Bound To My Service And Your Ecstasy

teachersdirtypet:

It was just coffee, she thought.  But still, she took extra time with her outfit, remembering the little details of their previous conversations.  She wore a white buttoned shirt.  She didn’t usually wear shirts like these … they had always felt boxy and never seemed to fit right …  but He had mentioned them often enough that she knew it would be to His liking.

Her hair she swept up into a loose but practiced kind of bun, the kind that looked like she’d just rolled out of bed … and that maybe she hadn’t been doing much in the way of sleeping in it.  She loved her hair like that - a little unruly, but controlled.  

Like her.

She wore her new thigh high stockings and a garter belt she’d bought specifically for the occasion.  She smiled to herself.  What was it with men and their fascination with garters?  She had to admit that she did feel an illicit thrill when she was wearing them, a small, vigilant, niggling chatter in the back of her mind that was constantly checking to ensure no one could see, no one could tell she had them on.  She loved the idea that to the world, she was smartly, conservatively dressed, but just below the surface (if they bothered to look) was that private, passionate, submissive … pet who longed for Someone to see her.  No, not just see her.  Recognize her.  Speak her language.

It was just coffee, she reminded herself, as she put on a little more makeup than she usually would for a Saturday morning.  

Even though she knew He appreciated punctuality, and they’d not really discussed details, she knew what He wanted.  He would want to be there before her, waiting.  He would find the perfect spot from which He could see her pull in, perhaps check herself in the mirror one more time, and take a deep breath before stepping out of the car and into what’s next.  

He would smile.  He would see her nervousness just beneath the feigned confidence in her steps.  Hear her laughter lilt over the din of the Saturday morning crowd as she makes her way through the mass of people waiting for seats at the hostess stand.

See a moment of mild panic flash across her face before watching it melt into acquiescence.  Compliance.  Submission.

Watch as she searches for Him in the sea of unfamiliar faces.  He would wait.  There was no need to rush her, no need to wave her over.  He needn’t beckon.  

She would come to Him. 

After all, it was just coffee.