Lana stood at the window biting her lip, waiting for him to appear.

She was dressed in her workout clothes, form fitting yoga pants with no panties and a sports bra that left very little to the imagination, and barefoot.

Lana was 5 foot 8, 110 pounds with long blonde hair, long legs, a flat tummy, perfect C-cup breasts, and a rounded ass which was the product of many years of squats at the gym. She was the kind of girl that turned heads almost everywhere she went, and she knew it.

Lana also knew the effect dressing this way had on men. Most of the time she dressed a little less revealingly, but on days when she was feeling mischievous, or just plain horny, she would dress this way, go to the gym, and get off on the stares and attention, pretending to be oblivious. Trips to the gym on days like this were often followed by intense orgasms in the parking lot afterwards, with her fingers pressed down the front of her tight, thin yoga pants, working her clit and sopping wet pussy.

But today was different. Today she desperately needed to get the attention of one particular man.

Lana was 23 years old and had moved to town the year before to take a job after graduating from college. Six weeks earlier, she has been laid off along with a few hundred other employees.

She had been looking frantically for another job, but nothing was panning out. And her financial resources were quickly dwindling. Saving money had never been her strong suit.

Then she had talked to her friend Jenny who lived in the same apartment building.

Over drinks she blurted out all her problems and almost broke into tears when she admitted that she wasn't even sure where she would we get next month's rent.

That's when Jenny told her about Mr. Smith, the wealthy business man who owned the apartment building. Apparently be had a certain . . . proclivity towards the younger female tenants.

Jenny herself had been in some kind of financial bind the year before and had received some assistance from him. Lana of course assumed there was some sort of sexual quid pro quo involved, but when she pressed for details, Jenny only smiled mysteriously.

"If you want his help, dress slutty and make sure he sees you the next time he comes here. Then do whatever he tells you to do."

She left it at that.

Lana had casually probed around with the property manager and found out that the owner was scheduled to come to the property on a Wednesday afternoon.

She showered and shaved, making sure she was clean and smooth all over.

She rummaged thru her closet, naked, and selected her outfit. She picked out black, skin tight pants and a small sports bra that would barely contain her breasts. She considered putting on panties . . . and decided against it. She saw no reason to ruin the perfect smoothness of her form fitting pants with a panty line.

Her heart began to race a little as she saw him walk around the corner, recognizing him based on Jenny's description, and also in that moment realizing she had seen him around the property before. He appeared to be in late thirties or early forties, just under six feet or so. He had a stocky build, maybe a bit overweight, but with strikingly serious and appealing facial features. He walked with a purpose and gave off a very clear vibe that he was in charge.

He was dressed in an expensive suit, probably Italian, but with no tie.

As she watched him walking, she thought to herself, am I really going to do this?

Her heart was pounding as she opened her door and walked outside, moving towards him, pretending not to notice him.

He had want his smartphone out as he was walking. But as she approached him, she clearly caught his eye, because he almost stumbled as he stopped short. She resisted the urge to smile. She was used to this kind of reaction and it boosted her confidence.

"Hello," he said with enough firmness that it was clear that he was ordering her to stop, without coming out and saying it.

She slowed and turned with a 'are you speaking to me?' expression on her face.

The look on his face was still serious, but now a subtle smirk was visible.

He simply stared at her, waiting.

Finally she broke the awkward silence, "Hi, I'm Lana."

She reached out her hand to offer a handshake.

He continued to stare with that same enigmatic smirk for so long that she became self conscious and almost dropped her hand. And then he took an assertive step forward and grasped her hand firmly in his.

"Hi," he said. "I'm Mr. Smith."

Somethng about the way introduced himself as Mr. Smith instead of less formally with his first name, combined with his firm grip on her hand which he showed no sign of relinquishing, gave her a feeling . . . like he was trying to establish some kind of dominance over her right away.

It was working.

She immediately felt like she was in the presence of someone who was able and willing to take charge of her. And she wanted him too. She was shocked and a little horrified to feel herself getting wet. She was suddenly very aware of how she was dressed, and how exposed she was.

He dropped her hand.

"Come with me, Lana."

He turned and strode away without another glance at her. She felt like she had no choice but to hurriedly follow him. It seemed he already had some kind of hold over her. She followed him into the parking garage as he walked up to a large, new looking jet black Mercedes.

He got into the driver's seat, turned on the car and waited.

She stopped short of the car and hesitated.

After a moment he rolled down the window and looked at her with that same deadly serious smirk.

"What are you waiting for, Lana? Get in the fucking car."

This jolted her and sent a chill up her spine. She felt herself getting wetter.

Without another word, she walked around to the passenger side, opened the door, and got in.

The leather seat was luxurious. It was a hot day, made to feel even hotter because of the heat her body was putting out. There was cool air coming out of the vents, and she realized that the seats had some kind of cooling feature built in. The sensation against the heat of her body felt exquisite.

He put the car in gear and began to drive.

"Where are we going, Mr. Smith?"

For a moment he did not reply.

After a moment, he said a single word: "Sir."

"Excuse me?"

"You will address me as Sir."

She gulped, and said nothing, not sure how to respond to this.

All of a sudden the index finger of his right hand was under the tip of her chin. He gently but firmly turned her head so she was looking at him.

"How will you address me, Lana?"

Her mouth opened in a kind of confused pout. She wriggled in the seat, becoming very aware of the growing wetness between her legs. When she didn't immediately reply, he pushed up on her chin forcing her head up and back.

She let out a small gasp.

"Lana. How. Will. You. Address. Me?"

"Sir," she said. "I'll call you Sir."

He dropped his hand away from her chin.

"Good girl."

A warmth flooded through her when he uttered these words. She could not believe the powerful desire she was feeling to please this man she had met literally minutes ago.

She sat back on the seat in a daze.

"Spread your legs."

"What?" she gasped.

He turned to look at her briefly with a look of exasperation.

"I said, spread your fucking legs. Are you deaf? Was I unclear in anyway?"

"No, Sir," she said with a mixed feeling of fear and exhilaration.

Lana carefully and deliberately spread her long legs wide apart. She looked over at him for approval. He glanced down at her spread legs and grunted his acknowledgment.

She found herself feeling slightly disappointed that he hadn't responded with another 'Good Girl.'

"You are not allowed to ride in my car without spreading your legs like a little slut. This is a rule. Do you understand?"

This time without hesitation, "Yes Sir."

Lana had learned her first rule.