She was off to the wrong foot from the start, she presented herself with such submissive mannerism, would not even met the Egyptian Goddess gaze. She feed off of this, indulging her character into the elements that were set up. She always did whatever the fuck she wanted whenever the fuck she wanted. A light mocking frown crossed her beautiful visage, creating visible wrinkles to her forehead. The witch narrowed her violet optics at her slightly, assessing her aspects once again and everything in between. It was rare for her to meet such sublime specimen of absolute submission. Sinister amusement came into play as her ears caught the sounds of her soft voice. She was rambling on about masters and jobs and training. What this woman a slaver? Oh, she really was. Well this was a twist usually she wasn't one to care for slaves but maybe this particular damsel will be of aid to cure her boredom and her headache from last night socialization. She rose to her full height, over-looking over the woman with at least, if not more, than 6 inches. Mile-lon limbs, slender, graceful in their movement, rocked forward, debating if action would be taken or if she shall idly wait for another moment for her scene to be absolutely perfect. Devious mind began to wonder what was to be done in this case. Eyes showed a hint of the dark that lingered behind in her mind. Feline qualities painted her graceful movements, her shoulder blades rolled backwards as her mannerism was that of royalty, regality at its finest. A purr came to a boil. They did not take theirs seriously if you are roaming free of them. hisses went forth from her succulent, ebon lips. Venom was lurking beneath the surface until she knew exactly how to handle this particular situation. A single brow was arched in question and once again, curiosity, as she was now 4 tails apart from the woman, getting closer and closer with each divine step. Where are they now? Your masters? Her words were teasing, but her tone was grave, falling heavily from foreign-kissed lips, her egyptian accent wrapping around each word, each careful spilled syllable that rolled from plush, humid tongue. The witch inhaled her perfume deeply into her lungs, tasting it, she certainly scented something familiar about her, something masculine that she had inhaled before but she could not put her claw on it at this distance. But nothing else, perhaps that particular masculine cologne was this master? Beating someone into submission is so raw and primitive. words rolled from her tongue, escaping her pretty maw yet she was still coming hot, closing the distance even further, leaving only 2 tail lenghts between the two of them now, before she lessened her pace.
Speech
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