A First Meeting

**The characters in this story are real, although any names are fictional. The events described did not take place, but they could**

*

PART ONE

I am nervous as I fumble with the key you sent me, easing it into the lock of the door you directed me to. My hands tremble as I push the door shut behind me. There are no windows, and I pause for a moment to allow my eyes grow accustomed to the darkness. I find the candles where you said they would be, and light them as instructed.

The flicker of the muted flames thrusts my surroundings into gentle appearance, but I deliberately don't take too much in, only vaguely registering a large bed, a small padlocked chest in the shadowy corner. Flashes of steel glint at the corners of my vision, murmurs of restraints trying to make themselves known, but I don't allow myself to see them. I train my eyes straight ahead of me, focussing on the smooth wooden floor as it glints in the candlelight, and attempt to convince my body to stop shaking.

I don't know how long you will be, or what you intend to do with me when you arrive. The mystery and anticipation is exquisite torture, and every inch of my skin is on fire as my thoughts relentlessly dance over what my yearning body secretly hopes will come.

As I stand in the cool, dark room -- your instructions did not mention whether I was allowed to sit, so I don't take the chance -- my head slightly bowed, I cast my mind back to the moment I received your note, with the key enclosed. It had been simple, to the point, containing directions and instructions as to how to prepare myself. I glance down at my body, hoping I have remembered everything you asked me to do, hoping my outfit and my appearance will be acceptable. The heels are uncomfortably high but I know how good they look, and I am aware of how they cause my hips to sway when I walk, how they lend an explicit femininity to my every movement. The outfit is tight, binding, but I like the feeling of being constrained within it, like the way it leaves little to the imagination, laying my figure plainly out for your assessment.

I don't plan to admit it to you, but I have been throbbing since opening your letter. Throughout my preparations, as my imagination dawdled over what lay ahead, my pussy tingled and grew wetter and wetter, demanding attentions I knew I was not allowed to give it.

Now that I am finally standing here, I am aching with anticipation. I can feel the slickness of my juices trickling on my inner thighs, unhindered. Although my legs are clamped shut I feel deliciously exposed. I had experienced a brief moment of hesitation when I read your instruction -- no, your command -- not to wear any underwear, but I quickly forced the doubt from my mind, eager not to disappoint you.

I am freshly scrubbed and shaven, still tingling from the most thorough bathing I have ever given myself, my skin smooth and soft and yielding. Fervent. A slight smile caresses my lips as I remember the almost ritualistic preparations I made for tonight. I followed your instructions to the letter, soaking in the scented oils, luxuriously preparing every inch of me to be laid bare for you, making me glow. I can smell the soft, unobtrusive fragrance that lingers from my bath, with its heady overtones of jasmine, but underneath the perfume there is a trace of something deeper, something dark. I wonder if you will be able to smell my arousal, if my body will betray its need.

I don't know how long I have been here, standing and waiting, when I hear faint footsteps, see the handle of the door begin to turn. My breath catches in my throat as the door leisurely opens to reveal you there, an almost mocking smile playing on your lips as you survey me. Fearing you must be able to hear my heart hammering in my chest even from across the room, I slowly raise my eyes to meet yours.

Your gaze embraces me, languorously sweeping up and down. I know you are appraising me, noting my outfit, examining my body, making sure I have carried out the correct preparations. A soft frown creases your forehead as you look at me and I am unable to breathe, desperate to please you. I can't believe I may have fallen at this first hurdle, that I may yet be found wanting, and I frantically rack my brains to think what could be wrong.

Eventually you begin to move towards me, crossing the room in two or three swift paces to where I stand, rigid, expectant. Shaking your head, you reach out and grip my hand, lifting my arm. My heart sinks as I note what you have seen, the little ring of silver circling my wrist. I had adhered to your instructions about wearing no jewellery, but forgot to remove the watch I put on automatically every day.

Even as your eyes hold mine, your fingers on my skin burn. My lip trembles as you snap open the clasp of my watch, roughly pulling it from me and carelessly discarding it. As it clatters on the hard floor the sound is shattering, and I am immediately aware that neither of us has yet spoken.

When your hand releases mine I feel sure there must be a mark where your fingers gripped me, feel sure that my desire must be written there plainly on my skin. "What do you say?" you ask, your voice low. I cannot tell how angry you are and I can't force myself to meet your eyes.

