"8:32"
"You're late!" was her greeting at the door.
"My apologies, Sir. I had to wait for the elevator. I apologize."
"Why did you not use the stairs?"
"Sir, three flights?" she offered. "And in these heels you instructed me to wear? I would have been even later if I had."
The entry area was large enough allowing her to pass without contacting me in any way. Saying I was anxious to have her did not describe the depth of the anticipation which had swollen with each exchange. Door closed and the deadbolt set, I returned my attention to her carelessness.
"Are you telling me that you planned poorly for your first private encounter with me? That you should have given yourself more time to primp yourself for me?"
I paused slightly to bore into her silence through her downturned eyes. I softened my voice only slightly and continued, "You have always been open and honest with me. Why are you making excuses for your mistake now? You know I require your trust to demand your obedience. And now, when we finally meet in person, you show none."
"Sir, I was careless. You have my word I will not fail you again," she replied very quietly.
That trust had been developed by her always having been only honest and always completely open with me from the outset. For months we had chatted on-line, later by phone, about our shared attitudes, our core motivations, sexual likes, expectations, and past experiences. After a public meeting, the bridge connecting us, I knew, was secure. She knew the root of my Dominance; and I, the foundations of her submissive desires. We had each taken care to build that trust before arranging this inevitable private meeting.
"Follow me."
I had loved the condominium from the moment I had first set foot in it. Located on a point of land accessed by a private causeway, it was not often found by casual walkers or drivers. The marble floors in the hallways connecting its rooms now clacked against her stilettos dutifully following. Ceilings rising to the angles of its building's rooflines mirroring the ones of her breasts against her blouse. Huge windows revealing the creek weaving through the marshes much as the slit of her straight skirt offered glimpses of her legs. The main room offered an unobstructed, two-hundred-and-seventy degree panorama of the bay and the city lights of the barrier islands to the East. Tempted as I was to turn and admire the panorama I knew well, I stopped short to her view and turned at the door to my own bedroom.
As I entered, I reached to open a closet door to a space I had made available for her with unused hangers at the ready. A few more steps placed me next to a bureau. I opened ever-so- slightly the top left drawer which I had also prepared for her earlier that afternoon.
"Remain here."
I continued beyond the bed to a large, upholstered chair in front of the stationery panel of a sliding door overlooking the pool three floors below. I settled into its familiarly comfortable cushions and crossed my leg. Relaxed, I watched her standing where I had placed her.
"Thank you for dressing as I had described. You look lovely. The cut, the colors, the materials. Very nice. Very nice, indeed."
"Thank you, Sir," she replied brightly, regrouping from my verbal scolding at the door. "The suggestions you gave me were specific enough to meet, but I appreciate the latitude you gave me to add for myself. My own touches. I am glad you approve." Her smile reinforced her recovering pride.
"I wonder. While you dressed yourself this evening, did you realize those small choices you made were the last ones you would make tonight? That the 'touches of yourself' were the last you would see of the everyday you for the remainder of this evening?"
"No, Sir," she answered quietly.
"'No' is a word I dislike. In fact, I hate it. You will learn not to use it when I ask you a question." The certainty of my tone made its warning unmistakable. Her face reflected her vulnerability. I continued by switching to my instructional voice.
"I will save you the embarrassment of not knowing the question to which your appropriate response is, 'No, Sir.' Listen to me carefully. That question is, and I spoke slowly, pausing between each word. 'Is there anything I cannot do with you?' Answer now, please."
"No, Sir."
Do you realize that by answering 'No' to a question containing a negative word that you are making a positive statement? Positive statements do please me." I paused to allow her time to consider my question. "Do you understand that I want only positive answers coming from that pretty mouth of yours?"
In time, her answer came. "Yes, Sir."
"Make the question into a statement. Please take the time to think carefully. I would hope I will not have to continue prompting correct answers from you."
I admired her physically as she thought. Not really short, edging toward medium height but properly elevated by heels tall enough to test her calves nicely. Wide hips and a significant slope from the small of her back. Pressure straining the panel of her tucked blouse. Hair perfectly in place and a gloss properly applied to shapely lips beginning to shape her answer.
"Sir, you may do whatever you would like with me," she offered finally with a matter-of-fact statement.
My facial expression did not express my delight although I recognized her attempt at confidence. I had decided very early-on that she was bright and realized that she knew what she was. Wanting to push her beyond her presumed success, I challenged her.
"The message of your response is very correct, but you have used one word that requires your reconsideration. Change the word 'may.' Again, please."
She had shown comfort in remaining in-place and relatively composed under my questioning. But before her answer came, the slight shifting that preceded her answer betrayed her surety.
"Sir, you will do whatever you would like with me."
"Then you understand," I asked simply.
"Yes, Sir, I understand." Every quality of her voice reflected acceptance. She shielded her eyes by looking down again, but I could see the same acceptance behind her carefully-shadowed eyelids.
"Remove your blouse and skirt. You will find hangers for them in the closet I have left opened for you."
Much as I knew she wanted out of her prescribed outfit, the realization of her circumstance seemed to quiet her movements as she moved slowly toward the open closet door. Glancing quickly to be sure the hangers were there as promised, she began with the upper buttons. The motions of her arms were sure, but her fingers seemed not to be obeying her mind.
"Face me as you do," I added simply.
