Picture This

He was sitting at table in the outdoor cafe in Manhattan's Bryant Park, busily reading something, his iPhone set neatly on the table. He had no coffee as of yet, which indicated he was being a gentleman and waiting for me to arrive before ordering. But he was reading, which indicated he was just fine on his own in the event I didn't show up. Oh this was not his first rodeo. I checked the picture Sophie Anne had texted me (it was she who was playing matchmaker) to make sure I had the right guy. Yup, it was him, all right. Smoothing my floral empire waist dress over my ample hips, I approached. Sophie Anne, a trickster since our high school days, had not told me his name, and I didn't know if she had told him mine. Oh, she thought she was so funny. What to say.

"Good afternoon," I said, "I believe we're here at the whim of one Sophie Anne." I smiled.

"Yes," he said, in English that had a German accent to it, "please sit. I'm Otto." He put his book down and looked at me.

"Nice to meet you, Otto. I'm Cara."

"Cara is Italian name."

"Yes," I said, "I was born here, but my grandparents were from south Italy."

"So you are southern girl," he smiled.

"If you like." I wondered if he knew that his name, Otto meant "eight" in Italian. What's more, I wondered if Otto lived up to his name below the waist.

"Coffee, Cara Mia?"

"Espresso, and very good, you know how to say 'my dear' in Italian." Otto signaled the waiter and ordered espresso for both of us. I loved that he ordered for me. I sat patiently while he offered me sugar and Anisette for the espresso, neither of which I took...I'm sort of a purist in that I think espresso doesn't need sugar or Anisette, or God forbid, milk. He took Anisette in his, but I didn't begrudge him that. He looked too damn good, wearing the hell out of that custom tailored suit like he was. "Would you mind terribly if I smoke?" I asked once our espresso was fixed.

"You want to do something socially tabu with your gorgeous mouth," he said, "go right ahead." I looked at him, half-surprised, because that is so not the response I get when I ask people if they mind if I smoke. But he appeared to be serious. With that tacit permission, I fished a pack of Dunhill reds out of my purse, took one out, and lit up.

"Thank you," I said between long, lazy puffs, "coffee and cigarette just go together, y'know?"

"I never thought about it," he said, "but when you say it you make it seem the most natural thing in the world."

"Well thank you. So what do you do?"

"Sophie Anne didn't tell you," he said, "she really does like to surprise people."

"That she does."

"Well I won't give away my secret so easily," he sipped espresso, "there's no fun in that. I want for you to guess what I do."

"OK," I said, "this should be interesting. Do I get any hints at all?"

"No!" With that, he grabbed the book he'd been reading before I arrived and put it in his attaché case.

"Oh please, that book is in German and I can't read German," I said.

"Point to you," he smiled, "you've been observant this whole time. I like that. But no, I'll say nothing to give it away."

"It's OK," I said, putting out my cigarette, "you don't have to say anything. I can read your body."

"Oh really," he said, "do it."

"May I start with your suit? It's custom tailored, isn't it. The Wall Street contingency don't know from style like that, so you're not one of them. The Madison Avenue advertising creeps go in for flashy crap, you have taste."

"Very well. I concede that I am neither a stock broker nor an advertising executive."

"Thank you. Moving on," I sipped more espresso, "there's your demeanor, your countenance, as it were. You appear far too serious to be involved in the entertainment industry, so I venture to guess that you're neither an event planner, a promoter, or an entertainment lawyer."

"Once again, you are correct, Cara Mia."

"And you're definitely not in real estate," I said, "your iPhone, though you have it set out, hasn't rung, beeped, or buzzed once."

"I am not in real estate. But," he grinned," the game was for you to guess what I do, not what I don't do.

"I'm getting to that," I laughed, "it's a process."

"What process?"

"Process of elimination."

"You have no idea what I do," he said. "Admit defeat."

"I...yeah, I admit it, I'm clueless."

Very well, I will tell you." He leaned across the table and whispered, "I'm photographer."

At that my mouth hung open. A photographer.

