It was a warm summer's evening and still full daylight as I waited, nerves stretched to breaking-point, facing the bonnet of my car. I was fully, tinglingly aware, of the curious gazes of people coming and going in the pub carpark. I knew I must have looked rather strange, standing there, dressed as I was in outrageously tarty clothes. I was waiting to meet, at long last, the man who'd become the focus first of idle fantasies, then my dreams and finally, it seemed, every moment of my life both waking and sleeping. It had got to a pitch where I was at once desperate to meet him and dreading it at one and the same time. On the one hand I yearned for his touch, his tangible presence after months as no more than words on my monitor and a voice in my head. On the other hand, I felt so much in his thrall that I couldn't help worrying that meeting in the flesh would somehow dispel the magic that bound us. How could reality possibly measure up to the world we'd created in our minds?
Nevertheless, I had my instructions, precise, cool, simple enough and yet demanding... and here I was, of course, just as he knew I would be, obedient to his will. I was dressed exactly as he'd prescibed and the act of donning these garments in itself, clothing so far removed from anything I wore in my everyday life, had reduced me to a quivering mass of fear and desire. First I'd taken off the plain, conservative clothes I normally wore - long skirt, loose-fitting top, flat shoes - and then I had looked at myself naked in the full-length looking-glass in my bedroom. I saw myself through neutral eyes, and hoped I would not disappoint him. My skin was soft and creamy, but beginning to show the signs of age - there were stretchmarks, silvery, across my stomach, which was soft and round. Below that my cunt was freshly-shaven and the lips of my labia flowered prettily from my naked mons. I loved the look of my denuded cunt and knew that there was no way on earth he could fail to be moved by the sight of it. My large breasts hung lower than I might have wished.
Not for long, though, I thought, as I picked up the first item of clothing - a plunge black bra I'd bought especially for the occasion. I hooked it behind me and scooped my breasts into the cups. They fitted, just about, but a large amount was on view and the bra pushed them up and endowed them with an impressive-looking cleavage - so different from my usual undergarments... Next I put on my suspender belt, a flimsy affair of black lace.. Sitting on the sofa in my bedroom, I rolled the seamed black stockings up my legs and attached them to the suspenders. They were rather on the short side and when I pulled on my micro-mini skirt, the tops of them were clearly visible below the hem. Trying to see my rear view in the glass, I could see that from behind there was not just stocking-top on view but thigh too. Mind you, there was a good slice of thigh visible from in front also, because the skirt had a split at the front up the left thigh. On top I wore a skintight red stretch lace scoop-neck top, through which the bra and my breasts were clearly visible.
Finally, I put on high-heeled black patent slingback stilettos - a far cry from the shoes I normally wore and I hoped that I'd be able to walk on them when I needed to. However, I knew that he wouldn't mind if I looked unsteady on my feet - he'd said how he wanted to see me teetering on too-high heels, dressed and painted like a whore, when I came to meet him. I'd done the dressing - now for the paint... Usually I wore little if any make-up - I'm blessed with good skin, and a coat of pale pink lipstick is all I usually bother with. At night I might wear a slightly darker shade of pink and add a little brown shadow and a coat of mascara to my eyes - but tonight I knew I'd have to do it differently.
I tipped the contents of the bag of stuff I'd bought for tonight onto the bed. First I applied a heavy, beige makeup all over my face. It felt like a garment, like I was wearing a second skin attached to my own but it blanked out the colour of my cheeks and gave me a mask-like base. Next I put new colour on my cheeks, higher up - to me it looked like rather a hectic flush but the effect was not unappealing. I lavished thick black liner on my eyelids, winging the lines out and adding heavy dark shadow in the sockets. I coated my lashes over and over with mascara till they were impossibly long but thickly-clogged in clumps - the effect was distinctly trashy. And then I painted my mouth. I'd bought a flame-red lipstick, but first I outlined it, well beyond my usual lipline, with a red pencil. Then I filled in with the lipstick. When I'd finished I gazed at the unfamiliar creature looking back at me.
