I don’t do introductions; I do submissions. My new toy was already shaking, stripped bare and kneeling on the cold floor of my studio. I stepped into his line of sight, the sharp clack of my six-inch stiletto heels echoing like a gunshot. I was poured into a skin-tight black leather corset that pushed my breasts up and a mini-skirt that barely covered my ass. I looked down at him, my eyes cold, while he stared up at my towering heels with a mix of terror and hunger.
“Look at them,” I commanded, my voice a low growl. I pressed the pointed tip of my heel right into the center of his chest, pushing him back until he hit the wall. I could feel his heart hammering against the leather sole. I didn’t give him a second to breathe before I slid the heel down, dragging the sharp point across his ribs and stopping right at the waistband of his dignity.
I reached down, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at me. “You aren’t a man in here. You’re just a piece of meat for me to mold.” I shifted my weight, grinding the heel of my shoe directly into his soft groin. He let out a choked gasp, his eyes rolling back. I didn’t stop; I twisted the heel, applying just enough pressure to make him whimper. I loved that sound—the sound of a man realizing he no longer owned his own body. I leaned in, the scent of my leather gear filling his nostrils, and whispered, “By the time I’m done, you’ll beg to be my little sissy.”
Rosemary
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