Charlotte
My Master behind me, he rested his cheek against mine, laid his hands on my shoulders. "Knees," he whispered.
It sounded like a command. Nonetheless, he held my arm, balancing me as I dropped, first to my knees, then all the way, to crouch at his feet, and Richard's too; face downward, my hands outstretched, palms to the floor.
It's not cold or painful. Protecting me from the hard stone flags of the basement, the matting indents slightly at knee and toe and elbow. I crouch at my Master's feet, submissive as he wishes...
Something kisses my aching sex, and I shudder.
I gave myself to him long ago.
And he gave Michael to me. And now Richard too.
It's a heady mix.
From above me; a silken rustle; my hair is brushed to one side. But I am not invited to move. No assisting hand raises me to my feet.
I wait...
The rustle of fabric and the creak of his shoes as my Master shifts on his feet...
The scent of new leather and the tang of polish...