He stands, silent and brooding in the corner of the room, watching as she hitches her skirt up around her thighs and sinks to her knees inside the doorway. Eyes down, she kneels; feet together, knees wide apart, back straight and her hands facing upwards, one on top of each knee.
His gaze sweeps over her; taking in her fitted blouse; open as he'd instructed to reveal a deep valley of cleavage and a hint of black satin; the straight skirt, pulled up over her thighs showing the lace stocking tops. He watches silently as she kneels, totally still, awaiting his command.
Long minutes pass. She doesn't stir, eyes remaining downcast, not seeking him out; mouth closed, not questioning. No murmur of discomfort passes her lips as her knees rest on the cold, hard, wood floor as the hands on the clock sweep round. He watches her chest rise and fall, her breathing slightly quicker than normal, the apprehension growing as nothing happens. He feels himself start to grow hard, observing her continuing obedience.
Then, suddenly, he moves; the noise of his footfall on the floor startles her and he notices her eyes flick up to him, widening as she sees him approach, before she remembers herself and drops them to the floor again. He stands before her, his arousal evident in his trousers, his hand rubbing over himself and she cannot help herself. Her eyes slide over him and upwards to see his face above her, watching her and he hears the soft whisper of two begging words, "Please Sir..."
