Hi guys! First off, let me say that I was in a blah-uninspired-not-creative place these last few months and I didn't read or write at all. But now I have the writing bug again!

Back in the summer, I promised a oneshot that got out of hand and now wants its own story. Well, this is it. It is NOT Headward. Nor is it for the faint of heart.

Seriously.

This is a high intensity piece that touches on the darker side. Please HEED THE WARNINGS. MATURE READERS ONLY. Contains breath-play, mind-fuck, chastity device use in an established D/s relationship.

DO NOT READ THIS AT WORK. Or on your mobile on the subway. This is not a piece that you read with your favorite mug of tea. It needs a good glass of red wine. And possibly a vibrator for afterwards. Just sayin'. Read at your own risk.

IT SEEMS I HAVE LOST MY BETA.

Or anyway, she hasn't been answering my e-mails and after a month I decided to post unbeta'd. Real life happens, I understand. But I feel uneasy posting unbeta'd. If one of you guys feels inclined to Beta for me, I would greatly appreciate it. The first part of this one-shot is fully written. And there are three-four chapters of Headward left to write. PM me if you are interested.

EPOV

He shouldn't have pushed it.

Edward shook the hair from his eyes and tried to calm himself.

It was his fault.

You didn't push Rosalie.

Edward knew that. He only ever put his foot down on matters of life and death. Rosalie didn't react well to being pressured.

You especially didn't push Rosalie because she was also Mistress Rose, the dominatrix who gladly inflicted all manner of punishment on your bound body.

Edward vainly readjusted the knot of his tie and shuffled his feet.

Not here though. These different circumstances were what caused his stomach to tighten anxiously. Here, he wasn't a slave boy strapped to a leather sling or kneeling patiently; living, breathing only to please his Mistress.

Here, at the opening night of the painting exposition at their friend Alice's gallery, he wasn't sub Eddie, plugged and paddled.

This was real life.

Here he was Doctor Edward Cullen, brilliant neurosurgeon and author of several well-received articles detailing innovative operating strategies.

He was expected to smile, shake hands with all the right people, compliment the mayor's wife on her work with orphan children and pretend he knew what the fuck he was talking about as he stared at the splashes of decidedly dark and depressing color mounted to the walls.

J. Whitlock. Quite the bright-shining artist of the moment, trendy in all the right circles and apparently devastatingly charming.

Fidgeting in the shadows, Edward stuck a hand into his pocket just to press his shaky fingertips to the hard plastic nestled around his cock.

Edward wasn't quite sure how he felt about the cock cage. Maybe he hated the chastity device for the dull ache it caused; his dick kept swelling and pressing at the slits, trying continuously to get hard.

Maybe he hated what it signified -Rosalie's absolute hold over him. Erections were so strong, so decidedly male, even from a submissive. And now he couldn't get hard, because Rosalie had decided it. Rosalie had decided to reduce his masculinity to leaky pinkness, helplessly trapped behind clear PVC.

Edward's conflicted emotions toward the cock cage stemmed from this point exactly. Some part of him liked having Rosalie in charge.

Maybe some subconscious part of him was comforted by having his release, even his arousal placed in the control of another. If the physical discomfort was easily tolerable, the primal distress of having his manhood demolished wasn't. There was a primitive instinct to grab at himself, a need to touch his cock and feel it grow that lurked right below the surface of his control.

It was unsettling not to be hard when he was aroused, when he wanted to be hard, when he should have been hard.

Edward could feel the sweat beginning to prickle under his arms. It was only five minutes. He could hold out for five minutes.

Five minutes.

It became his mantra, his lifeline.

Edward had found a foothold in the swirling panic.

Five minutes.

He could do five minutes out in public with the cock cage.

Edward swallowed hard, just for the rush it caused.

Felt the panic swirling up, clashing waves of instinctive fear muddling with desire.

Felt the unyielding band that wrapped around the base of his neck.

Tight.

So tight.

Almost too tight!

Edward swallowed again, feeling his throat work, circled by the stiff black leather collar.

Felt the cold clenching of fear in his middle. He couldn't breathe!

Couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe. Fuck!

Chest expanding and falling rapidly, Edward lost his fragile foothold for a few seconds.

Already, he was light headed; hyperventilating and dizzy, so close to being overwhelmed. Choked sounds tore from his throat as adrenaline raced through his veins. Mindlessly, Edward tried to breathe deeply, breathe faster.

He leaned clumsily against the wall. Fuck.

He couldn't panic.

Even if the collar was cinched in punishment. Tight.

So tight.

Almost too tight!

Can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe.

Five minutes, Edward reminded himself.

He could do five minutes.

Edward forced himself to superficial calm, made himself breathe slowly and shallowly even if thousands of years of evolution demanded he do the opposite.

Short little pants; that was the only way.

Unclenching his fists, Edward felt some of the wooziness fade as he forced himself to maintain the serene rhythm.

Objectively, Edward knew he wasn't actually strangled. The collar lightly restricted the expansion of his neck.

It was enough.

It was too much. His imagination and runaway fantasies took over and he skated on the edge of safe-wording.

Five minutes.

Fuck, it was risky. Breath play was a deeply ingrained kink of his, drawing intense response from some dark part of him he didn't care to analyze. Rosalie didn't often indulge him. And now to ask him to go out in public like this, teetering on the boundary of control… She was pushing him.

Pushing the limits of Edward's self control.

Pushing the limits of their relationship.

Edward seriously doubted his ability to fake it in a situation like this. Playing out of the bedroom… That was a first. Dangerous. A lot was at risk; his career, his reputation. And for Rosalie to start it off with a chastity device and a collar…

This was no tentative first-time easing into playing in the real world. This was like diving in head first, and blindfolded too.

But Rosalie wasn't a ''tentative easing'' kind of mistress.

And Edward trusted her.

After the past two years, she had seen all of him. Every hidden fault-line, she had blown open. Rosalie had seen him, at his best and at his worst.

Just as he had peered deep into her soul.

And if Rosalie thought this was right, if she thought he could do this, then he would.

Even if he doubted himself.

She believed.

It was enough.

Five minutes.

Edward straightened his back, convinced. He could maintain the precarious balance for five minutes.

Five minutes. For Rosalie.

Stepping out of the shadows and into the gallery proper, Edward's belly lurched uneasily; it settled when he spotted his mistress across the room.

Just the sight of her brought him comfort.

Her graceful curves beckoned. She wasn't even checking to see if he obeyed her command, observing a monstrous metal sculpture that looked like a cross between a grasshopper and a refrigerator.

One last insufficient breath and Edward made his slow way to the nearest painting.

So, that's a start. Remember the warnings? Kinky -darker side -MATURE READERS -breath-play -mind-fuck -chastity device -established D/s relationship... This is just the intro. Continue knowing it will get a lot more intense...

AND AGAIN: I REALLY NEED A NEW BETA. IF YOU ARE INTERESTED PM ME!