I want to be yours

Betty's POV The faint click of the front door latch sent a shockwave through my body. I scrambled from the rumpled sheets, dropping to my knees and placing my hands demurely on my thighs, my head bowed in submissive defeat. Don’t move. Don’t breathe wrong. Don’t exist in any other way. I know the drill. He mustn't catch me in anything less than total submission. The door creaked open. I could feel his presence before I saw him. He walked in, his footsteps measured and unhurried. I heard a soft rustle, then the familiar creak of the armchair as he leaned against its armrest, directly in front of me. I could sense his eyes on me. My peripheral vision caught a flash of black. He raised a hand, and in it, I observed a strip of silk, an elaborate blindfold. My heart hammered. What was it for? Then, a cold touch beneath my chin. His fingers lifted my head, forcing my gaze upward. I struggled to keep my eyes blank, unfocused. I stared past him, at the wall, at the shadows, anywhere but into his eyes. To meet his gaze was to challenge, to defy, and that was a transgression I could not afford. “I can see you don’t like being punished, Butter.” Butter. The name he'd given me, a twist on the actual name I’d once told him. Betty. He'd never called me by it. “Good,” he continued, his thumb stroking my jawline. “It’s good for you that you’re learning fast. Which is why you’ll show me how good a girl you are right now.” What was he talking about? What did "good girl" mean now? But I knew the rules. I knew the hard way not to keep mute when I was meant to answer. “Yes, Master,” I whispered, the words barely audible. He didn’t say a word. His hand dropped from my chin, and he pushed off the armchair, standing to his full, imposing height. My breath hitched as he reached for his belt. He unbuckled it slowly. The leather slid free, and he tossed the belt onto the armchair. Then, with a fluid motion, he unzipped his pants. Why would he do this in front of me? The question screamed in my mind. He pulled down his pants, then stepped out of them, letting them pool on the floor around his ankles and then he was standing there, only in his boxers. He looked at me, a mirthless smile playing on his lips. “Do it.” Do what? My gaze darted from his face to his partially clad body, then to the discarded clothes on the floor. Was I meant to pick them up? To put them away? To…undress him further? I had no idea, but the command hung heavy, waiting for my obedience. I simply said, “Yes, Master.” Desperate to act, to show I was indeed a "good girl" learning fast, I began to fumble with the buttons of the T-shirt I wore. My fingers trembled as I unbuttoned the first one, then the second. I was almost halfway down when his voice, sharp and laced with an unexpected anger, sliced through the quiet. “What the f**k do you think you’re doing, Butter?” My hands froze. My head snapped up, my gaze still avoiding his. A cold wave of dread washed over me, colder than the floor beneath my knees. I had guessed wrong. I had failed. The fear of punishment, of having gotten it wrong, was a suffocating blanket. “Did I ever mention to you that I want to see some t**s?” His voice was low, dangerous. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I blinked them back. “I’m sorry, Master,” I stammered, my voice cracking. “Please, tell me what you want me to do.” A beat of silence, then a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. “Good.” He took a step closer. My whole body tensed, anticipating some new command. “Let’s start with a bl*wj*b.” A bl*wj*b? What did it mean? It was like a foreign language. He saw my struggle, my utter bewilderment. He sighed, a sound of mild irritation. “You don’t understand, do you?” he said, more to himself than to me. He stepped even closer, until his bare legs were inches from my kneeling form. My eyes were drawn, despite my will, to the dark fabric stretched taut over his form, the defined shape beneath. He pointed to his organ, his finger tracing the outline through the cloth. “You bring out this,” he commanded, his voice firm. Then, he raised his other hand, forming a circle with his thumb and forefinger, and brought it to his mouth, demonstrating, a slow, deliberate sucking motion. My breath caught in my throat. The world tilted.