LEVI'S POV
The realization hit me like a freight train as I glanced across the conference room table and locked eyes with Isabella, my sub. Every effort to maintain a composed facade crumbled as I struggled to process the revelation. Was this some cosmic joke?
Her demeanor throughout this meeting had seemed off, and distant, but I initially brushed off her distraction as fatigue. Yet, her furtive glances at her phone betrayed a deeper distraction. Jealousy consumed me as I realized Isabella's attention wasn't on me. The thought of anyone else claiming her focus ignited a fierce possessiveness within me.
My curiosity piqued, and I observed her covertly, noting the subtle nuances of her behavior. When she slipped on her sunglasses, a feeble attempt to conceal her actions, I couldn't help but notice the reflection on her lenses—a glimpse of my own profile photo.
A surge of disbelief mingled with a hint of amusement as I realized she was scrutinizing my back tattoo, a cross that had garnered its fair share of attention from admirers. The irony was not lost on me as I thought of the absurdity of the situation. Here she was, my submissive, seated directly opposite me, clandestinely studying a part of me that I had never anticipated sharing in such a professional setting.
With a mixture of intrigue and caution, I composed a message to her, my fingers hovering over the keyboard as I contemplated the appropriate response to this unexpected revelation.
Since the moment her message first popped up on my screen, I've been captivated by her straightforwardness and her evident need for me, even without laying eyes on her photo or knowing who she was. It's a rare combination that speaks to my desires on a level beyond physical attraction.
Isabella embodies the essence of the perfect submissive, and I find myself drawn to her like a moth to a flame. I need her in ways I haven't dared to admit even to myself.
Me: Do not lie, baby girl,
I typed, the words charged with an undercurrent of anticipation as I sought to confirm my suspicion while simultaneously keeping her attention fixated on me.
As I awaited her response, I stole a glance across the room, locking eyes with her. There was a nervous energy about her, a subtle tremor beneath her faux-composed exterior that sent a thrill through me. I relished in the knowledge that I held the power to unsettle her, to toy with her emotions like a puppeteer manipulating marionettes.
I craved to see her squirm even more, to feel her discomfort palpable in the air. Sensing her distraction, I rose from my seat and sauntered over to her side, closing the distance between us until I could feel the warmth of her body radiating in waves. Leaning in close, I whispered into her ear, relishing the way she stiffened in response, her nerves betraying her facade of composure.
"Good girls don't lie," I whispered my tone firm yet tinged with a hint of amusement. In the blink of an eye, her phone slipped from her grasp, clattering softly against the table.
I returned to my chair and watched, a satisfied smirk playing on my lips, as she swallowed nervously and cast furtive glances around the room as if sensing that everyone was watching her. Thick tension hung in the air, electrifying the atmosphere with a charged intensity that she couldn't possibly comprehend—yet.
Everyone was paying attention to the project but we were both fighting our urge to rip each other apart.
****
As we waited to board the helicopter to meet Kelvin, Isabella's nervous energy was palpable. Her habit of biting her lips betrayed her inner turmoil. When we finally settled into our private section, I took a moment to send her a quick message, a silent gesture to ease her nerves amidst the anticipation of our upcoming visit to Kelvin.
Me: Baby girl, why are you still nervous? Are you stressed?
Isabella: Very stressed thanks to my boss. He's been overworking me since yesterday. I've barely had time for myself.
A twinge of sympathy tugs at my conscience as I listen to Isabella's plight. I'm aware that I've been pushing her hard lately, but it's only because I have unwavering faith in her abilities. I see her potential, and I'm determined to help her soar to greater heights.
In fact, I've been contemplating a raise and perhaps even a new car for her as a token of appreciation. Hopefully, these gestures will alleviate some of the stress I've inadvertently caused.
Me: Is your boss around? I asked again.
Isabella: No, not yet.
I wonder why she keeps lying that I'm not around. It's almost as if she's trying to avoid me.
Isabella checked her watch, then glanced at me and my assistant Mark, who were both on our phones. I quickly dropped mine, feeling like a child caught red-handed.
A sudden anger flared within me at her deception, even though I was trying to conceal my identity as her master she shouldn't be lying to me.
Me: So you haven't gotten off work?
Isabella: Yes.
Me: I know you're lying. I can't have a sub who lies to me.
Isabella: Sorry. Sorry.
Observing Isabella with narrowed eyes, I noticed her anxious typing. Despite her evident remorse, I felt compelled to add to her punishment. It was essential for her to grasp the significance of honesty, ensuring she wouldn't repeat her deceitful behavior in the future. If I am to be her master, then she must be truthful to me. That's how we build trust.
Me: I'll forgive you if you accept the punishment.
Isabella: What's the punishment? I'll accept it.
I smirk a devious idea forming in my mind.
Me: The punishment is to get a cup of coffee for your boss and when you deliver it, call him "Master."
Isabella's eyes widen as she reads the message, and I can barely contain my amusement.
Isabella: That's insane.
Me: Then you're not ready to be my sub.
Isabella: I'll find a way.
I watched Isabella swallow nervously, sensing a hidden thrill in her eyes. It seemed she secretly enjoyed the daring aspect of the punishment.
Is she really going to call me master? My cock twitches at the thought of it. I don't think I can control myself if she does.