We started talking online. She didn't desire a very intense, possessive, and constant relationship. Her only concern seemed to be avoiding potential harassment, both personally and in her social life. Initially, she was a little hesitant during conversations about fantasies, but gradually she opened up, even writing with one hand and stroking her groin with the other while sharing these fantasies. Later, she would tell me how many times she masturbated before going to bed, imagining what I would do to her, during breaks in our conversation.

Over time, we had a few conversations where she explained that she wanted me to enter her roughly, to hold her so tightly that she couldn't move her arms, and to treat her roughly. Then, we decided the time had come for us to see each other in person. Turning on the camera and meeting face-to-face was a different experience. She was petite, and I was a very large man compared to her. Her saying that I was more provocative than she desired made me happy too. I used a language that was both polite and gentle, yet also commanding. I did this both to see her submission and because I thought that for both of us to reach true satisfaction, our emotions needed to be fulfilled beforehand. I wanted her to call me "Sir," and when we were alone, I would call her "my whore" and she would call me "my man." We didn't want to have physical contact in social settings; our relationship was going to be completely secret.

While Isabel and I were on camera, I could feel that my chest and shoulders, which I wasn't wearing a shirt on, were arousing her; there were times when she forgot to swallow her saliva while we were talking. She was noticeably drooling. I asked her to stand up and bend over to show me her buttocks and to take off her bra to show me her breasts. I liked what I saw too. But I liked to delay, I knew it increased the tension. So I invited her to dinner. I suggested a place on the Bosphorus for a meal. We set a time; it wasn't going to be dinner, I just wanted us to see each other in person, smell her scent, look deeply into her eyes and watch her surrender. I also had another request, so I asked her to wear a skirt.

I turned off the camera and fell asleep. The thought of our meeting the next day made me both impatient and excited to go to work. I grabbed a bite to eat before leaving work, because my intention wasn't to focus on the food; I wanted to concentrate on observing my slave and testing her conversation and submission.

I arrived 10 minutes late on purpose. Isabel was sitting and waiting, occasionally checking her phone, and her nervousness was very evident in her hands; she couldn't find a place to put them. She was excited, and her eyes kept glancing towards the door. I entered, and she smiled and stood up. I approached the table and said, "Sit down; in social settings, women don't stand up when a man enters." She sat down, and she understood that I was trying to protect her.

"It's so nice to see you like this," I said. "You look so sexy. The fact that you belong to me makes you even more attractive to me." Isabel was trying to speak, stammering, but it was clear she was affected. I was carefully looking into her blue eyes; she occasionally looked away, but I could see her pupils dilating, her heart pounding in her neck, and her breathing increasing. She was very excited. She was trying to settle into her chair to relax.

The waiter leaned over and asked what we wanted; I joked, "Order whatever you want. You belong to me now, and your food, your clothes, even the air you breathe is my responsibility. You must belong to me completely, in every way." A big smile spread across her face.

She finished her meal and said she wanted wine and fish. To encourage her to eat even more, I ordered calamari and shrimp. I asked them to bring the wine in a bottle, both to keep the waiter away and to make her feel more relaxed. After the second glass, I could see Isabel's face flush and her posture relax. She talked about her job, her school memories, and her family. She was completely at ease, like a couple on a date.

I listened to her, my eyes fixed on hers, watching her bite her lip. When I saw her cheerful laughter, I knew the time had come; the waiter was in the kitchen, probably preparing the dessert she would serve. I stopped talking and told her to take off her panties and put them on the table. The wine had come up her nose; she was almost choking from coughing. She understood why I wanted her to wear a skirt. Checking the people around her, she slowly took her panties off, holding them tightly in her hand, her hands clasped tightly so no one would see. Her face was flushed, and she was breathing in short, ragged gasps. I took her hand, pulled out her lacy navy blue g-string, and put it in my jacket pocket.

She bowed her head in astonishment and shame.

"You are entirely mine. I can reach even your most intimate parts whenever I wish," I said, confidently praising my beautiful and charming slave.

I drove her home, and she asked if I wanted to come over.

I said it would be good to know where she lived. As we climbed the stairs, I watched her bare buttocks and the magnificent pinkness of her groin that aroused me so much. Her hands trembled as she opened the door; she couldn't even manage to hold it. I took it from her and opened it, and we went inside.

As she took off her coat and hung it on the hanger, I hugged her from behind and squeezed her, my penis nestled in the crack of her buttocks, and I started kissing her neck. One hand explored her sweet vagina under her skirt; it was wet. I lifted her skirt, held her hands behind her back, and quickly thrust my penis, which had popped out of my pants, inside her. Holding her arms and pulling her towards me, I thrust in and out forcefully. As she pulled her arms away, her head buried in the coat on top of the wardrobe, and she screamed and moaned.

Even after 10 minutes, I pumped my penis inside her without ejaculating, and she had at least two orgasms, screaming as she did so. After her last orgasm, I let go of her arms. She couldn't stand up and fell to the floor. I picked her up and carried her to the living room. It was a lovely house. I laid her on the sofa. I pulled up my pants and left the house. I hadn't taken or given her phone number. We still had no connection other than talking over the internet. I liked the smell of her scent on me. Smiling, I set off towards my own home.