As I stood at the kitchen sink I could feel his eyes upon me. I felt more self-conscious than I could remember, but that feeling was far outweighed by the feeling of pride that warmed me; the knowledge that I was pleasing him.
I was preparing my first meal for him. I was allowed to choose the meal, but everything else was at his discretion. My attire consisted of black leather four-inch heeled dress pumps and an apron. When he had first presented me with the outfit I felt rather ridiculous, but when I put the items on I felt a completely different sensation. The apron-top barely covered my chest. The lace was scratchy against my skin and the cotton slid over my n*****s in a slightly arousing manner. The bottom barely covered my front; the lace trim resting high on my thighs. My back and b
