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My American Lady

Two internet friends finally meet
American Lady


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.


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.”


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.


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.


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. I luxuriated in it, washing my hair twice and taking the opportunity to check my shaving was adequate.

One month ago

“I have to be in London in about 5 weeks time”

No build up, this was the first thing she said when she got online.

“Oh, wow.”

“I want to meet you.”

“I’d like that too.”

“Well, let’s then?”

“Oh, god, yes, please.”

“I’ll let you know the dates.”


“Where’s my email?”

“Oh, I simply haven’t had time.”


“I am sorry.”

“You will be – grin”

Over our next few chats and phone calls the impossible became a possibility, then a probability and then a certainty, well almost.


My mobile rang at 8.

I answered it and there was an agonising pause.

“I imagine that pile of rust in the car park is yours?”

“Oh God, you’re here?”

“Of course. Just thought I’d let you know. See you in the bar in 45 minutes?”

“Yes,” but she had already rung off.

I admit I had rather hoped we might meet in private first. I had not said so because I wanted it to be perfect for her. I was, though, rather afraid of how I might behave. Does that sound silly?

I dried my hair and brushed it. I was toying with tying it back but decided loose would be good. Some slight makeup only for lips and eyes.

I dressed slowly.

A suspender belt of course, because she had said many times that she liked that. Stockings, black and seamed next because she likes them too. She had given me no instructions on how to dress beyond saying that the place looked posh so we’d better be too.

My new dress was, I hoped, lovely. OK, it was another charity shop purchase but it was obviously some rich woman’s cast off and was perfect. It was black, with straps like a strand of hair, like a strand of my hair. The dress was tight on the breasts and buttoned to the waist from where it fell as a wide, full skirt to my knees. I wore black silk French knickers and felt, I have to admit, pretty good despite my nerves. I have a long thin chain that I had told her about – it has nipple clamps at either end. She’d given me instructions and so I wound it around my waist and clipped one end to my lips, the other end hung from the front of my dress under the last button, a small, silver pendant held in the clip.

My black sandals completed the outfit and I checked myself over in the mirror. Actually I studied myself for about 10 minutes! Well, that’s about the best I can do, I thought.

With my stomach churning I walked down the long, wide staircase into the hall and turned towards the soft music coming from the bar.

First sight

And there she was, standing by the bar. I stopped in the bar and took her in. That hair, like the autumn leaves, a range of colours from red to gold. Her dress was long, simple like a shift in purple silk, layered and falling to touch small purple heeled slips. She was talking to the bar girl. Her face was animated, her hands moving. I walked over and stood quietly beside her until the barmaid noticed me and stopped listening to her.

I smiled at T and offered my hand. She took it, smiling, saying nothing. She kissed me, a light kiss on the cheek and said then, “Well.”

“Yes, well.” I smiled. “It’s good to meet you at last.”

“It really is.” There was something tangible in the air and I realised how clever she had been to arrange we meet like this. We had to meet like this. No lust to be revealed, nothing to get between our meeting and us.

She turned to the barmaid, “A glass of sauvignon, please.”

When the wine arrived we moved to a table and sat facing each other.

“Now, little one, how are you?”

“I’m absolutely wonderful now you’re here. It’s so good to see you at last.”

We talked, and talked. All through dinner we talked, through the pate, the veal, the ice cream and the cheese. We had wine and coffee and brandy and I felt not the slightest bit tired or drunk.

This was our first meeting. Nothing else was remotely like this. No internet chat came close. We touched, sometimes accidentally, mostly intentionally. There was that something again and again.

“Are you wet?”

I was stunned. “What?”

“I asked, are you wet?”

I had to think, to let myself find out. “Well, actually, no.”

She smiled, “Good.”


“Of course. We have been talking, so far, about things, about our lives, about our plans, our families. So far that is.” She grinned. “Do you realise it’s 11 o’clock?”

I’d had no idea.

She stood and I followed suit. We wished the staff good night and strolled through the hotel to the lift. The doors opened and we entered, standing looking at each other.

She touched my hair.

“Wet now?”


“Me too.”

We arrived at the 5th floor and the doors sighed open. “Let me see your room.” I led the way, opened the door and stood aside to let her in first.

“Nice." She went to the bed and lifted my nightie from it. “Lovely.” Then she turned, still holding it and said, “Come here.”

I walked to her and she put the nightie down and her hands on my shoulders.

Our first ever real kiss was long, slow and gentle. She kissed with her whole body. Her hands were in my hair, on my back. Mine were around her neck. She kissed my face, my neck, my ears. I did the same to her.

Breathlessly she pushed me gently away.

“My room is next door. Bring your nightdress and come with me.” She touched the pendant hanging in front of my dress and smiled, lifting it in her palm, then turned to lead the way. I followed her carrying the silk night dress. She led the way into her room and then, well, and then is the next chapter.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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