Thrall.

He knew he was the rabbit in a snare the moment she showed enough leg so he could witness her absently-not-absently tug at the garter holding up her stockings as if to adjust the bands when they plainly needed no adjustment, then looked into his eyes and asked with a crooked smirk, “Well… What do you think we should do tonight?”

© Michael Raven

3 thoughts on “Thrall.”

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