Present
It’s a quiet country hotel. It has a long sweeping drive lined with oaks, bordered by wide lawns on both sides. My car rattles its way along the drive to the gravel covered car park. With relief I switch off the engine and sit for a moment.
The slight wind rustles the leaves and the sun, low in the autumn sky, sheds a little warmth. The oaks’ leaves are just turning to red and gold.
Am I doing the right thing here?
She has hired a car and I don’t know which, if any, is hers. Perhaps she is not here yet. I am a little earlier than we agreed. And, after all, she is coming from the USA. Not, I have to admit, exclusively to see me, but she has extended her stay so we can meet. She found this place on the Internet and had me come over and check it out. “Come over!” It’s about 200 miles from my home but people from the US imagine everything in the UK is next door. So I had come and checked it, found it delightful and then she booked 2 rooms online which I thought was nice of her, somehow reflecting the fact that we had to continue our learning about each other.
Three months ago
We met online through a site dedicated to the D/s lifestyle. We talked and she was one of the very few who seemed interested in the mind as well as the body.
God knows there were plenty who wanted me to switch on my cam, strip and stick clothes pegs on my nipples the first time we chatted. Now, I know that some go there for instant gratification but, well, not me. And anyway, self inflicted pain is simply that, pain. Pain has to have a purpose, HER purpose.
Please don’t misunderstand me, I’m not a pain lover. But I get ahead of myself, you need to understand more.
We chatted. We chatted about her, about me. We talked about her home, her work, her life and about mine too. Not once did she ask me for anything, except to see my picture. I found her funny, intelligent and mature. She shared some minor intimacies but none too revealing.
Present
I took my bag and the hanging dress from the back seat of the car. I took in the smell of the countryside and the view of the grand old house. I’d always imagined I would be aroused at this moment, that I would feel the excitement but I didn’t. All I felt was nervous, no, not nervous, scared. We’ve spoken on the ‘phone. We’ve exchanged pictures. We have been so open and I feel so close to her and yet, how to explain?
Three months ago
There was one evening when our conversation openly acknowledged her dominant nature and my submissiveness for the first time. Of course, we had touched on it, but this was the first real time.
She had always asked me how I was dressed. At first this made me slightly suspicious, it’s a very “male” thing I suspect. With her, though, it was different. She was interested in the clothes, whatever they were. If I was in a dress for work or jeans for a walk she wanted to know. It was like she wanted to be with me.
It was a Saturday. It was very late for me, early evening for her. That is time difference for you.
“You need someone to take control, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Explain.”
And so I had. I had tried to anyway.
She had read what I said, passed a few comments, asked more questions. Some of what she said reflected her own lack of confidence: did it matter that she was a little younger than I? Would I find her mature enough? Most of what she said led me to believe she was a most articulate and caring individual, not some mad person who wanted to flay me alive. She liked to be in control, she said. To have a girl serve her.
Sounded good to me.
Present
I checked in and discovered she was not there yet. I wondered if she had changed her mind until the receptionist handed me an envelope. I didn’t dare read the message at the desk. I took my bag and dress up the room and closed the door. I placed the envelope on the dressing table and wandered around the room. The view out over the gardens was beautiful. I wondered if she was saying she was not coming, that she had decided to let me down.
Why did I not just read the note? I cannot explain. I had a glass of water. I sat, staring at the envelope and then made a decision. I took it and slowly opened it.
“Slightly delayed. I hope to be with you in time for dinner. I have booked a table for 9 to give myself time. Let’s meet in the bar at 8.45.”
Two months ago
By now we were friends. We shared jokes, intimacies and had two rows. I don’t remember what either was about.
She was taking some slight control. She told me what to wear, and on a couple of occasions, what not to. Knickerless meetings were new to me and I found it felt like she was there. Wearing an ear ring in my labia had a similar effect. She was subtle, rarely using these techniques, leaving me wanting her to demand more and more.
She forbad or demanded me to masturbate or orgasm. I had to email a report for her and was gently scolded for lack of detail.
Somehow it felt good. Perhaps it felt even better than good. No, not perhaps, it DID feel better than that.
Present
I unpacked, placing my things in the drawers and wardrobe. I’d brought enough for a week, even though I knew we only had two days. I had bought new things and brought the best of my existing. Underwear to enflame, I laughed to myself. God, but I hoped it would. I knew how much she liked silk and lace. I knew by then how much she wanted femininity.
I spread a new nightdress out on the bed, then I picked it up and held it to myself, examining myself in the full length mirror. Its deep crimson silk shone in the fading afternoon light. I put it back on the bed and undressed. I put my dirty clothes in a bag and hid them.
The shower cubicle was larger and the shower hard and warm.