return

I stand at the foot of the long driveway, looking to the far ridge for a glimpse of his car. From there he will wind behind the hill around to the east out of sight, then two minutes later reappear at the end of the dirt road that leads to the house. In those two minutes, I will position myself. I am his slave girl.

It is frigid cold, with just enough of an occasional wind gust to make you want to scream. I wear my winter coat, for now, but it isn’t enough.

I’ve spent all morning preparing my body, for him. Making every inch and crevice of my body smooth, for him. Making certain special places of my body fragrant with subtle scents, for him. Making my hair curl when it doesn’t want to and forcing it to reluctantly tumble over my shoulders, for him. Making my face more radiant and glowy with light touches of foundation, concealer, blush, three shades of eyeshadow, and a slick of lip gloss, for him. Making my feet suffer into a pair of high heels with ankle straps, for him. Making my steel collar wrap around around my neck and snap into place, for him.

I do not know how he will respond to me when he arrives. He may be tired, he may be frustrated, he may be distracted from the business trip. I cannot expect anything from him. I am his slave girl. He will do with me as he wishes, including, perhaps, dismissing me.

But, yes, I am wet for him, my submissive desire incarnated in the ooze between my legs. I can hope but I cannot expect. I am his slave girl.

And then, I spy his blue SUV at the top of the ridge, passing down behind the hill. I have yet a moment of time to huddle within my winter coat. I count to thirty. Then I pull my arms out of my coat and off, folding it and laying it on th patch of grass along the road.

For a moment I stand. I am naked, and the air flows over my breasts like an arctic wind. My steel collar is crazy frigid around my neck. My nipples, hard, extending, already ache from cold.

I kneel right there at the side of the road. I place my hands behind my back. I position my knees six inches apart, opening my pussy. My slit, wet, is already forming a frost. I shiver.

I hear the SUV’s tires rumble along the dirt road. It slows. Then stops. Master Michael sees me. Then he watches me, watches my servitude in the bitter cold.

He waits, perhaps in a moment of delicious and diabolical sadomasochism.

The SUV pulls up beside me, The passenger door opens. His hand beckons me. I grab my coat and eagerly climb into the cozy warmth of the car. I toss my coat in the back, and promptly place my hands behind my back once again, and spread my legs to the corners of the leather seat.

I look straight ahead. “Thank you, Sir,” I say. My whole body now spasms in a shiver.

He lets the engine idle, and I feel him looking at my bare breasts, my frozen nipples, and my cunt, its desire now melting.

I sneak a glance over to him. He is expressionless.

He reaches over and cups my breast with his hand. I swoon from its warmth. I look down as he fondles me. I close my eyes.

“I want to fuck you,” he finally says. He pulls his hand back to the steering wheel and drives the car up the long driveway.

I look straight ahead again, a slight smile now forming on my face.

I am his slave girl.

One thought on “return

  1. What type of SUV does Michael drive?
    I use to be worried about your health, let it be now, can you tell me a little about what degree fahrenheit it was this day? Q&A?; How did he treat you, further this day?

    Like

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