Not Yet, Miss Foster

I am feeling confident as I stand outside his door. He's a financial adviser whose services I am considering.

As I walk into his office, and see him sitting in the big brown leather chair, I am struck by the rough outline of his profile. He is sitting looking away from me, out the window onto the city streets. He looks like a man who works his body hard for a living. His form is muscular and solid, not lean and sculpted like a guy who works out at the gym. There is something about his neck and shoulders, his torso, that implies power. His head is clean shaven, he has a neatly trimmed goatee. As he turns to me in his chair and sets some papers down on his desk, he somehow looks familiar to me.

"Hello, Miss Foster. Please, sit down. Would you like some coffee, or some water?"

He's very polite. Almost formal. His voice is surprisingly gentle coming from such a big man.

"Thanks," I say. "I would like some water, actually." The city streets are scorching outside, and I am still warm from the walk from the station. I put down my purse on the side table and reach forward to set my folder on his desk. He gets up and pours me a glass of water from a pitcher on the sideboard. As he sets it between us I am aware of the muscles in his legs as he leans forward.

I feel instantly awkward around him. What is it? He's not what I would call "my type" and he's a good ten years older than me. He looks like a soldier, a cop maybe. I usually go for the pirate/gypsy bad guy look. But I have to admit he's kind of sexy. That's when I realize it. It comes on me in a rush of awareness and I can feel myself start to flush. Oh my fucking god. I know who he is. I've seen this man before. I know exactly where I have seen him before.

For a moment he doesn't look at me, distracted, reviewing my papers on his desk, and I can feel the blood rushing to my face, I want to get up, flee the room and run away. He glances up.

"Are you alright, Miss Foster?"

There is genuine feeling in his eyes. He looks surprised, curious. I have never seen his face like that before. I have seen him on my computer screen many times but never like this. My thoughts are flying faster than I can follow.

"Ah, um... no, I'm fine, really. It's just, ah... the heat, outside I mean, and then... the air conditioning, you know, the sudden change in the ah... air. You know."

I sound like a fucking idiot. I am so embarrassed. I am wearing my navy blue skirt, white blouse, heels, makeup. I dressed up for this appointment, wanting to look strong and poised and sophisticated and I here am stammering like a little girl. I am sitting here, trapped, looking into the eyes of a man I thought I would never meet, fascinated and terrified.

He is John Stone, Master of Bondage and Domination and Submission. There is no doubt about it. I am face to face with the man who I have watched for hours, whose cock and fingers and other tools I have watched plunge into dozens of women in all kinds of brutal and provocative ways. He is the star of my favorite videos on my favorite kinky website. I can't believe it and I don't know how to deal with it and yet here it is. Fuck. Fuck! Fuck!!!

And yet, he's looking at me with polite concern, such a gentleman, leaning forward in his chair as if he would come to my assistance if I needed it. I am sure I am bright pink and my breath is shaky and tentative. What the hell am I going to say? I grab the glass of water and take a deep gulp. Then another. He tilts his head and stares at me with kind questioning eyes.

"Can I do anything to help you feel more comfortable right now?"

Holy shit. This is so strange. I am used to watching this man in office fantasy videos where he virtually rapes women in rooms just like this, and here he is being all nice and sweet. I think of the prison guard scenarios. The kidnapper, the soldier, the thug. And I remember the ones I like best, the ones without pretense or role-play, where it's just Master and slave. Where he makes her take orgasm after orgasm, pushes her buttons and her limits because they both know that's what she needs. Oh. My. God.

I stand up, woozy. My panties are already wet and I am so mortified I don't think I can take it.

" Really, I think I just need to go, you know, and cool off somewhere, Ah...I don't think I can handle this, ah, um.... I'm sorry. I just..."

He sees me floundering and comes around the desk, and gently touches my elbow.

"What's wrong, Miss... I'm so sorry, I forgot, what's your name, please, sit down, it's alright."

"It's Kerry, Kerry Foster. Don't worry, I'll be fine, I just need some fresh air. I'm not used to air conditioning." At least that much is true. I try to regain my composure.

"It's the change in climate, that's all. I'll be fine."

He looks at me, his face is so close to mine, I can feel his hand on my arm like a red hot coal.

