Chapter 15

A knock at the bedroom door awoke me.

"Hmm... ?

"Merry Christmas Jill," Margaret said as she came in, carrying a tray of tea and toast.

She bussed my forehead with her usual brevity, but her eyes were sparkling like sunlit frost.

"Have your breakfast, full ablutions, and put on those black lace French knickers you bought last month from Harvey Nicks, highest white slut-heels, tie your hair back, that's all. I'll see you downstairs in precisely one hour." My eyes began to sparkle too.

I prepared meticulously, and after a final dab of festive pink lipstick and a spritz of Shalimar, the perfume I always wore for Margaret, I teetered downstairs on tarty four-inch spikes. The whole house was warm this morning, but especially the library, which was now decked with boughs of holly and ivy, strewn with festive tinsel which she had also woven in out and around the shackles and ropes, while all her tools and toys were gathered on a Christmas table cloth on the tea trolley, the dildos all sported carefully tied red ribbon bows. She had transformed the library into the perfect perverts yuletide bower. Margaret was completely naked, except for elegant low-heeled shoes, and she was bending over the stereo. The delicious curve of her bottom reminded me that just a couple of days ago I had made love to it for the first time. My throat dried, and I coughed. She turned and saw me, and as I applauded in delight and wonder at her amazing efforts she scrutinised every detail of my appearance. I tossed the presents I was carrying onto the sofa, put a hand on one thrown forwards hip, and posed, thrusting my pelvis back and forth ever so slightly. A low lustful growl rattled in Margaret's throat, which brought a warm flush to my cheeks.

"Happy Christmas Mistress," I trilled, because from the moment I woke up I knew we were in the game.

"Happy Christmas Jill, I have a present for you."

"And I have presents for you, too," I said, voice cracking from a desire that I realised was at as much for Margaret, her body, and what I wanted to do to her, as it was for what I knew she would do to me. This thing had become entirely mutual, at last.

We exchanged gifts.

"I'll go first," said Margaret, already tearing at the wrapping paper.

The shirts brought a warm murmur of approval; the book achieved one of her special smiles, and a kiss. I was very happy.

"Now you," she said.

I could tell this was important from her whole demeanour, and not just because the gift came in a long, flat jewellery box. Excitedly I unpicked a familiar knot, and prised back the sprung lid. Inside, on a black velvet lining, were two silver chains. One was long, and filigree fine. The other was much shorter, and made of intricately articulated, broad flat links. The clasp and lock drew my special attention. A small finely wrought padlock held a tiny key.

This was terribly important. My studies of S&M meant I knew the implications clearly. I lifted the wider chain, speechless, heart thumping, and without hesitation placed it around my throat. It was a collar, not a necklace, and it spelled not so much a change, but a full confirmation of our relationship. Holding the collar in place with one hand, I dropped the padlock into Margaret's open palm. A Bach cantata played softly, ethereally, adding to the sense of ceremony. Margaret stood behind me, her nipples lightly, intimately, brushing my bare back, making me gasp as she fitted the lock to the collar. I heard the tiny metallic 'snick' of the key turning, and I moaned softly as the full import sank in. I had already learned how to submit to my Mistress, but now I surrendered completely. This was how I thought religious converts must feel when receiving God, like a divine freedom within voluntary captivity.

I waited. Margaret was in front of me now, threading the filigree chain through the top of the key. She clasped it round her neck, adjusted it, and the key now hung down between her small breasts. Her hands floated to my shoulders as she gazed questioningly into my eyes. She must have seen what she wanted because her face moved closer, lips parting. I received her kiss rapturously, and it seemed entirely natural that our new status was marked by the entry of her tongue into my mouth for the first time. My hands found her bottom and pulled her closer, while her fingers entwined in my hair and clutched me closer still. My tongue slid alongside hers and joined in a daring dance. I felt her rolling one nipple between finger and thumb with a gentleness I barely recognised. Our kiss lengthened, deepened; became more fervent while our senses soared.

"When you wear the collar, you belong to me," said Margaret as our lips parted an aeon later.

"Yes, Mistress," I breathed, and lost myself to the next wonderful kiss.

We made it to Elvestone Hall in time for tea, but only just.

"Have you had a pleasant day Jill dear?" asked Lady Hunter, arching a long over-plucked eyebrow.

"Ever so," I replied, blushing.

Her pale eyes lingered on the silver collar, and then drifted discreetly away. How much did she know? How much could she guess from our tender glances and languid bodies? Could she smell our un-showered after-sex scent, barely disguised by liberal applications of Chanel No .5 and Shalimar? Our loving had been mostly painless, blissfully slow and very long.

Today she brushed my cheek with her lips; apparently we were past the formal handshake stage of yesterday.

We retreated to the snug. Margaret had brought a hamper in the back of the Landrover, bearing the giveaway legend of Fortnum and Mason.

"Oh my dear Em, how on earth could you afford that?" Lady Hunter exclaimed, hands fluttering with delight.

"I saved up," said Margaret gruffly, and it was her turn to blush.

Somehow I knew that her largesse was due to cash payments for services rendered, possibly some of my own from before she became my Mistress. I could have been shocked, instead I smiled. At that moment it all seemed remarkably appropriate. We had a surprisingly jolly high tea, Lady Hunter becoming perceptibly more sozzled on a constant supply of gin and tonic. She began to tease us with gentle but prurient innuendoes until Margaret broke in, exasperated, but for her extremely tolerant.

"Behave yourself Mummy!"

"What have I said?" Lady Hunter protested with wide-eyed innocence.

"A lot less than you mean," Margaret retorted.