"I'm...sorry," I whisper miserably, feeling wretched to have failed to follow the most simple of instructions.

"Sorry what?" Your intonation is rough but your expression is not, as your gaze once more catches mine and forces me to keep it.

"I'm sorry, Master..." The words are torn from me, my voice shaking.

"It's ok. It is just one more to add to your list."

"My...list?"

"Of punishments. For your indecision." There is a smile in your voice as you teasingly remind me. "You seem to have been able to make the decision to come here tonight, though. No 'maybe' this time?"

You do not wait for an answer, suddenly grabbing a handful of my long hair and yanking my head back. I am aware that my neck is exposed, and I gasp involuntarily as I feel your breath on the curve of my throat. "I am pleased with you, slut." You are so close that your lips tickle me as you speak and the tiniest brush of your flesh on mine sends shocks down my body. I can't believe how the smallest touch can affect me so, and my legs almost give way at the thought of what is to come.

Your mouth is moving up my neck, urgently, seeking, until it finally comes to rest on mine, moving insistently, forcing my lips to part to give your tongue entry. I join you willingly in the kiss, but your hand keeps a firm hold on my hair, and you pull back from me, teasingly, preventing me from leaning in to meet you. My arms stay clamped at my sides, aware that I need your permission to move, terrified of doing anything else wrong.

It is sweet agony as your tongue softly traces my lips, tasting me, and you know exactly what you are doing to me. I let out a strangled moan as you pull back from me again, and you laugh mockingly. "All in good time," you whisper, "You don't think Master will be content with such a brief taste, do you?" I gaze at you mutely, not daring to speak.

Suddenly I feel your hand on my thigh, grabbing, roughly kneading the flesh as you force my legs open. You use your foot to kick my legs apart and the unexpected violence of the action causes me to shudder, not unpleasantly. I know you are checking to see if I followed your last instruction, and I squeeze my eyes shut as your fingers probe, carelessly touching me at my most intimate, feeling to your satisfaction my smooth skin, slick with need against your exploring fingertips.

Your eyes widen with amusement as you realise just how wet I am, a deep, insistent wetness that has not abated over the hours of expectancy. "Why are you so wet, slut?" you demand as your hand continues moving over me, casually. The question floors me for a moment, and I gaze at you wordlessly. We both know my shyness, know how hard it is for me to articulate my most intense yearnings, and I fold under your stare. You are aware that no matter how far my imagination runs, I have always been reluctant to follow it, lagging behind in my comfort zone, happy to dream my desires but scared to experience them.

I remain silent but you insistently repeat the question. "Tell me why you are so wet, slut. What is it that has excited you so much today?"

"I...the thought of meeting you," I volunteer, my voice barely above a whisper.

"It can't just be that. That wouldn't have you throbbing like this. You've been picturing what is going to happen to you tonight, haven't you? What you want me to do to you?" I close my eyes against your invasive tone. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

The silence is deafening but I cannot break it, cannot bring myself to put into words all the things we both know are lurking in my mind. All I can do is let out the tiniest sigh of frustration, which you do not fail to register. "All right. You don't have to tell me for now, but we will soon break down those barriers. Before the night is out you will have no more shame, you will be able not only to say but to scream exactly what you want." I shudder with excitement at the thought.

"But, first things first. I think I owe you a punishment." I can feel my cheeks flushing as you grin at me. You have removed your hand and now you glance at it nonchalantly. We can both see my juices glistening on your fingertips. I blush harder at this evidence of my excitement, held up for me to see. With another smile you lift your fingers to my lips, brushing my wetness over my mouth, slipping each fingertip between my lips and allowing me to clean myself from you. "Good girl," you mutter as I suck eagerly on a finger, "But don't get too carried away. First it's time for your punishment..."

PART TWO

I taste my first frustration as you pull your fingers from my mouth, leaving my head thrust forward towards you, my lips open, seeking, wanting more. You laugh again, cruelly, watching as my face falls with disappointment. "You are such a dirty girl." Your low, sexy voice has a harsh edge and I blush and thrill. "Do you know what I do with dirty girls like you?" I gaze up at you, wide-eyed, bite my lip, and softly shake my head. "Don't give me that innocent look. I'm tired of your games." I frown slightly, watching you warily. This is new; there is something there, a sharpness I wasn't expecting.

