Dominated - The Beginning

"Is everything alright, miss?" Asked the driver.

"Oh yes, sorry, everything's fine", I said, realising I had been full-on belly-laughing at the preposterousness of the idea.

I took a moment to calm myself and grabbed a bottle of water from the mini fridge, chugging down the ice-cold liquid.

It's the least he owes me, I thought, as I finished the bottle. Especially after all that!

"We're here, ma'am", said the driver a few minutes later.

"Where's 'here'?" I asked, but there was no response. A few moments later the limo door opened silently.

"Thank you", I said, getting out.

"I'll be right here if you need me", he said, getting back into the limo.

He couldn't be serious? He was in a stretch limo in a no-parking zone and he was just going to wait?!

Did he want a ticket?

I realised the absurdity of a billionaire worrying about a fine of a few dollars and looked around.

I was outside one of the finest eateries in the city, one owned by Dominic, no less.

"Madam", said the maître d', ushering me into the building.

His outfit was without a crease and fitted to perfection as if he was poured into it.

I was very nervous because I was still wearing a jogging outfit and trainers. Even if they were billionaire-approved, they were still completely not the vibe of this upscale, three-Michelin star restaurant.

But it soon became apparent that I was the only diner.

Aside from a couple of wait staff and a bartender, it was just me and the maître d'.

"This is your table, ma'am", he said, pulling out a chair.

"Thank you", I said, taking a seat as he placed it under me.

A waiter came over and filled a glass with champagne then floated off silently.

"Mr Greenplace has hand-selected a tasting menu for you this afternoon, which we are sure will be to your tastes", said the maître d'.

"And will Mr Greenplace be joining us this afternoon?" I asked, in my most innocent manner, fuming at the idea he would know what "my tastes" were.

"Unfortunately, sir has some business to attend to this afternoon, but he has arranged for some entertainment."

At that, a small quartet of jazz musicians took to a small stage in the corner and started playing a soothing tune.

"If you need anything", said the maître d', "I'll be right there."

With that he walked off, leaving me at the giant table alone with a glass of champagne.

This would be really romantic, I thought, if I wasn't alone.

I took a sip of the champagne, and even I could tell this was the good stuff. You couldn't get this for two-for-one at the corner store.

From the kitchen, I saw a waiter emerge with a small dish. He placed it on the table in front of me.

"Enjoy", he said.

"Thank you", I said, "but what is it?"

"We are under orders not to disclose that fact. Mr Greenplace feels it is better to taste with your mouth, not with your mind."

"I see."

"He prefers that people engage with new experiences on a physical level, rather than with any preconceived ideas or biases, conscious or unconscious, they may carry."

Did he really give the waiter a speech to memorise, or had he refined this through repetition, I being one of a revolving door of women to whom he had waxed lyrically about Mr Greenplace?

"And what about any allergies?" I didn't have any allergies, but that was again beside the point.

"It is my understanding that a full health check has been carried out and that all meals are prepared in accordance with any allergies you may or may not have."

"He can't go through my personal health records. They're private."

"As part of the application process, you consent to a full physical and mental health check, should the company so wish to carry one out."

"I did no such thing." Actually, I had no idea if I had or not. The application was long and boring, so I just signed wherever it said. For all I knew, he could have the legal right to harvest my organs for sale.

"I'm sorry ma'am", he stammered. "If you would like, I could take it back."

"I'm sure it's fine, thank you." I smiled and he tried to hide the look of relief on his face. I guessed Mr Greenplace wasn't keen on being disobeyed.

And so it continued, plate after plate of tiny morsels which individually probably cost more than my rent. I tried each one, putting my preconceived notions aside, if just for the benefit of the staff.

I have to admit that it was all delicious, whatever it was. Most of it was unidentifiable, or so perfectly prepared and seasoned that it didn't resemble anything that I would consider "food".

I was actually a little worried about how I would return to the cheap meats and on-offer vegetables after tasting this. That my regular meals would now taste like ashes.

As I ate I realised that these were kinds of things people spoke of when they mentioned the finer things in life.

