GOOD SIR KNIGHT
Sitting alone at his kitchen table as he made them coffee, Jayla looked down for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning to make sure she still looked alright. She usually loved this outfit and felt particularly sexy in it - a pink, flirty A-line skirt that fell to about mid-thigh and a white wrap top that fit her perfectly and really enhanced her cleavage - but now she was second-guessing her fashion sense. Jayla found herself squirming in anticipation; she took a deep breath, squeezed her knees together, straightened her spine, and forced herself to keep her poise. After all, what impression would it make on her prospective Owner for him to notice her jitters and mistake it for weakness? She noted the coolness of the wooden chair on the back of her legs. No, not this time, not this Jayla. Not after all of the tasks and trainings she had completed to prove her submission and seriousness and dedication to their cause. The urge to serve her Sir overwhelmed her daily. She was utterly fulfilled by pleasing him. Today she would finally learn if he, her online Sir, could truly be the man of her dreams. Her Owner. Her head swam in the warped fairytale of it all; perhaps he would be her Good Sir Knight, fit her with her collar, and sweep her off her kinky feet.
The man, whose name was Paul but whom she just called Sir, was quieter in person. Jayla found it intoxicating to study him - the way he assuredly moved through the kitchen, the way he stood, the calmness of his face. She was wholly enamored with his ability to exist in the moment. She was relaxed by his steadiness. His control. It made her long for the dynamic they had been discussing and building via social media for nearly ten months, the very reason she was here tonight: She was to become Paul's slave, living in his home to serve him and him alone. And her Sir would determine if she was ready.
Paul returned to the table, set a warm mug in front of Jayla, and said, "Careful, it's hot." Jayla smiled at his kindness and took a sip, instantly burning her tongue and spilling some of the coffee on the table. Paul immediately lost his friendly demeanor. Jayla's eyes widened as she realized that his face had become stony, with a stern look that made his displeasure with her recklessness very clear. Today was not the day for grace. "Stick out your tongue," he said simply. Jayla set her mug down and stared forward, not daring to look her Sir in the eye, and immediately followed these instructions. Slowly, Paul rose from his chair and leaned forward, reaching across the table to lovingly take Jayla by the chin. He analyzed her tongue. "Tsk, tsk, pet...I gave you a very direct instruction: Be careful. Your first action disregarded this instruction and hurt my potential property. I do not want my property damaged due to reckless behavior. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Good." He paused to take another sip of coffee. "Stand up and present."
Jayla rose immediately and assumed her attention position. Her feet were spread about hip-distance apart, with her toes facing forward. Her fingers were interlaced and resting on the back of her head, with her elbows in line with her ears. Her back arched deliciously, exposing her completely to him to be inspected. He slid the table and chairs away from her, allowing him to walk around her and take in every inch of her. She remained determined to redeem herself after such an embarrassing mistake, staring forward and standing still, using the best form she could. Without warning, her pink skirt and panties were pulled below her ankles. He smiled. "Well done, my pet. Not a budge." Jayla didn't dare smile. She wasn't given permission to relax. She had a job to do.
"Remove the rest of your clothing."
Jayla moved as quickly as she dared without looking frantic. Her need to please her Sir was her first priority. She kicked her skirt and panties to the side, and hastily threw her top and bra into the pile before returning to attention. Paul took a step back to assess her actions. "Pet, here is Rule #1: Be Tidy. I do not like a mess and I require my slave to keep my property tidy. My kitchen is currently not tidy. Correct it. When you are done, come to me in the front room and kneel before me." Paul gently kissed her forehead. "What is rule #1?"
"Be Tidy, Sir."
"Do you understand what you're being told to do?"
"Yes, Sir."
With a short, "Then do so," Paul left Jayla alone in the kitchen. She was buzzing with excitement. This was her first real test; her chance to prove herself. Determined to pass this time, Jayla started with returning the table and chairs to their original position as quickly and as quietly as she could. Noting the laundry pile on the floor, she took time to carefully fold and stack each garment, leaving them on the table and almost setting them in the drops of coffee from her humiliating spill earlier. She walked to the sink and looked for the paper towel, which she found mounted underneath the cabinet. Wetting the paper towel, Jayla noticed that there was more untidiness in this kitchen: The coffee pods were scattered on the counter. There were wet spots all around the sink. And her Sir had clearly eaten some sort of pastry for breakfast, judging by the crumbs she saw on the floor near the trash. Surely this was no accident. "My kitchen is currently not tidy. Correct it," he had said. And so she did.
It was about 12 minutes, Paul noted, when Jayla returned to the room. She stood directly in front of him and lowered to her knees. She spread her legs as fair apart as she could comfortably maintain and sat on her feet. She placed her hands on her thighs, palm-side up, and bowed her head.
Wordlessly, Paul rose to his feet and walked in what looked the direction of the kitchen. Jayla did not have the luxury of checking her watch, but it felt like he was gone for an excruciatingly long time. Jayla wished with all of her being to look for him, to seek reassurance, to ask if she did alright. But he would tell her, she knew. Patience was key, and kneeling for her Sir was a privilege.
As silently as he disappeared, Paul returned to the room and stood above Jayla. "Pet, please look up at me." Jayla struggled to stay composed as she looked upwards into his eyes. Her heart fluttered to see that his calm, kind, self-assured aura had returned. "I am very pleased with your first effort. Not only did you correct your mistakes, but you effectively and sufficiently tidied the rest of the kitchen." Jayla finally smiled. She had earned that much. Paul reached down and took her hand into his own. "Let's continue where we left off." He led her to the nearby chaise and gestured for her to sit on the furniture. She hesitated. She was still naked and sitting next to him, fully clothed, made her feel out of place. "Sir, should I redress?" His sly grin said it all. "I didn't instruct you to, so no. Sit." Jayla took her seat as directed, being sure to bow her head. Paul sighed and lovingly looked her up and down. After a pause, he spoke. "And that leads us to Rule #2: Be Open. That means in all aspects of your life. Honesty and authenticity is required. You are to address any fears or feelings that concern you with me when asked, and you must journal to me nightly. The notebook will be left in the office, and it will be your responsibility to write out your feelings each night for me to read between 8 and 10pm. This is non-negotiable and withholding your true feelings from me will get you punished. I cannot guide you if I do not wholly know you."
Jayla was given a few seconds to absorb his words.
"Being open," he continued, "also means that my property is always available to me. Her pretty holes are open for me at all times. Therefore, slaves must obtain permission to dress. Clothing is a gift for my slave, not a right." Jayla gulped involuntarily and hoped he didn't notice. "Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
"What is Rule #2?"
"Be Open, Sir."
"And what was Rule #1?"
"Be Tidy, Sir."
"Good girl. Now do you have any fears to share with me right now?"