"You know exactly what you want, and I'm not going to buy into this idea that you're all shy and sweet when really, you love being told you're just a dirty slut. You expected me to come here and play along with your little fantasy? Order you around, call you names, turn you on? You want to go through the motions but you have no idea what it's really about."

Suddenly, you grab me by my hair and drag me to the bed, pushing me down roughly. Then you are over me, pinning me down. I struggle instinctively but your weight prevents me from moving and really, we both know I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. "You thought you could play games with me, didn't you?" I squeeze my eyes shut, turning my head away from you. I can feel tears pricking at the back of my vision and I refuse to let you see them.

"You want to play at being submissive, you want to have a nice little spank and a nice hard fuck but really feel like you're in control the whole time, don't you?" As you speak, you move off me. I lay perfectly still, telling myself that I don't dare to move, that this is a side of you I don't know, I don't trust. In reality, my desire to stay where I am has nothing to do with fear.

I can hear you fumbling with something, but I keep my eyes closed. "That was what you wanted, wasn't it? To play out your nice little fantasy with a nice firm Master who'd do exactly what you wanted and do things the way you like them?" I whimper and shake my head, my eyes still shut. "You only ever pushed as far as you wanted. You never let yourself get uncomfortable. You always made your excuses." I am sobbing now; the anger in your voice is impossible to ignore and my desire to please you is as overwhelming as ever.

"Look at me," you command, and your hands are in my hair again. Immediately I open my eyes, to find your face hovering just inches from mine. Your eyes are cold and calm as you survey my discomfort. "That may be what you think you want, but I know what you need. I'm done playing."

You jerk my head up by my hair, lifting it from the pillow for long enough to slip a blindfold over my eyes. You fasten it securely, tightly, so that I am in complete blackness. For a few moments, all I can hear is my ragged breathing as I struggle to compose myself. I am still laying on my back, fully clothed, my arms by my sides. I can't hear you anymore, and you allow the silence for at least five full minutes, during which time my mind tortures me with terrible and delicious images of what might lay ahead.

Finally, I hear you take a deep breath. When you speak, your voice is calmer. "You made me angry. You pretend you're so shy and sweet, you are constantly making excuses, using your innocence as a barrier. You say you want to learn, but you will not leave your comfort zone. I have no time for that." You sigh, and briefly caress my cheek, with a gesture so fleeting I'm not sure I didn't imagine it. "I am sorry if I hurt you. That was not your punishment. Nor is this. Your punishment, if we get to it, you will enjoy. This is not about that." You pause again, and I feel your weight as you sit on the edge of the bed. "Get up."

As I scramble to obey you, I feel completely disorientated due to the blindfold and my unfamiliar surroundings. I am clumsy as I clamber off the bed and I feel utterly inelegant as I stumble in my high heels. "Turn around." I do so, still unable to see a thing, my hands automatically groping at the air ahead of me. "Take three steps forward. Big steps. Ok, one more." I follow your instructions, finding it surprisingly hard to walk in heels without the benefit of being able to see where I am going. I think I must look ridiculous, tottering like a little girl in dressing-up clothes. "Now, strip. Throw your clothes and shoes behind you. Quickly, please."

I hesitate. You have not seen me naked yet, and this is hardly how I envisaged the situation coming about. I bend down and begin to undo the straps of my shoes, but it is too late; you saw my hesitation, noted my indecision. You know me too well. "All right, leave the clothes on. You're just making it worse for yourself. Kneel down." The floor is cold and hard on my knees. I grope around with my hands and feel that I am in the corner, unsurprisingly. "Put your arms behind your back," you snap, and the anger is there again. I comply, bowing my head, glad you can't see my confusion and pain and discomfort written across my face. I can hear you moving around the room. I am surprised when I note the click of the door opening.

"I am going out for the evening. Dinner and drinks with friends, I will be a few hours at least. I was going to take you with me, show you off, but you have really disappointed me." I bite down on my lip, shame washing over me. "If you are still there, in that exact position, when I return, then we'll see. Then maybe I'll know you're serious about this." You cross the room and I feel your hands on the sides of my face, lifting my head. "It's not difficult. Just uncomfortable, and boring. It's not sexy. It's not exciting. I'm not going to tie you up. Your hands are free, you can take the blindfold off, get up and walk away if you want to. If I come back and you're not here, we won't be talking again -- I'll know you've made your decision." With that, your hands leave my face and I hear you blowing out each of the candles, followed by the unceremonious slamming of the door as you exit the room.

