Dominated - The Beginning

"What I need to know, and I need you to be truthful", she said, taking my hands in hers and looking me dead in the eyes. "Did you get your snatch waxed?"

"Fucking hell, Aubrey."

"It's important, darling. A man like that is used to the finest things in life, he becomes accustomed to a certain way of living."

Fucking hell, had she been talking to the waiter?

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes. But that doesn't mean..."

"La la la", she said, sticking her fingers in her ears. "I'm not receiving any energy that you aren't going to get filled by one of the most eligible bachelors on the planet."

I slipped past her and carefully made my way downstairs, like a newborn deer taking its first steps.

I still had some time before six-thirty, but I figured it would take most of that to get downstairs in one piece.

When I finally managed to get to the front of the building, he was ready and waiting.

"Evening ma'am", said the driver, opening the door once again. He moved to help me in, but I put up a hand to signal I could do it. If I couldn't, I needed to learn.

I was a little disappointed that Dom wasn't in the limo, waiting with some flowers and a bottle of champagne, but I guess a girl can't have everything.

"Mr Greenplace is currently tied up at work and may be a little late. He sends his apologies", said the driver over the intercom.

"That's ok, thank you", I said.

As the limo drove off, I became slightly concerned that he was going to cancel for the evening. Then all of this would have been, for what? Nothing? I shook the idea away, because if an afternoon of pampering and feasting in the finest establishments in the city is 'nothing' then you have no sense of self-worth.

No, this has been a great day, and a bit of Dom would simply be the icing on the cake.

***

The limo came to a stop outside the restaurant, a different one from where I had dined earlier.

The door opened and I stepped out. As soon as I made a move, lights started flashing and I couldn't see a thing. Again, it was only a handy arm, this time from the driver, that stopped me from crashing to the ground.

Just as quickly as it had started, the flashing stopped. It took a few seconds for my vision to return to normal. When it did, I saw the entrance was lined with paparazzi, constrained by velvet ropes.

"They realised you weren't famous", whispered the driver in my ear. "No offence."

"None taken", I said, relieved that my attempts at walking in these shoes would not be recorded for posterity.

I took a couple of steps and looked at the door. It seemed forever away. I took a couple more steps and the limo drove off, being immediately replaced by another.

The camera flashes started again, but this time they didn't stop when the passengers got out of the car. Evidently, they were more famous than me, as if that was difficult.

Thankfully, the couple behind weren't interested in a quiet night out and started posing for the paps, giving me plenty of time to get to the door unnoticed.

Inside, I was greeted by a different maître d' and escorted to my table.

It was large enough to fit eight people, and I sat down, alone.

A waiter brought me over some water, then a glass of wine, then some breadsticks. It was seven, then seven-fifteen, then seven-thirty. Still no sign of him.

I sat there trying to look sophisticated as I nibbled on breadsticks, pretending to not notice the "poor girl" glances from customers who thought I'd been stood up, and the less charitable glares from those groups crammed around much smaller tables.

Seven forty-five rolled around and I'd had just about enough, the couple (or three glasses) of champagne I'd had in the last forty-five minutes not helping my temper.

If it had been anyone else I would have stormed out. Then again, if it had been anyone else I wouldn't be stranded in the most exclusive part of the city, miles from home with footwear that served no practical purpose.

By eight, I'd fully had enough. He hadn't even had the dignity to send me a message (or get his assistant to send one) saying how much longer he would be.

I called the waiter over and asked him if he could call the limo driver who dropped me off, but he nervously informed me there was no way to reach him.

I didn't believe that for a second, but I was in a "fuck it" mood, so asked him to order me a taxi. He looked confused as if the concept was completely foreign to him. People didn't come to a place like this by what, to their standards at least, amounted to public transport.

"Fine", I said, "I'll walk", a final hail mary.

He looked at me, trying to work out if I was drunk or simply crazy.

"Fuck it", I said, standing up, staggering across the hall, steadying myself on a nearby table as I overcompensated for a stumble in the other direction, much to the annoyance of the diners.

"I'm not drunk!" I proclaimed to the curious punters. "It's just the shoes."

"Just the shoes", I muttered again, as if that was going to convince the crowd.

