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Everyone does, but he said there was something different about me. Which I found flattering, amazing even. ME impress HIM? He was so powerful, so authoritive, so intelligent? I had always dreamed of being a submissive, read erotic tales of bdsm, seen some videos though none of them porytray our kind of relationship. Before we met, he set rules down for exactly what I would wear, and how I would react to him. He loved control, and wouldn’t let me get away with breaking any rules. Our relationship is perfectly balanced. Strong, but delicate. Built on trust and honesty. If I break any rules, I tell him, I always tell him. I’m woken by a snap. No…a click. The door closing. I sit up in position, abandoning my blanket and sitting straight up, my feet beneath me, knees in front, then spread, my hands on the floor, and tits pushed out. Looking down at the floor. I’m getting wet… I can hear him moving, I mustn’t feet, not until I am signaled to do so. He doesn’t speak either, he usually uses. By now, he knew the drill. He had seen her and Delia interact often enough to know Leila was here for some sympathy and she didn’t care how she got it, from whom she got it, or the price she’d have to pay for it. He invited her to the sofa. “What’s wrong, girl. You look like you’ve had a bad day. Wanna tell me about it?” She unloaded, without even apologizing for the whiny fucked up bitch she was going to put on display. Nathan patted her hand as she talked. He stroked her thigh as she talked. Leila read the body language and asked how long Delia would be gone. “Long enough,” Nathan said with a nervous smile, his hand relocating far up her inner thigh. Leila saw an opportunity to barter. “I’m hurting,” she told Nathan. “Oh, I can see you are, baby,” he said. “You wouldn’t happen to have a fifty you could lend me,” she asked. “A fifty?” he asked back. “For …,” and she thumbed at her nose. Nathan understood. They talked a deal. He would go with her. She’d make her buy. “Then once.
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