I got off the elevator and felt the momentary confusion of being in a strange place.
Room 3511. Ah, to the right, about halfway down.
I knocked on the door and heard a muffled "just a minute". Slowly the door opened a crack and I heard her say "wait." About four or five seconds later, "Okay, you can come in".
Not a very auspicious beginning to someone who said they wanted to be sub; perhaps this should be the second time I walk away. But I brushed open the door and could see her standing in the shadows with one arm thrown across her breasts and the hand of her other covering between her legs.
"I told you, naked. Drop you hand and your arm." She hesitated so I turned to leave.
"No, wait" she said.
"I told you I wasn't going to fuck around. Drop your hands so I can see what I have to work with. I'm not telling you again."
Her breasts weren't overly large, but they would have swung pendulum-like if she was on her hands and knees. Still firm without any evidence of sag that starts in your thirties when you have some extra weight, the circle of her areola brown, her nipples standing out about half an inch. She said she was Trinie, and I could see it her light brown skin.
She was maybe 5 feet, five feet one in a pinch.
When I looked down she dropped her hand and I could see a mass of hair the same color as the hair on her head, a deep chestnut brown. I didn't expect this but I was betting that there would be a line of fine dark hair all the way to her naval. I turned on the light to get her out of the shadows and she cringed.
"Oh, for fuck sake!" I muttered to myself. More loudly, "Look, you wanted to do this. I'm not about to humiliate you the way your husband does to get what I want. Do you understand?"
After a pregnant second, I turned and started to walk out. She quietly pleaded "...wait." I kept walking and more forcefully, a little angry, louder, she said "Wait!"
I stopped, turned and looked at her. She still had her chin tucked; I hadn't seen her eyes yet. I started to turn back around when her head shot up, glaring at me with hazel eyes, forcefully said, "No, stay!".
"I have absolutely no reason to be here. I want a woman to be compliant, to do what she's told, immediately when she's told. I'll train you, but no more hesitation. And enough being cowed, when I talk to you. I expect you to look at me in the eyes. I want a woman who does what she's told but has a spark, a brain. If I wanted a milquetoast fuck I'd hire some young hooker and have her bend over so I don't have to look at her, drop a load, rip the condom off, throw it on her back, zip up and leave."
She glared at me, and told me to "fuck off."
And I did, through the door, down the elevator and through the lobby. By that time my phone lit up with multiple texts.
-----
Liz, I'm guessing, was in her mid-forties. She had some excess weight around her hips that showed when she was sitting. She had great tits, I would guess a solid C, but no cleavage showing.
Her feet were in sensible shoes and her jeans a little baggy.
Her husband Danny had responded to an ad I had placed in Craigslist for a sub-curious couple and he had responded. No pictures, just some long diatribe about fantasizing about this for a long time. tl;dr in the vernacular of my 30-something kids.
I had a hard time ignoring Danny's incessant emails. They became so obnoxious that I pulled the ad down. But he managed to bombard me with more after I made the mistake of telling him on my private email to cease and desist. When he linked to my private cell number (I don't answer it when I don't know who's calling) he started texting me.
Finally, I agreed to meet him at a local patio for a drink and I met Danny and Liz for the first time.
Danny confirmed what I already knew, he was a bully. He was a school-tie privileged investment banker used to getting his own way. Sociopathic maybe, but it was clear that was abusive and arrogant.
Danny was a sterling example of the silver spoon set. His job was more about his family connections and wealth than any real talent for deals; I knew of him by reputation. He was balding, had one of those bad vanity comb-over cuts, and he hadn't seen his way past his beer belly to a gym or even lacing up a pair of runners in over a decade. In short, he was just flabby.
I am his antithesis. I have long white hair that I usually wear in a pony tail and a white beard. I have a stomach and I fight it all the time but my arms and chest are hard from gym work and my legs are toned from all the walking I get from living and working downtown and from a daily 15-mile cycle.
I am ex-military, an officer, and I guess you might say I have command presence. I am also unfailingly polite - it goes with treating civilians with respect no matter how undeserved it is. It also explains why I'm verbally Dom; I expect immediate and unquestioned obedience in the bedroom.
"Honey, I want you to meet a friend of mine. This is Stuart. Stew, this is Liz"
If there is one thing that makes me want to forget my civility its being called "Stew". And from Liz's expression, it was clear she didn't know what was going on. My drink had just arrived, so I handed the waitress a 20, told her to keep the change, and pounded back what was likely a decent scotch, neat.
I got up and said: "I don't know what the fuck is going on here, my apologies ma'am, but it's clear your wife has no idea why she's here. Don't ever call me Stew and never ever call me your friend." With that, I turned on my heels and left.
______
By the time I got home there was more than 30 texts from Liz. I felt like I was being bombarded by Danny all over again.
The day after the patio incident Danny wouldn't let up on emails and texts. I finally call blocked him and had some peace.
Out of the blue about two weeks later I got a text from a number I didn't recognize, claiming to be Liz. Vowing to put an end to it and expecting it to be Danny, I immediately called the number and Liz answered.
Taken aback, sure. Polite, as always with a woman. I suppose I let my defenses down.