I staggered towards the exit, determined to leave with some dignity.

"Oh, bollocks", I proclaimed, stopping in my tracks.

It was him, he'd finally arrived, just in time to see me stumbling around like a baby gazelle.

His piercing blue locked on to me, his jaw squarely set. I felt the pit of my stomach drop as if I was back in class.

I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again, sir.

He walked into the restaurant, all eyes on him. He gripped me by the shoulder, his powerful hand squeezing a little too tight and led me to the table, sitting me down like a naughty child.

Completely oblivious to the reaction of the rest of the diners, he circled the table and sat on the far end. Immediately, the nervous-looking waiter appeared, filling his glass with champagne. He walked around to refill mine.

"She's had enough."

The waiter, without hesitation, stopped and returned to the bar, where he doubtless had other duties.

"Good evening, sir", said an older man, perfectly comfortable fawning over the rich and powerful. I couldn't be sure whether he was the head waiter, manager or owner. Perhaps all of them, perhaps none.

"Are we ready to dine?"

"Yes", he said, simply.

"Hang on, I've not even seen the menu yet."

The head waiter/manager/owner looked at me as if I'd told a joke that didn't quite make sense. Dom just glared.

"Thank you, Manfred", said Dom (or was it 'my friend'? I was a little more drunk than I'd realised).

"Thank you, sir", said Manfred, and headed back to the kitchen.

"We're not doing this again", I said. "I like to know what I'm putting in my mouth." But before the words were even out of my mouth, yet another waiter arrived, this time carrying the hors d'oeuvres.

He placed two plates down, one for each of us, both identical, and walked away.

"Excuse me", I shouted after him. Startled, he stopped and turned.

"What is this?" I asked, pointing to my dish. I ignored Dom's face slipping into his hands as if embarrassed for me.

"Foie gras parfait with apricot and chamomile granola", the words rolling off his tongue as if it were common speech. "Is there anything else, ma'am?"

"No, thank you", I said, smiling. He turned and walked away.

"What are you doing?" he said, a reprimanding tone in his voice.

"I just want to know what it is."

"What it is, is worth more than what you earn in a month."

"Just because it's expensive doesn't mean I'm going to put it in my mouth", I proclaimed.

At this, a woman at the next table began to choke on her lobster, her husband slapping her on the back until she hocked the piece of seafood back onto her plate.

"Sometimes it's better to spit than to swallow", I said, and the rest of the table glared at me.

He glared at me too and I could tell he was fuming. I loved it.

Things didn't get any better when I picked up a piece of foie gras with my fingers and popped it into my mouth.

"This is actually pretty good", I said, licking my fingers. "You ought to try some."

He slammed his hand to the table and I jumped. I was worried I'd pushed him too far, but then again, after what he'd put me through this afternoon, I figured he deserved it.

He sat silently for a moment, then, composing himself, ate his hors d'oeuvres in silence. I watched as he cut precise chunks, balancing the elements of the dish with each forkful. He chewed slowly, savouring every morsel.

I felt bad for my behaviour, even though it was just a bit of fun. I picked up the knife and fork and copied his eating pattern, trying to look somewhat respectable.

Finally, when he was finished, he placed his knife and fork vertically on the plate, and I did the same. I knew this likely sent a message to the waiter, though precisely what, I had no idea.

The waiter came and took both plates.

"That was lovely, thank you", I said, "I can't wait to see what's next." I saw Dom's eye twitch. What I'd done this time I couldn't tell. He took a solid drink of water and placed the empty glass down.

"I think this was a mistake", he said, as if discussing a not very important business deal.

"What do you mean?"

"I think we should go."

"But we've not finished dinner yet."

"Yes", he said definitively, "we have."

He stood, and began to walk around the table.

"Hang on", I said, "don't you need to pay?"

He looked at me. Are you serious?

Of course, he owned the restaurant.

I stood up, still no sturdier in the heels than when I'd put them on.

"Wait up", I said, "otherwise I'm going to fall and break my neck. Then I'll spend the rest of my life in court, suing you for damages."

He looked at me and offered what I thought was the faintest of smiles, the kind you give to a child who's not sure why people think they're funny.

