His hands steadied her. Standing up, she almost lost her balance, and she might have fallen, but his hands around her waist were firm. She stood in front of him, eyes downcast.
He settled in his chair. “Legs open, a bit more,” he said. Obediently, she shifted, widening her stance.
“Hands behind your back, girl,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. She realized that her hands were crossed in front of her, nearly covering her breasts. It took considerable effort to make herself move them, placing them behind her back, hands clasped, exposing herself to his gaze.
She kept her eyes on the floor, with a soft focus. She had not made eye contact.
He let her stand there for a long minute, maybe two, silent. She begin to sway, then he said, “Turn.”
Obediently, she turned, slowly. When her back was to him, he said, “Stop.” She was not surprised when he said, “Present.” She wanted to ask him to let her move her arms, but was too stubborn to do it.
Carefully, she bent her knees and squatted, tilted forward onto her knees. Grateful for the weeks of yoga, she lowered her torso to the floor. Forehead to the ground, legs spread, but she did not raise her ass, would not expose herself that way. She stayed curled into herself.
He waited, she grew more uncomfortable, but she would not give in, She would not open herself. At last, sounding surprised, maybe curious, he said, “Offer yourself, girl.”
She obeyed then, of course, shifting her weight forward, lifting her ass, exposing the puckered entrance between her cheeks, exposing her clean-shaven pussy. He was silent, she waited.
“When you don’t talk to me,” he said, “when you don’t tell me what’s wrong, then I don’t know. And I have decide what to do myself. I have to choose how I want to handle you without knowing what’s wrong.” He sounded almost regretful, but inside herself, something that had been tight and painful, like a knot in her chest, loosened.
She heard him stand, move around behind her. The cabinet door opening and closing. She shivered.
“Starting now,” he said, “I am revoking all your privileges. You are not to speak without permission. You need permission to eat, to drink, to use the bathroom. You may not touch yourself.”
His voice was even, calm, he wasn’t angry. Just matter of factly explaining how it would be. “In a few minutes, I will blindfold you.” She felt his hands on one ankle, he slipped the velvet cuff on, tightening it so she could feel the restraints against her skin, not tight enough to mark her. His hands on the other ankle.
She began to breathe more deeply, breaths that filled her lungs. He moved around her easily, cuffs on her wrists, the collar around her neck. With her forehead pressed to the floor, he could not see her smile.
His hands probed between her thighs, fingers penetrating her hot, wet pussy. “Pleasure,” he said, “is allowed. At my whim.” Fingers withdrawn, she gasped, would have pushed herself back onto him if she could have. He laughed.
Just a moment’s pause and then a sudden sharp whack and fire across her ass as something – the short leather strap maybe – landed. It rose and fell again.
She thought she should want to escape, but instead she felt her bones melting, her ass rising a bit after each blow as if to welcome the next one. He continued til she was whimpering, biting back her cries.
When he stopped, he said, “Pain, of course. Don’t think we’ll stop with those little whimpers.” But then his fingers were deep inside her cunt again and she was moaning, pressing back into him. When he stopped, he laughed again, “Pleasure and pain,” he said, “And lots of it. All weekend, I think. A weekend where the only thing you have to worry about, the only thing you have to do, is obey me. Please me. Serve me.”
That broke her in a way that no whipping could have and she began to cry. Sobbing, shoulders shaking. Another man might have thought she was upset. Might have thought she didn’t want to be used that way. Her Sir knew better.
“Come here, girl,” he said. He helped her up, turned her so she was still on her knees but facing him, pulled close between his legs, her head resting on his thigh. His hand fisted in her hair.
“From now til Sunday at noon,” he said. “You’re my slave girl. You may please me with your mouth, your cunt, your ass. I will enjoy whipping you and playing with you and I might even let you cum. Maybe I’ll let you feed me, or maybe I’ll make you kneel beside me while I feed you – sometimes food, sometimes cock.”
“She didn’t say anything. After all, he had not given her permission to talk. But she was smiling.
“No decisions, no choices,” he said, and it was like he was telling her a story, a fairytale maybe. The hand pinching her nipple, tweaking, caressing, then tugging, captured her attention, what was he going to do? Oh, whatever he wanted.
And she sighed, content to put herself in his hands.