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Greg's thick, callused hands perspired with anxiety.
There is no flaw in his polite manners. However, there is an underlying current that makes you clearly aware that you are to do as he bids you and to do so without question.
He walks around the table and sits facing you. Not sure how to act, you sit demurely with your hands folded on your lap and your eyes downcast.
"That is excellent, little one" the warmth in his voice rewards you.
"You please me with your effort, now look into my eyes, that I might enjoy the beauty of your face."
Your eyes slowly climb up his body and when they lock onto his you feel a shiver run up your spine. His eyes are dark, near black and smoldering with heat and intensity.
His gaze is direct and approving, a slow smile spreading over his face.
"You are even prettier than I imagined, little one" he says in his soft and quiet voice.
A blush of pleasure creeps into your cheeks and spreads warmth through your face and throat. It makes you happy to know he admires your looks and even happier to know you pleased him.
That thought builds inside of you like a raging inferno, nothing could make you happier, nothing would complete you more, than pleasing your Master.
"My Master" you think to yourself. "How did that happen?"
You realize that somehow, in some unknown way, this man has taken possession of you and that you are more than willing, you are gloriously enthralled, in submitting to him.
"You may speak, little dove" his voice rumbles from his throat and then he leans back into his chair and lights your heart anew with a dazzling smile.
You aren't sure what to say, your mind searches for the perfect words and you realize how fortunate you were to have felt shy in meeting him, had you of started jabbering away when you sat down, he might have not been so pleased with you.
For once, shy reserved behavior had been an asset.
"Thank you Sir" are the first words to come purring from your throat.
"Shall I call you Sir or Master" come your next words, still in hushed tones.
Daring to be bold, you look deeply into his eyes and await his answer.
"Both are acceptable, little one" comes his reply, "you may address my by either, according to the time and place."
He looks across the table at you and leans forward, invading your space and clearly establishing his domination over you.
"What you may NOT do, is look directly into my eyes without permission and you will not speak to me without being told you may do so."
He leans closer to you, his eyes locked onto yours and making your heart flutter with excitement and the thrill of submission.
"I will not abuse you or use you in a manner unbefitting, so do not fear, but we have rules and they must be obeyed."
His eyes seem to bore into your very soul and he speaks softly in a mesmerizing voice.
"I will not be unkind, but you WILL mind me, failing to do so will bring down my wrath and you will taste my unhappiness."
You feel a lump rise in your throat and deep in the recesses of your mind you vow never to displease him, not so much in fear of his reprisal, but more so at the thought of having him look at you with displeasure in his eyes.
As he speaks, his eyes take on a glow like embers being fanned into flames and you only imagine the smoldering inferno they would ignite if you upset him.
No matter how serious your mind is though, there is that playful and impish side of you that wishes to incur his discipline. Even if for nothing more than the heavenly feel of his hands inflicting punishment on your tender skin. For the intoxicating slap of leather straps colliding with your most delicate body parts.
He takes you by the arm and leads you out of the shop, then stops and leans you back against the wall.
You can't help but feel self conscious with him standing there staring down at you, while you try valiantly not to look up at him, but to keep your eyes cast down at your feet in submission.
People are walking by and you just KNOW they must be staring, but he pays them no attention, instead he reaches for your wrists and pushes them around behind yo