"So you," I said, attempting to not lose my shit, "you spend all day with fashion models, what's that like?" In my mind, I knew what it was like...they were tall and thin, and short, fat me didn't stand a chance against them.

"Fashion models? What, you think every photographer works for Seventeen Magazine." He scrunched up his face. "So commercial."

"Well I'm heartily sorry," I said, "what sort of photographs do you take?"

"Art photographs," he said, "the only kind worth taking. If you like," he continued, "after coffee we can go back to my place and I can show you my work."

"We could do that," I said, knowing full well that 'show me his work' was a euphemism for fuck me. "We should do that," I said, letting him know I wanted to fuck him too.

We finished our espresso and I let Otto hustle me into a cab. His place was in Murray Hill. He somehow had the whole third floor of an old warehouse building that had been converted to apartments. I didn't ask how he managed to have an entire floor. I sat down on a black leather sofa and slipped my shoes off.

"Are you the barefoot contessa?" He asked, seeing me remove my shoes.

"I love the idea of high heels," I said, "the look of them, the extra height they give me."

"But they murder your feet, no?"

"They murder my feet," I conceded. "You just know everything."

"So put your feet up," he suggested, "I will go and get some of my portfolio." I put my feet up...yeah, he didn't need to tell me twice, and he went to get a black, leather-bound portfolio. He returned to lift up my feet, sit on the couch, and place my feet in his lap. Then he handed me the portfolio. "Have a look," he said. The first picture was of a woman in a riding outfit, straddling a man who was nude except for a leather saddle.

"Ohhhh," I said, "this is...I see what you mean about not being a commercial photographer."

"Do you like?"

"Well it's a gorgeous photo, Otto," I said, "I can really see power and control in her eyes."

"So you do understand," he said, starting to rub my feet, "I captured her true essence." He kept rubbing my feet and I looked at more pictures. The whole album was the pony play couple. The Mistress grooming her pony, feeding him, riding him hard, using a leather riding crop on him. By the time I finished looking at the album, Otto had moved from my feet to my calves.

"You do beautiful work," I said.

"I'm glad you like," he said, "because I would like to photograph you, Cara Mia."

"Photograph me," I said, "that's a generous offer. But I'm no Mistress."

"You don't have to be," he said, "in fact, I don't want a Mistress."

"Well what do you want?"

"I like submissive girls," he said, "I photographed the Mistress with her pony because it was a job. But my real passion is submissive girls."

"So you're a Dominant," I smiled. Sophie Anne had told me that, of course, but I still needed to hear the man say it.

"Oh yes," he said, "through and through."

"So what you want is to play...to play and take photographs." He nodded.

"You have hard limits?" He asked.

"I do. No children, no animals, no brown showers, no knife play, no fire play."

"The golden showers?"

"Golden showers are fine, it's the brown that are verboten."

"Anal?"

You wanna knock at my back door," I smiled, "I'll let you in."

"It goes without saying that I wear a condom," he announced.

"Agreed."

In the bedroom there were a few cameras set up on tripods. Otto meant to photograph me, us, from a number of angles. He bade me take off my dress, my bra and girdle...I never wear panties, and I didn't bother with stockings on such a hot day. He went to a closet and pulled out what appeared to be a German milkmaid outfit, complete with underbust corset.

"Whoa," I said, upon seeing the outfit, "I was not expecting to play dress up. I hope it fits."

"I'll help you," he said. And he did, he helped me into the outfit, and it's a good thing he did...I would never have figured out how to lace up that corset. But I gotta say, it held in my stomach and my boobs looked amazing. "Look at your kegs in this," he said, whistling. I looked to see where he was staring...at my breasts, duh, to figure out what he meant by "kegs". Must be a German expression. Next he took my hair out of the ponytail I always have it in, combed it, parted it, and restyled it in two braids. Were I blonde, I would have been Heidi.

He had me sit on the bed and told me to look "demure". I did my best, while he snapped picture after picture. I raised my chin, lowered my eyes, looked this way. Then he arranged all the cameras on timers. He removed his suit jacket and tie, took his shoes off, unbuttoned a couple of buttons on his shirt, and joined me on the bed.

