"Boi, it's time we met!"
That's all it took. Those few words on the chat screen that let me know I was going to meet someone who would change the very way in which I saw myself and the world around me.
It had all started by joining one of those groups on FacedIn that cater to "special" interests and, although I had never really managed to find a dominant woman in my life, I had certainly fantasised about them since I was a teenager.
My steps into the group were hesitant. I'd seen far too many guys who would bludgeon their way in and declare their desires to all and sundry before being ever-so-politely shown the door never to be seen again. I was keen, but I wasn't stupid. I would make the occasional, innocuous comment or "like" someone's post that in some way matched my view of the world but generally, I would sit quietly and behave. As I believed a submissive man should.
This was all well and good but I was no closer to meeting that certain woman who might capture my imagination as well as my heart until I decided to submit a story I had written many years earlier when I was under consideration by a Domme I had wanted to serve but had never met.
It was a short story – only 700 or so words – but it seemed to really hit the spot with both submissive men and dominant women. And one woman in particularly was especially effusive in her praise for the story and her desire to read more.
Her name was a pseudonym but her photo was real and showed an attractive brunette with stunning red lips. Exactly my type! We chatted, we became "facedins" and we flirted. It was nice.
But over time I could sense a shift. Whether it was the occasional dismissive comment on one of my posts or ignoring me for days at a time it was if I had done something horribly wrong and for the life of me I had no idea what it was that I'd done.
Stupidly, I then got hyper defensive and started getting snarky in return. Little digs about the photos she posted, sarcastic comments below her quite reasonable discussions. I was being a brat but it seemed the right thing to do at the time.
"What is your problem?" came the private message next time we were both online. "You've been an absolute brat and I'm getting sick of it."
What could I say? There was really no good reason for my behaviour – I just wanted more of her time and attention. So I told her that and that's when I got the reply:
"Boi, it's time we met!"
There was so much meaning in that first word. It was possessive, dismissive and as sexy as hell in three short letters. My cock swelled within seconds of her words appearing on screen. Was this a woman who could take control of me at last?
"Yes Ma'am" There really was no other response, was there?
We arranged to meet at a coffee shop in an upmarket hotel in the city in two days' time. She picked late morning as we would both be in work mode and not likely to take things too far when surrounded by lots of business people.
For those two days I was not to masturbate but that was it. No wearing of panties underneath my suit, no shaving of pubic regions. Just an instruction to not wank and to be clean and presentable in two days' time. I could manage that.
The next morning though there was an email from her with an attachment.
"I took this in a hotel room last week. Thought you might like it. Be good My boi."
The attachment was a simple shot that she had taken of her crossed legs encased in the most delicious herringbone patterned stockings. You could make out the hem of her skirt and in the background, a swinging foot that just demanded worship. I'm not a foot fetishist but I could picture myself lavishing those toes with attention and hoping to have the chance to make my way up those delectable calf muscles to her beautiful thighs. I was now leaking heavily and all I wanted to do was take my suit off, lie on my bed and start administering to my throbbing, dripping cock but my big brain won out over my little brain and I went and splashed my face with cold water instead. This may prove to be a tough two days!
Work dragged by slowly. I couldn't help popping by the FacedIn page every few minutes hoping for a morsel from her but while she continued to post and comment, she basically ignored me with great skill.
That night though, I got home to find another email waiting for me in my private inbox. No words this time. Just a simple image of a single shoe. No ordinary shoe of course. This was a glossy black stiletto with a two inch platform sole. Again, I'm not a foot fetishist but I could certainly get the hang of it.
Sleep was hard to come by from then on. All I could think of was those legs in those heels. I had an almost permanent drip and even taking a leak caused me to struggle to not beat myself into a frenzy.
By 6am my sheets were crusty and so were my eyes from a lack of sleep. But today was the day! I hopped into the shower and blasted myself with water as cold as I could stand both to wake me and to calm my raging horniness. I washed my hair and shaved my face as smoothly as I could. Deodorant, after shave, a freshly ironed shirt and my most flattering suit and I was out the door and on my way to the office.
The next two hours passed like treacle until I managed to race out of the door at 10.30 to give me enough time to reach the City in time to meet this intriguing woman.
I'm halfway there when traffic comes to a standstill. For four minutes, we don't move an inch and then as soon as it came, the stoppage clears. Only four minutes but my equilibrium has been lost. I can feel the sweat dripping down the back of my neck and my pulse start to quicken.
With six minutes to go I get to the hotel forecourt and pass my keys to the attendant. Straightening my jacket, I try to stride purposefully into the foyer but as soon as I cross the threshold I am taken by the grandeur of the space and how intimidating a five star experience can be. High vaulted ceilings, leather furniture everywhere and amazingly good looking staff let you know that this place wouldn't come cheap if you wanted a room. Thankfully I'm only here for coffee!
And then I see her.
From fifty feet away, her presence is unmistakable. She's sitting at a corner table with a view across the harbour and the sunlight cascading through the windows seems to make her shine even brighter than her glittering surroundings.
As I approach, she rises gracefully to her feet and I get to take in her magnificence in full.
She's about 5'7", shoulder length dark brown hair with a natural soft curl and a slender yet delightfully curvy frame. Her neck is adorned by a long triple strand of pearls that roll over the curve of her breasts and as she moves towards me you can tell there's strength within her and her bare arms are beautifully defined with just the right combination of muscle and soft flesh.
