I am standing in James's living room, rainwater dripping from my hair and my once-sophisticated, now disheveled black dress, all over the dark hardwood floor in this chic, sparse room. James led me here on my hands and knees, and barked, "stand up" before leaving the room. Despite the heat from a wall-mounted fireplace behind me, I am shivering.
My confession of submission came tumbling out of me on James's doorstep, and the release had been almost euphoric, giving me a jolt of confidence and certainty. But now, in this room by myself, that certainty has drained away, and I'm wringing my hands and smoothing my dress and stealing glances at the door. I have the feeling that James knows this, and that he has left me in this room to see if I will bolt again. I shift uneasily from one foot to another, as if I can't find my balance in these new surroundings, but I don't leave. I wait.
James returns after what must be only five minutes or so, carrying a towel which he throws my way before settling himself on the leather sofa in front of me, right arm slung languidly along the back of the sofa, grinning up at me with that same hard calculation playing behind his dark eyes. I towel off my hair, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, desperate for him to speak and interrupt the pounding silence.
Finally, he does. "You've never had a Master before." He says it as a statement, but I confirm his suspicions by nodding my head. He leaks forward, elbows on his knees, and my heart leaps to my throat. "When I ask you a question," he says quietly, "I expect you to answer 'yes Sir,' or 'yes Master.' Is that clear?"
"Yes, Sir," I say swiftly, and my body reacts to my own words as if they are his caress - a tingling sensation spreads through my wet pussy, and the flesh of my face and chest flushes scarlet, from embarrassment and arousal.
"This is all very new to you, and I am patient...to a point." He leans back again, as comfortable as I am uneasy. "You will always refer to me as Master or Sir. You will do what I say, without hesitation or complaint, or there will be consequences. You will not cum unless I give you explicit permission. Is that understood?"
"Yes Sir," I say, silently relishing the words again. I'm sure he hears the hunger in my voice.
He gets up, takes the towel from my hands, and stands directly in front of me, close enough that I imagine I can feel the heat from his body on my damp, prickling skin. He reaches towards my face, and though I wince a little in anticipation, he takes my chin tenderly in his hand and tilts it up so he can look intently into my eyes. "I take the responsibility of being a Master very seriously. I'll never do anything that will leave a permanent mark, or that I think pushes you too far beyond your limits." My stomach drops at the mention of leaving a mark...my mind races with the many ways he can hurt me without scarring me. "But I want you to leave your comfort zone. I want you to push yourself. So if things ever get too intense, I'm going to give you a word you can always say to make me stop immediately. Do you remember the name of the pub where we met?"
"Cooper's," I say.
"Good. Any time I hear you say 'Cooper's,' I'll stop what I'm doing without any questions. I'll never be angry with you for using your safe word. But once you use it, we'll be done for the night. So if you want to keep going, I want you to try to push yourself a little. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master," I say.
"Good." James lets go of my chin, and all at once the tenderness is gone, and the sharp edge is back in his voice. "Now. Take off that wet dress."
My hands shake so badly that I have trouble locating my zipper. I am embarrassed: by the idea of stripping for this near stranger; by the need I somehow feel to do so; by my inability to do it. Then James puts a hand on top of mine - firm, but gentle, guiding me to the zipper, following my hand as I pull it down. I feel an overwhelming rush of gratitude towards him: for the strength that I long for, but the gentleness I need to guide me here, at this terrifying first step. My trembling subsides, and my dress falls to the floor. James leads me by the hand to step out the wet pool of material on the floor, then stands back, admiring the gentle curves of my breasts and hips, still hidden behind black lace panties and bra.
"Beautiful," he says softly.
I smile shyly, unable to meet his eye. "Thank you, Master."
"How does it feel to be almost naked in front of me?"
"I—" I consider this. "I feel...self conscious. Scared."
"That's because you're still thinking of your body as your own." He moves behind me, and I feel his warm hands grasp my shoulders, pulling them back so that my posture becomes more erect, my head faces forward and my breasts jut out provocatively in front of me. His fingers trail gently down my arms. "And that's not so anymore. Your body belongs to me." His fingers encircle my wrists and he pulls them behind me just a little roughness, closing each of my hands around the opposite elbow. "To do with what I please, to offer pain and pleasure as I please, to use for my own enjoyment." Deftly, he grabs me around the waist and kicks my legs apart. At first I lose balance, feel myself supported in his strong arms, then I regain my equilibrium and move my far apart, readjusting my arms and shoulders as well. He lets go of me and circles me to inspect his handiwork. Despite the thin layers of fabric concealing my pussy and breasts, I feel on display for him, presenting my body for his approval, and I am surprised by the intensity of the ache I feel deep within me, the wetness that immediately seems to soak through my panties. He stops circling me and stands close to my side, while I instinctively keep my eyes trained forward. "How do you feel now?" whispers in my ear, his warm breath sending shivers through me.
"Horny," I answer. Then, as an afterthought: "Sir."
"Mmmm. Good girl." He nips at my earlobe, and I feel my knees wobble beneath me. "This is position one. Now one your knees for position two. And take off that bra and those wet little panties while you're at it, slut."
