beginnings of a fantasy about you
you should call me into your room. I come in and stand nervous just inside the door.
"Close the door," you say comandingly, "and kneel there," you add pointing to a block in the middle of the room, between your desk and the door.
"O-Okay," I stammer out, my eyes dropping quickly from your face to the floor, as I turn and shut the door quietly. I turn back around and walk to where you indicated and start to kneel onto the small block. It is slightly lower than my knee.
"No, take your pants off first, Kate."
"Yes, Sir," I say softly, toeing out of my shoes and unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans. I slide them off and step out, then shove them behind me and kneel down. I know that I'm already wet just from you telling me what to do. My hands squeeze the skin on my hips, trying to keep from fidgetting. My bare feet dangle off the block which is just large enough to have room for me to kneel on it and be fairly stable.
You walk slowly around me to where my jeans are pooled ontop of my shoes and socks, and pick them up, folding the jeans, and putting the whole bit on a small side table by the door. I turn to see what you are doing, and you look at me, raising your eyebrows. I turn back around quickly, again looking at the floor.
Sometimes I wish I was better at being more formal, but I always forget to hold still, or to fold my clothes. And while I love the feeling of you being in control, I have to remind myself to say "sir" and it never feels natural. Saying "sir" reminds me that it's all contrived. I think you think that it is me refusing to admit that I give you this power over me. Turning "sir" into an empty word, instead of portraying the respect I know you want it to. It's not that I don't respect you, but shows of ceremony were never done in my family, and few of the authority figures I had to call "sir" or "ma'am" held my respect. Not my teachers, or my aunts and uncles, nor several of the men and women I've submitted to before you. I've always been compliant, with very little pride holding me back from subjugating myself. So once I knew it was expected of me, I mentally made sure to use the term of respect, but it didn't change my attitutde in any situation with them any more than if they'd ask that I call them Captain America. If someone thought that because I called them with a term of respect and did as they said that I respected them, then they were all the bigger imbicile for it.
Since I love being dominated my contempt for the terms of domination are not altogether handy. I say them, however, with little difficulty. No false pride holding me back. They do not detract from my experiences, nor do they add. I feel your power when you tell me to do something, and I do it. I think for other submissives they're able to connect the fact that they call someone "sir" or "master" to the fact that they know they will obey them, but for me, I've shown false respect to so many, that the words are meaningless, and I crave only the actions.
I feel walk up behind me, standing very close, I can feel your body at my side and I almost quiver. "Raise your arms," you say, cooly. I obey immediately, raising them straight up. You reach down and run the palms of your hands under my shirt, reaching from behind me and running them up my body until your are holding my breasts. You quickly lift my shirt over my head and off my arms and then return your hands to my breasts. You squeeze them, pulling me against you firmly. I can feel you flush against my back. You squeeze my breasts tight, and then pinch my nipples through my bra. I moan quietly, and relax back onto your chest slightly. "You're wet already for me, aren't you?"
"unng," I moan my assent.
You pinch a twist my nipples sharply, "What was that?"
"Oh! Mm, yes, Sir, I'm wet for you already."
you move your right hand lower, until it's on my wet panties. "Unnm," I make a whining moan and push forward onto your hand. "Stop that." you say sternly and withdraw your hand and spank my right ass cheek. I whine under my breath, but straighten up again. You unhook my bra and bring my arms down to slip it off. Then you take my hands and pull them to my neck, pressing them there, so I know to keep them there.
"Close the door," you say comandingly, "and kneel there," you add pointing to a block in the middle of the room, between your desk and the door.
"O-Okay," I stammer out, my eyes dropping quickly from your face to the floor, as I turn and shut the door quietly. I turn back around and walk to where you indicated and start to kneel onto the small block. It is slightly lower than my knee.
"No, take your pants off first, Kate."
"Yes, Sir," I say softly, toeing out of my shoes and unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans. I slide them off and step out, then shove them behind me and kneel down. I know that I'm already wet just from you telling me what to do. My hands squeeze the skin on my hips, trying to keep from fidgetting. My bare feet dangle off the block which is just large enough to have room for me to kneel on it and be fairly stable.
You walk slowly around me to where my jeans are pooled ontop of my shoes and socks, and pick them up, folding the jeans, and putting the whole bit on a small side table by the door. I turn to see what you are doing, and you look at me, raising your eyebrows. I turn back around quickly, again looking at the floor.
Sometimes I wish I was better at being more formal, but I always forget to hold still, or to fold my clothes. And while I love the feeling of you being in control, I have to remind myself to say "sir" and it never feels natural. Saying "sir" reminds me that it's all contrived. I think you think that it is me refusing to admit that I give you this power over me. Turning "sir" into an empty word, instead of portraying the respect I know you want it to. It's not that I don't respect you, but shows of ceremony were never done in my family, and few of the authority figures I had to call "sir" or "ma'am" held my respect. Not my teachers, or my aunts and uncles, nor several of the men and women I've submitted to before you. I've always been compliant, with very little pride holding me back from subjugating myself. So once I knew it was expected of me, I mentally made sure to use the term of respect, but it didn't change my attitutde in any situation with them any more than if they'd ask that I call them Captain America. If someone thought that because I called them with a term of respect and did as they said that I respected them, then they were all the bigger imbicile for it.
Since I love being dominated my contempt for the terms of domination are not altogether handy. I say them, however, with little difficulty. No false pride holding me back. They do not detract from my experiences, nor do they add. I feel your power when you tell me to do something, and I do it. I think for other submissives they're able to connect the fact that they call someone "sir" or "master" to the fact that they know they will obey them, but for me, I've shown false respect to so many, that the words are meaningless, and I crave only the actions.
I feel walk up behind me, standing very close, I can feel your body at my side and I almost quiver. "Raise your arms," you say, cooly. I obey immediately, raising them straight up. You reach down and run the palms of your hands under my shirt, reaching from behind me and running them up my body until your are holding my breasts. You quickly lift my shirt over my head and off my arms and then return your hands to my breasts. You squeeze them, pulling me against you firmly. I can feel you flush against my back. You squeeze my breasts tight, and then pinch my nipples through my bra. I moan quietly, and relax back onto your chest slightly. "You're wet already for me, aren't you?"
"unng," I moan my assent.
You pinch a twist my nipples sharply, "What was that?"
"Oh! Mm, yes, Sir, I'm wet for you already."
you move your right hand lower, until it's on my wet panties. "Unnm," I make a whining moan and push forward onto your hand. "Stop that." you say sternly and withdraw your hand and spank my right ass cheek. I whine under my breath, but straighten up again. You unhook my bra and bring my arms down to slip it off. Then you take my hands and pull them to my neck, pressing them there, so I know to keep them there.