The next few weeks were an agony of suspense for me.
Before I'd left your dressing room you'd told me to leave my phone number with the bartender, which I'd done. I didn't hear from you the next day, or the next, or the next. Days stretched into weeks. My life went on as usual, at least on the surface - work, gym, drinks with friends, the occasional date with someone I'd meet at a bar or in another department at work. But on the inside, I was boiling with tension, hoping you'd call.
I went to more of your shows, of course - as many as I could. Each one was as good as, or better than, the one before, but to my inner dismay you didn't make any kind of eye contact with me or acknowledge that I was even there, although you must have seen me, since I made a point at every show to sit right up front. And, there were no more summons to your dressing room. That didn't surprise me. I'd known that was a one-time thing, kind of a get-to-know-you between domme and sub. But, I was disappointed that you didn't give me at least a glance or a wink while you were onstage. I began to wonder if the whole thing had been a joke, and that you had picked me at random that night out of the audience to toy with for a while, then drop.
My concerns were allayed about a month after the dressing room session, when my cell phone rang. The screen showed "private number" and I knew before I answered that it would be you.
"Hello baby," you purred in my ear when I answered. My cock responded instantly, shifting in my pants at the sound of your voice. My heartbeat sped up a bit.
"Hello mistress," I said, somewhat hesitantly.
"Did you take care of yourself when you got home?"
I knew what she meant. And the answer was definitely yes - when I'd arrived back at my apartment I wasted little time in jacking my throbbing dick to a mind-bending orgasm. Afterwards, I'd collapsed on the bed, half-dressed, and fallen into a deep sleep.
"Yes, mistress," I said. "I had to. You left me with the biggest hard-on I've ever had."
You laughed quietly at this. "Did I? Good. And I'm glad you masturbated that night, because next time you won't be able to."
"What do you mean, mistress?" I asked, although I had a pretty good idea.
"Chastity, hon," you cooed. "During our next time together, I'm going to lock you in a beautiful little chastity device. It will prevent you from masturbating, or even having an erection."
I swallowed, suddenly unable to speak. My head swam slightly at the thought of entering into a situation where you had total control over my cock. Part of me was pissed at you for suggesting it...but a bigger part was aroused by the thought.
"Are you there, babe?" you asked.
"Yes," I managed to whisper. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good," you said, suddenly becoming businesslike. "Tomorrow night. My condo. Eight o'clock. Don't be one minute late or you'll find the door locked and me gone."
You hung up before I could ask you where you lived. But a few moments later I received a text, again from "private number", with an address in one of the swankier suburbs.
When I put the phone down, I realized my cock and balls throbbed and ached, and just from a single phone conversation with you.
Fuck, I thought. What the fuck is happening to my head?
-----
I made excuses the next day not to go out with coworkers for drinks, and was parked outside your condo by 7:45. I waited apprehensively, looking at your place and the surrounding neighborhood. Swanky was an understatement - you obviously had a lot of money coming in from somewhere. The neighborhood was a very trendy community probably built within the last ten years, with enormous yet tasteful homes, immaculate lawns, brick-paved streets, and old-fashioned gaslights lighting the sidewalks. There were Beemers, Porsches, and Cadillacs everywhere, and I even spotted a couple of Lamborghinis.
I waited until 7:55, then got out of the car and walked up to your front door. I was about to push the doorbell when you opened the door.
"Hello, hon," you said affectionately. The small smile on your lips made me smile also, almost involuntarily, and I felt myself begin to turn red-faced under your direct gaze.
You looked stunning. You were dressed to turn heads, with a skintight black dress that showed plenty of cleavage and ended about halfway down your thighs. On your feet you wore strappy black stilettos, and your long black hair was brushed perfectly straight and accentuated by a small pink flower near your left ear. Over one shoulder you carried a large black leather purse that looked like it could hold a lot more than your cell phone and makeup kit. I practically started drooling there on your front porch.
You smiled. "Come in, baby."
Inside, the house was as luxurious as it appeared on the outside. You led me to a large sitting area near the main door.