“Lovely little slut,” she cooed, waking me back up. “Wake up, honey. You’ll sleep for shit if I let you go longer.”

“I’m awake, ma’am,” I said, shifting and turning over to look at her better. “What can I do for you?”

“Stay right like that,” she said, holding up a finger in a ‘one moment’ gesture. She went to the kitchen, scooping her cellphone off the counter. Coming back to me, staring down at me in the bed on the floor, looking nine feet tall again. Cocking her head like she was trying to place a painting. “Arm over your head, darling,” she directed. Crouching down, socking my heel more firmly back onto my foot. Flipping my skirt up, just a few inches, to expose the tops of the thigh highs. Standing back up and then taking a picture of me. Making me gasp. “Just stays with me, darling,” she said soothingly. “Now both arms over your head.” I did so, letting breasts thrust out while she took another few pictures of me. Feeling my stupid mouth open, tongue almost lolling on my bottom lip. 

“Good girl,” she said again. “Are you hungry, darling, or just a little snack, since you made us such a good lunch?”

“Whatever you want, ma’am, I’ll make,” I said.

“Mm,” she said, tapping a finger nail against her bottom lip. Reawakening the desire that had gone dormant in me while I napped. “Something light, something simple. But I’d also like something sweet.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said. Then sat up, deciding to test out boundaries. “I could be very sweet to you indeed.”

She laughed, patting the top of my head.

“Go make dinner, funny little slut.”

Internally, I shrugged. Well, I didn’t get what I wanted (the opportunity to make her come again) but I didn’t get punished either, or even dismissed. Punishment had not at all come up, either in our rule creation or otherwise. It was almost as though she’d somehow seen my moue of distaste when I got to that part of the survey. 

I paused walking toward the kitchen. Eyes widening. Of course, I academically understood she looked at the survey. Clearly wanting to get an understanding, or at least the beginning of one concerning kinks and limits, obviously. But I hadn’t really thought about her sitting and reading it over. Remembering all the answers I’d given her. All those yesses (!) maybes and nos. I shook myself, getting moving again. Trying to switch gears to figure out what “something light, something simple” might be for her.

I started humming again while I made a sponge cake. She had a little carton of mixed berries in her refrigerator, and whipping cream besides. I was sure she’d like muddled fruit and whipped cream over cake for her “something sweet.” 

She looked up as I started putting plates down. Carrot salad, but I’d tossed some chickpeas on it too, just for a little extra heft, some lemon juice. Dates on the side. “If your promotion doesn’t work out, I’ll hire you on as house help,” she said, sliding into her seat.

“I’d do it anyway,” I whispered, back to her while I cleaned up a little.

“You can sit with me,” she said again.

I grinned ferociously before turning back around with a smoothed face to join her.

Now we talked together, feeling like a pause had been hit. Talking about what we had read, mostly. When we were just picking at dinner I stood back up. Giving the fruit another little smush to release juices. Serving up dessert for her. Spooning a heavy dollop of fruit and cream on top of her little square of cake.

“And she bakes, too,” she said to me, smiling devilishly, licking cream off the back of her fork. “What a good wife you’d be.”

I gulped, staring at her big-eyed and dumb until she laughed.

“Sit,” she said.

I sat back down, tearing apart my cake. Mostly crumbling it apart than actually eating it.

“I used to gauge how your day was going by what you were humming,” she said, after I mangled most of my square. I stared at her. “When you were feeling productive or focused, you’d hum that goofy vaudevillian song, whatever that is. When you were unhappy, of course, you were quiet, and then I was unhappy and wondered what had upset you. When you were pleased about something, that cheery little tune. But you’re humming something all new when you’re with me.” 

I blinked at her. Feeling seen in a way I hadn’t even known was possible. She raised an eyebrow at me, clearly awaiting a response.

“It’s my favorite song,” I whispered. “I’m humming my favorite song.” 

“Mm,” she said, nodding. Making my heart drop, feeling myself going pale. I hadn’t consciously realized it. 

We fell back into silence. She seemed at ease, my heart was racing. I got up and cleaned up. Turning back around to her.

“Can I make you tea, or a drink, ma’am?” I asked her. 

She rested an elbow on the counter, her chin resting on upraised palm, staring at me. 

“No,” she said. I shifted nervously, unused to this kind of sustained observation. “No, I think I want to try something new with you, if you’re amenable to something new.” 

“Yes ma’am!” I said. 