I expected him to take me by the shoulder again, but he offered his arm and I took it. I guess it wouldn't do to strong-arm a lady in front of the paparazzi, even if she is a no-one.

As we left the restaurant, the paparazzi went wild, waving handheld recorders and microphones, shouting his name, questions, anything to get his attention. Some of them even asked about me. The cameras flashed constantly, and I could barely see anything, but he passed through it all, steady as a rock. From the way he reacted, you would think he was walking through an empty field on a summer's day.

The driver opened the limo door and Dom got in.

"Mind yourself, ma'am", he said to me as I got in the limo, "tomorrow you'll be famous."

The car drove in silence, as always. He sat there, brooding whilst I tried to look anywhere but at him. I felt bad for ruining the evening, even though I knew I shouldn't. After all, who does this? Who sends someone out for a full-body makeover, without so much as a question?

Would you like to go to dinner with me?

That's how normal people do it.

They don't send you to get dolled up, have your body waxed and oiled, and leave ridiculously expensive jewellery in your home. Let alone running secret medical tests!

It was insane. He was insane.

But of course he was, he was a genius. He didn't see the world like the rest of us. If he did, he'd probably be selling insurance or something, just another regular Joe.

Yet here he was, with all the money in the world, trying to reach out to me in the only way he knew how. He tried, even when I publicly humiliated him, on purpose. He still tried to find a way to make a connection. But I'd ruined it, perhaps permanently.

Perhaps what had drawn him to me was that I wasn't a celebrity, wasn't a model or a musician or a genius or rich or famous or charming or witty or brilliant. I was just me. And he'd realised too late that that wasn't enough.

"I'm sorry", I said, softly. He didn't respond and I wasn't sure he heard me. "I can pack up the clothes and send them back if you'd like. Or I could take them to the Good Will..."

"Stop", he said, his profile not moving. "You can keep the clothes."

"What about the earrings and the necklace? Not that I'm asking to keep them. Though it's not as if they aren't beautiful, it's just I'm not sure I can accept-"

"STOP", he said, swinging his arm and sending an ice bucket flying down the length of the limo, the cubes peppering the barrier between the driver and us.

I froze, terrified at this sudden outburst. I knew he was tightly wound and I'd been pushing his buttons all evening, but this sudden explosion caught me completely by surprise. Where I'd previously felt embarrassed, now I felt unsafe.

He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. For the longest time, neither of us spoke.

Finally, he broke the silence.

"I'm sorry", he said. "That was unacceptable."

"It's alright", I said, trying to comfort him, even though he was the one in the wrong.

"No, it isn't."

I wanted to disagree, to tell him it was my fault. To tell him I shouldn't have wound him up, shouldn't have embarrassed him in his own restaurant, in front of his staff, his patrons, for all I know, his friends.

He hadn't been seen out in public for a number of years, certainly nowhere the paparazzi would have access. And yet, here we were, on our way from one of the most high-profile places in the city. He had taken a chance on me, and I'd ruined it.

I couldn't tell if it was guilt or just a maternal desire to help a boy in pain, but I moved slowly from my seat by the door, to his, which ran the length of the vehicle.

I sat down a few inches from him, and when he didn't react negatively, I moved in closer, then closer again, until our bodies were touching, my knee pressed against his.

I placed my hand on his lower thigh, a comforting gesture.

He mumbled something, but I couldn't quite make it out.

"What was that?"

"I said", his voice raising slightly, "take your panties off."

I looked at his face, wondering whether he was joking, but there was no doubt he was deadly serious. He turned, looking me deep in the eyes, a wounded pain reflected in the icy blue waters, a desperation.

I couldn't say why, but I slipped my hands up my dress, my fingers pulling at the delicate fabric. I raised my ass, then hesitating for a moment, scooped them down. There they sat at the top of my thighs, barely concealed by the dress.

He saw me hesitate.

"All the way."

I did as I was told and slipped them down over my thighs, over the tops of my stockings and over my knees, before letting them drop to the floor.

He leaned down, and took a piece of the fabric in his hand, waiting for me to step out of them, which I did, one foot at a time.

He sat back upright and let them dangle on one finger, not even looking at them. He dropped them on the floor, where they landed in a pool of melted ice water, instantly soaking up the wetness.

