Meeting

They had been in touch online and by phone already, he was funny, smart, he fitted. She liked his openness despite it not being his nature, his hints of shyness, his obvious desire to submit to her, his sense of humour, even his inexperience had appeal. In the last week before meeting, he seemed to be having doubts. She sensed his skittishness, like a racehorse baulking at the gate. She was travelling specifically to meet him and made compromises, unlike her, to reassure him and to ensure that the meeting happened. She felt disadvantaged, vulnerable, but she did it anyway, hoping she would not regret it.

She arrived before the meeting and checked into the hotel. When she got to the room, she prepared, just in case. She anchored the perfect lengths of rope to the corners of the bed, and within convenient reach placed heavy leather wrist cuffs, velcro ankle cuffs, clips, a blindfold and a ruler. She placed soap and moisturiser in the bathroom and put some towels on the tiled floor where she planned to have him kneel. The preparations excited her… thinking about how she was going to use him with each piece made her head spin.

She slipped into her g-string and bra, jeans, black belt, black fitted t-shirt and drew on her knee high stiletto ‘fuck me’ boots enjoying the extra inches it added to her considerable height, putting her at 6’2. She wasn’t nervous to be meeting him, but she was anxious about her own reaction, fearing she would want it too much, want him too much, or alternatively fearing she would feel nothing at all.

She waited in the bar, she was a little early. He walked in shortly afterwards, finding her quickly. She smiled and stood, greeting him with an outstretched hand, leaning in for a kiss on the cheek. He sat, far from her, and said he had had to run to make it on time. She smiled and looked at her watch… he was 2 minutes early. She examined his face as he caught his breath, leaning back, his legs outstretched. He looked better than his photo, and he was clean shaven for her as it was her preference. At 6’ and lean, he was just her type. His hair was dark brown, his eyes also dark, edged with a crinkling that hinted at a sense of mischief.

They talked about nothing much, chit chat, feeling each other out. He had a lovely mouth, full lips, great teeth… and she watched it as they talked, assessing how much she wanted it. The only hints at why they were there were vague references to things they had discussed online, and she made him show her how he checked what colour boxers he had on, a ritual she had imposed remotely. She watched as he pulled his shirt up, sucked in his abs, and pulled the waist of his jeans away from his body to look down.

“Show me,” she said, and he leaned over, pulling his charcoal boxers up a little so that she could see. She smiled and nodded, feeling a pull in her stomach.

After about an hour of talking, and quite a bit of laughter, she asked him, “What do you think?”

He nodded, “I think it’s going well, good rapport… what do you think?”

She nodded, agreeing. They were getting on well and she felt the hunger, soft and low, humming.

The conversation slowed as she started to consider if she wanted to play with him. By this time, the bar had started to fill, and he had had to move closer to her, he was within her reach now.

She leaned forward and beckoned him to come to her. He brought his face closer to hers and her hand snaked around his neck, caressing him, her fingers finding purchase in his hair, her fist closing. She saw him wince as she pulled his hair into her grip and tightened her hold. She moved his head from left to right, he looked down and closed his eyes, a soft “ow” leaving his mouth, the sound resonating in her. She smiled and pulled his face to hers, stroking his cheek with her cheek, breathing into his ear.

She released him and put her hand on his leg, her fingers sliding into the creases of his jeans behind his knee. He looked down at her hand on him.

“You have nice hands,” he commented, oddly.

She smiled, he was nervous.

She leaned forward in her seat, looking intently at him, silent, her mind working overtime, weighing up the pros and cons of playing with him, staring at his mouth, imagining taking it with her mouth, considering him without speaking. The heavy silence and the staring made him increasingly uncomfortable, and he squirmed under her gaze, not knowing where to look as the moments stretched. She seemed unconcerned about his obvious discomfort, in fact she enjoyed it, it fed her hunger. She played the scene out in her head and tried to assess how it made her feel, still looking intently at his face, her heartbeat quickening as she made a decision.

Finally, she beckoned him and he brought his face to hers. She held him there with a hand behind his neck. She rubbed her cheek against his, she hesitated.

Then put her mouth to his ear and whispered, “Do you want to come upstairs and take some clothes off for me?”

She felt him tense, but his response was immediate.

She heard “Yes Ma’am,” uttered quietly, deliberately, clearly into her ear.

She felt her pussy twitch… it was the first time he had called her “Ma’am” to her face.

“Are you sure?” she whispered.

“Yes Ma’am,” he repeated and her heart melted just a little.

She nodded, stood up and gestured for him to follow. She stalked ahead, and held her hand out behind her. She felt him slip his hand into hers, warm and compliant, and her stomach lurched with lust as she closed her fingers around his, leading him towards the foyer. She didn’t look back but pictured him obediently following as she headed for the lifts.