Ryan

 

 

 

When I walk into the room, I find her looking exactly the way I wanted her. The room is dimly lit, the shutters in front of the windows shut to keep out the afternoon sun. Thick, heavy drapes in red velvet frame each window, matching the color of the walls and the carpet under our feet. Almost everything in here is either red or black, with the occasional golden accent, including the handles on a dresser to my right and the metal frame of the king size bed behind her.

She’s sitting on a black chair, her eyes shielded by the blindfold, wearing an incredibly sexy dress in a ruby tone that goes so well with the interior of the room. I’m once again convinced that she belongs here. She may not be a whore, not a girl delivered to me by the agency, but she belongs here – to me – nevertheless.

She hears me come into the room and flinches when I close the door behind me. Her blinded eyes turn in my direction, anxiety written all over her face and expressed in her jittery body language. Her shoulder are tense, and she’s sitting up straight, her hands resting on the bag in her lap and clawing into the handles as if it was her life line.

No, doll, no one can save you now.

As I approach her slowly and deliberately, my gaze travels down to her feet. She’s wearing heels, just as I told her to. Even though she’s sitting, her legs appear to be endless. I can’t wait to see her standing up in those shoes. She may even match my height in them.

As I come to a halt directly in front of her, I can tell she’s shivering. It’s barely visible, and I know she doesn’t want me to notice it, but the feeble vibrations of her body don’t escape my eyes. Nothing ever does.

She’s been a very good girl so far. She went and bought herself something nice to wear for me, she’s wearing heels, and she has not spoken a word since she was brought here. I watched from afar as my driver and assistant Keith escorted her inside, making sure that she’d find her way without having to take off the blindfold. I always do it this way. I don’t want the girls to know where they are because I don’t want them to return.

I lean forward, deliberately caressing her cheek as I move my hands to the back of her head to remove the blindfold. The hint of a nervous smile plays at the corners of her mouth.

She keeps her eyes closed for a few more moments after I remove the blindfold, leaving enough time for me to cross another item off her checklist. Her make-up is perfect. I told her to tone it down and leave more room for her eye color to breathe, but I still want to see it smeared across her face when I’m done with her. She’ll cry, she’ll scream, and she’ll sweat – and I want all of it to be written across her delicate features.

She finally dares to open her eyes, finding mine within a moment. Her vibrant green is framed with a thin black line, her lashes bathed in black, as well, but she left her eyelids almost bare, only highlighting them with nude colors. Perfect.

“Welcome, doll,” I say, placing my palm on the side of her face.

She leans into my touch. “Hello, master.”

It exhilarates me to know that she’s never addressed anyone else like this. I’m her first, and her one and only master.

So far, my ever apparent rationality reminds me. She may have plenty after you.

I shake it off. The wish to ruin her for every other man is strong within me, but I can’t give in to it. It would ruin me, first and foremost.

I catch her scanning the room behind me.

“Keep looking at me,” I caution her, now holding her chin between two fingers, forcing her gaze to focus on me. She obeys, her eyelashes batting with curious excitement, like a trapped butterfly.

“Never take your eyes off of me,” I tell her. “Unless I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?”

“Yes, master,” she says, nodding.

“Good girl.”

I leave a quick peck on her painted lips. They’re dipped in a deep ruby red, matching her dress.

“Let me see that dress on you,” I say, taking the bag from her lap and stepping back to give her room to get up and model it for me.

She looks a little lost for a moment, mourning the loss of her bag, her life line. Without it, her hands have nothing to hold onto, and they hang idly at the side of her body when she rises from the chair.

My doll is so beautiful, blessed with a beauty that most women would kill for, but she doesn’t carry herself that way. She’s insecure, slouching to make herself smaller than she is, instinctively lowering her eyes for a split second, before she remembers my command just in time and raises them up to look at me again. The dress looks perfect on her, hugging her frame in all the right ways, but she couldn’t look more uncomfortable. Her toes are pointed inward, giving her posture an awkward and infantile stance. She looks unstable and helpless.

“Walk for me,” I tell her, taking a few more steps back to give her more room. “Imagine this is a catwalk; walk toward me and parade that dress for me.”

She looks horrified at the suggestion. Her eyes widen and her mouth grimaces as if she was in pain.

“Do it,” I insist, raising my voice. “I’m not going to tell you again, doll.”

She swallows hard and nods.

“Yes, master.” Her voice sounds hollow and weak, as if she’s about to cry.

Finally, she decides to obey, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, balancing herself on the heels while struggling to maintain eye contact. She walks until she’s about two feet from me, then she pauses, a hesitant smile gracing her face, before she turns her back to me and walks back to the chair. It’s the first time I’m seeing the dress from behind. The low-backed detail allows for a good view of her spine, all the way down until just above the curve of her ass. I’m glad she’s wearing her hair up, just as instructed. It allows for an even better view of her naked back and will make for a great moment when I free her brunette locks to fall down her slender frame.

“Very good choice,” I praise her. “That dress looks fantastic on you.”

She comes to a halt and turns to me. The smile she casts me this time is a lot more genuine than the one before.

“Thank you,” she says. “I like it, too.”

“Your presentation, however,” I add, approaching her. “That was pathetic.”

The smile is gone as quickly as it appeared, quickly replaced by a worried expression.

I place my index finger below her chin and force her to look back up at me.

“You’re so beautiful, so exquisite,” I whisper. “But you need to learn how to show it off. You move as if you want to disappear from the world instead of drawing its eyes to you.”

She bites her lower lip. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I say. “Change it.

Her eyelashes flutter with nervous anticipation as she processes my words.

“You’ll learn,” I assure her, leaving her to walk over to the dresser. I place her bag on top of it and open one of the upper drawers to retrieve the first of many items she’ll wear for me.

Her eyes widen when she sees the collar in my hand.

“Have you ever been collared?” I ask her.

She shakes her head. “N...n...no.”

It takes just one raised eyebrow to make her aware of her mistake.

“No, master,” she corrects herself.

“Good girl,” I praise. “I’m happy to be the first to bestow that honor upon you.”

She offers a shy smile when I close the leather training collar around her neck. It’s a simple one with no frills, just a simple d-ring at the front and a tiny lock in the back, and only I will have the key.

“Show me you wrists,” I order after the collar is set in place.

She lifts her arms, her palms facing up as if she was carrying a tray in front of her chest. A faint sigh escapes her lips when I fasten leather cuffs around her dainty wrists, making sure that they’re not too tight but not loose enough for her to take them off either.

“You’ll wear the color and cuffs for as long as you’re here,” I say. “Always. Do you understand?”

Her green eyes lock onto mine when she nods like a good girl.

“Yes, master.”