And I didn't know if it was the treatments or the champagne, but I was feeling fucking fine, and I wanted more.

***

After sampling seemingly everything the menu had to offer, as well as a couple more glasses of champagne (didn't want it going to waste), I thanked the staff and the band and headed off out.

Before I'd even left the building, the driver was standing by the limo door, ready to open it for me.

As I slipped back into the limo, I wondered whether he had been standing there the whole time, or whether someone in the kitchen let him know I was on the way. Either way, it was a pretty slick operation.

As the car moved silently through the streets, insulating me from the city like a baby in the womb, I began to feel sleepy. There was still one more stop to go, but I was too tired to care.

"We're here, ma'am", said the driver over the intercom, and I awoke, my chin covered in drool. I wasn't still quite the effortlessly classy lady of leisure I seemed to be being moulded into.

I wiped my chin with the back of my hand and waited for the door to open. It was remarkable how quickly you became accustomed to such a lifestyle. No wonder it got boring fast and that the super-rich had to build themselves spaceships and lunar settlements just for something new to do.

The door opened and I got out. Again, another nondescript building.

I entered and was greeted by another receptionist, a beautiful African-American woman, with cropped black hair and flawless skin.

"Miss Goodhart?"

"That's me", I smiled.

"If you'd like to follow me." As she walked across the room, I marvelled at her perfect figure, almost the exact dimensions of the beautiful Japanese receptionist. I wondered if it was one of his requirements, or if this is just how all receptionists looked in places like this.

She led me to the back room and I saw it was a salon. Unlike the other place, this was almost fully booked. Another beautiful African-American lady led me to the one free chair. I tried not to look around, but I was sure some of the other guests were celebrities. Oscar winners, Grammy winners, and Victoria's Secret models. Most of whom I'd seen gracing the front pages of various gossip mags, captured with a long-lens camera, involved in some tryst or other with Dom.

At least there seemed to be a good break-up package.

Break-up package!

What was I doing? I'd only spoken to the guy for five minutes and not only was I again assuming he was interested in adding me to his substantial list of conquests, but I was planning my post-Dom life!

And when the hell did I start referring to him as 'Dom'?

Chloe, darling, I told myself affecting my best Aubrey voice, you haven't even sucked his dick yet!

"Alright, my love?" Said the woman who had sat me down. She ran her hands through my long, brown hair, inspecting the split ends and tangles I'd given up on, figuring no one would notice. "What can we do for you today?"

"I'm not really sure", I said. "I was thinking of something a bit different."

"Oh, sorry darling", she said interrupting me, "it was more of a rhetorical question."

"I guess you've got your orders from Mr Greenplace?" I asked.

"You could say that." She looked at me in the mirror, her eyes locking on mine. "You could say, he has a type."

Suddenly, I could feel the eyes of every woman in the room on me, each one beautiful in their own unique way and horrified that they could be categorised as "a type" rather than a perfectly unique specimen. Certainly, none of them would be categorised as the same "type" as me.

She combed and cut and primped and preened as large chunks of my beautiful flowing locks fell to the ground. I cringed as she cut more and more off, desperate to beg her to stop, but it was of course, too late.

She continued to cut and style and I closed my eyes, helpless, waiting for it to be over.

"Right", she said, "we're just going to apply a little dye.

She rotated my chair one hundred and eighty degrees, leaning it back until I was almost horizontal.

She began to gently wash my hair. Hot water ran over my scalp as her fingers delicately ran through what was left of my hair.

"Just relax, darling", she said, as her fingers continued, massaging my scalp, hitting just the right points at just the right time.

Then raising me back up and turning me around, she applied the dye, once again working her fingers through my hair. I was shocked by just how dark it was, but reminded myself dye always looks darker when you apply it.

"We're just going to leave that set, for a little while", she said. "So in the meantime, just relax."

She placed her hands on my shoulder and began to massage them, causing me to let out a soft moan.

"Just relax, darling", she said. "Just relax."

I obeyed as she worked out all the kinks and knots that had built up over the years. It was an intense, but relieving experience.

As she ground out my muscles I felt them turn to jelly. It was amazing how much stress I was carrying and didn't even know.

