Power. All that power one can have in their job. There’s something to giving it up.

That was your speciality, and the men who needed it the most were those typically in charge. One in particular really enjoyed the escape of responsibility; being told what and what not to do, when to move, how to do it.

Your hair was like silk, flowing down your back as you sat there, statuesque and perfect, everything that man wanted. Nothing about this was to do with touch, your heels softly tapping the floor as you shifted, crossing your ankles neatly. You always dressed immaculately for him, he was always generous with his wallet in return for anything you did.

He sat on the floor across from you, as you tilted your head, surveying him. He blushed. You grinned.

“Crawl.” He looked confused. You pointed at your feet. “Crawl to me, Simon.”