This is both a fantasy and a wish. I hope my Sir accepts this offering...
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Charlotte stared down at her phone for the fourth time that minute, checking once again to see if it was 4:00pm. Sigh. It was still 3:41pm. She was nervous, no doubt about that. 4:00pm was the arranged time for her to meet her Sir, her dominant. A casual observer would not have known it, but a secret need lived inside the cute 5'3 brunette (sometimes dyed blond) twenty-one year old from Australia. She wanted to be dominated, to be controlled, to surrender, to be taken and led by a worthy man. She had finally met him, online of all places, and was fast approaching the time when she would present her body and mind to him to use as he wished for the first time in person.
Unbeknownst to Charlotte, she was being surreptitiously watched. While she was sitting in Vice Versa, the lounge bar of Vdara Las Vegas with a cocktail, several men had been eyeing her. Without trying to, her mere arrival at 3:30pm had attracted eyes. They watched her order a Martini, carefully settling onto the bar stool in a pose that unknowingly gave a tantalizing view of tanned legs. Charlotte's full hourglass figure was contained in a short summer dress, it looked polka dotted from a distance but was more of a black, white and brown painted pattern that emphasized her ample bust and curving hips. A keen observer might have noticed the lack of bra straps. A great deal of indiscreet staring over several minutes might have discovered no panty lines, indicating that Charlotte was either wearing a G-string or nothing underneath the short dress. The answer, of course, was nothing. Charlotte was waiting to present herself to her Sir, and he had ordered her to wear that dress and nothing else.
Staring longingly at the clock on her smartphone again, willing it to go faster, Charlotte felt a small thrill when it turned to 3:42pm. Only eighteen more minutes before Sir came and claimed her. Her stomach was tense and she felt flushed, so nervous for this meeting. She could hardly believe she was here, waiting to deliver herself into his control, and yet here she was.
Charlotte's mind ranged back to their first unexpected communication and how she had come to be in a bar in Las Vegas, pantyless and waiting to be taken. She was interested but inexperienced in sex. She was shy, never did anything in her youth, and decided at university that she needed to focus on her learning and not fall out partying like some of her friends. But every so often she had an itch that needed to be scratched, and had taken to reading erotic fiction. She had read a story of his on Literotica, and it had pleasant overtones of control and submission. Liking his style, she had read another of his writings about a princess offering everything to her rescuer, and been inspired to write an encouraging note to him to continue the story and characters.
When he wrote back to solicit her thoughts on next chapters, she had been pleasantly surprised and pleased that he was paying attention to her. She had hesitated about responding, checking his profile and what she could find on the internet, and decided he was safe enough to share some things. They had written back and forth for more than week, and each time she felt nervous sharing anything with this anonymous stranger on the internet. And yet...he seemed to be so insightful, and his tone so firm and flirty yet not inappropriate, that she didn't stop. Then it died off as he took her feedback and put it to use, and she found that she missed the emails.
A few weeks later when he published a second chapter to his story he let her know, and she had devoured it in one evening. It had left her pussy wet and nipples hard. She was busy finishing her university degree and forgot to write back until several weeks later. She was often amused by this early time in their communication, when she'd sometimes keep him waiting for days or weeks between responses. She reread the story and found it still had an impact on her, and told him that she thought it was a great narrative, and was thrilled when he wrote back and said that he had taken her earlier feedback and weaved it into the story. In fact he reported that one scene, which she had really liked, about the girl fantasizing about a man just ripping her clothes off and taking her forcefully, had been written just for her. That had sent a shiver up her spine, leaving her feeling tingly and special. He had written just for her.
The email conversation continued, and she confessed she had been hesitant to reply because he had asked a question that made her feel vulnerable - did she identify with the main female character? She finally admitted she did, and then it was sort of out there, that she liked the idea of submitting. They each gradually revealed a bit more personal information. She felt him probing her, testing her desires, and soliciting her thoughts. It felt nice to be wanted in some way, for him to want her to share. They talked about life, school, friends, and sexual fantasies, desires, and needs. All framed in the context of feedback and story development, but it felt so intimate that she couldn't help but feel a connection with this evocative writer. She remembered constantly hesitating, worrying over every sentence in the emails, thinking hard about what to say and whether it would be the wrong thing. How to reply and be interesting without it saying too much. Without revealing her secret.
He sent an email asking after a fantasy that drove her wild, toy play, where the woman is forced to orgasm while the man stays dressed. She had felt so wet as she confessed that she really liked that. His email response had made her heart skip; he said that he loved it too, but from the opposite perspective. Of having a naked, vulnerable woman at his mercy as he did whatever he wished. His phrasing made her so horny! Then he asked the question that tipped her over the edge - would she be the model for one of his stories? Would she share so intimately that he could write from her perspective?
She had stared at that email for over a week, so tempted yet afraid of what it would mean. She couldn't decide...and then he sent her an email that told her to relax, and that if she "yielded, she would find it a rewarding experience." Fuck, that made her pussy so wet. Yield to him. God, his phrasing unlocked her emotions and confusion fell by the wayside. She wrote him back, giving some personal details and confessing that his teasing of her was working. That he made her excited and frustrated with his artful words.
His next email had more details, and revealed that he must be significantly older than her because he had a graduate degree and was using it for a professional job. It made him seem authoritative, powerful, and attractive to her. It also contained a narrative outline for a story starring her, a college student who encounters an older man while out. There were several options, and he inquired what she would do, how it would fit her details into the encounter. Where would she go to get away from school? Would she want it gentle or rough? Should he blindfold her, tie her up and fuck her with toys? Damn, she had stared at that one, her pussy wet thinking about it, about how he was writing her own seduction. How much she wanted that for herself, having never experienced it in real life. Indeed, she had experienced almost nothing, never even really been felt up, and was desperate to know a man desired her. And to feel a real cock between her legs!
