Crafting Submission: A Tale of Dominance and Desire
"Excuse me, Mistress. You summoned me?" I stammer, shyly gazing into the spacious, luminous office adorned with expansive windows. My palms, slick with anxiety, clutch the leather handle of my bag, which I cradle against my petite chest as though it's my most treasured possession. Without awaiting a response, I venture into the office... and halt at the entrance, sealing the door behind me with my heel, incapable of progressing further.
My glorious Mistress is situated behind her desk, the embodiment of elegance and authority as always, perusing documents, endorsing contracts, and altering fates without a hint of remorse. The evening sun casts its warm golden hue on her divine countenance, accentuating her features and casting imposing, elongated shadows. My Mistress exudes an irresistible sexual authority, her blonde hair flawlessly swept back, adorned in her white silk blouse and high-waisted black trousers.
Without casting her gaze upon me, she instructs me curtly, sighing, "Enter, Tanya." Following this, she lifts her stern, yet captivating eyes - eyes that I'd willingly crawl on my knees for - and surveys me expectantly from my shoes, to my legs, and finally the bag in my grasp.
With hesitant steps, I approach her desk, sensing her commanding gaze scrutinizing me from head to toe. Every aspect of my demeanor and appearance accentuates the chasm of superiority between us. I'm clad in a simple blue office mini-dress, my hair meticulously tied back.
Exhaling deeply, my illustrious Mistress finally sets aside a stack of papers on her desk, and her icy blue eyes meet mine. "Tanya," she commences in a low, disappointed tone, "you've been a naughty girl, and you're well aware of it."
An icy thrill of anticipation courses down my spine, and my heart hammers in my chest. "Yes, Mistress," I whisper, my gaze fixed on my shoes, attending to her every word. "Initially, you pleased me, you appeared more competent than your clueless counterparts, demonstrating eagerness in your servitude. But you've proven to be slow, clumsy, a distraction to yourself and others with your antics. Take my recent order, for instance..." I internalize her every utterance. Her words lash at my bruised ego, affirming her superiority.
As she continues, my eyes are drawn to the top buttons of her blouse, incapable of meeting her gaze. The pristine fabric conceals her radiant skin. The blouse's collar fastens snugly around her graceful neck... Oh, if only she knew the depths of my fantasies. I yearn to taste the delicate skin that lies beneath... "Are you even attending to me, Tanya?!!" Her unexpected interruption startles me out of my reverie.
My eyes dart to her mesmerizing brown eyes: "Yes, Mistress, I... um," I stutter, uncertain of my response, and opt to vocalize the thoughts that have been circulating in my mind for the past few moments. "I was merely pondering, um... perhaps if you were to undo the top few buttons... Just three or so... It would underscore your... dominance?" My suggestion sounds ludicrous, even to my own ears.
My Mistress looks at me, squinting one eye. A disbelieving laugh escapes her lips, "That's funny, Tanya. Are you serious? I'm discussing important things here, your future life, and whether it could even be called a life! Lord, what buttons!" She dismisses the thought as effortlessly as swatting away an annoying fly, a swift flick of her immaculately manicured fingers, adorned with rings, silencing the room. "As a submissive, I'd say you are completely out of line! I'm even considering..."
*"As a submissive, I'd say"* -- those words ignite a bold idea within my mind. Naughty fantasies of my Mistress on her knees begin to bubble up. However, as her voice gains momentum again, I dare to interrupt, my voice a timid murmur against her power, "Actually, Mistress, I... I think that if you unbutton the entire blouse... then... maybe... you would appear even more... authoritative?" My own audacity leaves me breathless; my heart beats a wild tattoo in my chest, its rhythm louder to me than the ticking of the London timepiece gracing the wall.
"So," she begins, and a shiver of dread courses through me at the loaded implications behind that solitary word. Her fingers make a deliberate journey to the top button of her blouse. "This behavior is entirely unsuitable for your station." The button surrenders to her touch, revealing just a tantalizing glimpse of her tender, immaculately cared-for neck. "You come here, seeking me to take you under my wing and guide you." The second button follows the first, offering a glimpse of a delicate constellation of small moles on her chest. "And you have the audacity, here in my office, to advise me on how to be a Mistress?!" With each punctuating word, her fingers furiously work on the third button, then her hands forcefully meet the desk. Her question hangs in the air like a threat, a promise. "Do you even know what I'll do to you for this?" The accusation dances in her eyes, daring me to answer.
Shyness wars with audacity within me as my eyes flicker to her blouse. "Yes, Mistress," I hear myself respond, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I believe you'll undo your trousers for this. No need to fully remove them... yet. But your blouse, it yearns to be freed from the confinement of your trousers." The audacity of my suggestion strikes even me, but her actions seem to have emboldened me, pulling out this daring side I didn't know I possessed.
Her voice resonates throughout the office, each word heavy with an anger laced with frustration. "This is absurd, Tanya!" Her hands move in a flurry of activity, unbuttoning the blouse button by button. "What a bold, pitiful little vixen you are." I can't pry my eyes away from the enticing cleavage that's slowly revealed to me. "Do you think I can't see through your antics?" Another button is undone, and I'm entranced by her flat stomach and navel, which I suddenly yearn to taste with my tongue. "Well, Tanya?" She raises her voice, "Do you feel my power now?!" My Mistress crosses her arms over her flushed chest, reveling in the ease with which she's enforced her dominance. All it required was the simple act of unbuttoning her blouse.
While she awaits my response, I gently suggest, "Mistress, perhaps if you lowered your tone, it could create a better connection between us. Shouting isn't becoming of your stature. And, um... maybe you could keep your hands behind your back during our discussion?" The words tumble out before I can stop them, leaving me shocked at my own audacity. But they're out in the open now, and I can't retract them.
Her face reddens even more with rage as she retorts, "Oh, you!" Struggling for the appropriate response, her fingers gravitate towards the button on her trousers. It gives way, and she adjusts her blouse, now hanging loosely over her sculpted physique. The stark white fabric creates a striking contrast against her dark trousers, and the suggestive hint of black lace beneath tantalizes my senses.
