Kalung Hitam Di Leher Novels & Stories

She had smiled cruelly, the dark creature of her being rising. “Let him try,” she said in bemusement, she silenced 3 in an instant, letting the 4th go as she sat upon the dias’ seat she leaned casually with her chin in her hand whose elbow rested on the arm. She’d crossed her legs her tan leg and snakeskin boots slipping out through the slit. Her other hand fiddled with the crocodile tooth and a pendant hanging from a leather thong looped around her graceful neck as if she hadn’t just unalived 3 witches. The leather necklace had been gift from her men and she only removed it to shower. She wore it everyday mourning their loss, keeping them with her the only way she knew how.

He kissed my hair again, then set me down. “Wait here, pretty vixen. I have something for you.” I leaned back against the pillows, feeling tired and sore and delicious all over, the soft ache between my legs and in the peaks of my breasts sweet reminders of his touch. He returned and knelt before me, handing me a black, leather box. I raised an eyebrow. “Open it. They’re for you, if you want them.” I lifted the lid, and gasped at what lay within. There was a thin, black leather collar and beside it a gorgeous black choker, dotted with winking diamonds, a tiny charm hanging from the front in the shape of a lock. It must have been worth a fortune.

Plus now stealing Hel right from under his nose. __Max__ Max’s lungs burned as he ran for all he was worth. The others were having a time keeping up with him. He wasn’t slowed down by much, he’d put the blade away. Shoved the necklace over his head knowing it wasn’t cursed to kill him or anything. Just a connection to Hel if summoned with it. So no worries there and less likely to fall off from below his shirt and around his neck than a pocket.

They felt surprisingly comfortable on—presumably a sign of how much I hated every type of heels deeming as how their entire mission was to elevate me while making sure I was uncomfortable all through. Next, I was presented with a purse that could probably only fit only my hand and perhaps a tampon if I forced it in just enough and, as a final touch, a piece of jewelry, an Interlocked pattern of tiny chains looped together with a bright crystal clear rock in the middle was draped around my neck. My fingers assessed the stone. It was cold on my neck and harsh on my fingertips. Was it a diamond?

No bra. Black heels. High. Strappy. And a thin silver choker. Simple. But heavy around her neck. “Put them on,” he said. She dressed quick. The thong slid between her folds, already damp from the morning. The skirt hugged her ass. The blouse clung to her skin where it was still wet. Nipples poked against the silk. Visible. He stepped close. Fastened the choker. Fingers lingering on her throat. “This stays on,” he said. “Always when we’re out. Reminder.”

He didn’t speak again until they were on the bridge heading toward his building. “You are afraid,” he said. Not a question. She turned to look at him. “Yes.” “Good.” He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and withdrew a thin black leather collar—simple, elegant, with a small silver ring at the front. He held it out. “You will wear this at all times in private. It comes off only when I remove it.” She stared at it. He waited. Finally, she lifted her hair. He fastened it around her throat—cool leather against her skin, buckle clicking softly.

“Keep it close to your skin. Do not take it off until it is finished.” Isolde stepped forward and looped the red string around my neck. Her fingers were cool when they brushed my skin. The pendant settled against my chest like a small and heavy secret. I felt its weight and the tiny chill of the carved stone. She tied the knot and tucked the ends. “Do not touch it,” she told me. “It listens.”

“Clear.” “Good.” He rose smoothly and moved to the small sideboard. For the first time she noticed the collar—a thing that should have been an emblem of ownership but looked more like jewelry, a band of matte black leather with a slim bar of hammered metal and a tiny latch. It sat on the board like an artifact.

Silver. Laced with black leather and edged with ancient rune-work. My stomach dropped. He stepped closer. I stepped back, barely half a pace. A mistake. His hand shot out, gripped the back of my neck, and yanked me forward. My breath caught. "Still," he said, so softly it could've passed for affection. I didn't move. His fingers brushed my hair aside, exposing my throat. The collar glinted in the torchlight as he raised it — beautiful in a terrifying way. It looked like it belonged to something valuable.

Sits me on the edge. Then he reaches into the duffel and pulls out the collar. Black leather. Soft inside. Heavy silver O-ring. A small engraved plate on the front that catches the morning light: Property of Sir. My breath hitches. My pussy, fucked raw, empty, exhausted, throbs.