Our meeting is surreal, almost dream like. It is early evening and you are walking down a city street that is nearly deserted. The work crowd has long since vacated the area, and passersby are rare. You have been in the city on business, and your attire reflects this. It is professional, yet not stuffy.
You walk with purpose, your mind on other things, when you stop short. Before you is a man dressed in a charcoal gray suit and topcoat. The suit fits him well, and you are struck for a moment by how handsome the man is. He stands in front of you, blocking your path. You meet his eyes, but he does not move. After a moment, he speaks.
“Hello.”
You are startled. Ordinarily, such an encounter would set you on guard, but there is nothing menacing in his manner. His voice is pleasant, light, despite the neutral expression he wears on his face. He continues.
“I must say, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. You look even lovelier than your photos make you appear.” I drink in your visage, my eyes slowly moving from your face and down the length of your body. “If I may say so, the camera does not do you justice.”
You stand there, appraising my frame, and you find your voice. “Thank you,” you say. You notice that my gaze has returned to your face. My eyes lock with yours as I continue.
“I am especially pleased by your manner of dress. The blouse, the stockings, they are perfect choices. They heighten your femininity. So many women advertise their sexuality brazenly. They mistakenly believe this accentuates them, but we both know it cheapens them, don’t we?”
You nod, and swallow once. I smile now. “What a lovely throat. It’s bewitching. A man would be fortunate indeed to be allowed to kiss that neck, those lips. Sadly, I imagine few men are smart enough to realize this. I suspect that the men you allow to keep company with you do not show you the respect that you deserve.”
I step closer to you, and you do not move away. “Meeting you leaves me with one regret,” I say. “Do you know what that is?” You lick your lips unconsciously. Your voice is both strong and soft. “Tell me,” you say. I step forward once more. “Meeting you in the flesh, that lovely, lovely flesh, no longer allows me to imagine this encounter. It’s a shame, as the imagination is a powerful thing. Don’t you agree?”
You nod. Your mind races. You are not afraid, but intrigued. Who is this man? How does he know you? Your thoughts are interrupted by my voice.
“You yourself are a very powerful woman. You understand the power of the mind. The imagination, the unknown, these things are intoxicating, hypnotic. They leave you wanting more. They awaken desires in you.” I can see the throbbing of your pulse in that lovely throat, and I continue. “You know about power, don’t you? Yes, you know all about power. I wonder if the men in your life have such an understanding. I imagine they do not. I imagine they confuse it with brutishness. They do not evoke a feeling of trust, as I do. You do trust me, don’t you, sweet vessel?”
The name brings everything into focus. You now know who I am, and you feel a warmth build in you. “Yes, sir,” you say. “Yes, I do trust you.”
“That is good. You know that I will not betray that trust, don’t you?” You nod now, unable to speak. Your mind is a jumble of thoughts, images. You feel as though you are drifting away to a dark and warm place, a place of dreams not spoken of. My voice drifts down to you, comforting you, alleviating any fear you may have had.
“I can show you things. I can allow you the luxury of submission. I can show you the joy of servitude. I can unlock pleasures that you cannot possibly dream of. I can do these things. Do you want this?”
You nod.
“Do you trust me?”
You speak, your lips moist and perfect as they form the words: “Yes, sir.”
“Do you want to know my touch?”
“Yes, sir”
“Very well,” I say. I take your hand and hold it. You feel its warmth, its strength, and I trace one fingertip across your palm. You draw in a breath and sigh. My other hand reaches your shoulder and kneads it firmly. Your eyes close. My right hand leaves your palm and a finger rises to your chin.
“Do you want to begin?”
“Yes, sir”
I remove the belt from the topcoat and hold it in my right hand. My left hand turns you and you respond to its invitation. “Hands behind you,” I say. There is no threat, no danger, and you comply. A moment later you feel the belt wind around your wrists and your hands are secured. “Remember,” I say, my voice soft in your ear. “You can let go of yourself. I will not betray your trust.” My breath is hot on your neck. “You know this, don’t you?” You nod in assent.
I turn you to face me. Your arousal is evident, your nipples erect against the fabric of your blouse. I take one finger and run it along the side of your face, down your throat and I stop at the first button of your blouse. I open it, then a second, and the swell of your beasts is now exposed to the cool night air. The mesh of your black lace bra provides you a small bit of modesty, and I hear your breath quickening. “I do wonder,” I say. “I do so wonder what I may find beneath that skirt.” You let out a small moan, not in fear, but in anticipation. I speak again.
“Turn and face the wall.”
You comply. “Step forward,” I say. “I want you to place the tip of your nose against that wall.” There is no hesitation from you and you step forward, your heels clattering in the still of the night. You lean forward slightly and place your nose against the cool rough brick. I run a finger down the small of your back, stopping just above the hem of your skirt. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes sir, oh, yes.”
I lift your skirt and expose your bottom. The matching panties are delicate, fragile, and I trace the curve of your buttocks. If anyone should happen by, what would they think? But there is no one. There is only you and I. I gently slide the panties down your body, and you step out of them. I smooth your skirt over your bare flesh and turn you to face me again. You glance at your panties, balled in my hand, and you lock eyes with me. I need not ask. You trust me completely, and you know what I want. You open your mouth and I place the panties inside. You close your lips and you taste yourself, your arousal.
“Follow me,” I say. Without waiting for a reply, I start down the street. You follow obediently, your wrists bound behind you, the cool air traveling up your skirt. We continue down the street and I stop by a car parked at the curb. I open the passenger door and you step in. I reach in and open the glove compartment. Inside you see a mass of shiny black fabric. “Open,” I say.
You open your mouth and I fish the panties from it. “Hand me the object from the glove box”. You look quizzically at me for a moment. Your hands are bound behind you, how can you hand me anything? Realization sets in and you lean forward, pressing your face into the glove box as you snatch the object with your teeth. You pull it out and lean your head down to my outstretched palm. You drop the mass into it. I shake it out and you realize the object is a shiny spandex hood. You stare at it, and I reach into the pocket of my topcoat. I remove a large red ballgag and allow it to dangle from my fingertips. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes, sir.” You lean your head forward and I slide the hood over it. You can no longer see. “Open your mouth,” I say softly. You do, and a moment later the ball settles deep inside of it, behind your teeth. You feel the strap as I buckle it around your head. You are silenced.
You feel a hand on your chest, and I push you back into the seat. Straps encircle your body as I bind you to the passenger seat. The rise and fall of your chest is intoxicating. A moment later you gasp in surprise as the seat reclines back sharply. Your body lays flat in the vehicle. You test the straps, but they do not budge.
You hear the door close, and seconds later the driver side door opens. You listen as I take my seat. “You can stop this at any time,” I say. “Do you wish to continue?” You speak, your voice muffled by the gag: “Yeff, firr. Puhwheezze!” I caress your hooded face and turn the key in the ignition. The car pulls away, and your journey begins.
