Tom was bored, and horny. He was good looking, a single man in his mid-20's living in the middle of the city. Despite his looks, decent job and agreeable personality, he had never found himself in a stable relationship. His 20's were a chain of hookups and one-night stands with women he met at clubs or via dating apps on his phone. Despite having the ability to whet his sexual appetite if he chose to, he found himself attracted to kinkier and more extreme forms of entertainment. Normal porn and sex were boring; he believed he'd experienced all the vanilla world had to offer. He knew something was truly wrong when he hooked up with a cute girl in a bar, and couldn't get hard. She was willing, beautiful, but his boner was half-hearted. After a bout of unsatisfactory rutting, he asked her to leave and collapsed on his bed, ashamed with his own performance.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Pent-up and unfulfilled, he sat himself down at his computer and logged into a fetish dating website. He had been browsing profiles over the last few weeks, and had gravitated towards those of dominant women. Why was he attracted to them? He wasn't sure, just somehow the idea of a woman taking charge and using him for her pleasure turned him on. Every time he had slept with a woman, he had taken the initiative. He believed it was expected of him: he was a man, and as such, should take the lead. That how it was supposed to be, right? He shifted in his chair uncomfortably, his boner uncomfortable in his briefs. Why then did these women who represented the complete opposite of his experiences turn him on so? It was time to dip his feet into the unknown.
Every night after work, he would browse the profiles of dominant women in his city, occasionally sending out a tentative message. No replies: perhaps the women he sought could see through his platitudes, see him as the horny young opportunist that he was, or perhaps they received so many messages like his that he was never noticed. He grew despondent, with each failure his desire grew. He still didn't know what he wanted exactly, but images of bound men being abused and tormented by dominant beauties filled his thoughts. He craved a tight collar around his neck, a leash pulling him cruelly, sharp nails on his balls as he struggled, helpless and desperate.
Why do I want this? Is something wrong with me?
One night, something was different. As he logged into the kinky dating site, he noticed that the mailbox icon was lit up. His breath caught in his throat and his stomach knotted up. Someone had replied. What now? He opened the message, his eyes wide:
"You are offering to serve me? There are many boys on this website who say the same, though your message at least had perfect grammar and no spelling mistakes. If you are genuine in your desire to be collared by me, then prove it.
1) From this moment onwards, do not touch your cock.
2) From this moment onwards, refer to me as 'Goddess'.
3) Send me photo of yourself, naked and kneeling, right now. "
Tom glanced at the timestamp on the message: 12 minutes ago. Shit shit shit! He ripped off his clothes and knelt, his cock rock-hard despite zero stimulation. He was in good-shape, fit and lean due to a healthy diet and regular gym trips, but was far from muscular. He hoped that she would like what she saw. He held his camera away from himself and took a picture, not thinking to crop out his face. He wrote a quick reply:
"Thank you Goddess, I will do as you say. Here is a photo of me, I am sorry to make you wait."
He then attached his photo to the message, and hit send, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. He hadn't touched his cock since reading the message, but it was harder than it had ever been in his life. The urge to touch himself was so great that he almost masturbated then and there, but somehow he was able to stop himself. There's was no way the mysterious message-sender would know if he did, but... he wanted to impress her, as pathetic as that sounded. For now, all he could do was wait for her reply. Impatiently, he opened up her profile. Female, 35, single, Dominant, looking for a slave. She had not listed any kinks or preferences, her profile picture was of a high-heeled leather boot, a collar and a leash. Other than a brief introduction, she had very little information about her, leaving Tom hungry to find out more. Time passed, but his inbox remained empty. He didn't dare leave his computer on the off-chance that she might reply to him with further instructions. He began to feel doubts: maybe she was a scammer, or a fake? He had just sent a naked photo of himself, face and all, to a total stranger. Would she blackmail him? Would she-...
The mailbox icon lit up:
"You keep yourself fit and healthy. That is good. You will be waiting in the square on the corner of James St and King St, by the statue of a horse, at 7pm this Friday. Dress casual, and shave.
Again, in case I need to reiterate:
1) Do not touch yourself.
2) You will address me as Goddess, both online and in-person.
If you are not planning on wasting my time this Friday, a simple 'yes Goddess' will suffice. Remember to shave."
