I am standing and you are kneeling. We face each other, in a way. your head is down and you stare at My red-painted toes, encased in black heels. I observe the top of your bowed head, then run My fingernails through your hair which makes you shiver. you feel unworthy of My touch, though not because I told you that you are. I don't tell you these sorts of things. you know this because of how it makes you feel to be here, with Me.
It's not as you imagined it would be. All your bravado is gone, along with your clothes. you have to be something for Me, with the understanding that there are no shortcuts and you can't fool Me. I know things. I know you better than you know you. you feel small and when I tell you to look up at Me it takes several tries for you to look directly into My eyes. The stirring of your cock is tempered by fear of disappointing Me.
your eyes will remain on Me for the duration of our time together and eventually you will absorb what I want you to learn. you will be better, more open, more able. Because watching Me move, tracing the curves of My body and seams of My stockings is worth all the suffering and all you will give. My voice is narcotic and dealing with its absence will be your new struggle. Being modified for My pleasure, broken down and rebuilt to suit Me, to hear Me say you've done well and feel My hand on your face is your new goal. The countdown to coming back to Me begins. you will see everything through My eyes now, when you are back in the out, until you are back looking into My eyes and seeing nothing.