She lounges on the couch, her lean limbs encased in black slick latex. A riding crop dangles from her right hand and she gives you a cold slash of a smile.
‘Now, here, you pretty thing, is my domain.’
She stands up and stretches out as though she were about to take exercise. She is a beautiful study in monochrome, creamy skin and jet black hair cut in at the neck and around her ears. If death and desire had a child, she would bear their intertwined lineage.
You look up at her, burning with adoration as she strides forward on heeled boots and takes your face in her left hand. Her long, gloved fingers bite into the line of jaw and you gaze into her cold, blue eyes with awe.
‘You do not speak unless spoken to, nod if you understand.’
You move her head as much as her grip allows. Her will is absolute and your surrender raises another thin smile.
‘Good, now as to how you will address me, my title is Empress.’
A shiver of anticipation travels down your spine as she steps around you and grabs the hair at the back of your head. Your eyes well up at the needling, clear burst of hurt that wipes away the uncertainty of thought. She tells you to get on your hands and knees then raise your backside in the air.
You say this to test her and immediately a line of pain burns across the tender skin of your buttocks. You gasp and sag forward before regaining control and pushing yourself back up onto your hands and knees.
She chuckles and you hear the staccato clip of her heels against the wooden floor. Your breathing quickens and you shut your eyes, reduced and elevated as you relax into the kingdom of authority and feeling that she offers you.
All you need do is obey.