She carried on like this for I don't know how long. Time had lost all meaning as her hands deconstructed the stresses and strains that had taken up residence in my shoulders.

I closed my eyes as she completed the dying process, before styling my hair. Fixing and combing it until it was just right.

"There we go, love", she said, and I opened my eyes, ready for the worst.

I could believe it, I looked completely different.

I loved it.

It was a short bob, jet black, framing my face, bringing attention to my dark hazel eyes. I couldn't tell if it was the style or if she was just that good, but I hardly recognised myself.

"Like a brand new woman", she said, her reflection smiling back at me.

After she tidied me up and dusted me down, I was back in the limo, the driver again, being ready at the door.

The next stop was, obviously, another nondescript building with, obviously, another gorgeous secretary, a beautiful blonde Scandinavian, but by this point, I had it under control.

I went in and let them do whatever they wanted, which in this instance, was applying makeup in a way that didn't look like warpaint. A first for me.

Brushes danced delicately over my face, adding the finest of dashes, lines and layers.

Once they were done I looked just like me, only better.

After that, it was back to the limo. I wondered where he was taking me next. There were still a few hours to go before our meeting, and I was still dressed like I'd been for a run.

There were no other stops on the itinerary, but I'd hoped Dom had kept one secret, a final surprise. I imagined pulling up to a fancy boutique, the staff fawning on my hand and foot, desperate to pick the perfect outfit just for me.

But my heart soon sank when it became apparent we were leaving the city centre. There were no fabulous boutiques or designer outlets out this way. I knew, because I lived here.

As we drove, I watched the shops become more affordable, the apartment blocks more run-down. I tried to think of what I could wear tonight, but even if I raided Aubrey's wardrobe, a stylistic nirvana compared to my own drab offerings, I would stand out like a sore thumb.

Truthfully, this tracksuit was the most expensive option I had. I thought about maybe passing myself off as one of those eccentric members of the uber-wealthy, the kind that doesn't conform to societal standards and wears jogging clothes to fancy restaurants because I'm that fucking rich.

It wasn't a good plan, but it was the best I had.

"We're here, ma'am", said the driver over the intercom.

"Thank you", I said as he opened the door once again. "Will you...?" I began, unsure how to ask whether the limo will pick me up or whether he will be waiting.

"I'll be heading off after this, then returning to pick you up at six-thirty. Unless there's anywhere you need me to take you?"

I thought about asking him to take me to the local mall to get a new outfit, but I couldn't afford it and besides, it wouldn't make a difference if I showed up in a new dress from an outlet or in tattered rags. To the regular diners, they were practically the same thing.

"No thank you", I said, smiling.

He got in the limo and drove off and I headed into my little hovel.

Everything seemed so drab now, the sofa, the walls, even the light. It all seemed to be just a little worse than when I had left.

I knew it wasn't a luxury apartment, but it was my apartment, it was how I lived, how I was accustomed to living. But now, after just a few short hours I could barely stand the sight of it. I needed something more luxurious, more glamorous, more fitting with my new outlook on life. I needed...

I stopped.

On my bed, in complete contrast to the dinginess of the rest of the room was a pristine white box, with a perfectly wrapped red bow.

Even as I knew I should be outraged at yet another invasion of privacy as well as a violation of my home, my heart jumped with elation at this unexpected gift.

I tugged gently at the bow and it fell apart effortlessly as if it were designed to open at my touch only.

I gently pushed it aside and lifted the lid. Inside was an evening dress, black, so beautiful I was afraid to touch it. Indeed, so taken was I that I somehow nearly missed the little card that sat atop it.

Put me on second.

I was confused until I realised that in my excitement for the large package with the bright red ribbon, there was another, smaller package, with no bow.

I lifted the lid of the second package and found another card,

Put me on first.

Underneath the card was a set of underwear.

Put me on first, like I didn't know how to get dressed.

I unzipped the jogging top and dropped it on the ground and slipped off the jogging bottoms and underwear, taking care to slip the latter gently down my perfectly smooth body.

