Part II
She stands before me trembling, unsure of what to do, yet doing it all the same.
It fuels my blood and sets my course. Most Doms I know like the breaking point,
the final moment of surrender best. Me? I am different. I like the onset. I like
witnessing the descent, in all its parts, in all its stages. I like watching
fear and uncertainty cloud their features making their movements jerky,
hesitant. Because that's it in a nutshell...watching the power I wield over them
push their desires aside, forcing compliance to my will. Seeing their wavering
glances, their reluctant actions, it feeds the beast within me, makes me
stronger. I breath it in, I absorb it, I live for it.
Ah, yes. The struggle, that's my favorite part. I like to draw it out, prolong
their agony, savor it like a fine brandy, warm and fluid and liquid gold. This
is my foreplay and I take my time. And just when they think they've found their
feet, their balance, I tip the scales again. I make no apologies. I don't have
to. I'm in control here. I have the reins and I wield the whip.
Her blouse puddles on the floor at her feet, a delicate, shimmering pink pool of
silk. It's a nice contrast to the black patent leather of her pumps, standing,
not so steadily in its midst. Her shaky hands move to the waist band of her
tailored black skirt. She looks at me briefly and I know my returning smile is
feral, that my eyes burn hotly into hers. She looks away quickly, a tremor
betraying her inner turmoil. And yet, yet still she continues. How can I not be
affected by it? How can anyone not be?
I recline in my chair and casually sip my drink. I know my ease unnerves her, I
can see it in the way her eyes dart frantically around the room, trying to avoid
looking at me, trying...but failing. Her eyes always come back around and always
I am there, staring at her, watching her, an easy smile about my face. Let her
wonder on that awhile, let her wonder just how very many times I have sat
thusly, watching the transformation of a woman to a submissive, of a submissive
to a slave.
***
This is the hardest thing I have ever done. I want to leave, running, screaming,
just leave...any way I can. But something holds me there; something pushes me
forward, some unseen force guiding my movements. He makes no sound and that
drives me mad. He just stares at me, his eyes gliding over me, meeting my eyes
when he catches me gawking at him. My hands are shaky and they have trouble with
my skirt. Its waist is snug, conforming to my small waist. I had thought it
practical, becoming when I dressed earlier, but now I am not so sure.
My skirt hits the floor and I watch it absently as it skims down my legs to join
my blouse. The logical, rational part of me screams at me to snatch my clothes
and get out of there. But that part has lost...has lost to that secret inner me
that longs for just such a moment. I stare helplessly as the pile of my clothes
grows...my pale pink lacy bra...my thigh high stockings...left leg...then right
leg. And I stand before him, my hands trembling at the waist band of my matching
pink panties. They don't cover much from him, I know. But they are all that
stand before me and the life that I have known, all that shield me from him, all
that protect me from my own desires.
"Now. Finish it."
I look up, terrified. I have never felt so small in my life. I hesitate; I just
can't seem to bring myself to slide them off, to bare myself wholly. My heart
beats a million times a second it seems. My breathing is choppy and fast. I feel
my palms sweating, cold and balmy. I know the room is toasty, but my insides are
chilled, cold and shaking, curling upon themselves. I hear a sound and realize
he is standing. I must take these off...but I can't do it. It's not such a big
deal...just underwear. I have been naked before. Good lord, why can't I make my
hands move?
I hear the soft crunch of his feet on the carpet...he is coming this way. I try
to swallow, but fear lodges it midway in my throat. I lift my head and the
impact of his eyes is like nothing I have ever felt. It sweeps through me like a
wildfire, scorching everything in its path. My hands find the waist band...I
haven't much time. I push them down an inch...he steps closer...another
inch...another step closer...finally, the delicate panties crest the flare of my
hip and slide soundlessly down my legs coming to rest on top of the pile.
I step out of the circle of clothing and realize that he has stopped. He is
close, so very close and I take a step back. My arms instinctively go to shield
my body from his view. But his voice, soft and sharp, breaks the quiet.
"Don't."
The command drips from his mouth and my hands freeze in place, stopping their
shielding movements and slowly drop to my side. I turn my head and shift from
foot to foot. I can't be still. Everything inside of me clenches, and twists,
and trembles and shakes. I don't know how much longer I will be able to remain
standing. He is so close. I can smell him. I can feel the heat radiating off of
him. I can hear his deep, even breaths.
I look blindly around for something, anything to distract me, to focus on, to
lend me strength. I settle on the fire crackling in the corner fireplace. I gaze
intently, watching the small sparks fly and listen to the faint pops it makes as
the logs burn slowly. I lose myself in the flames as they dance and flit, watch
them flicker and wave about. I count the tips of the flames and pick out the
different shades of red, orange and yellow. I do absolutely everything I
possibly can to remain calm and unaffected. But I am only kidding myself, for he
doesn't buy the newly found bravado...not one bit.
I pull my gaze back around to him. A smile curves his face; it is male, it is
evil, it is carnal.
***
I am fairly impressed with her so far. She is giving a much better show than I
would have thought. She had wanted this, had begged for it, and had encouraged
it in so many ways. But faced with it now, faced with the seductive power and
allure of it, she was not so sure. I tried to warn her, prepare her, but she had
not listened. Her predicament is her own doing and I see no reason to make it
easy for her.
Her clothes make their way to the floor, piece by piece. Her panties are all
that cover her glory from my gaze. Her composure is shattered, completely and
irrevocably and she hesitates on the last remaining scrap of material cloaking
her body. 'Tis nothing really, a mere slip of cloth that reveals more than
conceals. But as always, it is the hardest thing to give up. I get up slowly and
her body flinches. She is trying, oh, she is trying. Desperation dogs her every
movement. Her hands try to push those panties down, but her mind is fighting,
her mind is telling her no.
I walk slowly and deliberately towards her and have to bite back a chuckle as
she pushes the waist band of those tempting little panties. Her panties are
working in my favor...they keep edging back up, working against her efforts. As
I get ever closer to her, she finally makes headway, her hands forcing them past
her luscious hips and they slide down to the floor. For a brief moment, I sense
her relief and triumph at getting them off...but then, quickly as she realizes
what that means, her body tenses and her scared eyes raise and look into mine.
I do nothing to hide the feral grin upon my face. Let her see it. Let her feel
it. Let her know it. Oh, yes, little one. You are now mine. The things that I am
going to do to you, with you...
"Kneel."
