Megan's heart pounded in her chest. The admission had been incredibly hard for her and now she just stared at Isla nervously awaiting her reply. She could not stop her mind from going a mile a minute. What if she said yes? What if she did not? What the hell was she thinking? Her breathing was shallow, bordering hyperventilation. She whined softly when the response came. She bit her lip and her hands tightened what was already a death grip on the cushions. The punk girl so clearly saw through her that it left the lawyer blushing in deep shame. Megan jerked and a little surprised noise filled the silence between them when she felt the playful slap on her tensed thigh.<br/><br/>The gaze bored into Megan, making her squirm and fidget. She pressed herself back into the love seat as if the extra inch or two of space it gained her would make any sort of difference. It did not. The silence seemed to stretch between them and as it did her fidgeting worsened. It was humiliating to be seen in this state but at the same time Megan had to admit she was also desperately aroused. Even if that had not been the case already it would have been when Isla's nails were dragged up the quivering expanse of her thighs. One hand left the grip on the cushion and covered her mouth to stifle a particularly eager moan. It was a worthless gesture because the sound could still be heard but she had to try and cling to the last shreds of dignity that she had.<br/><br/>The poor girl is so dazed that it takes her brain a few seconds to realize that Isla has moved away from her. Her hand clamps over her mouth again at the sight of that beautifully swaying backside. Another muffled moan is heard and Megan feels sweat beading on her forehead again. The room was not overly warm but she felt feverish in light of what was happening. Megan could only nod, admitting that she had been a little scared by the man tormenting the two women outside of the room. She felt small and weak for admitting it but it was true and Isla knew it. The chair seemed strategically placed, close enough that Megan could not stand up without pumping it or having to slide down the love seat to get around it. Soft panting fills the silence and Megan's chest strains the front of the dress, her pale, and sweat damp skin glowing in the light of the room.<br/><br/>The imagery of Isla as a dancer seems to work and Megan just mutely nodded along. Until those agile fingers touched her knee, that is, and even that little bit of stimulus caused her eyes to flutter closed in time with a ragged intake of breath and the minute arch of her back. In that moment, if not before, it was clear that she really was born for the role of the submissive even if she did not know it yet. In the next minute her eyes opened to give Isla a puzzled expression. She appreciated the analogy and it was in no way lost on her but now she was forced to picture the man, the slaves and even the members of the audience all lined up and doing that goofy dance. While she managed to stifle an outright laugh the corners of her mouth could not be stopped from curving into a smile. Again, it both amazed and frightened her how easily Isla could switch gears and throw her back off balance just when she seemed about to find her footing.<br/><br/>Her mind reeled at how easily she was being taken from confident lawyer to whimpering, blushing, unsure girl. Her thighs pressed more tightly together and she chewed at her bottom lip to try and distract herself. The soft flesh of her lip was slightly swollen and bruised from her repeated attacks on it but she did not even notice. Her entire focus was on Isla, even though she was desperately attempting to ignore the hand stroking up her arm to her shoulder. Again she is reduced to mutely nodding that she understands. Her brain is diverting all of her attention to trying to stop the ever-increasing flood of pleasure. She idly wondered if it was possible to orgasm without any direct physical stimulation.<br/><br/>It was too much. All of it, simply being here with this gorgeous woman that seemed to know how to arouse her more with words than the most considerate lover's caress, it was all too much. Megan smiles again at Isla's commentary on people that like the Macarena only to have the smile replaced by her teeth clicking together and the delicate muscles of her jaw twitching when those soft fingers trail up her neck. She utterly fails at suppressing the moan and does not get her hand up in time. Her eyes flick to Isla's face, expecting a smirk when another layer of her calm exterior cracks. Instead she is greeted with a soft, knowing smile and that only makes her melt more. The touch of those fingers as they gently but insistently massaged the slender length of her neck while she took in the words Isla said made her feel dizzy again. Her clothing felt stifling now and her breathing had almost reached panicked gasping.<br/><br/>By now Megan was grinding her thighs together, desperately hoping that she could stop the growing heat, the pure -need- that she felt. It was no use though, an utterly futile gesture in the face of a woman that knew better than she did what she truly craved deep down. She wanted nothing more to be taught, to perform for Isla. Isla leaned in and naively Megan closed her eyes, her lips pursing slightly in anticipation of a kiss she wanted so badly in that moment. Instead she received more words and the light tickle of Isla's sweet breath on her skin. She gasped again. She had no doubt in her mind that Isla was more than capable of pulling everything out of her and indeed leaving her broken and remade.<br/><br/>The chair scraping across the floor jarred Megan from her lust-addled stupor and she stared as the tall punk Dominatrix stalked to her. She felt like the mouse that the cat had tired of playing with and was now facing her doom. Then Isla was straddling her lap, so close that Megan could feel the warm and smell her intoxicating scent Still fighting to keep some shred of her dignity, Megan forces her body to be still, as if Isla had not seem the trembling little leaf she had been only moments earlier. The way that the taller woman purred her name sent a shiver running up her back and all she could think was how close Isla was, how much she wanted what was being offered. All thoughts of the career she had built, of propriety, of anything other than being putty for this gorgeous woman to mold simply faded away.<br/><br/><span style="color: indigo">"Y-yes... please. Please teach me"</span>She paused, her stomach coiling into a tight knot of fear but the last words slipped out all the same.<span style="color: indigo">"M-Mistress Isla."</span><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>