Page 32 of The Puppetmaster

Our eyes meet and the contact is only broken for a quick moment when I pull the dress over my head. I’m wearing a simple white set of lingerie underneath, an unpadded bra with a delicate floral lace design and matching string bikini briefs. There’s a butterfly detail at the back of it, and I’m overcome with a sense of disappointment when I realize that he won’t even see it before I pull the fabric off of my body.

Unless I turn around and present it to him, that is.

He might like that. Men like him always enjoy a woman who knows how to present herself in front of him.

A cheeky smile caresses my face when I turn around as my fingers find the tiny hooks at the back of my bra.

Moving my body in a seductive flowing motion, I unhook my bra and let it drop to the floor, hoping that his eyes will fall on the cute little detail of the lace circling my hips as I arch my back ever so slightly. I have always been an active person, always moving, always doing something to keep my body in motion and find a release for that fueling fire within myself—but I’ve never been a dancer. I don’t know if what I’m doing right now looks as good and alluring as I hope it does, but I’ve never let insecurities stop me from trying.

He doesn’t make a noise, no hum of approval, no words, nothing. But I feel liberated now that I’m no longer met with his menacing black gaze. It gives me the courage I need to fulfill the task I was given.

Continuing to sway my hips, I reach for the adorned waistband of my briefs, pulling at the delicate fabric to lift it from my skin, before I slowly roll it down my legs. I make sure to hollow my back as I lean forward, effectively presenting him with my bare center, which sends a hot rush to my cheeks.

As tiny as it was, the string bikini briefs were the final cloak of protection that shielded me from his hungry eyes, and now that my skin is completely exposed, I have nothing left but the fact that we’re not facing each other. I stand up straight, facing the white, slightly sheer curtains that cover the large windows before me, and take a deep breath to prepare for the finale.

Lifting my right foot, I get up on toes on my left and swirl around on the spot, hoping to see an appreciative smile on his face.

But that’s not what I find, not even close. His expression has changed, but instead of suggesting satisfaction at my attempts of pleasing him, it shows only one thing: anger.

“What did I tell you?” he snaps at me, giving voice to his apparent fury.

Incapable of coming up with a verbal response, I just stare at him with an open mouth and a heart that speeds out of control, driven by sudden fear. There was a dark threat in his look before, there always was, but he never looked at me with outright anger.

I start to tremble, instinctively trying to cover my intimate area as if to protect myself from an attack.

“Didn’t I tell you to look at me?” he storms. “At all times?”

Oh, shit.

“Yes, but—”

“No but, Alena! When I tell you to do something, you do it! Is that so hard to understand?”

I frown at him. He can’t be serious about this. Of course, I understood what he was saying. But he can’t be this angry about me trying to entertain him?

“I was only trying to—”

“I know what you were trying to do,” he cuts me off, snarling. “And I would appreciate the effort if it didn’t come with a violation.”

Violation? Is he serious right now?

I curl my hands into fists, glaring at him as I bite my lip to stop myself from saying something I might regret. How can he be such a stubborn hothead? Did he take no joy in what I was doing for him?

“On your knees,” he barks, pointing to the floor before me. “Now!”

I want to object. I want to argue that he doesn’t deserve me if he has no appreciation for what I was trying to give him. If this is just going to be about me blindly following whatever order he gives me without ever being allowed to spice it up in my own way, then we have a big problem. Because that’s not who I am. I may be a submissive, but I’m not a mute slave with no opinion of her own.

Yet I sink obediently to my knees in an instant when he loudly repeats his demand. And despite my anger at his stubbornness, it feels good to follow his command. In this very moment, when my knees meet the warm marble tiles, it feels right and exhilarating.

I make sure not to break eye contact for even a split second, relishing the warmth that spreads through my center when I finally see him pleased with me. His face softens, and I even see the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth when he nods at me.

“Come here, puppet.”

Even his voice has changed. There’s a benevolent tone lacing his words that wasn’t there before. Triumph fills me when I make a move to comply, placing my carefully manicured fingertips on the ground before me and lifting myself to crawl to him. My eyes remain fixated on his, which helps with the humiliation that threatens to win me over.

He makes room for me between his legs, beckoning me to sit down right in front of his lap. My heart skips a beat when I brush along the soft fabric of his suit pants as I sit down between his feet like an obedient puppy.

“Good girl.”

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