He knelt down before the stud.
So nervous that his hands were sweating and he had to keep swallowing to breathe. Fine tremors shook his shoulders, sheerest aroused nerves beating against his mind, screaming in his inner ear, “What do you think you’re doing?” And he looked up.
Up the long lean length of his Mistress’ lover.
His new Master. Standing over him, sneering down at his pathetic kneeling form, lost and small and just waiting for the next command. Unable to create any forward momentum on his own, this poor lost submissive male just kneels and looks up. And then cuts his eyes to the left, seeking the Mistress.
She sprawls across a divan.
Enjoying the show like the Queen she is, she seems content to allow these two to stand in tableaux for now. Waiting for the nervous fidgeting to stop, for the kneeling man to calm down enough to be able hear her voice over the pounding of his heart. It’s alright, she has a lot of practice with patience and the vagaries of submissives.
Eventually, he calms.
And so, she begins to wind up his nerves again with her words. “Touch him. Put your hands on my lover’s knees and slide your palms up toward his waist, over his thighs.” He jumps at her voice, gulps and stares. Hands shaking, he reaches out, so hesitant. Touches, and his hands flutter back to his side as though he’d touched a burning stove top. And again, more slowly, he reaches out to caress his Master.
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