Her throat was tight, her mouth was dry, and she paced anxiously outside the hotel room, waiting for him to open the door. She had no yet knocked on the door, she was much too nervous yet. Dressed in the clothes he had told her to wear - opaque white blouse, see thru bra, lily white thong, short black skirt, white garter belt, and white stockings - she was early. She could be early, that was something he did not mind. Tardiness was something unacceptable. She arrived at the hotel an hour before the appointed time, but she was far too nervous to go directly to his room. She spent some time walking in the hotel shops and pacing the hall outside his room.
"What if he doesn't like me? What if I don't like him? What happens if there's no chemistry?" All valid questions that ran through her mind as she wasted time. "If if he asks me to do something I don't want to? What if I do something he doesn't like, will he slap me hard? Will he draw blood? Will he leave marks?"
It was now five minutes before she was to be in his room, and she knew she had better knock. She took one last deep breath, closed her eyes, and wrapped her knuckles on the faux wood. There was a brief moment where her heart skipped a beat as she waited for him to open the door. Her eyes were still closed when she heard the locks being removed. She slowly opened them as he opened the door.
"Welcome my love," his medium deep voice said as he extended his hand to take hers. "Come in, beautiful," he said as she walked inside. He closed the door quickly, his eyes never leaving hers. "I have waited too long for this moment," he said before kissing her cheek. "Too long."
Her name was Melinda Thompson, and this was the first time meeting him. Though they've known each other for over five years, it was only through the internet and a few phone calls. They were first friends: Melinda meeting him in a big beautiful woman chat room while she was married. It was not until she was separated that he discovered her lifestyle, the lifestyle they were going to experience: she was submissive.
It was during the talks with him that Melinda found herself wanting, craving a few of the curiosities she had, more specifically, over the knee spanking. She had read several stories involving older women allowing their husbands, their boyfriends, their Dominates, to hit their naked bottoms with their hands, paddles, and other items. This was something Melinda liked that she didn't admit to herself for a long time, but now, with the talks with him, she's more than admitted.
His name was John Everett. A 40-year-old bookseller and part-time writer, father of one. He and Melinda were friends, even after the little falling out they, and others, had when their mutual chat room broke up. They did not speak to one another for a while, a fact they both blamed on her ex. But that was the past, and now they were talking again. They were also discovering sides to one another neither knew had.
They needed to meet, that was something they always knew. There was a sexual chemistry they had, and it needed to be explored. It was fate that allowed John to be in her area. It was a week before the event that he sent her an e-mail that changed their relationship.
They exchanged daily e-mail, telling one another of their day, their family, what they dreamed, what they thought. But this one piece was different. Melinda had shared with John a Submissive Check List she filled out for a prospective dominant - one she eventually did not meet. John used the information and wrote to her, asking, no, telling her what to wear.
As a good submissive, Melinda obeyed.
"You look lovely, Pet," John said as he took her hand and directed her to a chair in the middle of his suite. He received a few rewards for being a lead bookseller and one was he received a suite when he attended conventions. "I am pleased to see you are wearing as I directed." His smile was warm and genuine. It warmed her to have pleased him.
"Thank you," she whispered. She was nervous: she couldn't remember if she was permitted to answer compliments.
"You are most welcome, Precious." He kissed her cheek again. She was allowed to accept those compliments from him. She smiled and looked away, blushing like a schoolgirl.
"Has Precious not been complimented much?" He took her chin in his hand and pulled her head up. He looked her in the eyes, those eyes that her pictures did not do justice. They were bluer than he had imagined. They were sexier than he had hoped. He was taken aback: he had an electric shock rush through his body.
"No," she quietly answered as she averted her eyes from his. She didn't want to look into his dark brown, deep, mysterious eyes again. Melinda looked into them as she entered and lost her breath. It is written that the eyes are the windows to the soul. Melinda saw into his soul and was shocked to find a caring soul. She was not expecting him to be so.
"You'll be told so much this weekend," John said as he released her face and walked to his bed. She glanced down at her feet before realizing that he wanted her to be proud, to hold her head high, and to smile. She looked straight ahead and smiled.
"But before we do anything, I'm hungry. Shall we go down to the restaurant and get something to eat?"
As he sat, John smiled at his friend. He had always lusted after her, and had had the idea of one day being in bed with her, but never had he ever thought of her as a submissive. Yet, here she was, in the clothing he had chosen, ready to later obey his desires. He quietly thanked the stars for his luck.
"You know I've always had a thing for you," he said as they waited for their orders to come. It had been several minutes since the waitress left and he could sense Melinda wanted to hear something from him.
"Yes, I know," she coyly said as she looked around, wondering if any of the other diners were thinking of what the two of them were going to do later. She silently laughed as she thought ‘To hell with them, I want to do this.'
"Good, good," he answered as he reached for her hand and grasped it as lovers do. She inhaled quickly, caught off-guard by this public show of emotion and affection. He smiled and squeezed her hand tighter, quietly showing her he meant what he had said and was about to say.
"I can't wait until we're alone again," she said as the waitress came back with their drinks. John thanked her for her service and leaned back, not to watch the young girl walk away, but to observe the others in the restaurant as they looked, not at him, but at Melinda. She was hot looking, he knew it, and wanted everyone else to know it.
