It was supposed to be a quiet dinner where we could talk and get to know each other. We had set it up that way because it was our first meeting and neither of us wanted to commit to anything ahead of time. However, I was determined to press ahead if the signals were right.
The restaurant was almost empty and I indicated to the hostess that I wanted the table in the back corner. All the tables had crisp white table cloths, but this particular one had an oversized cloth that reached almost to the floor. I noticed this right away and thought it might prove to be useful.
I knew from our correspondence that you were 45 years old and recently divorced. Your two children had long since left home and made lives of their own. It was time for you to live life for yourself, which meant letting go of old inhibitions and rules and living some of your sexual fantasies, especially those that involved submission. No man had ever recognized that part of you, or if he had, he had been afraid to go there. You wanted to explore this side of yourself, but like me do it in a way that would not interfere with your normal life or other relationships.
I am 55 years old and have had some experience with women like you. The internet has opened up a new world of relationships. You can engage someone with a low key email and over time get to know them better than their closest real world friends. They feel safe behind their secret name and email address and want to correspond with someone who is empathetic and shares their fantasies.
I am the same way. It is a relief to find that there are women out there who want what I have to give. I like to stimulate them with the written word until they hunger to try the real thing. Then I arrange to meet them and push them to become my submissive. Some might call it manipulative, but I don't see it that way. We are all free to choose what we want to experience in life. I am careful to protect the woman's privacy and my own.
From the scores of emails I had exchanged with you I knew what you wanted. You had put up with a pure vanilla life long enough. I sensed that you trusted me and needed me to take charge of you at our first meeting, which is what I intended to do. You were gutsy and you were ready.
We sat down and I ordered a bottle of good wine with some chips and salsa, telling our waiter that we would wait a while before ordering our dinner.
"No problem," he said. He was a good-looking young man who seemed anxious to please. "Just signal me when you are ready."
He was trying but failing to keep his eyes from staring at your breasts in the tight, low cut top that hugged your figure. I understood because I was having the same problem. Eventually he turned and left us to go get the wine.
"Laura, you are a naughty girl for wearing a top like that," I said. "Our waiter is undoubtedly going to screw up our order."
You smiled coyly and spoke in that sweet Southern draw. "Whatever are you talking about? I came straight here from work. This is way all healthy women dress in Texas. Besides this is what you told me to wear. Remember?"
I laughed. "I said a low cut top, short skirt, stockings, and heels. I didn't say the top should be skin tight."
"You want me to take it off?"
I knew then that we were going to get along fine. You were brazen, cute, and sexy as hell. It was going to be a struggle to keep my hands off of you.
Before I could think of an answer our waiter was back with the wine and our appetizers. He put the basket down and began to work his cork screw into the bottle, while at the same time stealing glances at your chest. You were relishing the effect your tits were having on him and teased him some more.
"You do that so well," you purred. "I'll bet you have screwed the corks out of lots of bottles."
"Yes ma-am," he stammered, twisting the tool furiously.
I sat back and enjoyed the show. From all our correspondence I knew that you were a free spirit who liked to have fun with sex, but I had not expected this much action so soon. I half expected you to reach out and squeeze the bulge in the young man's pants.
You picked up a chip and licked your lips. "I hope these chips are good and firm. I hate dipping limp chips into my salsa, don't you?"
"There's nothing worse," I agreed, laughing.
A chip dripping with salsa found its way into your mouth. "Oh my, this is good -- a crisp hard chip and a smooth hot salsa." Somehow you managed to leave a little dab of salsa on your lower lip.
The waiter looked at you like he wanted to say something but didn't know what. Instead he took a deep breath and jerked the cork out of the bottle. We both looked at him and smiled as he poured a small amount into my glass. I took the approval sip and nodded to him that it was okay.
He extended the bottle to fill your glass and you turned toward him while holding your glass in such a way that he had to lean over the table in order to reach it. The result was that he was looking almost straight down into your cleavage. At the same time you wiggled your shoulders just enough to make all that exposed flesh ripple like vanilla custard during an earthquake.
Had I not grabbed his arm he would have poured wine all over the table. He was looking no where near your glass as he tipped the bottle.
"Why don't you just leave the bottle," I said, laughing. "We can pour our own. You'd better go see to your other customers while you can still walk."
"Yes sir, thank you sir," he said, backing away as fast as he could.
You grinned at me and licked the salsa away from your lip. "That was fun."
"It was indeed. You really did a job on him."
"That's the kind of thing I want the freedom to enjoy in life. I know I have what it takes to excite men and it makes me feel good doing it. The men enjoy it too, so why not? The only problem is that society then brands you a slut and ostracizes you."
"It's because you are a threat to ordinary women. They can't let you take their men away."
"Yea, I know. I guess I just have to hide my true nature except when I am with special like-minded people."
"And here we are," I said.
For half an hour we enjoyed the wine and a frank discussion of the same issues we had explored together on the internet. Having you there in person and seeing the fire in your eyes as you talked about your kinky fantasies was generating butterflies in my stomach. Several times you let crumbs from the chips drop onto your chest and I had to flick them away with my finger tips. Whenever that happened you pulled your shoulders back and made it clear that I was free to do whatever I wanted.
At one point a chip that had been dipped in the salsa landed squarely on your nipple. The hard little point was sticking out so far that the chip was hung up like a piece of pasta on a fork.
"Oh my," I said. "That salsa is going to stain your blouse unless I clean it off right away. Now hold still."
