He’d told me what to wear, all the way down to putting my panties on over the top of the garter belt and stocking set so that I could leave the long black stockings on next to my pale skin.
“Undress.” His voice was clipped, tight, rough as he sat in the corner chair to watch me.
I flinched. This was something that would always make me shy, always feel strange and painfully vulnerable. It was an in-between place, between independent working woman and obedient slave, an electrified purgatory that I simply could not adjust into with ease.
His eyes burned as he watched me move, as if I were playing out a dance for him. I felt the heat on the backs of my hands, the curves of my cheeks, warming me pink. I tried to be graceful, but I was still stuck in my body, still in control of it, and I knew I must be clumsy, my movements jerky. I kicked off my shoes. Shrugged off my cute resale coat and draped it over the back of a chair.
“Why aren’t you looking at me?” he asked. His voice neither gentle or mean, but ever so cool and controlled.
“I was…” I began to explain then cut myself off. “Apologies Sir.”
He didn’t care about nervous excuses, or a reply about how I couldn’t stand all the flaws of my body, or how I couldn’t get past how attractive and desirable I found him, and how unattractive I saw myself. It had already been discussed.
“Such a pretty little thing. Come on. Show me my slut, bring her out to play.”
I swallowed and coughed a little. My throat dry. Still in the self-depreciating land of between, that word, slut, rankled. I wanted to shove honor and piety into every moment between us. That’s how I’d arrived at his doorstep, a holy sacrifice, a devoted servant, a self-righteously obedient slave.
He’d been slowly heating the iron in my backbone, turning it fluid since we met and now it was too late to quibble over words I didn’t like hearing spoken out loud while I still had my clothes on.
Eyes on him, I unwrapped the black dress and laid it over my coat.
“Now turn for me.”
I turned all the way around.
“Slow.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice.
I did it again.
“Stop.”
He stopped me as I faced away from him. Right in front of a mirror. I could see him behind me, see how the pink in my cheeks had ruined my attempts at air-brushed perfect make-up, could see the flush starting to crawl down my chest.
“Who are you looking at, sweet Slut?”
I clenched my hands, nails digging in. That was two corrections. Two.
“I should be looking at you, at all times,” I said.
“And you’re still looking at yourself. What shall we do about that?” His tone dropped, changing into the one that sent shivers and tingles through my blood. “Bend over that chair as you take off those panties and that bra. Let those fat tits of yours free now, woman, and show me that bare cunt.”
Removing my clothes was like removing armor, removing some part of self, removing all the other masks and identities I wore. I loathed my backside, my body shape. He knew it. But he made it not matter. His harsh and certain direction led me through the frightening gray of my bleak purgatory and into the safe, quiet place of possibilities that he and I had created together.
“Are you wet, sweetheart? Bend deeper, let me see what is mine. Open your legs. I fucking love how the black frames you this way. The white of your trembling thighs and ass. Perfect. Did you bring the lube? I’m going to fuck all your holes tonight. What do you have to say to that?”
“Yes, Sir.” It was all I could say.
I watched him in the mirror as his eyes touched my body, the wicked smile on his lips, the way his cheeks flagged red and his eyes sparked. His desire flowed over me with a barely-there mental scent, Intangible, but so real. His cologne and natural aroma suddenly became stronger to me. More clear. He was in the air I inhaled. My mind filled with the power of his presence and I slipped out of my self and into our connection.
I hadn’t been wet. But I was getting there. Would be there. After all I was no longer in control. I’d given that control over to my Master and would do anything he asked of me.
He removed his own clothes while I stayed bent over, air touching my over heated erogenous zones and nipples stiffening.
“Legs wider now. As far as you can go. Up on your toes, bow your back, present that white ass to me. Brace yourself and reach back and show me that asshole. Have you been practicing, slut?”
“Yes, Sir.” I had been, but it didn’t seem like enough. I’d been set with the task of strengthening my core, improving my balance and increasing my ability to be bent and folded into whatever position he desired.
His hand touched the back of my calf, just below the inside of his knee. He called areas like this ‘sacred flesh.’ So mundane, but so untouched that I could feel the barest brush of his fingers. “We will see, won’t we. We will see.” He murmured as he drew circles on my skin, with his hand while I could feel his hot breath somewhere near my center.
“Two weeks. Two weeks I’ve had to wait to see you again. And we barely have forty eight hours together.” The words came out of him like a curse.
“I’m sorry, Sir.” I felt ashamed by his admission, as if it was all my fault. It was just reality. We hadn’t reached the point yet where we were living together.
“Should I punish you for making me want you so much. Making me miss you so much, you fucking bitch? Should I make you hurt for making my cock hard every time I think of you?” His hands roved farther. Up my legs. Over my thighs, between them, before moving away from my center to my spine, my back, increasingly possessive.
“Sir?” I breathed the answer, trying to hold back a whine of desire.
“Answer me.” He whispered in my ear. As he leaned over me, the skin of his leges came into contact with mine.
“If that is your wish?”
“Oh, I’m going to get everything I wish tonight from your hot little body, aren’t I?” He reached around and filled his hands with my breasts, squeezing them as he kissed my ear. He was not gentle.
I bent my head to give his mouth more room. He opened his lips on my neck and bit down above the thin circlet collar until I could feel his teeth and his lashing tongue, sucking at my skin.
I moaned with the discomfort, shifting my hips, my heel falling to the floor.
He drew away and slapped me high on the thigh. “Did I say you could change position?”
“No, Sir.”
“Is this too much for you already? Did you ask for help?” The questions were rapid fire.
“No. No, Sir.”
I adjusted myself.
Standing close, his fingers traced my shoulders to my arm, stopping at my elbow “Stand. Bounce on your toes.”
I let him support me into a stand. My head swam a little.
I didn’t want to stop the rhythm of his plans but I knew better now to argue or protest. He’d already told me more than once he needed to know I was as okay as I said I was and he didn’t want to take any shit about it making sure.
To be continued.
Maybe.