Office Bitch Ch. 03

My kitchen table is lit with candles and there's a bottle of wine chilling in a fancy, decorative ice bucket that I didn't even know I had. Dinner is horrible and smelly but I cooked it myself. I never cook but I did for him. I apologize for that and blush to the tips of my ears while I lead him to the table. He lies and says it smells fantastic and takes a bite when we're seated and ready.

We talk. About work. About some of our childhood. About everything other than what I've become or what we're doing and I appreciate that. It's a lovely evening and he has a wonderful sense of humor. A few times he looks uncomfortable or upset at something so I change the subject each time. His eyes stray to the white box near my wine glass but he never asks about it.

When dinner winds down, I tell him I have something to say. His face goes blank but I tell him it's a good thing and not to worry. But I still hear a whisper in the back of my mind and an itch between my shoulders and I almost whine.

Instead, I grab the little box and lead him to the living room. I ask him to wait by the couch while I stand in the center.

I undress for him. My eyes never leave his while I slowly unbutton my shirt, top to bottom. One at a time. I pull the shirt open at the first set of teats and watch his eyes widen. Further I go until it's undone and I shrug out of it.

My heartbeat feels so fast.

Reaching behind, I undo my bra and let it fall, too. My firm breasts ache for his touch. Still watching him, I unzip myself at the side until the skirt falls around my feet.

Now I start to feel self-conscious. Despite everything I've done to prepare myself for this, despite talking through everything until I'd made a decision, my arms twitch to hide my body. I ignore it and slip fingers through my panties, pushing them down until I have to step out of them.

Feet wide, legs open. Showing him who I am. He opens his mouth to ask something but I hold a finger up and he goes silent. I take the box and hold it

"I've lived a life of control," I tell him. My heart is racing and my head is pounding and my mouth is dry yet I'm so warm right now. "Whatever happened to me took that away. I have no control. Not with you. Not with myself. Sounds and smells and tastes all pull at me, distracting me. And you, god. You. I can't think straight when you're around."

I swallow and then kneel, sitting back on my heels.

"It's liberating," I say. "I've never realized it. Each time, it's a release. Like I'm finally relaxing a muscle I've held forever. All of my worries, all of my concerns, every thought of the future goes away and the world shrinks to one thing. You. Your happiness and needs. I should hate this. All of it. What I've become and what you do to me but it's made me realize that I can't always be in control. That's not life. What it does to me is addicting and freeing and I'm starting to want it."

"Anne, I-" Michael says but I hold up my hand again.

Leaning forward in front of him, I open the box and spread the tissue paper within. I spent the afternoon reading and researching and then shopping. I still blush at the memory of it but the thrill overpowers me. The idea of giving up control, of giving it over to someone else and living according to their desires calls to me. The duality of it is intoxicating. To have control and to give it away completely.

"Please," I tell him, pulling the object from the box. I place it gently in my mouth and go to him on all fours until I'm kneeling in front of him. Taking it from my mouth, I hold it up to him.

Michael holds the red leather collar with the small gold buckle and turns it over in his hands.

I pull the hair away from my neck, feeling it brush against the fur beginning to spread along my neck.

I look up at him.

Begging.

"Master."