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“Do you think you should be allowed clothing?” This might not be his preferred form of Dom-sub interaction, but he knew how it was done.
“No, Master Benson.” She reached for her dress, then stopped. “May I remove my robe, Master Benson?”
“Yes, but stand up and step back so anyone who walks by can see you.”
Mal pushed to her feet, her gaze down. She shuffled back, so instead of being half hidden in the pseudo-alcove, she was near the path. He watched her from the shadowed privacy of the chair, his cock twitching inside his pants as anticipation brought on a fresh erection.
The first side of her dress fell open, exposing one pretty breast. The second tie released just as quickly and easily.
He liked the way the dark fabric draped along her sides, framing and highlighting her nudity. Then Mal shrugged it off, carefully folding the garment and setting it aside, tucking it into the shadow at the base of one of the massive pots.
“Master Benson, should I remove my shoes?”
“Are shoes clothing?”
Her lips twitched. “Well, technically they’re not… Master Benson.”
He snorted in amusement and considered punishing her for that. Certainly there were high protocol Doms who would have considered that bratting, but he would die of boredom if all his submissives ever said were “yes, Master Benson” and “no, Master Benson.”
Especially when that submissive was Malvia. The smart, sexy, fearless Mal. His Mal.
Fuck you, self. Stop thinking like that.
“I’ll rephrase. Do you think you should be allowed clothing or shoes?”
“No, Master Benson. May I remove them?”
“Yes.”
She tucked them next to her dress.
Now fully naked and barefoot, Mal stood bathed in soft gold and silver light. Gold from the artfully placed landscape lighting, and silver from the moonlight that pierced through the canopy above.
Benson pulled himself up and circled her. He kept his hands at his sides. He knew it would be easier for her if he touched her, gave her the reassurance of physical contact.
Not yet, but soon she’d need his touch.
“Lace your fingers together behind your head.”
She obeyed immediately; her elbows were out to the side rather than tucked forward. A well trained submissive.
“Spread your feet.”
“How far apart, Master Benson?”
“Hip width. I won’t be using or touching your pussy. You keep them spread as a reminder that your pussy doesn’t belong to you when you’re submitting.”
Mal’s back arched as she inhaled deeply. On the exhale she murmured, “Yes, Master Benson.”
He circled her several more times. It was more about stalling for himself than tormenting her, but of course, one action could serve two purposes.
Time to get this over with.
Benson went back to the chair, reaching down beside it to grab the small cardboard box.
Mal didn’t look up when he returned.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
