I am standing in front of your door, throat dry with a combination of nervousness and excitement. Being here is the culmination of months of lead-up, beginning with flirtatious chatting online and continuing to bouts of conversation bordering on cybersex. Then the inevitable hushed phone calls, the tantalizing thrill of imagining what might-be and fantasizing over it together. As we spoke, we moved closer and closer to this moment, reluctant to cross the line into reality until eventually there was nowhere else to go.
Biting my lip in anticipation, I have to fight not to break into a wide smile to relieve the tension, laughing a little at how giddy and silly I feel. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs, and let it out in a sigh. Reaching into my coat pocket, I pull out my cellphone and dial. Two rings and then you pick up.
"Are you here?" I can hear the predatory smile behind your voice, the anticipation matching mine.
"Yes, I'm here," I murmur, propping the phone against my shoulder as I dig around in my pocket to finger the blindfold that you sent me. I hear footsteps behind the door and I try to guess at what you might be thinking as you look through the peephole. I've dressed with care, following your suggestions: a black satin bra, clearly visible under a white silk blouse, and a loose black skirt that hangs to mid-thigh. Over the ensemble, I've worn a raincoat to avoid feeling self-conscious about being seen in public. I wonder if you're pleased by my appearance.
"Well, you know what to do now." Your voice is calm, authoritative, just like in all of our previous phone conversations, when I succumbed to your eloquence, surrendering to you. I fumble for a moment and pull the blindfold out, stretching it between my hands.
"Just a second, I need to put the phone down," I say, and then juggle it into my pocket. Hands now free, I raise the blindfold and wrap it around my head, tugging at the strings on either side to pull the fabric taut against my face. The cloth smells faintly like some kind of cologne and the soft cotton feels like it's molding itself to my eyes. I take a moment to adjust the edges for comfort and ensure that it's secure, then pull the phone back out and place it at to my ear, "It's done."
There's the click of a lock disengaging and the swishing sound of a door being dragged along carpet. I experience a moment of terrified panic, the thought popping into my head that I could be at the wrong door. After a moment, I hear your voice in stereo, both on the phone and to the front. Relief floods through me, even as my nervousness ratchets up by a few degrees. "You came," I hear you say, the welcome in your voice obvious. I smile back cautiously, and can't suppress a startle of surprise as you take my phone from me and grip my hands in yours. You tug me gently, guiding me across the threshold, and I shuffle forward. "Come on in, don't worry, I won't let you hit anything," you say reassuringly as you lead me into your apartment, "Why don't we have a look at you?"
A few steps in and you pause, releasing my hands. A moment later, I can hear the door close behind me and then the muffled sound of your footsteps as you circle me like a shark. After you've done a complete circuit, you say quietly, "Take your shoes and coat off."
I hesitate, then timidly work my arms out of my coat, folding it over my arm and kicking my shoes off. The weight of the coat disappears, then you resume your hold on my hands. Your palms feel slightly calloused and your grip is warm and firm. I count ten steps, a turn to the right, then six more. You drop my hands and I'm left standing by myself, unsure of where I am.
There's the slight sound of movement and then I hear your voice from behind me, asking quietly, "Before we start or do anything, my dear, what are your safe words?"
My voice sounds subdued and meek next to yours, "Green for go, yellow, red for stop."
"Good girl," you say, sounding amused, "And right now?"
My cheeks flush with heat as I blush, then mumble, "Green for go."
I have a second to wonder why you even asked when I'm sure that we both know the answer, then I feel you behind me, a presence that is almost, but not quite, close enough to touch. All of the things we talked about over the past few months rush to the forefront of my mind. I don't know whether to lean back against you or to cower away. Your hand closes on my hair, grabbing it firmly and yanking my head back. I gasp at the suddenness of the pain and close my eyes under the blindfold, the sensation sending a jolt of excitement through me and creating an immediate dampness between my legs. The air feels electric with tension as you slowly pull, forcing me to arch backward.
Your breath is hot against my ear and your whisper feels like a caress, "The line between fantasy and reality is such a problem for you, isn't it? And how are you feeling about right now? Nervous? Excited? Afraid?" There is a pregnant pause while you tighten your grip, forcing a faint whimper from me, "We both know that the fear is a big part of what turns you on-that and denial."
Rather than responding, I raise my hands to try to pry yours loose, belatedly struggling against your grip. In response, you shake me painfully and growl, "Hands down. NOW."
Once I've dropped my hands back to my sides you return to speaking, almost crooning, "Let's go over the rules for today. First, you will not speak unless spoken to. When you do speak, you will always address me as Sir or Master." Your voice is calm, almost dispassionate. Your other hand brushes against my chest and I feel a tug as you begin unbuttoning my blouse. The feel of the air against my skin makes me shiver and my building desire seems to fill my stomach with butterflies.
Once the blouse is fully unbuttoned, the fabric parted to reveal the satin of my lingerie, you continue, "There are a few exceptions." Your hand cups one of my breasts through the bra and I can feel my nipples hardening in reaction. "You're free to beg at any time," you say, and your fingers dip under the cloth, taking hold of my nipple and rolling it between your fingers.
You pinch viciously for a moment, eliciting a gasp. I can hear the smile in your voice in response to my reaction, "You can, of course, use your safe words at any time." My breath comes in short little pants and my knees feel weak. I feel an overwhelming urge to moan and to start begging, but I bite my lip to keep any sound from escaping. A sense of humiliation fills me as I think about what you're doing to me, without even fucking me.
