His (Kindle Edition)

His (Kindle Edition)
By Garnet Kelly

Buy new: $0.00

First tagged by Shelagh
Customer tags: master(2), slave(2), sexy(2), serve, short story, dom, erotica, m f, hot

Review & Description

She doesn't have a name. She lives to serve Sir in every way. Because she's His. A story of control from Garnet Kelly, author of Under the Dogwoods.

About 4,000 words.

Excerpt:

* * *
1
* * *

The first thing I noticed about my Sir was his hands. He handed me a folder, his long fingers splayed wide over it. I looked up into his eyes and they crinkled with humor and something… else. Something I couldn't identify then, something I couldn't even put into words now, but it was as compelling as it was frightening.

* * *
2
* * *

I watch those hands now as he picks up the glass of whiskey I placed on the counter like always when he comes home from work. He drinks--the ice cubes clinking in the glass--and says "Don't forget about tomorrow night."

My head bobs in assurance. I wouldn't forget. His biggest client is coming to dinner. It means we will miss this ritual, his homecoming, but it is only one day.

Sir reaches down and caresses my head. "Coming home to you is the best part of my day, little one."

Pleasure rushes through me. You are the best part of my day too, I want to say, but he has not given me permission to speak, so I grin stupidly at his Italian leather loafers instead. My knees dig into my soft mat and my skin glows. His favorite skirt, his favorite top with no bra, my hair the way he likes it, everything for him. For me.

"Look up," he says, and I do. The skin around his eyes crinkles with that familiar humor/danger. I smile back and my breath quickens. He sees it: I need him. It fills me, holds me, and when his fingertips brush my cheek I gasp out loud. He chuckles, a warm sound full of promise. "Come watch the news with me."

That wasn't what I was looking for, but I stand obediently, my knees wobbly. Sir carries his drink into the living room and settles into his favorite chair. I sit at his feet and try to pay attention while he drinks and watches. Sometimes he comments on the election, and asks my opinion. I give it freely. He laughs when we disagree, and I do disagree, even though I know I will pay for it later. The thought of his punishment sends a thrill through me, and I remember that it has been days since he permitted me to come.
She doesn't have a name. She lives to serve Sir in every way. Because she's His. A story of control from Garnet Kelly, author of Under the Dogwoods.

About 4,000 words.

Excerpt:

* * *
1
* * *

The first thing I noticed about my Sir was his hands. He handed me a folder, his long fingers splayed wide over it. I looked up into his eyes and they crinkled with humor and something… else. Something I couldn't identify then, something I couldn't even put into words now, but it was as compelling as it was frightening.

* * *
2
* * *

I watch those hands now as he picks up the glass of whiskey I placed on the counter like always when he comes home from work. He drinks--the ice cubes clinking in the glass--and says "Don't forget about tomorrow night."

My head bobs in assurance. I wouldn't forget. His biggest client is coming to dinner. It means we will miss this ritual, his homecoming, but it is only one day.

Sir reaches down and caresses my head. "Coming home to you is the best part of my day, little one."

Pleasure rushes through me. You are the best part of my day too, I want to say, but he has not given me permission to speak, so I grin stupidly at his Italian leather loafers instead. My knees dig into my soft mat and my skin glows. His favorite skirt, his favorite top with no bra, my hair the way he likes it, everything for him. For me.

"Look up," he says, and I do. The skin around his eyes crinkles with that familiar humor/danger. I smile back and my breath quickens. He sees it: I need him. It fills me, holds me, and when his fingertips brush my cheek I gasp out loud. He chuckles, a warm sound full of promise. "Come watch the news with me."

That wasn't what I was looking for, but I stand obediently, my knees wobbly. Sir carries his drink into the living room and settles into his favorite chair. I sit at his feet and try to pay attention while he drinks and watches. Sometimes he comments on the election, and asks my opinion. I give it freely. He laughs when we disagree, and I do disagree, even though I know I will pay for it later. The thought of his punishment sends a thrill through me, and I remember that it has been days since he permitted me to come.
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