Author's note: Thank you for the compliments that some have sent in via email (and to anybody commenting on the message board). This was my first attempt at a story for literotica and the encouragement is much appreciated. I have a couple of other stories waiting to be approved, though they are not sequels to this. So to those that have asked for the next part of the story, I will upload it as soon as it's done. Thank you again...
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It was 12:15 pm, and the sun was beaming down on the carpark outside the diner where Adam now sat. He looked at the empty seat opposite him. He'd known this was a stupid idea from the start. The one time he manages to get over his hangups, to make himself go that extra mile, and decides to actually meet somebody, he gets stood up. After he'd waited a full half hour longer than the arranged time, he swigged the last of his second coffee and rose to leave. As he did so a waitress who he'd not noticed earlier stepped up beside him and lightly closed her fingers around his wrist,
'Going so soon?' He stared at her and knew immediately that this was not the person he'd been waiting for. This girl - perhaps woman was a more appropriate term as she must have been approaching forty - was far more beautiful than the person he had been expecting to meet. His breath caught in his throat as he tried to stammer out a reply, all the while thinking about just how radiant the woman who was clasping his wrist was. She had the strong cheekbones and the slightly superior expression of a dozen French actresses from Godard's early films. She tilted her head slightly to one side, indicating that she was going to wait there until the boy had sorted out his little speech impediment and had given her a reply.
'I.. I was.. I was waiting for somebody but they didn't show up, so yes I'm leaving, w.. why?' She smiled in acknowledgement of his nervousness. After all, it wasn't a regular occasion that a waitress looking like a sultry film star would take hold of his wrist and ask him if he was leaving so soon. It was all a little confusing for Adam, and all these thoughts were rushing through his head in the few seconds that followed that initial grab of his wrist: 'Why am I standing here about to excuse myself before an unknown waitress? Why did she grab my wrist in the first place? Am I going mad? Am I making more of this than I should be doing? Has the coffee gone to my head?'
'Please, Adam, sit down, I'll bring you another coffee, milk and two sugars, just how you like it, and then you can wait for me for a while'. His expression changed from one of confusion, to total shock, to mild horror as she revealed that she knew his name, how he took his coffee - despite the fact that he had not even been served by her during the last half hour - and was now instructing him to 'wait for her a while'. This was all too much for him and he made a snap decision to let her know as much,
'Look, I don't know who you are, or whether you think this is amusing, or what, I've no idea what's going on and I think I'm leaving.'
'You think you're leaving? But you're not sure are you, Adam? Perhaps a little part of you is intrigued. Perhaps a little part of you wants to find out what is going on here, and not just saunter out the door and off into the afternoon, never to discover what actually happened in the American diner that you went to one afternoon in the hope of meeting your potential Mistress.'
Now Adam really was confused, how could she know any of that. Fine, guessing that he wasn't too keen to walk off before he'd been given an explanation as to what was going on required great powers of intuition. But her knowing that the whole reason he'd arrived at some obscure diner in the first place, the reason he'd driven over an hour from the city where he was temporarily resident, knowing that he was there to meet somebody that he'd been communicating with for the past month online, and who had decided to give him a trial run as her potential submissive, that bit worried him.
'Ok, you got me, I'm an Englishman abroad and I have no idea what I'm doing, so please, please tell me how you know why I'm here, if that is in fact why I'm here, and what is has to do with you.'
She let go of his wrist, straightened her neck, lost her coy smile, and slid into the chair opposite him. The more he stared at her the more he became intoxicated by her, by the sight that his eyes were gorging themselves on as they became drowned in her crystal gaze. She possessed as mesmerizing a pair of eyes as he had ever seen. He was also aware of the cleavage that rested not far below those eyes; her breasts were on show just enough to catch the eye of any male on the lookout for such a thing, but not so much that it would be deemed inappropriate by the less lascivious customers.
And then, in the hop skip and jump of seconds that preceded her speaking once more, it dawned on him that there were two likely explanations for what was going on. Either she was the real person he'd been communicating with all this time, initially on the internet, and then on the phone, and the pictures she'd sent him of herself had not, in fact, been of herself; or this was somebody that knew the woman he had been speaking to this past month, and this was how Alexa, the woman he had been expecting to meet, vetted people to check that they were sane and everything they'd been claiming to be before she herself meet them. He decided to test out his initial hypothesis first and, at the risk of looking a fool, he asked her, in his naive sounding, British public school boy tones, 'Are, are you, Alexa?'
She smiled, batted her eyelashes once, stared as though she were staring right inside of his mind, at all his fears, all his worries, all his hopes and desires, and replied, 'Please to meet you Adam, I am indeed Alexa, but you can call me Mistress.' She knew, through years of experience teasing and toying with men, with boys, that his cock was now draining blood from the backs of his knees, from the nether regions of his body, and he was no doubt feeling light headed as the rush of excitement filled every square inch under his skin. Not all the blood was rushing to his groin though, clearly, as his face had managed to turn itself pinker than the florescent sign that sat atop the diner's roof.
'So, you're not... Well, I mean, you're not how you looked in the pictures you sent, in the pictures you, I mean... Whoever that was had brown hair and brown eyes, and you, you have blonde hair and blue eyes. And besides that, you look nothing like the person in the photographs you sent me in any way.' In his exasperation he was genuinely considering walking out, because so little of this was going as he had expected, and he'd been waiting for this moment for so long, for the chance to finally meet a Mistress who wanted him as her submissive; he wasn't sure he wanted it to go like this, wasn't sure that he wanted to be confused and out of his depth. But then he realized, whatever his conscious concerns were, the fact that his cock was managing to stretch his jeans to the point where they were brushing the underside of the table clearly meant that he should at least see this conversation out.