Picture the scene: we are in the dungeons of the inquisition, deep below Toledo. The shivering victim has been undressed, "examined," and is now lashed across a bench in the flickering torchlight. A grim figure approaches, in his hands—a devilish instrument of torture. The orange glow of the brazier reflects from its jagged metal surface. The victim's eyes widen. Her pretty lips are quickly moistened in fear (and... just perhaps... arousal?)
When just a little can be too much.
She was naked except for a pair of high heeled shoes, which meant—oddly—that she felt even more naked. Their height. The narrow spike of the heel on which she had to balance.
Thomasina adored her master. He was a man of obscure tastes and barely controlled passions. She knew that he loved her and she enjoyed the affection and attention that he showed. Unlike so many previous boyfriends, he was not afraid to express his feelings and unlike previous Doms, he did not see kindness as some form of weakness. Cooking breakfast for them both did not undermine his control in the bedroom. If you saw them out for an evening you would judge them as an attractive couple who were concerned with each other's happiness. Normal. Exchanging the banter and teasing that all couples do, from time to time.
He made it sound like an invitation rather than a command, but it was still an invitation that had to be accepted.
She dressed herself the way she knew he liked. High heeled boots of black leather. Gloves that came down to the wrist. Her collar— she could not be without that. She washed her hair, and dabbed at herself with Angel, and made her face up the way he enjoyed. Dark red lips, slightly-gothic eyeliner. It created the theatrical look her master demanded.