Chloe twisted around in front of her mirror to check the overall effect of the 6th outfit she had put on in half an hour. What would his first impression of her be? What would he expect her to wear? The instruction in his last email had been as explicit as it was ultimately vague,
"Put on the sexiest dress or skirt and top you own. Under it I expect to find stockings or hold-ups and your raunchiest bra & thong. We'll start with the best of what you've got, after that you can work on dressing for me."
Underwear had been easy enough. She'd bought some hold-ups – black, 30 denier, with a rose embroidered on her inner thigh – an extravagance but she wanted to impress "Meglodisiac" the online handle for the man she'd been corresponding with for 2 months. Along with those she wore a pair of black lace French knickers that showed her arse off, but were more flattering than a thong and a hot pink bra that was visible, along with her modest cleavage, beneath the deep V of her top. The top was black and would have looked harsh against her milk-white skin if it weren't for that sexy splash of pink. Her skirt was black too, a flippy, little thing that she'd bought on a whim, months ago and never worn. It hugged her tiny waist and kissed the tops of her buttocks, before flaring slightly over her hips. It fell only half way down her thighs, much shorter than Chloe would normally wear. The movement of it concerned her – maybe it would flip up and expose her stocking tops to the world? It definitely qualified as the sexiest thing in her wardrobe though. She completed the look with knee-high black leather boots and vampy, khol-eyed make-up with a slick of glossy fuchsia lipstick. Chloe looked at the clock – 8pm – under no circumstances could she be one minute late. She pulled a brush through thick, chestnut curls and grabbed her coat and handbag.
It had been 3 months ago Chloe had first posted her personal ad. She'd dated a number of men but none of them had called to her soul the way this one did. She'd always fantasised about a man who could really take control in the bedroom. Always been attracted to cocky, swaggering men who turned out to have nothing more feral under the surface than a desire to be cooked and cleaned for. This time Chloe had decided to try her luck at finding someone who she could live out her fantasies with. The ad had been brief and succinct, posted on a personals page for alternative tastes.
"Female sub, 26, seeks male dom for long-term, monogamous relationship. Will give myself completely to Mr Right. No timewasters."
She's received a number of replies from various men, most of whom simply got a kick out of humiliating and degrading women. Meglodisiac had been the only one to stand out. Ten years her senior and an experienced dom, the reasons for his taste in sexual activity were the same as her own. He dominated consenting women because he knew he was giving them something they had a burning need for. He understood that their submission to him gave them intense pleasure and his mastery of them was therefore an act of love. He talked explicitly about restraining her and teasing her from head to foot before bringing her to a thundering climax. He imagined holding her down and taking her with the force required to rip a really hard orgasm through her body. His understanding of the fulfilment he could give her touched Chloe deeply. She found herself confessing her darkest desires to him, exposing her soul as unashamedly as if she had stripped and spread herself at his feet. Their messaging moved away from the personals page to private email and gathered pace and intensity. Some of the thoughts he sent her shocked her deeply. All of them made her soaking wet. She trembled before her computer as he suggested tying her, whipping her, blindfolding her, throwing her down and using her to self-indulgently make himself cum, calling her names, telling her how dirty she was. Chloe never imagined being immobilised with lust, unable to move or speak for fear of giving her self away to her colleagues but she was as captive to his words as if he had gagged her and bound her to her chair. That was what he did to her. That was the force of his will. Meeting became inevitable, she had to see him. They had swapped pictures and arranged a date, time and place; everything they had said to each other was about to culminate in tonight's rendezvous. Chloe still didn't know his name. Everything was unfolding on his terms and she was content to have it so.
Just as long as she wasn't late. She had commandeered her best mate and arranged for him to drive her. Andrew had been her friend for years and was now her business partner. 6 feet tall, with a lean body and wiry, manic energy, he powered the company single-handedly and was incredibly motivational to work with. Homosexual but in a curiously masculine fashion, there was nothing remotely camp about him. He had a boyfriend eight years his junior and by all accounts was blissfully happy. Andrew was one of the most punctual people she knew but that didn't stop Chloe threatening him with fates worse than death if he turned up one minute behind schedule. He knew she was meeting someone from the internet but had no idea what kind of site they had met on or what they had discussed. It was hard to get across her sense of urgency without appearing completely insane. Chloe would never normally worry over-much about a few minutes and when the two of them went anywhere, if they were late, it was invariably her fault. Fortunately Andrew was just pulling up outside as she locked her front door. Chloe realised that she had been holding her breath.
"Bloody Hell, Cinderella, check you out." He rolled down the window as the car came to a stop beside her. She was suddenly self-conscious.
"Just because I slouch round the office in jeans, doesn't mean I've forgotten how to be a girl." She snapped. The media company she worked for had something of a relaxed dress code and Chloe had never seen the point of dressing up for a pc monitor. Smart jeans and a designer shirt and trainers said loudly to the world 'I work my way. I will not suck up to you and if you don't like it, tough luck.' It had never failed her but now Chloe realised just how out of practice she was at wearing skirts and heels. She tried and failed to get in the car gracefully.
"I'm going to take a picture for tomorrow's daily sport." Andrew announced. "They'll love you, you're not even pissed yet." He stopped teasing when he turned and saw the apprehension on her face. "Relax." He rubbed her shoulder. "This is a date. Dates are fun, remember? This guy will have to be blind and gay not to fall at your feet when you walk through the door. If he doesn't, you'll just have to apply corporate protocol number one. Altogether now..." He raised his arms as if conducting an orchestra,
"Never, ever give a fuck because there's always something better round the corner!" They chorused. She smiled at him gratefully.
"Of course he might take one look at me and be too intimidated to approach you. I couldn't blame him for that." Andrew checked his reflection in the rear-view mirror. "How old did you say he was?"
"Thirty-six. But I've never gone for younger men." Chloe checked the time on her mobile, "Can we go now I've had my pep-talk?"
"Good grief, you're not supposed to be on time! You're going to look ridiculously keen at this rate."
"Just drive the car and let me worry about that."
The bar was busy, but not over-crowded. Still feeling somewhat alien in her skirt, Chloe went and bought drinks for her and Andrew. She got a double-vodka tonic for courage and gave him his mineral water.
