Mistress Kira answered her shop’s back door in a tight red dress, five inch black heels, full make-up, and her blonde hair pulled back into a severe bun. She assessed Owen; a non-descript man of average build in his early forties stood before her dressed in a cheap suit. He looked harmless enough with anxious eyes as he stood in the alley behind the row of stores.
“Come in,” she said.
He stepped into the hall. She closed the door behind him, plunging the hallway into murky dimness before she began walking towards her office. He followed her only to stop when she did. She turned around to face him.
She said, “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. Men get to walk. Dogs crawl. Get down on your knees. Now.”
He dropped down to his hands and knees, looking up her beautiful legs reminiscent of a Russian ballerina; pale and hard, smooth.
“Come,” she said, walking away.
He crawled behind her as she walked a few steps before turning left into a windowless office with dark green walls and heavy wood and leather furniture. A lone Tiffany lamp shined on her desk. She picked up a riding crop from her desk then turned her attention to Owen. Leaning against the desk, she looked down at the submissive man.