She jerked her head toward her bedroom and I trotted after her like a dog. When we entered, she snapped her fingers, pointing to the floor. I dropped instantly to my knees. Humming herself, she got her fire going. The room seemed to warm almost instantly and I was grateful for it.

Then she went into her bathroom. When she came back out I gasped, falling further forward, into a worshipful position. But keeping my eyes up because I very badly wanted to keep looking at her. Still in what was apparently her usual black underwear. But the addition of black thigh highs. And the black stiletto boots I so loved on her. She rarely wore heels, and when she did, she usually wore low ones. Maybe because she was tall, or maybe just because she didn’t feel the need to, like I did. 

I’d seen her wear these twice, and both times they’d been a horny distraction for me. Tight to her ankles with a silver zipper at the side. Four inches tall at least, making her look amazonian. Almost cartoonishly sexy. 

“I knew you liked these shoes,” she teased. “You would stare at me, almost drooling when I wore them. And I do think it was the first time you ever spoke to me inappropriately, you bad secretary you.”

“Personal assistant,” I muttered numbly, causing her to throw her head back and laugh. Still so absurdly good looking. What had I said to her, I wondered? Oh god, right… you look like the queen of all dominatrix’ ma’am. I had almost crumbled into embarrassed dust when it had popped out of my mouth quite unbidden. And apparently she’d still remembered it after all this time. 

“Crawl over to me, honey,” she said. I did, eyes fastened on her still. Every time I slowed down or paused she kept gesturing me forward until I was nearly right against her legs. 

“All right, puppy,” she purred. And that’s when I knew I was in very deep trouble. “Mount up on top of this boot you like so much. Spread your skirts around my foot. And then get yourself off. Hump like the horny little whore you are.”

There had been this small box on the survey that I had thought about leaving blank. But I didn’t want to be accused of dishonesty, or not doing as she wished. But the question had been incredible– when you masturbate about me, what is it you’re thinking of? 

At the time, reading that, I’d fallen flat back into bed. Mouth dry, face red, eyes closed, thinking about it. Well, of course I’d flashed right to my go-to fantasy. But I was ashamed of it. Couldn’t imagine voicing it to anyone, but certainly least of all her. But in a rush, I had written it down. Handwriting bigger and sloppier than usual. 

I picture being pathetic. I picture being at your feet. I picture humping like a stupid little dog against your leg or on your foot.

She hadn’t mentioned it until just now though. And now, apparently, I was paying for my honesty. 

I spread my legs over her left foot, fluffing my skirts out so nothing was visible– nothing but the heels of my own feet, my ankles, nothing of her foot. Unfortunately, the blood had already flowed down below my belly button. Thick with desire, filled to bursting. I knew as soon as I rested on her my throbbing clit would make contact and I’d be unable to stop myself from humping wildly. 

“Why are you hesitating, dumb little puppy?” she asked, back to that sarcastic pout.

“If you let me, I’m going to come quickly, ma’am,” I said. “If you don’t want that to happen, you shouldn’t even let me do this.”

“Do you want to?” she asked.

“Um,” I said stupidly, helplessly running my fingers from her ankles to the back of her knees. Feeling the silk of her stockings, the unbearably sexy seam at the back, the leather of my favorite boots. “Come or–?” I finally asked stupidly.

“Well, both, I suppose,” she laughed.

“I’d like to do both. But if all you want me to do is hump, I’ll back up before I finish, if you don’t want me to,” I said. 

“We’ll see darling, go ahead,” she said. 

I lowered myself, knees spread almost to the apex, bare genitals sliding onto the top of her shoe. Feeling the patent leather, instantly wetting it. Made so instantaneously slippery that sliding along it was dreadfully easy. 

Holding onto the back of her knees for an anchor, and also just thankful to touch her. Orgasm coiled heavily in my guts and I knelt up a little, lessening my contact.

“Show me those pretty, heavy tits of yours,” she said from above me, making me groan. “I want to see you bounce while you ride me like a little dog.” 

I made some sad little noise again, but started unbuttoning my dress.

“You do mean this, right ma’am?” I asked, freezing in place. Wondering if I’d unknowingly broken a rule. Maybe she only meant me to lean back, or purposefully jiggle. 

“Yes, I mean that,” she said. “Unbutton to your belly button. Pull the bodice open a little. I’m sure you know how to expose yourself.”

I unbuttoned with shaking hands. Pulling it open until my breasts fell out, pushing open the placket. 

“Well, get back to it,” she said, back to impatience. 

Holding her tighter now, as if I’d float off, I started sliding up and down her shoe again. A tortuous drag up and down the slick leather. 

