Author's note: This is a prequel to the original story and not the next chapter. Hopefully, the next chapter of the regular story will get published in the near future. The timeline will eventually be more confusing than the one in X-Men movies, but I hope that you will enjoy each story as it comes out. As always, constructive criticism and comments are welcome.
The text message was simple, 'We're done, I wish you all the best.' I sent it and waited patiently for the reaction.
Truth be told, it wasn't the ideal way to terminate my relationship with Tobias, but my mind wasn't in the right place at that moment. I also didn't know where this coldness had come from; usually I was delicate and caring, not a cold-hearted bitch that dumped boyfriends with a laconic text. He had treated me superbly, despite my mood swings that took place a couple of times each week. My friends naturally thought I had gone mad when I said that I'll break up with him - one of them even asked for his number if I ultimately decided to go ahead and wrap up my relationship. No-one could grasp what I missed; I barely knew myself. What I did know was that dating Tobias had run its course; I genuinely needed to move on.
His reaction was surprisingly mild - it is possible he had grown frustrated with my shenanigans; I would have, if I were him. He said he understood what I was undergoing, which he didn't, and that I could reach out to him if I ever felt otherwise. When I deleted our chat, I was relieved, relieved that I wasn't wasting his time anymore, relieved that I didn't have to pretend I was content with my relationship, relieved that I could now hit on other guys without feeling guilty about it.
Two months went by and I was as lonely as ever. Work had taken its toll on me, and staying with my parents, who they had extended their stay in my area for far too long, had become unbearable; ever since I broke up with Tobias, they questioned every one of my decisions, even the length that I cut my hair. At least they were supposed to move back home in a short period of time.
In the meantime, I had been rejected twice by two guys I was into; the first was a colleague, about three years my senior, who politely turned down my offer for a drink claiming his schedule was hectic because he was pursuing a Master's degree; the second was a charming, well-built guy I met in the gym that frequently talked to me whenever we ran into each other - he claimed that he was already seeing someone, which didn't seem plausible since as far as I was aware, he lived exclusively in the gym.
Despite my profound loneliness, I was content with my decision to break up with Tobias - even though I dearly missed some of the specific aspects of our relationship, overall, it had been the right thing for either of us and thankfully, he didn't make any efforts to reconnect. Depending on my mood, I might have gone out with him again and when I'd break up again, I would have definitely broken his heart.
*
I invested countless hours in front of my laptop, even a whole weekend, from Friday afternoon when I got back from work to Sunday night when I went to sleep. I researched, I googled, I read. The internet is a treasure when it comes to sex: countless stories, videos, websites, books. Everything available only a click away. I was gradually becoming more reclusive, which clearly angered my parents; they thought I had to go out and meet someone, like Tobias, instead of staying locked in my bedroom. 'You are the sole twenty-three-year-old woman in the city that stays in every Saturday night,' my mother used to tell me every time I said that I didn't have plans for the upcoming weekend.
For weeks, I would only leave my private space if I had to get to the local locker and get a delivery that I didn't want them to put their hands in. They became persistent, so I tried going out for coffee, alone, reading books with erotica; the writing was sloppy, like in this story, and sometimes awkward, but I was hooked, as if I was keenly watching a guilty-pleasure soap opera. This didn't work either as the explicit sex scenes naturally aroused me and I couldn't touch myself in a café; I needed the privacy of my private bedroom and my vibrator.
I quickly realised that my apparent obsession with strong men 'enslaved' to their female partners was actually quite common - I used to think that men didn't have fantasies of female domination. The more I read about it, the more I wanted to dig deeper. A whole new world was presented in front of me, and I wouldn't leave until I had turned every stone in it. I hadn't mentioned any of these to Tobias; first of all, my erotic fantasies involved brutes gratefully accepting their role as my humble servants, not cute guys like Tobias, and second, I would have made him run away and possibly expose me to my inner circle - when he had learned that a common friend of ours enjoyed getting spanked by her boyfriend, a fetish which frankly is almost vanilla nowadays, he had called them out as perverts and distanced himself.
I resisted the temptation of making an account on Fetlife, but I finally gave in - honestly the chances of me encountering a submissive man in my vanilla life were little to none. I proudly set my role to 'Domme,' put together a few things about myself, stated clearly that I was looking for either a sub or a slave, and completed my profile with a charming picture of my hose-clad legs with the leather ankle boots my mother had gifted me last Christmas; if only she knew what I used them for. When my profile was finally ready, it was three o'clock and my phone notified me that I only had five-and-a-half hours of sleep before my alarm went off for work; I closed the lid of my laptop with a smile on my face, certain that within a few days, I would track down the submissive man I wanted.
