She watched in horror as he took his hand away and replaced it with his mouth. Her hands forgot the search for her dagger and she held his head there. She didn't want him to stop.When he did, she was almost crestfallen.He had to hand it to her. He'd been ready when he came up here, but now he was rock hard. He longed to just bury himself in her and forget about the world. But he wanted more of.
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Looking at the chipped and faded paint, marred here and there by rust spots, Steve, who fancied himself a poetic soul at times, likened it to a pathetic attempt at a song of seduction sung by a wrinkled whore, long past her prime. *A whore,* he thought dejectedly. *That's what I'll have to find.* He had tried all of his own lines on the girls here, and then the ones his friends swore always worked. He'd even tried Joey's "How YOU doin'?" that always worked on Friends. Nothing. Zero, zip, nada. He had thought that maybe the carnival atmosphere might make the girls more receptive to his charms, but that had not been the case. Like every other Saturday night since puberty, Steve found himself womanless. Women found his charms, his lines, his deodorant and aftershave, in fact every thing about him, eminently resistible. Even Fat Ginny, who, rumor had it, slept with ANYONE, had turned him down with the old "Let's just be friends." line. Steve looked at the brass covered ashtray in his.

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