“Pretty girl,” she said. Which was far too much for me, and I leaned back, away from her. Falling on my hands behind myself. 

“Ma’am… I… I have to stop… I–”

“Are you close?” she asked.

I could almost have laughed. All my energy, all my blood was between my legs. I almost thought she’d be able to hear my heartbeat if she put her ear between my legs. I was more than close, I was on the cliff with one foot hanging over the edge. 

“I am,” I said, miserably. Wishing that, since I was no longer making contact with her, or in movement, that desire would subside, at least a little. But it still roared away, orgasm not going out tide like, but still on the brink.

“Beg for it,” she said. “Do it prettily enough and we’ll see how your night ends.” 

I sat back upright. Taking her hands in mine, faffing out my skirts again so I made the right, cakey picture for her looking down. Lifting tits by arching my back and framing them between my upper arms.

“I would so badly like to come ma’am. I want to make a mess all over you and clean it up afterward. I want to shake and cry in front of you. I might not deserve it, but I’m asking you to please let me anyway. And it’s absurd of me to ask for more, when you’ve already given me what I’ve been thinking about for months. But please, please let me show you how I’ve desired you. I’ll be yours forever, however you want me, always at your beck and call, a silly little bitch to do you your smallest bidding, ma’am.” 

“Finish,” she said, almost snarling. I leaned back into her, and as I did, she locked both her hands around my throat, forcing my head all the way back, the back of my skull nearly between my shoulders. Staring up in her smooth, cruel, lovely pale face. 

Coming miserably, violently. Harder and more draining than any I’d ever had. Crying it out until I couldn’t make noise any more, lungs empty. And still, it wouldn’t crest, I couldn’t finish, just jerking against her spastically. 

I collapsed, sliding down her leg until I was nearly flat on my belly, back into a worship pose in front of her. Catching my breath, still sort of sniffling over my devastating orgasm, I started cleaning her shoe. Sort of worried I’d start crying again. Still, not from upset, but simply because this had been a wholly new experience. And unlike any other situation I’d ever dreamed or fantasised about, it was so much better than just imagination. 

“I think it’s good,” she said sardonically.

I’d sort of lapsed into a brainless, and pointless clean-up. I sat back up, feeling like a doll who’d been torn apart. She’d been so careful in her picks, and now I was half undressed. Sticky, and I could feel that all my makeup was smudged and melting. One curl flattened to my face with sweat and tears. 

Looking up at her again. Eyes almost strobing her, somehow taller than she possibly could be. Whiter and blacker and more god than woman. 

And then I saw, in the white lights of her bedroom, the darker spot of wetness on her black underwear. It galvanized me.

“Ma’am… May I please… Can I please, please, please take care of you?”

“I suppose,” she said, rolling her eyes. But I saw it was only play-exasperation.

I went back to my knees, cupping her left upper thigh in my hand. Drawing her forward and draping her leg over my shoulder. Loving the feel of the weight of her leg on me, just as I had when I’d been her footstool. Feeling her calf draped down my back, her heel digging into my hip like a spur into a recalcitrant horse. I hooked my fore and middle finger into the crotch of her underwear. Feeling how hot she was against my knuckles, and nearly as wet as I had been. Then I waited to get her leave.

“Go ahead,” she said.

I pulled her underwear to one side again, letting her spill out to the side. I loved seeing her pale flesh against her dark clothes. I rubbed the ball of my thumb over her clitoris. She was full and slick. Giving my thanks once more that she decided she wanted my nails short. Wondering if this had been her intention all along– making sure that I’d be able to pleasure her with my hands as well. Milking her in a move similar to the way she’d teased my nipples. Moaning over her clean spill, and gorgeously soft skin. She started rolling her hips into me, I could tell she was enjoying it. 

I helped brace her, both arms wrapped around her waist now, drawing her clitoris into my mouth with some small suctioning pressure. She groaned, falling further into me. I brought one hand as high as I could up her back, palm spread wide on her, the other strongly around her hips. Trying to give her as much foundation and something to lean into as possible. Wanting her to be able to relax and get hers as good as I’d gotten mine. 

Her leg pressed into me even stronger, drawing me deeper and deeper into her waist so I sucked ever more hungrily. 

I felt lost, subsumed in her. Not a separate person any more, or even a human. Just a working tongue, a sucking mouth, a vessel empty of anything but the desire to give. So I was shocked when she came, burying her hands in my hair, once more tearing a little out in her fury. Sounding like I was hurting her, nearly sobbing out her orgasm. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get used to the clanging sound of her finishing, how vulnerable she sounded. Not like I was on my knees before her, with a soft tongue between her legs, but was instead rending her, tearing her apart atomically. Pouring warmth across the back of my tongue. 