*
FetLife is, in theory, a fascinating place; it's where people omit the veil of socially accepted behaviour and act out honestly, without the angst of backlash hanging over their heads. I liked this concept and, naively, I felt at home, actively engaging in public discussions. It didn't take me long though to realise that things weren't exactly as they seemed to be. First of all, the male-to-female ratio was ridiculous; I did expect men to have a stronger presence in a sex-related social medium, but I didn't not expect them to have the lion's share. In my region, three-quarters of all accounts belong to men; to an outsider, this might not look that negative for a straight woman, after all, more available mates naturally mean a higher probability of finding someone worthy. In practice though, it was terrible, as men turn desperate when the available pool of women is thin. Not only that, but also not all people are actually kinksters; unfortunately, many wolves are intentionally hidden in sheep's clothing: incels, abusers and other kinds of primates who disguise their shitty behaviour as 'kinky'.
Even though I did eagerly participate in meaningful conversations, the quality of the private messages I received was appalling. Empty profiles with a dick-pic as an avatar, wondering why I was turned off when I saw that; fetishists that sent me a preheated text, talking endlessly about their own desires, not giving a damn about mine; they 'hi, how are you' guys; and of course, the good old-fashioned dominant men who were at least forty-five years of age, had tons of experience and had convinced themselves that no woman is actually dominant - dommes simply hadn't found a true master yet.
I received on average twenty messages a week, fifteen of those went straight to the bin, I trolled two or three worthy of trolling and I exchanged more than one message with only a couple of the people that tried to get my attention.
Marcus was one of those people that caught my attention. He was neither laconic nor overly wordy in his direct messages, and, most importantly, he didn't have a photo of his dick on his profile. He actually claimed he had never even taken a dick-pic, which I wanted to believe desperately. He was witty and could make me laugh, even when we exchanged dry text messages. I quickly asked for his number which he eagerly provided - he was also positively surprised that a woman asked for his number first.
Marcus was a year my junior; he told me that he had been romantically involved with a dominant woman in the past but she was fifteen years older than him which meant that, even though the sex was great, their chemistry as a couple wasn't. I liked his face, his dark blonde hair and his beard would look lovely between my legs, I thought. He also told me he was much taller than me and fairly muscular - another thing that I liked; in my dreams, I always had a towering man as my slave.
We talked for hours and it seemed to me like we could be a match; not only we shared a load of fetishes but we also shared a lot of vanilla interests which made our conversations genuinely interesting. As I had asked for his number first, I let him ask me out; I enjoy being both the hunter and the prey. It took him about ten days to do so, apparently because of his shyness; he thought he might turn me off had he rushed.
We met for coffee a couple of days after he had asked me out. He did his best to sufficiently impress me, wearing a classic shirt in my favourite colour. I also made my effort, wearing a skirt and thin black pantyhose, which he had told me he was into, despite the fact that it was a rather chilly day. We clicked rather well in person too, and I slowly fell for him. He was imposing, his voice was deep, his humour was phlegmatic. I wanted such a person under my command and I made myself clear during our coffee, making plans for the future.
A couple of hours later, we paid -actually he paid- and left. He offered me a ride home and I counter-offered a ride to his home; I knew he lived alone. He seemed head over heels about my proposal, and he told me where his car was parked. I stood still though and didn't follow him. He turned back and I tapped my right heel nervously on the pavement, 'Won't you kiss your Mistress?' I wondered, and he reached down to give me a warm wet kiss; before we even met, he had asked me whether I wanted him to address me as 'Mistress' and I had declined, but now that we seemed like a match, not only I wanted it, I craved it.
'Will my Mistress follow me to my car?' he asked and graciously offered me his hand.
I was in total delirium and the same stood for Marcus even though he persistently tried his best to hide it. The dampness between my legs was rising exponentially and during our ride, I silently rehearsed the specific orders I had planned on giving him. Even the thought of his tongue parting my lower lips was electrifying; Marcus had continued addressing me as his superior since our gentle kiss and I was becoming impatient.
Earlier during the day of the date, I had paid a visit to my local pet shop and bought a fancy blue dog collar for Marcus and a matching leash. Although my family never had any pets, meaning I knew literally nothing about their accessories, I did a bit of digging before I walked into the shop, trying to avoid any awkward conversation with the usually eager-to-help shop assistants. I wanted to show it to him, but I was afraid that it might scare him off, what kind of weirdo goes on a first date with a dog collar in her purse after all.
*
Marcus' apartment was located in a neighbourhood popular with singles. The housing buildings from the 1960s located adjacent to one another had small flats and rents tended to be on the affordable side of the spectrum as the families had moved out to larger, more modern houses in the prosperous suburbs. The old shops had closed down for good but new, usually alternative, options promptly began to pop out every day - a friend of mine had suggested an excellent small brasserie two streets from Marcus' place.
