Her Male Model (Femdom)

Dinner and a Show

Kat's POV

I fucked him. I pushed a hot pink dildo in his ass, and yet, I am not content as I thought I would be. I thought once I had Coal in my clutches, my needs would be satiated.

Now, I doubt I will ever be satisfied.

After I fully claimed Coal, I sent him off to get cleaned up and adjusted to his new room. I have movers coming later to bring everything he will need from his apartment, like his wardrobe and personal effects.

My employees didn't say much regarding his personal items. No guns, or fake ID's or anything alarming. Though it was brought to my attention that Coal possesses a raw talent for drawing. Amongst his many drawings, they found a very considerable number of me. 30 to be precise. I was sent a few pictures of them, and I have to say that the likeness is uncanny. He even added a few with devil horns.

Like I said, the resemblance is uncanny.

I find myself staring at the drawings despite myself. I imagine Coal bent over a desk late at night, frustrated and unable to do anything other than draw me over and over: wracked with need. I imagine him shading in the lines vigorously, seeing my face in his mind. My face. My body. There were more than a few drawings of my naked form.

I thought I would find graphic drawings of me-maybe even a few of him fucking me. It wouldn't be a stretch for me to assume that he wants me naked and under him. However, the explicit photos of me were nothing short of respectful. Reverent even.

Good.

I splash cold water over my face, preparing for dinner. I changed into a black silk dress for the meal. Nothing that would alarm any of the staff, as I often gravitate toward silk, but definitely a little more risqué than I might have chosen If I was dining alone.

I add some makeup to compliment my outfit, and complete it with dark lip gloss. It is an intimidating look. I smile at myself in the mirror.
My father always balked at the idea of makeup, but he never realized its true purpose. Makeup is a weapon at my arsenal, like a pressed suit or a sleek car: a way to sharpen my already sharp features. If I look like vulture on the hunt, people tend to question my authority less. That is the aim tonight. I don't want to even hear a whisper of protest from my new sub.

I set off on my way to dinner. I told Coal he could explore the mansion to his pleasure, so I am not sure where he is at. I do not attempt to find him.

I walk into the dinning room and take my place at the head of the table. Coals plate is set directly next to mine. Many mistresses force their subs to kneel at their feet during every meal, but I do not find much pleasure from the ordeal. I like my subs to be able to see me. I want them forced to stare into my eyes at any given moment, making their nerves into live wires for me to play with.

All that being said, allowing Coal to kneel is not a relief I plan on affording him tonight.

The dinner bell rings, and I send a servant out to find and escort Coal to the dining room. My stomach comes alive as I anticipate his arrival. It's been a few hours, and already I've missed him. The feeling is completely foreign to me. I do not miss my subs because they are little more than slaves to my amusement. That is what they sign up for, and that is what I deliver. I should not miss Coal any more than I might miss a dog or a cat.

Coal is no ordinary sub though. He is different.

Just then, Coal walks into the room: he is wearing the suit I laid out for him without a suit coat, the dress shirt open and relaxed. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and his dark hair is slicked back. He looks every bit the model he is meant to be. He is picturesque in his neat relaxation.