Darling 1

Do you remember the first time we met? The first time we

really

met? It was a bitterly cold night that night. Fairytale grim, wet and windy, the world swept by in a winter flurry as I waited in the rain for my carriage. The time had finally come to meet my very own prince charming. My heart fluttered and kicked while the butterflies in my stomach played merry hell with last night's vindaloo. With a sigh, I tugged my wet hair to one side, holding onto the umbrella in my hands for dear life and I wondered what you would make of the unfiltered, unkempt girl you'd invited into your home. Indeed everything had been perfect when I'd left the house: the hair, the makeup, the shoes. I'd even managed to maintain some kind of poise despite spending as little time as possible in those damned heels and as much time as I could muster in my bare feet.

Yet not five minutes had passed after I was out of the door before the heavens opened and the floods began. Unsurprising really in this, England, Realm of Rain yet I'd hoped in vain for some respite just for tonight. No such luck, eh? Fidgeting and tugging at the hem of my dress, I longed for my favourite torn jeans and Stones tee-shirt. The breeze crept down the back of my collar while the rain filtered in, gripping me by my bare throat and fusing my stockings to my exposed thighs. My hands, ever moving, adjusted each fold of fabric, a dress a touch too short for me (not of my selection, I might add.). Smoothing it out, checking it when it didn't while I teetered on those same heels just a half inch too high for my comfort. I was anything but comfortable. I was anything but happy. But this wasn't for me, was it? It was for you.

We'd spent many months online, talking, chatting, flirting. The anonymity of the internet letting us disclose dark desires behind a screen name and a keyboard. The often-dim light of my laptop lighting the way as I fed my hands between my thighs to feed our desires...and eventually your commands. You wrapped yourself around my head like a coiled, though slowly unfurling, snake. The squeeze, the gentle pressure there ached at first and I thrashed beneath your control, trying to evade the bite which would leave me numb in your grip. I pushed back at you when you asked me to do things I wasn't comfortable with, said no when I should have said yes. Told you that I could do without the pressure, the pain, even the pleasure to be allowed to breathe. Then, one night, you grew frustrated when I didn't obey and pulled away all together. You didn't answer my calls or my messages. You didn't log in. No chastisement, no punishment, no...anything, really. Just the empty silences where you had been at that same time every night when we used to chat. I'd asked to be free and you'd set me free. I had the freedom I'd wanted but I was no longer happy. I was cold without you. To feel warm again, I had to tell you in detail. You made sure of that. And, in return, you told me in an equal amount of detail what you expected me to do.

That was the push, that inching towards my indecisively shy mind, towards meeting you. The dress, the shoes. And meet we did. You weren't handsome, really, no more so than I am tremendously beautiful but desire made me itch and shake when you kissed me on the cheek over coffee. You told me many things about your job, about your children, your ex-wife, the first time you rode a motorbike and the last time you fell off it. You made me smile and giggle. You made me shy and confident. You made me happy. So we met again. And again. And again with no sign of your 'online' persona showing or mine for that matter. Like the dark underbelly of something unspoken yet acknowledged, we played the part of friends until we began to believe it. Until it became real. Until I began to tire of it and despair...would you never want me, strange as I was, shy as I was, silly in some respects as I was to you? Educated, intelligent though bashfully self conscious and oblivious to common sense, I suppose I was the anti-heroine, with you my rough, rugged more experienced counterpart. Yet I wasn't any real kind of ingénue and you weren't serious. When I laughed, you laughed. At all of my little quirks, temper tantrums and sarcasm. And then, when you were calm, so was I, for all of my fire and passion wanting to slip away slowly into serenity with you. Never serious and never solemn. Only you were that night, when I finally met your dark side and you took mine. That one night when you whispered, for the first time, your instructions to me.

So shocked that I couldn't answer, so aroused that I couldn't refuse, I followed each one to the letter shaking, trust implicit. And with all of these feelings and all of these desires rolling around in my head of all the things I could and should have done to express that to you, I simply put it all away and did as I was told. You finished your command then as you have done many since:

"Would you like that, Alice?"

An exhale of breath and I nodded, speaking into the cold fog of my own breath: "Yes."

So, here we were. Or at least I was. Wearing exactly what you wanted, dressed as I never would have in a provocative yet (I hoped) somewhat classy figure hugging dress (and an equally figure hugging control corset.). As I hitched it up to sit in the cab, as I positioned myself, as I got out of the cab, each time I adjusted and readjusted and tugged down the hem of that dress all I could think of was you. All I could want was you.

And curse you for making me wear the damn thing, naturally.

Of course, when I got there, you were complimentary. You smiled at me over dinner and chatted conversationally. We split the bill, despite your insistence on paying, and I guess you forgave me that one disobedience knowing, I suspect, that it would be my last that night.

Then you called a cab. You told me to get in. I followed.

Rain slick in my hair and dress sticking to my thighs, riding up I slipped into the taxi without a second thought without even a word. And then we went...home.

****HOME****

Two weeks. For two weeks I was yours. Holidays booked and...bag packed. Exactly to your specification. Toiletries, hair product, make up and a single change of clothes of my choosing. I desperately asked why only one but you refused, gently reminding me that it would be better to simply take the choice than lose it altogether. Favourite jeans and tee shit it was. Yet, as I suspected, as concisely as I had followed your instructions, so too did you my limits. And you pushed them to the very last letter.

