tattered self control

Put myself in his hands a a submissive? The idea intrigued me. It had been quite a while since I'd played that end of the scene. Could I still navigate the dangers of it? I waited, thinking through the idea, but could really find no way to dissuade myself. I realized I wanted to do this, probably more than I should, which means I should have said no. Well, discretion has not always been one of my more practiced virtues. I accepted.

We discussed minor details, the when (now) and where (he'd take me there), and the time limits. All the usual mundane items needed to insure safety and comfort in this type of assignation. In the end, we sat facing each other over our cooling coffee, a bit flushed with our own bravado. It was now that I realized just how far off I'd been.

Stephen's expression turned serious, and very intense as the last decision had been made. He took one of my hands in both of his, looked into my face and in a very calm, soft voice, told me the rules he would impose from this point on. I was to answer questions only, not offer my own comments. I would obey all commands immediately and without question, and from this point on, I would refer to him as Sir, or Sir Stephen. I swallowed, my pulse suddenly much faster, because I suspected the next things I would hear...and I was right.

"Now, be a good girl and I think you have something under that skirt that you need to remove, darling," he murmured, looking into my eyes. "And when you sit back down, remember you are not to ever cross your legs in my presence again." I felt the blush burn my cheeks even before he finished speaking.