She wrote back, she couldn't help herself, she was committed now. Some personal details, that she would like hiking or being outdoors, and...that she would want the first time to be rough. Forceful. To be taken. Then the second time, tied up and forced to cum. Used however he wanted. There it was, in writing, on her screen. She wanted a man to dominate her, to use her and fuck her brains out. Trying to cover this revelation, she flirtily made a reference to his graduate degree, asking if she should call him doctor or sir? It was half a joke, and half a desire. She had held her finger over the send button for several minutes, rereading what she had written. It was intimate but not to the point he could find her, flirty but not desperate. She had doubts, what would this mean, where was this going. But her desire overcame her caution. She hit send.
He wrote back that same day, god he was so fast at writing! There was another paragraph of their mutual story, the older man taking her in hand because she was a tease and needed to be taught a lesson. Pulling her clothes roughly aside and revealing her body to his greedy touch. Shit, she had been so horny then, thrumming and intrigued that he so easily played the mental notes of her desire. It followed with some more personal details that made her realize that he lived in America, so far away. Safe to share with, on the other side of the Pacific. Safe to reveal her secret.
Her next emails were explicit. Yes, the man could take her and she would surrender to it, but he should tease her, keep control of her, take her to the edge but not let her go over, make her a slut in need. They talked about other stories on Lit, and she pointed to one and talked about which parts she liked. He made her admit which parts of the story compelled her to touch herself. She felt embarrassed yet turned on to confess to this authoritative man that she touched herself like that, at those ideas. That things he had written, that others had written, had made her so horny that she had masturbated. As she wrote, she kept looking back at the prior email, the male character in the story seemed suspiciously close to his description of himself, were they really just writing a mutual fantasy of an encounter? She found she liked the idea. She liked that he was older, more experienced, well educated, and confident. He had jokingly told her other formal titles she could call him, but said she could use "sir." That turned her on, the idea of it. The final line of her email back to him was a PS - "I think I like Sir."
His next email had told her that he knew she rubbed her pussy reading what he wrote, and then used a finger to play with her ass. When she read how the older man was going to finger her pussy outdoors for being a tease, drive her wild and then force that young woman to suck him until he was hard, her pussy was wetter than it had ever been. In the story the man would then pound her from behind and shoot his load inside her, then push her to the ground and say "bad girls don't get to cum on the first date." He writes an address on a card and drops it on her half-naked, abused body, and tells her to present herself later that night to him. Shit, she loved it. But the best part was that he didn't sign off from the email with his first name. He signed it Sir. Oh god, it had sent a surge of wetness through her.
She didn't know how to respond to that, she didn't know if she should use it as a title or what, it was hard to know what to do next. She wanted him to decide. She wrote back, addressing the letter by his first name, saying that she found his scenario erotic, that she could see herself in that, that she would respond the way he wrote it. Taking it like a slut and feeling the need to present herself to the man who had just forcefully violated her in public, agreeing to more. The idea was intoxicating, she had found herself rubbing between her legs and then just pulled her shorts off and started playing with her clit. Then in rereading the email her eyes kept coming back to the sign-off: Sir. He was asserting control of her. It made her so excited, yet she needed more. In her final sentence, she addressed him as Sir and confessed that she was touching herself but couldn't bring herself to orgasm without permission. She stared at it. It was true, but if she said that, what would it mean? She was afraid. She was horny. She wanted to cum. She wanted to be told to cum. She had hit send.
His response was quick and sent a shock of pleasure throughout her body. The first line blew her away, it was everything she wanted. "Address me only as Sir in these emails from now on." Oh god, he was doing it. He was being her dominant, taking control. He gave her instructions on what to do, what to tell him. He told her that she was going to surrender to him in time, when he wanted it. And that in the meantime that she was going to masturbate for him, once a day, and tell him everything about it. That she would use toys, do it in a public place, all at his direction. Holy shit, she had been so turned on!
She had read his email while out and rushed home and fingered herself, cumming even while wearing her panties, she had been in too much of a hurry to even take them off. Her email summary was fun to write, because she knew he wanted it, even if she still worried about writing something that would displease him. In it she admitted that she did not have any toys, that she would have a hard time following some of his instructions. She took a picture of her hand in her panties and sent it to him, proof that she had followed his instructions.
That had been their first true D/s moment, and she had loved it. When he emailed her back and said that since she didn't have a toy that she had to go to the supermarket and buy a cucumber to fuck herself with, she had nearly swooned, it was so hot! It sent her down a path of amazing excitement, she had never felt so alive and energetic and physically aware of her body. While out she had been in a kind of daze of need, after shopping for a cucumber, knowing that he was going to tell her to shove it into her pussy. She had lingered, trying to find one smooth and thick and perfect. The thought of his instructions had made her so excited that she knew if she went home right then she wouldn't have the willpower to wait. So she had parked on a side street and rubbed herself off right there in the car. It had felt so naughty and erotic. She sent him two snapshots as proof, one of her hard nipples in a lacy bra and the other of her unsnapped pants restricted by a seatbelt. He had liked that, and it made her feel good about herself.
The next day, she stripped naked and set up her smartphone to record a video, carefully cutting out her head — still she erred on the side of caution, she hid behind her anonymity. Over time he slowly peeled away these layers of worry, eventually she would freely choose not hide anything from him.
