“You want me to *what*?”
“Take off your clothes. Go into the men’s changing room. Handcuff yourself to a bench. Don’t speak a word, and let them do anything they want. I’ll come in and set you free in half an hour.”
“But mistress, I-”
Sophia lay a hand on my cheek, gentle and affectionate and leaving no room for further argument. Her lips touched mine, a brief whisper of a kiss, then broke away.
“Yes, mistress,” I said.
“Good *girl*.”
My heart leapt at the words. I knew I didn’t have to do as she asked, it wasn’t like I was beholden to her in any way; she had no real power over me. I was an adult, confident, more than financially independent, and yet every part of me desired nothing more than to do whatever she wanted. Even, or perhaps especially, when what she wanted was something I would have never imagined myself doing otherwise.
I started to disrobe and twin fires burned within me, the one in my cheeks matched by another between my legs. I wasn’t sure if arousal or embarrassment led the race going on between my physiological responses; my hands shaking with nervous energy, my heart rate climbing precipitously as I started to pull my top over my head.