Mrs. Scott and I had met through the internet. We had spoken over the phone several times, chatted a bit online, and had decided to arrange a meeting. I am a professional Dom, and she had sought out my services. She was an older girl, in her mid-40s, and seemed to be having some kind of mid-life crisis. Her children were grown up, her husband having an affair and doing little to hide it, and she was lacking any real direction or inspiration.
She had discussed with her husband that she didn't want to go through any messy breakups. It would be hard for the family and their kids, and they had a comfortable living arrangement that she didn't want to ruin. The fact that he was getting some on the side meant that she was free to look for whatever she could find too. Trouble was, she had no idea what she was looking for or how to find it.
It had been a little over a year with her husband banging his trophy-bitch, and Mrs. Scott hadn't found anyone to play with. She had tried the bar scene, and found out how much that had changed in over twenty years. She had tried internet dating sites, but no one seemed to be interested in anything past a hook-up with any 46 year-old married woman. Her self-esteem had plummeted lower and lower.
Left only with her loneliness and internet connection, she began researching different sites and finding out things that she never would have dreamed of. One of the things she discovered was that the idea of being dominated was something that, as reluctant as she was to admit it, gave her a great thrill. Some of the romance and erotic novels she'd read recently probably led her to consider that scenario somewhat too.
Mrs. Scott had not had to worry about looking attractive for men for a long time, and as a result, she had become out of touch with her inner seductress. She owned little provocative clothing, and ceased wearing makeup years ago. Her hair was short, upswept, practical, light brown and greying. She did, however, have one asset that never needed upkeep and never left her – a pair of very large breasts. They hung low but swept out, like gigantic swollen bananas with nipples that pointed straight out.
As an indication that she was serious about meeting me, I had her attach a pair of clothespins to her nipples while we IMed. She sent me pictures, and she had done exactly as I had asked. I was pleased, so based on this, I decided to agree to meet.
She arrived at precisely 7:30 PM as I had instructed. I could see by the camera I had installed at my doorstep that she hesitated for about a minute. This made me smile. She then knocked on the door nervously. I instructed her to enter, as the door was unlocked. She did so and stood in my doorway, wearing a white satiny blouse and a black velvet skirt, with stockings and heels. She had eye-makeup heavily applied and was wearing bright red lipstick. This was all as I had instructed, so things were going well so far. I bade her lock the door behind her. Then I told her to place her gratuity in the metal dish on the stand by the door. She removed the agreed fee from her purse and placed it in the dish.
"Welcome to my home, Mrs. Scott," I greeted her. "First some ground rules. You will speak only when spoken to. You will take no action unless directed by me. You will follow all instructions given you as quickly and completely as possible. You will be polite, respectful, and grateful to me at all times. You will address me as 'Master M', or as 'Sir'. I will address you in any manner as I see fit. Is that understood, Mrs. Scott?"
She paused slightly before answering, "Yes, Master M."
"Good," I replied. I turned back to my computer and began typing, deliberately ignoring her. She stood there in my doorway, not speaking or moving. This pleased me. She was doing very well so far for her first session. No attempts at small talk, no enquiries, no demands... Just quiet acquiescence.
I let her dangle for a few minutes before turning to face her. She looked very sheepish. I stood in my leather pants, boots, and black silk shirt to appraise her. She waited silently as I looked her up and down, a bit of colour rising in her cheeks.
"Take off your shirt," I instructed her. I peered intently at her as she slightly hesitated, then bit her lower lip and began unbuttoning her blouse. Her cheeks darkened as she looked at the floor.
"You will speak when spoken to, Mrs. Scott," I stated directly. "Don't make me remind you again."
"I'm sorry, Sir," she replied meekly. "It won't happen again, Sir."
I smirked as she finished opening her blouse and spread it revealing a black, lacy bra. Her ample tits were spilling over the top of it. She removed it completely and stood there blushing.
"Let it fall to the floor," I instructed her.
She let her blouse drop and followed quickly with, "Yes, Sir."
I regarded her for a few moments, then pointed at the picture window in the living room. "Walk over and stand in front of the window, facing out with your hands on your hips."
She looked up with a horrified look on her face, quickly checking herself. "...Yes, Master M," she affirmed as she flushed crimson. She reluctantly strode over to the window and did as I ordered.
"Closer," I directed. "Get right up to the window."
She briefly hesitated again. She then shuffled up closer to the pane. "...Yes, Sir," she said with a quavering voice. She was following instruction quite well so far. I was impressed. I let her stand there for a minute or so, blushing twelve shades of red with her eyes shut as she faced the window in her bra. I then flipped the light switch on, illuminating a pair of lamps at either side of the window. Her position instantly went from dimly to brightly lit.
She opened her eyes at the sound, and uttered a cry of "No!" with a terrified expression.
"Excuse me?" I enquired with a sly look. "I didn't quite catch that."
"I... I'm sorry, Sir. I'm sorry. I just... it won't happen again, Sir."
My property was surrounded by thick hedges on all sides, so it was unlikely she would have been seen anyway, but she was truly terrified. She was trembling slightly. It looked like she was fighting back tears. I was quite pleased. This was her first experience with any sort of submissive scene, and I was pushing her. Not hard, but she was responding well.
"All right, that's enough," I told her. "Come here and stand before me. Same position. About two feet from me."
"Yes, Master M, thank you, Sir," she replied, in obvious relief. She did as told, and resumed her posture directly in front of me. Her relief quickly turned to apprehension as she stood before me. I stood six foot five in my boots, towering over her, my intent gaze peering straight through her. She maybe reached five foot six with her heels. She was clearly intimidated. As I intended.
I regarded her from a close distance. She had her makeup impeccably applied as I had instructed – dark eyeliner and mascara, red lipstick and subtle dark eyeshadow. Her mascara was beginning to run very slightly at this point. Her lip trembled slightly, betraying her unease. Creases were beginning to form on her face, particularly around her mouth and eyes, but her features were attractively arranged. Quite a good-looking older woman, I surmised.
"Do you know why you're here?" I asked her.
"To serve you, Master M," she replied.
"Very good," I said. "And you know that as we discussed, I am going to strike you, yes?"
"Y... yes," she stammered. "Yes, Sir."
"And I am also going to humiliate and degrade you, yes?"
"Yes, Sir," she answered.
"Very good. Before we start with anything too involved, let's review the safe words. If I am doing anything that is getting too intense, and you need to slow down or take a rest, you say, 'Yellow'. You know this?"
"Yes, Sir."