Oh my god. This was happening! Tom couldn't believe it. It could still just be an online troll, pulling his strings for laughs, but... arranging a meeting? This could really be happening! He hurriedly typed 'yes, Goddess,' and sent his reply. Tom could feel a wet spot in his briefs, pre-cum was leaking out of his iron-hard cock. He knew all it would take was a few rubs and he would cum, such was his arousal. But, it was Wednesday night, Friday was so close... he needed to hold on for her. Tom dreaded her somehow knowing if he had disobeyed her instructions. Turning off his PC, Tom had a cold shower, and hopped into bed. Sleep eluded him for a time, as he fantasized about his faceless Goddess, but eventually he drifted off into oblivion.
Thursday was a nightmare. Tom could barely concentrate on his work, he kept checking his inbox to see if his Goddess had sent him further instructions. His eyes were glued to the clock all day. Finally, at 6pm, he rushed home. His inbox was still empty, he felt himself harden just reading her previous message. It was time to follow her instructions and get ready for tomorrow night.
'Remember to shave'.
She had been very specific about that, it was true that in the photo Tom had sent her he was sporting a few centimetres of stubble, so... Oh. There was the chance that she had not been referring to the hair on his face. Tom rarely shaved his cock and balls, as he disliked the itchiness as the hair re-grew, but if there was even the slightest chance that his Goddess wanted him fully bare, then he would do it. He headed to the bathroom, lathered his nether regions in shaving foam, and got to work.
About twenty minutes later, he was done. He had shaved his ass, balls, the shaft of his cock and his lower stomach. It felt cool and refreshing to be hairless down there, and Tom folded his smooth balls and gave his still-hard cock a few smooth tugs, enjoying the sensation. Then he froze.
I just touched myself!
She would never know, he didn't make himself come, surely it would be ok... Damnit! He so desperately wanted to come. Annoyed at his own lack of self-control, Tom slipped into bed, doing his best not to dream of leather boots, leashes and collars before he drifted off to sleep.
Friday. Tom drifted through his workday as if in a dream. Whenever he shifted back to reality, he would feel a hard knot pressing in his stomach, desire, impatience, nervousness. He had no idea what to expect, he knew almost nothing about his Goddess. Would it go well? Would she want him? Would he be attracted to her? He grew tenser and tenser, unable to relax. At 6pm, Tom left work and lurked at a cafe not far from the meeting point. Part of him wanted to run away and be a no-show, he was so nervous. But he steeled himself: nothing or no-one else had made him feel so intense in all his entire life. He needed to see this through. With 20 minutes remaining until the meeting, Tom left the cafe and walked to the statue of a horse. He leaned against the stone plinth and waited, his heartbeat heavy and butterflies in his stomach. He felt like a little boy again. Why did he feel so afraid? Tom had dated and slept with many women, why the hell was he so nervous now?
"Are you waiting for someone?" A female voice, sultry with a hint of laughter. He turned, and saw his Goddess for the first time. She was slightly shorter than him, with shoulder-length brown hair framing a cute and dark-eyed face. She wore a loose summer top and well-fitted jeans, and on her feet, the same knee-high boots as her profile picture. She had no jewelry and little makeup other than light lipstick and pink nail polish.
"Yes, uh... Yes, Goddess," Tom stammered. He had worried about what he was going to do if he wasn't attracted to her when they first met, but there was no danger of that now. She was stunning.
"You didn't stand me up. That's a good start." She stated matter-of-factly, staring into his eyes. Tom couldn't look away, he didn't even notice he was holding his breath until he started to feel light headed. Her dark eyes were hypnotic, he felt himself being pulled into her, like a bubble circling a plughole. "Come on then. I'm hungry." His Goddess, tapped her boot against the pavement, breaking Tom's trance. She set off at a brisk trot, leading him down King Street. As she walked, she pulled out her phone and made a call: Tom heard her talking business with someone on the other end. His Goddess gave instructions to someone evidently her subordinate, and hung up as they reached the entrance to a dimly-lit restaurant. She entered, Tom at her heels. A reservation, had been made, the two of them were led to a secluded corner of the restaurant floor. Tom pulled out his Goddess's chair for her, and she sat, her hair brushing against his hand as she did so.
"Thank you." A small smile sent shivers down his spine. He began to sit opposite her, but stopped himself.
