I am rarely nervous. In spite of that, I found my level of anxiety rising as I approached your house. I had dressed exactly as you had asked, my hair bound up tightly into a chignon, my makeup subtle and tasteful. To anyone driving next to me, I looked ladylike and classic, the sterling silver collar around my neck tied with a black satin ribbon. My beige trench coat was belted tightly at the waist, the bland neutrality of this garment belying the fact that I wore nothing beneath it other than a tight black satin corset and stockings. You had specifically instructed me to leave off panties, so there was nothing in place to absorb the wetness that flowed from me faster and faster as I drew nearer to you.
We had never touched before that day. We had talked and laughed and shared parts of ourselves, circling each other in the age old way of men and women; our mating ritual had its own lyrics, but the cadence was written long ago, in a thousand other places. I should have been frightened, I was deliberately putting myself into the hands of a relative stranger, with the express and stated intention of letting you take possession of my flesh, but I was not frightened. We had been very clear with each other about the type of relationship we were both seeking, and what we were seeking was not "vanilla" in the least. I have considered myself a sexual submissive for most of my life, and you came to an awareness of your sexual dominance at an early age as well. The fact that we found each other seemed unbelievable to both of us at first; two people with demanding professional lives and neutral public personas, both of whom harbored sexual secrets that many would see as dark and depraved. The fact that we shared so many other passions made the whole thing seem improbable and almost too good to be true. In any case, here I was, driving toward you, prepared to offer you myself without reservation.
I pulled up in front of your house and sat still for a moment. I commanded my heart to slow its rhythm, looking at myself one last time in the mirror, my hazel eyes wide and bemused, my throat looking long and victim like in the collar that encircled it. I squared my shoulders and stepped out of the car, slamming the door and striding purposefully to your door. I may be a submissive, but I am not a coward.
My hand was raised to knock when the door opened and there you were. We stood staring at each other unsmiling and silent for a moment, taking each other in. The inevitability of it swept over me, and the last of my anxiety slid away as you pulled me inside. Wordlessly, you turned me to face you, your hand running over my collarbone, lightly fingering the collar at my throat. Holding my gaze steadily, you reached down to the belt on my coat and untied it. The fabric slid open, exposing my nearly bare flesh in its black satin wrapping. You slid the coat from my shoulders and let it slide to the floor. I stood there proudly, letting you take me in, refusing to feel intimidated by the intensity of your gaze. You smiled at me knowingly then, sensing the challenge in my silent composure. Without warning, you reached down and grasped my wrist, spinning me around and pulling me against you. I felt your breath on the back of my neck, and the firm pressure of your hands sliding over my body, touching me everywhere with impunity, from my breasts to my cunt, your fingers idly exploring me there finding me already hot and wet. I blushed with shame at my bodies' betrayal, the way that it flaunted my lust for you against my will. You laughed softly into my ear as though you could sense my discomfort.
