She knew his eyes were on her without even having to lift her gaze from the floor to check. Not that she was allowed to look up. By this point, she was well aware of the consequences of letting her eyes wander and by no means wanted to repeat that experience. Instead, she focused on the small square of carpet that she had been staring at for...she had lost count of just how long exactly...and tried to relax.

He had placed her in the corner of the living room some time ago, instructed her to kneel on a cushion on the floor with her ass resting on her heels, knees spread wide, her hands touching the opposite elbows behind her back. She did not need a reminder to keep her back straight, her chin level, her gaze lowered; he had taught her early in their relationship how he liked to see her. With a gentle kiss to the top of her head, he had left the room, and there she remained, awaiting his return.

The minutes had felt weighted, soggy as they dragged by. She truly felt owned in moments like this, serving as decoration with only her devotion keeping her in place. The house was quiet; every so often, she could hear his footsteps as he moved from one room to another, but mostly she listened to the birds, which were singing in the tree by the just outside the window, and she waited.

Approaching footsteps on the hardwood floor signaled his return. Immediately, imperceptibly, she checked her position: shoulders down and back, spine straight, chin level. Her eyes remained glued to that patch of carpet. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him cross the room towards her, and a spark of excitement panged in her chest.

He stopped in front of her, his legs and bare feet filling her vision. She took this moment to admire the parts of him she could see: the tendons in his feet, the smooth muscles in his calves, the dark hairs on his legs, the neatly trimmed toenails. Every part of him was attractive to her.

Second passed before he spoke. “I have a surprise for you, little one.”

Her eyes widened at the playful undertone in his otherwise neutral tone.

“Yes, Sir?” she asked, suddenly nervous. His tone gave her chills.

“Mm-hm.” He squatted down in front of her, his body effectively blocking her into her corner. She so wished that she could sneak a peek at his face to see his expression, maybe determine his plan--because surely he had a plan for her; that devious tone only reared its head when he had something new up his sleeve--but she was well trained.

“I’ve noticed that you’ve become pretty independent,” he began. „I’d like to remedy that.“