I didn't recognise myself and this was something of a relief. It was almost as if the woman going to meet what was, when you thought about it, a total stranger, was not myself but someone else. I wouldn't do such a foolish thing, of course not; but this creature in the mirror, this pathetically over-the-top caricature of a woman, well, she looked as if she'd do just about anything...yes, anything at all... Dressed and painted like a wank fantasy, at the whim of a man I'd never met. Looking at myself, my unfamiliar self, I felt my cunt melting with excitement. I knew what I was doing. This thing into which I'd turned myself was in fact at last a true indication of the woman I knew myself to be deep inside, the woman I'd spent my life till now suppressing. Tonight she was allowed out for the first time ever and yes, I thought, dressed like this, painted like this, I can and will do anything.
With head high, but clinging onto the banister for support, unused to the height of my heels, I'd gone downstairs, locked up and left the house. I'd driven the twenty miles to the pub to which I'd never been before. It was in a rough area of the city, frequented mainly by men, he'd said. He'd had to drive to it too, from a similar distance the other side. We were meeting in the carpark and his instructions had included not only the details of what I had to do when I got there but what, shortly after, I could expect him to do to me. 'You will arrive in time to meet me at 20.30,' the email had read. 'You will get out of your car which you will have parked bonnet outwards. You will stand still, facing the bonnet, and wait for me. I will approach you from behind. You are not to look round. You will say nothing but obey my instructions. When I tell you, you will bend over the car bonnet. You will raise your skirt at my command and display yourself to me. I will examine you and see if you are pleasing to me'. After all that, I wondered, what next... and after displaying myself, naked, in a public carpark, could anything else hold any terrors for me?
So here I now was, standing still, as still as I could, and waiting, waiting... I didn't know how long I'd been there. It had been 20.25 when I'd left the safety of my car. That felt like hours ago already yet had probably been no more than a few minutes. In that time, several cars had arrived and the people, mainly men, who'd got out had cast interested glances in my direction. I was aware of this out of the corner of my eyes. True to my instructions, however, I kept my gaze steadily forward and did not turn my head. I wondered what they made of me, dressed as I was, standing still as a statue. I wondered how long he'd keep me here like this, my legs beginning to tremble with the effort of keeping absolutely still on those precarious heels. I felt more naked, dressed in that shameful clothing, than as if I'd been stood there with nothing on at all. Seconds and minutes ticked by. I wished I was wearing a watch but that hadn't been included in the list of what I was to wear. I had no idea how much time was passing but I felt sure it must be close to nine o'clock; the sky was perceptibly darker, the daylight was fading fast. Did he mean to leave me here all night? Was he perhaps delayed, or - terrible thought - had this all been a joke at my expense and maybe he wasn't coming at all?
Just as this last, unworthy thought crossed my mind, I became aware of purposeful footfalls behind me. Definitely heading in my direction... but was it him? What if someone else, attracted by the signals my clothing was giving out, meant to take advantage of me first? I was almost deafened by the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears and felt a surge of nausea as adrenalin coursed through my system. The footsteps came to a halt behind me. Silence - but I could feel the warmth and solidity of his presence behind me, whoever he was. The silence lengthened, I felt my skin grow clammy with sweat but the heat and moisture in my cunt increased, I felt my thighs wet and slick with my juices.
'Bend over, whore' he said, suddenly - no greeting - but I recognised his voice, the sound that had thrilled me now for months. Immediately I bent forward over the bonnet of my car. 'Lift your skirt', he said. My skirt was so short that leaning forward as I was very little was left to the imagination but I reached behind me and lifted it up, obediently. I wondered if anyone was watching our performance but now that he was here, now that I could follow his instructions, I was filled with a sense of peace and purpose. All I had to do was to please him and that was easy - I only had to do as I was told. 'Spread your legs, I want to see your cunt open', he said and I spread my legs as wide as I could. I could feel the cool air on my hot, wet cunt and hear the slight slurpy noise as my labia opened so that he could view me.