Those first few days were trying, I admit. That first night you took my shoes from me (finally!). I wouldn't need them anymore, I was told. I agreed. Then we fucked. Passionate, unabashed, hungry fucking. You dressed me in new clothes, a simple black shift nightdress, for bed and I was permitted to slide in next to you, still aroused and sleepy as I curled up into your chest. The next day, you offered me the use of the shower and I took it. When I got out the clothes were gone. You sat back in the next room and, I daresay, you must have smiled as you listened to me search for them, you bastard. You'd already seen me naked, still the cold hard light of day made it all the more difficult to contemplate stepping out of that room without a thread to my name. All of those lumps and bumps I hated and you loved. All of those little imperfections that made me vulnerable, stiff inside and squirming. Nothing to see here and no more to hide, you said, when I finally emerged with a cursory glance up from the morning paper. The room smelled of coffee and your cologne. As it wrapped itself around me, I wore the only the air we both breathed as you left me hanging in the silence for a moment, merely a hand towel to cover my...well, what remained of my modesty.

Then, quite calmly you told me I wouldn't need those anymore either. Despite my protests, my innermost objections, the redness on my face I stayed firm to our initial arrangement...and with what I thought to be the last of my resolve, I finally agreed. Without an order or a word from you, my gaze dropped to the pristine brown leather sofas. Seemed wrong, somehow impertinent to park my naked behind on another person's furniture. I lingered in the doorway, dumbstruck and unsure of what to do before a soft chuckle probed my consciousness. I looked up to find you smiling, eyes crinkled in amusement as you patted the sofa. Feeling ever so-British and ever-so awkward I sat down stiffly beside you before you drew me into your chest and began to read me the morning paper in that deep, rumbling voice I so loved. We spent the day watching television and talking. Naked as I was, you didn't lay a hand on me beyond a gentle caress or kiss as we cuddled. Frustrating and confusing, the entire day crept by until that same night we went to bed. You cuddled me and I curled up against your chest as you petted my hair. That first day was filled with contentment and cuddles despite the loss of my clothes. Yet, I needn't have worried about getting too comfortable: The next day I lost something else. Some part of my humanity.

"On all fours, please, Alice." came the simple command as we sat at the breakfast table.

I nodded, face flushing as I slid the plate across the table. Carefully, I drew myself to the floor. I closed my eyes as I tried not to imagine my naked body, stripped bare with all of its little imperfections as you rounded to my backside, only the sound of your footsteps on the kitchen floor audible in the silence. My own shaking breath was a nice accompaniment, you later told me. And the small shriek that flew from my lips as your cold hand fell between my legs.

Your large finger brushed my clitoris and began to circle it, making me squirm and blush with the effort to stay exactly where I was. My fingers curled as you sped up, the moisture slipping down my lips, clinging to my thighs. I bite my lip and made a shrill sound as your finger inched closer to my opening.

"M-Master?" I heard my own small voice say.

"Shhhh, Alice." You rumbled, continuing to stimulate my now steadily throbbing clit. "Good girl."

At the last, he slid the finger in. I gasped in surprise and was rewarded with a throaty chuckle from my Master.

That finger teased and tormented me until I felt as though I could burst, back arching, pleasure slowly stripping away my dignity and self awareness. Then, when I felt as though I could take no more, you stood up.

"Stand."

On shaking legs I stood. "Yes, Master."

"Come." You strode past me then added, with a crooked grin, "If you'll forgive the expression, Alice."

I burned with embarrassment as you laughed, patting your leg for me to follow. I walked uneasily on two legs instead of four, knees still quivering. You sat in your favourite chair, in front of the fireplace and invited me to kneel, which I did. Moist fingers were offered and I tasted them then thanked you for the pleasure. Yet my body groaned with the unfulfilled orgasm. You must have seen it, must have expected the disappointment there when you told me to stand up onto all fours again.

We repeated the process. And I was once again frustrated.

I didn't sit on your lap that night. I knelt at your feet, on a plush cushion while you petted and pampered me. We watched more films, talked of simple, everyday things. Master and his nude, kneeling pet. Me.

Though I felt the throbbing in my gut, my belly turning as I felt the arousal linger in the background. You instructed me up onto all fours again several times that night. And several times I was denied. The last time, I cried out in frustration despite myself. Your hand fell to my hair.

"Oh, Alice. Are you suffering, dear?"

I blinked, sitting back onto my knees and peered over my bare shoulder at you. "Yes, Master." I gasped out. You smiled benignly and, for a brief moment, I hated you. But still, this moment and many moments before and since,

just

a moment.

"Good. Your training is going well, pet."

Pet.

This was the first time I'd heard those words from your lips. The surprise on my face must have showed as you reached over and took my chin in your hand.

"And that is what you are, isn't it, pet?"

"...yes, Master."

A dull silence fell upon us, but for the crackling of the fireplace beside us and the traffic outside.

"We'll continue training you in this way, pet." You said, softly, letting your hand run through my hair, "I want you to feel pleasure when you kneel for me, when you crawl for me. I want you to want to do it."

"Master, I will-"

Your hand curled in my hair. I fell silent.

"I know you will, Alice." Your voice was low, dangerous, fingers tightening their grip slightly, "But I don't simply want your will. I want your desperation. Your desire. Your mind. The day you drop onto all fours and I find you wet

before

I touch you is the day we both know I have you."

Your hand slipped from me and I sat back, looking up at you quietly, heart racing. Right then and there I wanted you. I needed you. The expression on your face as you smiled down at me was a mirror of my own. So, as the fire crackled and the rain outside hit the glass, we both silently contemplated what it would mean to continue our experiment. And I believe, right there and then, we sat in silent agreement: I would be yours.