I smiled, nervously, but his expression didn't change. still deadly earnest, vulnerable. It didn't even change when he placed his manly hand on my thigh, at the top of the stocking. Even as his hand slid further up, under the hem of my dress, over the top of my stocking, he just looked me in the eye.

This is it, I thought, we're going to fuck in the back of a limo.

I can't pretend I wasn't a little excited and that I couldn't already feel myself getting wet.

I gasped as he ran his hand up further and then down over my smooth pussy, almost as if he were inspecting it, as if he was as indifferent to my netherregions as the women at the parlour. His fingers ran over my hairless pubis with a delicacy I didn't expect from such a powerful man, then down, over my clit, my lips, down to my entrance, further down to my taint, to the edge of my asshole. I half-expected him to slip a finger in, but he stopped short, and running his hand back up, removed it from under my dress.

The tip of his middle finger glistened with my arousal, and I craved his touch, desperate for him to continue exploring me. Then he uttered three words I will never forget.

"Are you hungry?"

He pressed a button and the intercom buzzed.

"You know where we can get a burger?" He spoke to the room.

"I know just the place", said the driver, over the intercom

What. The. Fuck.

A couple of minutes later, the car pulled to a halt and we got out of the limo.

It was a dive, the sort of place where they ask "you want food poisoning with that?"

But in we went, donned in our finest threads to get a greasy burger.

He stood at the counter, as I positioned myself slightly behind him. There was a gang of kids sitting at a table in the corner, eyeing us up. I was suddenly very aware I was going commando.

"What's good?" He asked the kid behind the bar.

"Uhh, everything", he said, not really sure what was happening.

"OK, I'll have two cheeseburgers, two fries, two diet cokes and a side of onion wings."

"Anything else?"

"No, thank you."

I huffed, annoyed that he was doing it again, ordering for us both, but I didn't want to cause a scene. We stood out enough, without bringing further attention to ourselves.

"Alright, that's fifteen-thirty."

Dom stared at the kid like he was from another planet. He checked his watch, Hublot, and then it dawned on him.

Money.

The kid wanted money.

Dom laughed and tapped his pockets.

"Do you have cash on you?"

I gave him a "does it look like I've got somewhere to keep cash in this outfit?" look.

"Right, right." He turned to the kid behind the counter, "I'll be back in a second." With that, he dashed out of the shop, leaving me alone.

I could feel the eyes of the teenagers, all sitting in the corner, on my body. I looked at the menu board, trying to play it cool.

"Hey darlin'", shouted one of the youths, "why don't you come sit with us?" The other guys, a bundle of sexual tension, snickering.

"Yeah, luv", chimed in another, "you can have my chicken nuggets." At this, the group burst into hysterics.

I folded my arms over my chest and tried my best to ignore them. Normally, I wouldn't have given them a second thought, would have told them to fuck off. But here, like this, exposed, in a part of town I didn't know, all bravery had deserted me.

"Hey, hey fellas", said a third, clearly the oldest of the group, the leader. "Show some respect." His tone was reasonable, calm, which made me all the more desperate to get out of there.

"A fine woman like that isn't interested in your little chicken nuggets. She needs a quarter-pounder" he continued, pulling at his crotch. They laughed, whooping and banging the table. "A real mouthful of meat", he added, taking the whole thing up a notch.

I couldn't tell if he was notably older, or just big for his age. All I did know was that when he got up and approached, he towered over me, and leered openly down my dress.

"How about it, baby?" He said, sneering down at me.

The hollering and boisterousness in the air had turned to menace. It had gone from intimidating to dangerous. I thought about running, but I'd never make it to the door. All I could do was stand and wait.

The bell above the door rang and I hoped it was him.

"Is everything alright?" Asked Dom.

"Yeah, sound, mate", said the leader, sizing him up. There was no question Dom could take him in a fight, the others too probably. If it was a fair fight. But these were kids who played by their own rules, and if a knife or even a gun got involved, then all bets were all.

"Speak to ya, later, darlin'", he said, as he sauntered casually back over to his group.

"I want to go", I whispered.

"One second", he said, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air. He casually walked up to the counter and gave the kid a twenty. "I forgot my wallet", he said, seemingly trying his hand at small talk.