Love song

Bareilles sang, “Not gonna write you a love song,” as I made my breakfast coffee in the French press and checked emails. My backside tingled when I thought of the dungeon master and his whip, but otherwise wasn’t injured. My bum was a little tender and sported a small bruise which I wore like a medal of honor.

I donned a simple black sleeveless form-fitting dress and my favorite shoes. The ones Richard had given me. As I put my cell phone in my purse, I spotted the black jewelry box on my dresser. Richard had asked me to wear the collar today.

I lifted it out of the box and let the sparkling necklace drape over my fingers. I couldn’t fathom how much it cost but it seemed too flashy for the courtroom.

“Wear it tomorrow,” Richard said. It wasn’t a request, more like a command that warmed my entire body. I buckled it around my neck and admired it in the mirror.

“And if I don’t?” I’d asked.

“There will be consequences,” he’d said, blue eyes flashing.

It made me hot to think about Ri