I am left kneeling in my uncomfortable position on the chilly floor, not entirely sure what has happened. As I struggle to focus my mind, all I feel is deep disappointment. I know you're right. I liked the fantasy, but I somehow believed I could stay in control. Now, I have a decision to make. I know you are not messing around; I know you are experienced, and good at what you do, and serious. I am flattered you have taken the time for me, and I don't want to let you down. I don't want to let myself down.

As the minutes creep by, in my darkness I lose track of the time. It's cold. All I am aware of is my sore knees, the pins and needles in my feet, the pain where the blindfold cuts tightly into me, a gnawing headache pushing at the back of my eyes, thirst. You were right; it's not sexy, it's not exciting. I am sore and bored and cold and fed up while you are out enjoying yourself, and this is certainly not how I planned spending the bulk of my evening. However, I persevere. How much of it is out of sheer stubbornness, I'm not sure. All I know is I want to prove myself to you. So I wait.

At least four hours must have passed before I finally hear your key in the door. You close the door behind you but don't speak, and I listen as you move around the room, lighting the candles again. The bed creaks as you sit down on it. Still you don't speak, and I don't move. Eventually, "Well, this is a pleasant surprise." Your voice is warmer than before, and this fills me with relief. "It's certainly a start, anyway."

The clink of glass, the gentle glug of wine being poured. I make no sound and no movement; I am learning. Then, I feel something cold pressing against my lips; the edge of a wine glass. You hold my head as you tilt the liquid into my mouth and you laugh as I gulp, thirsty. "Slowly," you chide, and I feel it dribble down my chin. In a flash you are gone again, leaving me frustrated, even that brief, mundane contact having aroused me more than I would have thought possible.

"Ok, let's try this again. Strip for me."

This time I am ready, and I immediately shed my clothing. I hear you chuckle softly as I struggle slightly with the complicated straps on my shoes, but I soon get them off. Without being told to, I return to my position on my knees with my hands behind my back. There is a smile in your voice when you speak again. "You're getting it. Good." I hear you gather up my clothing, tidy it away. Then, without warning, you scoop me up in your arms and carry me to the bed, sitting down with me in your lap. I am startled, but you know I love the feeling of being helpless and tiny against your large frame. I squirm in your embrace, wantonly pressing my body into yours, but you laugh and firmly push me away from you. Your hands smooth over my hips as you arrange me into position over your knee. The way you are handling my body, carelessly, seemingly unmoved by my nakedness, is a huge turn-on. I begin to feel excited once more; I think I have pleased you, and I finally recognize this dynamic.

You are still fully dressed and the roughness of your clothes against my smooth, bare skin excites me. You know it makes me feel dirty, to be spread over you, naked for you, while you remain clothed. "Keep still," you instruct as your hands move over my body. I do, but we both know how I thrill to your slightest touch. You feel over every inch of me, from my legs to my shoulders, never pausing or lingering anywhere, as casually as if you were simply inspecting a piece of furniture for scratches. My nipples harden as your hands pass over my breasts, but you don't seem to notice. I am disappointed, frustrated that my body does not seem to be having any effect on you. When your hands begin stroking my buttocks, I know what is coming, and my breathing quickens. It is time for my long-awaited punishment, and you do not disappoint.

Each slap as you spank my arse is harder than the one before. It is more painful than I imagined, stinging my sensitive skin, but I know I can't cry out. You are strong and your slaps are firm. I lose count as they continue to rain down on me, as I am taken over by the exquisite pain, sending shockwaves up and down my body, burning my nipples and my drenched pussy. You stop as abruptly as you began, leaving me quivering, melting. Your hand caresses my flaming skin, which I know must be glowing red for you, and you let one finger slowly dip between my legs. I can't help moaning as I part my thighs further for you, wriggling and squirming, desperate for your touch. You clamp your other hand over my mouth as your finger continues to probe, exploring me. I groan into your palm as you part my pussy lips, stroking up and down over my wetness, just barely grazing my aching clit. My cunt is engorged and desperate after hours of prolonged arousal, and the spanking has only served to get me dripping further. I try to push my hips back to meet your touch, but you remain tantalizingly gentle, your fingertips simply glancing over me. You are teasing me and you love the power you have over my body, love the way my hips are rocking, the way my whole body is shifting and squirming in your lap, uncontrolled.