Strict mature mistress
I stand before you, tall and unyielding, the click of my heels punctuating the silence in the room. My posture is perfect, straight and firm, unbending, unflinching. Every inch of me is a reminder that I am in control here. You know this. I can see it in your eyes.
"Do you really think this is a game?" I ask, my voice low, cutting through the tension in the air. "You’ve come here expecting some soft, indulgent fantasy. You think you can push my boundaries, test my limits, and I’ll just let it slide. But that’s where you’re wrong."
I step forward, my gaze unblinking, cold and calculating. "I don’t do flexibility. There’s no room for negotiation. There’s no compromising with me. You need to understand something, right now: this is not about what you want. This is about what I choose to give you, and what I’m willing to take from you."
I reach for the crop resting on the table, picking it up with deliberate care, running my fingers along the handle before holding it out in front of you. "This," I say, "is my voice. And every stroke, every command, every move I make is meant to remind you of your place."
I raise the crop, the leather tip snapping against the air with a soft crack, sending a shiver through the room. "You will follow my rules, and you will do so without question. You will not beg for mercy, because you will not find it here. You will not whine, and you will not resist. You will take what I give you, or you will regret ever stepping foot in this room."
I step closer, my gaze burning into yours. "Do you understand?"
I step forward, my gaze unblinking, cold and calculating. "I don’t do flexibility. There’s no room for negotiation. There’s no compromising with me. You need to understand something, right now: this is not about what you want. This is about what I choose to give you, and what I’m willing to take from you."
I reach for the crop resting on the table, picking it up with deliberate care, running my fingers along the handle before holding it out in front of you. "This," I say, "is my voice. And every stroke, every command, every move I make is meant to remind you of your place."
I raise the crop, the leather tip snapping against the air with a soft crack, sending a shiver through the room. "You will follow my rules, and you will do so without question. You will not beg for mercy, because you will not find it here. You will not whine, and you will not resist. You will take what I give you, or you will regret ever stepping foot in this room."
I step closer, my gaze burning into yours. "Do you understand?"
