She sat in the straight backed armed chair, her bare breasts raised and presented by the half-cups of her black leather corset, her legs spread wide as if to aim the power of her womanhood directly at her new slave. She could sense the energy of her female essence flowing towards him, ripple over him as the wild ruffles a field of grain.

Strong, tall, and beautiful, with skin the pale gold of sand, he stood before her trembling slightly, his gaze unable to meet her eyes for fear of her disapproval. She wonders just what he had done that he was so ashamed of. His eyes remained fixed on the elegant Persian rug beneath his feet as if he were examining the pattern in search of some clue as to how to escape punishment. It was not that what he had done was so horrible in itself, but rather that he simply could not be allowed to get away with it. Slave was quite known to the art of submission. Permitting him too much leeway this early in the relationship was bound to set ...

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