I could feel her softening, her legs shaking, her hands going weak in my hair. I slid up her, holding her at the waist still, but pulling her in so she leaned in to me. Sort of waltzing her carefully across the room until I could set her gently on the edge of her bed. 

She flopped backward, legs hanging off the bottom of the bed, laughing breathlessly. I leaned in front of her legs again. Unzipping the boots, setting them aside. Rolling down one, then the other thigh highs. Just standard stay-ups, not the strapped in stockings I was wearing. Easing my fingers under her hips to take her underwear down as well. Getting myself buttoned back up and then kneeling again. Resting one of her feet in my lap, beginning to caress the other. 

She moaned, and I watched her legs fall back open, whatever remaining tension she had in her falling away. I kissed her knee, surprised I had any red lipstick left to leave a smudge on her lovely leg. 

Swapping to her other foot. When I felt near finished I leaned forward until my forehead hit her knee. And I realized her breath had changed. Heavy, even, almost nasal. She was asleep. 

I crawled until I was a few feet from her, opening the fireplace and adding another log. It was going to get cold in here soon and she was completely nude. 

“Mmm, come here puppy,” she said, still flat on her back, reaching out to me.

I went to her.

“Help me up,” she said quietly, waving her hand at me. “Let’s shower, sweetheart.”

She sounded so mild, so softened. 

I helped her sit up while she laughed.

“I haven’t an ounce of power left in my legs,” she said.

“I can carry you, ma’am,” I said. I was pretty sure that was true. Especially lifting her from the bed, I was sure I could do it. She was a lot taller than me, but we probably weighed about the same. And I was strong. 

“God, no,” she laughed, getting up, swatting my hip to force me to head toward her bathroom. She turned on the shower, turning it all the way to the highest heat setting.

“You can get undressed,” she said.

I did, really shy for the first time with her. She went to the sink, rubbing cold cream into her face, reaching casually behind herself, offering the jar to me. I scooped up a fingerful, beginning to remove my own makeup. Then she stepped into the shower, motioning for me to follow.

“Good girl,” she said, looking approvingly at how I was standing on my toes. I started. I hadn’t even done it consciously. The rule had just sunk into me so easily.

I knelt again, soaping her up from ankles upward. Sighing over the hot water on my hair and shoulders. When I stood up, beginning to soap her chest I’d thought I’d lose my mind again. Lovely plummy nipples, getting hard under my fingers. She turned so I could do her back, bracing her hands on the tile in front of her. Moaning appreciatively over the massage.

“Do you know how to set your hair, darling?” she asked.

I gasped unhappily, realizing I’d let my stupid bimbo hair get wet.

“I think I could figure it out…” I said, still unhappy.

“I’ll help you,” she said. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” I said.

 We stepped out, I toweled her dry.

“Go get the black pajamas,” she said to me, briskly combing out her own short hair.

I went into the bedroom, staying on tiptoe, retrieving a black peignoir. Grabbing the mules beside the cage and rejoining her in the bathroom. 

She was sitting on a little black velvet stool that I hadn’t realized was tucked beside her mirror. She gestured to it. I stayed frozen.

“You can sit,” she laughed.

I did so, and she started blow drying my hair a little. Just until it was half-dried. Reaching underneath her sink, and pulling out rollers. Not the dangerous looking little electric ones from the salon, but just sponge-style ones. Parting my hair with a teasing comb, humming quietly, looking engrossed in her chore. My heart was flying away wildly to her. 

She rolled and pinned, rolled and pinned. Far more gentle than they’d been at the salon. I started crying again. That same leaking, quiet thing. Unable to handle the tenderness I was feeling. She saw it, but didn’t react other than smiling around the pins in her mouth, patting my cheek and getting back to work. When she finished, she bent into her cabinet again, pulling out some pink netting.

“Never thought I’d use this again,” she said laughingly. Wrapping my head so the rollers would stay in place. Then she snapped toward the door again. 

I walked until we were halfway across the bedroom floor, then dropped to my knees, crawling to the cage. Gratefully getting into it, feeling safe and like someone was unwinding me, like I’d been a tangled bobbin.

She locked the cage. Kissed the tips of her fingers and pushed them through the bars. I kissed her fingers back.

“Good night, ma’am,” I said.

“Good night, darling,” she said, climbing into bed herself.