"Do you have a kiss for Daddy?"

I leaned in and gave him a kiss on the mouth, thinking yes, he's an age player. He grabbed my face with both hands, kissing me hard. My fingers moved to unbutton his shirt more, but he slapped them away. "No, no, girl," he said, "not until I say." Being a good girl, I stayed away from those buttons and let him set the pace. I kept hearing the cameras' flashes going off around us, but soon that became just another part of the scene. Next thing I knew we were laying down, the top of my milkmaid outfit pulled down so Daddy could get at my "kegs". He pinched, bit, and sucked hungrily at them while I moaned. He sat up, my bare breasts exposed to the cameras, and unbuttoned his own shirt to reveal a shock of dark chest hair.

"Oh thank god," I moaned.

"Thank god what," he said.

"You have your original body hair. I hate when men remove it."

He undid my corset, tore at the rest of the outfit to get it off me. He still had pants on, but the bulge in them said they wouldn't stay on for long.

He muttered something in German and I looked at him like he had four heads. "What?"

"I said, turn over, Cara Mia, on your hands and knees." I got on all fours as another camera flash went off. "Ohhhhhh, baby, that's it," he said, "what a view." When he said 'what a view' he was kneeling behind me, naked from the waist up, so technically it was the view from the back of my ass. "You're naughty girl," he said, putting his left hand on the small of my back, "and naughty girls get spanking."

"Yes, Daddy." I said.

"I want you to count them out with me."

"Yes Daddy." He spanked my ass and I shouted "ONE!" I heard him shout out something in German, I guess the German word for "one". He kept spanking me, I kept calling them out. All in all, he gifted me with ten sharp, stinging spankings, all on my ass. My ass felt like it was on fire, and I'm sure it was as red as a baboon's.

"Good girl," he said, after the tenth one, "so good." He kissed both my ass cheeks. "You look good with a red bottom. He moved, I felt him getting off the bed.

"No, don't leave me!" I wailed like a helpless child.

"Leave?" He sounded surprised, and I heard a drawer open. "No, baby, I'm just getting some cream to put for your bottom. Don't move." He got back on the bed, kneeling behind me once again, and I felt him touch my ass again. But he wasn't spanking this time, now he was tenderly rubbing cream that seemed to put out the fire on my ass flesh. "How's that, baby?"

"Better, Daddy. Thank you."

All done with the cream, he kissed the small of my back. Something inside me jumped...that was new.

"Lay down on your tummy," he said, "I want to use your gorgeous ass." Without a word, I got down on my tummy. I heard him unzip his pants to let his member out. Then I heard him rip open the wrapper of a condom with his teeth. Goddamn, he was ready already. He gently pushed my ass cheeks askew and said "Don't worry, I'll go slow."

And then he was on me and in me. Kissing my neck, making sweet love to my ass. I'd known spankings before, but if you'd told me it was possible to experience spankings and such tenderness with the same person, I would've said you lie. Now I know better. In that bedroom with Otto, I found out that a man can be tough and tender all at once.

After, as I lay naked on my back, legs splayed open, smoking and looking up at the ceiling, I asked "So do you think you got any good pictures?"

"How could I not," he said, lying beside me, "you're gorgeous. But I want you to know I'm not gonna show today's pictures in a gallery or shop them around to a magazine."

"Why not?"

"Because they're just for me," he said, "and I really hope you'll be just for me."

I turned on my side, propping myself up on my elbow. "Are you-"

"You don't have to decide right now," he said soothingly, "I know we've only just met. But I am telling you that I want to be for you the one who protects, who cherishes, who does for you. The only one. You will answer me yes or no when you are ready, not a minute sooner, I know this, and I don't intend to push you. Only to make sure you know what it is I offer you." With that, he pulled me close to him. I snuggled close and let him hold me. It felt good. I didn't have to decide right now, and I didn't know yet if it would be forever or just for today. All I knew was it was a beautiful beginning.