As she sat on her feet on that soft, silken pillow, her head bowed patiently, breathing so slowly it was almost imperceptible, he entered, flinging the door open with such a force that the handle embedded itself in the wall behind it. He stormed in, ignoring her, though she was in the middle of the room, as he threw his jacket in the bed and roughly started undoing his tie. As his tie slid out of his collar with the soft whisper of silk over starched polyester, he stormed into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, the same way he had for the past thirty years, black, no sugar, no cold water. When he came back into the room, he sat in his big, black business chair, which was quite obviously very old, yet it had been taken care of well, the leather oiled every day to keep it soft and supple, and as he lit his cigar and took a deep draw, he looked at her through the smoke.
She was beautiful, short, yet not stunted, slim, yet not underweight. Her long black hair flowed like silk down her back, contrasting strongly against her pale skin. He knew her eyes so well, the deep emerald green, now hidden behind closed lids, and a thin layer of satin. His eyes travelled down past her neck, with the marks of passion he had left over the months, down past her smooth, flawless breasts, reminding him of the statues he walked past every day of his youth, the botticelli angels they called them, some of the most beautiful sculptures in the world. He paused here, letting his gaze rest on her nipples as he took a sip of his coffee. She trembled slightly before him, feeling his gaze penetrate her very soul, lingering, searching, then moving away as his eyes wandered downwards, over her taut belly, to her smooth, shaven thighs, nice and thick.
"So," he said. "You think it's okay to make eyes at other submissive, do you?"
She trembled, trying not to show her fear, for she knew she had done wrong.
"N-n-no" she stuttered.
"No what?" He said firmly.
"N-n-no S-s-sir." she stuttered, visibly cowering and trembling.
He leant forward to yank the blindfold off her eyes, and paused a moment as he was lost in their beauty, before remembering why he was angry with her. She gasped and bit her lip, knowing that if she whispered, or made any noise out of place, she would be punished more severely than she otherwise would be for flirting with the sub of her Master's 'business partner'. He drained the last of the coffee from his mug and crushed out his cigar in the ashtray in the arm of the chair and stood up, grabbing her collar as he did so, yanking her up with him, pulling her up to eye level, her feet dangling inches from the ground as he glared deep into her eyes. She fearfully held his gaze. She remembered the last time she broke it when he was in this mood... She couldn't walk for weeks for the welts on the bottoms of her feet.
See, he had found early on in her service that her feet were especially sensitive, and he enjoyed utilizing this for both pleasure and punishment. Last time she had been disloyal, she had been found hiding behind a dumpster, smelling of vodka and sex, her clothes torn and tattered. She had been seeing the dishboy at the local restaurant, even after he had expressly told her to stay away from him, for reasons she didn't fully understand. That night she got the cane, fifteen on the sole of each foot.
He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the collar, inhaling sharply, before letting go and dropping her to the floor where she lay shaking, frightened.
He walked into the kitchen and rinsed his mug, leaving it to drain on the wire rack.
"So, you are interested in Alice-Rose, I gather" he said.
"N-no S-sir." Her voice trembled.
"It was not a question," he snapped. "I know you fancy her."
She nodded silently, scared to make eye contact.
He looked down at her, his eyes softening slightly seeing her lay there, small and defenceless, shivering.
"I can understand how you feel," he said softly. "I feel attraction to young Alice-Rose as well, but we cannot, for the sake of the business relationship that Tina and I have, let our emotions show, lest things become awkward and uncomfortable."
She nodded, keeping silent, but risking a peek up at him. She struggled to contain a gasp as she saw him towering over her, his shirt undone, revealing his chiseled torso, reminding her of the time he took her to the museum, the day she came for her interview. They were walking among the sculptures and she pointed one out, on the far wall.
"What's that one Sir?"
"That? Well kitten, that is Michaelangelo's David."
"David? Kitten likes that name Sir."
He chuckled to himself and lifted her on his broad shoulders and walked over so she could admire it.
She sighed to herself and have a little chuckle as she recalled how he laughed when she said that it felt like him.
Seeing her gorgeous eyes looking up at him, his voice softened considerably.
"What are you chuckling about Missy?"
She gasped, realising that she must have been deeper in her memory than she thought, and chuckled out loud. "J-just the first day we met Sir, when I came for my interview, Sir, how you showed me all the statues, and laughed at me when I compared you to Michaelangelo's David... how perfect you both were..."
He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to his chair, where he sat her on his lap and stroked her head gently, reminiscing. He had forgotten about that, about how happy she was on that day, and thought of how she hadn't seemed that carefree in months, and felt slightly guilty that he hadn't been paying much attention to her.
"I want you to be here at 7 am sharp tomorrow morning. We are going to the museum"
