Go up to the bedroom. Put on a pair of black knickers and lie on your front on the bed and wait for me.
I do as I am told, getting up quickly and leaving the room. My head is in the right place and I want this but I am also feeling a little sassy so I don’t just select the black underwear he has requested. I choose to add a pair of hold-ups and heels.
I arrange myself on the bed in a way which I think will appeal to him. Just enough, but not too much. I am feeling confident and sexy, caught up in the moment which has been building since his text this afternoon. I don’t worry that I have overstepped. This is what he has made me, what he has asked me to be.
Often my self-consciousness can hide this part of me, but he knows me well and he knows what will happen if he can draw the more heady, less inhibited side out. She will be what he needs. She will encourage his darkness, dancing for him and moulding and shaping herself in ways she would not otherwise.
I wait and I try to hold on to the way he has empowered me. I am his and that means more than anything. It releases me. It allows me to be free and to really let go. It gets me through the pause and the momentary doubt that I feel and I steel myself, pressing my feet together as I hear his footsteps coming closer, just beyond the bedroom door.
Mmmmm. Good girl. And I like the stockings and heels – nice touch.
Now, why don’t you reach your hands behind you and slip those panties down so that I can see you properly.