Emma Watson

You wake to feel a soft warmth on your face. The first rays of an early-winter sun are peeking through the window. You slide the curtain across and emerge from the alcove you sleep in. If it's dawn now, then you only have a little over an hour before Miss Emma awakens, expecting breakfast.

You take a minute to stretch, then head out to the garden. You head to the orange trees and pick several of the ripest-looking fruits, then do the same with the the avocado tree. The sun has risen but you can still feel the chill air on your bare chest. You collect the eggs from the chicken coop, then head back inside, plucking a bright red rose from the soil by the back door.

Miss Emma doesn't allow you to play music before 11am, but you softly hum a little tune as you make breakfast. You squeeze the oranges, to make a tall glass of fresh juice, spread the avocado over two slices of perfectly-cooked toast, and fry an egg; sunny-side-up, Miss Emma's favourite. You've had lots of practice at this, so it's no surprise that everything is ready, and still warm just as Miss Emma emerges downstairs, hair slightly mussed, wearing pink silk pyjamas.

She smiles at you as you drop to your knees, obeying her command to always be kneeling whilst in her presence.
"Mmmm. Smells good." She says, noting the heavily-laden breakfast table, rich with delicious aromas. She spots the rose that you've placed on the side of one of the plates. A bold move, as you're not sure whether she'll like it, or punish you for picking the flowers without permission. You're not supposed to touch them. You're currently at Miss Emma's English country-house. A large, four-story Georgian building, with extensive gardens. Apparently the roses are a special variety cultivated by the Lord of Northumberland over 200 years ago as a gift for his ailing wife.
"I thought I told you never to touch the flowers." Miss Emma says in a stern voice. You say nothing. It was a bad idea from the start. You should have never defied Miss Emma's established house rules.
"This is about my new shoes isn't it?" She muses. You can tell it's a rhetorical question, so you say nothing. Something must have shown on your face though, because she sees through your silence. "Oh my god, it is. You got a glimpse of my new shoes and you're hoping I'll give you a shoe-job with them. That's why you're trying to butter me up isn't it, you disgusting little pervert." The words are harsh, but the tone is teasing, you know Miss Emma isn't really upset with you. "Those heels were given to me to wear at the BAFTA's. They're limited-edition Valentino's worth over $3000, and you're hoping I'll use them to jerk you off? I bet you'd love that wouldn't you ?" This time, you can tell you're supposed to answer.
"Yes Miss Emma, I'd like that very much." You reply.
"I knew it. You're a kinky little perv." Miss Emma says nothing more for the rest of breakfast. That's just her way though. You can't help but notice she didn't specifically say she wouldn't give you a shoe-job.

As far as you're concerned, you're the luckiest person in the world. Other Mistresses might choose to instantly punish you for defying them, but Miss Emma was fair and generous. She knew that being a dominatrix was not just about whips, chains, leather outfits and sadism, it was about making you want her, then teasing you by being unable to have her. Miss Emma has this down to an art. She knows exactly what to wear, what to do and what to say to make you want her more than anything else in the world; then, when she has you wrapped around her finger, she tests you to see how far you'll go to please her.

Recently, she's discovered a new way to tease you. Ever since she learned that you have an insatiable foot fetish, she's never missed a moment to tease you with her perfect feet. You're staring at them now, as you kneel under the table, listening to Miss Emma eat her breakfast.

Miss Emma finishes eating and departs without another word. You dutifully clean up and wash the dishes from breakfast. In fact, you've just finished when she re-emerges, hair damp, and wearing a t-shirt, denim jacket, white capri pants and a shiny pair of black ballet flats. You drop to your knees.
"You've come a long way." She says, proceeding into the lounge and sitting down on the old couch with a trashy gossip-mag. You hasten to crawl over and be her footstool. "You were quite disobedient in the beginning, weren't you?" Miss Emma continues as she rests her feet on your back. "Still, I think I've managed to tame you pretty well. It helps that you always were a submissive at heart. You've been a good , so I'll forgive your little indiscretion earlier. Even though you defied my earlier orders, the rose was a sweet gesture, and besides, I think you just got a little carried away in the moment, don't you?"
"Yes Miss Emma." You reply, clearly.
"Did you think I'd forget what today is?" Miss Emma asks. You're not sure if that question is rhetorical or not, so you stay silent. "I know it's your six-year anniversary. Six years since you became my subby . You've given me six years of service, so I've decided to give you a little reward, but you'll have to wait until tonight."
"Yes Miss Emma. Thank you Miss Emma." You say.

Miss Emma turns back to her magazine, and your thoughts turn to the day you met. The day your wildest fantasies came true and you became a submissive to one of the most beautiful women in the world...