The first item was a pair of black lace panties, delicate and frilled. I slipped them on and instantly felt sexier, the fabric contrasting perfectly with my pale skin. Any illusions about this being a job interview were well and truly over.

Next was a pair of stockings and suspenders.

I sat on the edge of the bed and ran the soft material through my fingers, wondering if he'd use these later to tie me up, perhaps to the bed.

I slid the stocking up, admiring the way it accented my leg. I slid the second one up, fixing them in place with the suspenders, and was overcome with an urge to lay back on the bed.

There, in nothing but stockings and lacy panties, I thought about him tying me up, dominating me, making me his dirty little whore. I thought about him ripping off these delicate panties with his teeth.

As I lay there, I pulled them to one side, allowing my free hand to explore what felt like new territory. I rubbed my clit and slid a finger inside as I thought of him tying my hands behind my back with a stocking and mouth fucking me until I'm overflowing with cum and it is all I can do to swallow some as the rest drips down my chin, dribbling onto my breasts, my belly, dripping down on to my quivering cunt, desperate and hungry for his masterful dick to give me the orders.

I came quickly as these images floated through my head, then took a moment before I resumed getting dressed.

I stood up, in my stockings and panties and realised there was no bra.

No problem, I thought, cupping them in my hands, I don't need one.

There was a smaller box in the underwear box, which I figured I should open last.

I went back to the first box and held up the dress, it was beautiful.

I slipped it on, worried it wouldn't fit me, but it clung to every contour of my body that I wanted it to. It accented all my best features whilst minimising my worst.

It wasn't just a dress, it was a fucking magic dress.

It was off-the-shoulder, hence the need for no bra, but my figure held it well. The hem fell to just below the tops of my stockings, the fabric clinging tightly to my ass.

All I needed to do was zip it up the back, but that could wait.

I opened the third box and gasped.

I'd of course expected it to be jewellery, but nothing like this. In the box sat two perfect pearl earrings and a matching pearl necklace.

I went to the mirror, put in the earrings and fixed the necklace, which wound tightly around my neck.

All that was left then were the shoes.

I looked at the foot of the bed and there they were, black stilettos with a ludicrous heel. I had no idea how I was supposed to stay on my feet wearing those, but perhaps that was the point?

I sat back down and slipped them on, a perfect fit.

"Oh my Christ, darling", shouted Aubrey from downstairs as the front door slammed behind her, "there's a fucking limo parked outside our building."

She'd always had a flair for the dramatic, so something so out of place was bound to excite her.

I stood and wobbled, trying my best to not fall down. Once I felt secure, I walked slowly to the bedroom door, opening it a crack.

"Hiya", I shouted, just to let her know I was home.

"Did you hear what I said", she shouted, running up the stairs, "a fucking limo. And not one of those cheapy ones kids rent for prom, either. This is the. Real. Fucking. Deal."

She burst into my room, nearly knocking me off balance, only a quickly thrust out hand stopped me from topping completely.

"What in the ever living fuck is this?" She exclaimed.

"Just fancied a change", I said, nonchalantly.

"Darling, this isn't a change, this is a revolution. How could you afford... Wait, is that limo for you?"

"Maybe", I said, slightly embarrassed.

"Oh my fucking god", she said, you're fucking a billionaire!"

"I'm not."

"Talk about acing the interview."

"We're not fucking."

"Yet."

"We've not even been on a date. If this actually is a date."

"Oh sweetie, this is such a date. And you are going to fuck him, you know why?"

"Why?" I said, knowing it was better to let her get it out of her system than fight it.

"Because he's charming and rich and good-looking and utterly fuckable. And what's more, he's really fucking rich."

"I'm not fucking him because he's rich."

"Well no, of course not. But it doesn't hurt, does it?"

She had a point.

"Can you do me up?" I asked, hitching my thumb to the back of my dress.

"Abso-fucking-loutely", she said practically skipping across the room and doing up the zip with a flourish.

"Now, darling, I know the answer, but I need to ask."

"Yes, I'll be safe and use protection."

"Fuck that, if knocks you up, that's alimony city for the next eighteen years. Cha-ching!"

Jesus Christ.