A First Meeting

"Do I have to tell you twice?" Your voice is steely. I know you are serious and I hastily hand the camera to the woman. Her expression does not change as she flicks through the pictures. You are watching her and I am watching you.

"Looks like fun." Her gaze seeks out mine and forces me to meet it. A little smile plays at her lips. I wonder about your relationship, wonder if she has been in the exact position I am in now. Maybe this elaborate charade is what you put all your sluts through. I wonder if she passed the test. I notice the flush creeping over her white neck, the tops of her breasts, just visible above her smart uniform. I realise with a start that she is aroused by the pictures; and, even more surprisingly, that this fact arouses me. I have never been attracted to other women, but now, I can't help picturing how she would look naked, her hands tied, your cock in her mouth. I can't help wondering how her pussy feels, if she gets as wet as I do at the thought of you. The thoughts scare me slightly, my mind straying into uncharted territory, and I am not sure how to deal with them.

Finally she hands the camera back to me, and then pauses for a moment. She runs her hand through my hair, pushing it back from my face, tucking a strand behind my ear. It is an intimate, caring gesture, and it takes me completely by surprise. What also surprises me is the way I thrill at her soft touch, the way when her long nail accidentally scrapes over my skin, it sends a shock right to my already wet pussy. When I look back at you, you are smiling, and I think you are reading my mind yet again. "What do you say?" I don't know who you are talking to, but she answers the question.

"Those are great pictures. Thank you...Sir."

She is gone, taking with her our empty plates, simply a waitress again. I stare at you; you never cease to surprise me. You are smiling, obviously pleased, having achieved your aim. "I bet you are wet now." It is not a question, and all I can do in reply is giggle. "Did you park where I told you to?" I nod. "Were there any other cars parked there?"

"No..." I wonder what is going through your mind. You know how wary I am about sex in public, you are aware of my shyness and my fear of being exposed, and I am worried you are going to push me too far. Equally, I am worried you are not going to push me far enough, that you are going to be too considerate, too caring.

We don't see the waitress again until we are leaving. I feel a tiny flash of jealousy as your hand briefly caresses her hip, as you smile together at a shared joke. She is probably about ten years older than me, far prettier, and she walks with a confidence I have not yet learned. I wonder with a start if you gave her that.

As we walk down the road to my car, your arm circles my waist, almost proprietarily. I am grateful for the slightest contact. "She's a good girl, Olivia. The waitress." I look at you mutely. "She has a little boy, she's working two jobs to put herself through university. And she's a lot of fun," you add with a cheeky grin. "I'd like you to get to know her one day. I think she could teach you a lot."

I am stung and it is all I can do not to flounce out of your grasp. I want you to teach me; I don't want you getting some pretty girl involved, someone who has tasted you in ways I can still only dream of. I try not to let my annoyance show on my face, but you know me too well. "Are you jealous?" You are laughing at me and I pout up at you. "Come on now, don't be a brat. I won't mention her again, until you are ready. Ok?" The fact that you seem so sure I will one day be ready annoys me further, but your kind eyes make me melt. I feel like the heroine of a sickeningly romantic novel as I gaze up into them -- except that I'm not wearing any underwear and last night you spanked me until I almost came. I giggle at my own thought, and you shake your head. "Always giggling at something! Come on, beautiful. Show me where you're parked."

As we walk, your hand comes to rest over my hips and my arse. You are checking to make sure I didn't wear any underwear, and, satisfied, you give me a playful little slap. I gasp with pain as you sting my already bruised skin, and there is concern on your face as you quickly turn to look at me. "We need to get you more used to this. Are you very bruised?" I nod, embarrassed, casting my eyes downwards. "But you liked it, though?" You don't need an answer.

We have reached my car. I fumble for my keys in my bag, but you take them from me, unlock the doors, and guide me into the passenger seat. Sitting down in front of the wheel, you glance around at our surroundings. Our parking spot in the little lane is fairly well concealed by hedges, but we are still in view of the main road. "Strip for me." My eyes widen and I shake my head softly. We both know I am naked under my dress and I can't, absolutely can't take it off here in this public place. Your voice, however, is low and uncompromising. "Do. It."

I want to obey you, but the shame and embarrassment is too pressing. It's not just the thought that strangers might see me; it is a sudden wave of shyness about you seeing my body, out here in the harsh sunlight, instead of in an erotic haze in a darkened room by candlelight. You know the complex emotions that are running through my mind. I am not an exhibitionist, but you think I would like to be if I could get past my shyness and insecurities. You know how much I detest exposing myself on webcam for you, but you only guess at how wet it makes me nonetheless. I am angry with myself as I remain still, physically unable to make the movements to undress.

"Look. I am not budging on this. You either take your dress off, right now, or I get out of the car, and you drive away. I'm being fair. You have a choice. You can't have it both ways."

This is it. I know I can't walk away from you now. You said I had a choice, but in reality, we both know I don't. I need to experience more of what I have only just tasted. So, I strip. My hands tremble as I wriggle out of my dress, and I am ashamed to feel tears in my eyes. "Do you feel humiliated?" you ask as you take the dress from me, tossing it into the backseat. I can only nod. "Oh, dear. You don't have a clue what humiliation is. But this will do for now."

I think perhaps you are pleased with me. We both know this is a big step for me, and you reward me by keeping your eyes fixed on my face. I don't move my hands to cover my body, knowing it is pointless now, and this, too, pleases you. I am relieved when you take off your suit jacket and hand it to me. Most of me had known that you wouldn't drive me home like this -- but a tiny part of me had worried. Because I am so small, it covers me a respectable way down my thighs, and if I hold it closed it hides my breasts. I still feel exposed, and anyone happening to glance in the car window would be able to tell I am wearing nothing but a man's jacket; but at least I am not naked anymore.

You pull the car away, fiddle with the radio until you find something you like, and don't talk to me. I sit, clutching the jacket tightly around me. Eventually you strike up a conversation. "So, what do you want to do for the rest of the day?" I stare at you, disbelieving, and you laugh. "Ok, I didn't really think I'd be able to get you to say it. You're hard work, beautiful. I hope you're worth it."

TO BE CONTINUED...