You know what dynamic I love?
A Mistress and her butler.
Not just any butler, her perfect one. The kind who wakes her with coffee just the way she likes it, brushes the wrinkles from her gowns before she even steps into them, runs her baths, and lays out her jewels like she's the only thing that's ever mattered.
He never stumbles and never complains. Always composed, always sharp, always utterly devoted.
Because she's wicked. She steps out of the bath, dripping, eyes on him, slowly untwisting her hair. She lets her silk robe slide just a bit too low. She makes him lace up her corsets, kneel to fix her thigh-highs, his hands trembling as he works. All the while, she just watches, because her favorite view is him on his knees, eyes lowered, lips parted, desperate to serve.
He never breaks. Not in front of her. Not when she leans a little too close to whisper her plans for the evening. Not when she sits with legs just slightly parted and tells him, in that tempting, but unbothered voice, "Fix the hem of my dress. It's slipping."
But later... Later, when he's alone, hands shaking, breath ragged, he finally lets go.
His voice is barely a whisper as he moans her name, head thrown back against the pillows, stroking his cock desperately. And it's not just lust; it's worship. Devotion. Need.
The thought of serving her, worshipping her like a goddess, and yearning for her in silence is enough to unravel him completely.
And she knows. Oh, she always knows.
pixelskylines
ellievsbear
tangentwithtanner
2087
blakekathryn