"Are you sure? You don't look so fine right now. Please, sit down. I think you should."

His voice is so certain and strong and I have heard it so many times before through my computer speakers that I obey. As I sit, trying to compose myself, he refills my water glass and sits on the edge of the desk in front of me. I realize that his cock is right in front of my face. I am overcome with lust and shame. I stammer a few more times, not knowing what to say.

"Really," I say, trying to be assertive. " I think I should just leave."

He crosses his arms, contemplating me as if I were a puzzle. His body language is effectively blocking me from doing anything but sitting there.

"Miss Foster, have we met before?"

I'm silent, I stare at my shoes. Why, why, did I wear my 'fuck me" pumps today? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Maybe we have met before, and I didn't remember? I meet a lot of people through my professional connections, and... also, my social life. Please forgive me if I somehow have forgotten meeting you."

I force myself to look up at him. Come on Kerry! You're a grown woman, you can handle this. Buck up, girl!

He still has the look of concerned curiosity, with an added layer of... what, amusement? I can't read his face but somehow I have to try to get control of the situation. I set the glass down on the little table and smooth my skirt across my knees, acutely self conscious but wanting to be brave.

"Ah, um, we've never met before, I'm sure, but I ah, realized that there may be a... conflict of interest here, and I think I should, ah, go." I try to meet his gaze and I can't help but feel like he is on to me, he's laughing behind his eyes, he somehow knows exactly what is going on.

"A conflict of interest?" He asks. "What do you mean?"

His eyes are definitely laughing now, but still kindly, his body is relaxed as he leans against the desk, his legs splayed in front of him, ankles crossed. He is so fucking sexy and powerful. I try to reason with myself. Alright, Kerry. Here you are. Deal with it. I sit back in my chair and cross my legs, trying to look casual. I rest my arms on the chair. Take a deep breath. For a fleeting moment I see his eyes move to my chest. I know my nipples are fighting against the thin fabric of my bra and blouse. Is he really looking at me like that? I'm forty, a little plump, definitely a few years and pounds past my prime and I am not used to this. I clear my throat, thinking of what to say, trying to breathe steady.

"Miss Foster?" He asks. At first I don't look up.

"Kerry." His using my first name in that voice is so compelling that I can't help but meet his eyes. He is staring right into me. Not creepy or anything, just... real.

"Tell me what's wrong, Miss Foster."

There is no use in trying to hide. His gaze is steady, strong and confident, and... sweet, somehow. I am quiet for a moment, staring back, trying to think of what to say without sounding like a total idiot. I cross my arms over my aching tits, still trying to look relaxed. Fuck it, I think. I decide to tell the truth.

"Ummm... It's that.... I've realized that I've... ah, seen, ...I'm familiar with your other work." I swallow reflexively and look up at him.

I manage to hold eye contact for about a second and a half before he throws his head back and lets loose a genuine laugh. He shifts his weight forward and looks at me, smiling yet still polite. He looks ever so slightly surprised.

"Oh Really." He clears his throat. "And how exactly does that constitute a 'conflict of interest,' Miss Foster?" I can't believe it. He's expecting me to answer, waiting almost playfully.

"I think its, ah.... going to be distracting. For me, I mean. Of course, I know that you're a professional, and um, I just, think I would...ah, have a hard time concentrating on my... finances." I feel so pathetic. I am basically confessing that this powerful dominating man is turning me on. He stands up and walks toward the window, gazing into the hazy sunshine.

"It's alright, Miss Foster. This doesn't happen very often, but it does, occasionally. And I don't mind. I'm.... proud of what I do. There's no point trying to hide it. " He looks at me sideways, I can't really see his face but he I can tell he is still smiling.

"So, what do you think about it? About what you called, my "other" work?"

Now is the moment to get up and excuse myself. I should just smile politely and apologize for wasting his time and please thank you goodbye. I know that's what I should do. But I don't. I'm shocked and slightly stunned that this is happening to me. But I am fascinated, enthralled. I always have been, ever since I found that first kinky magazine in my Dad's dresser. Just like the Frank Zappa song. Dirty Love. I always saw the subtext behind it, the power involved in giving and taking control in a sexual context. God knows I played it out in enough unhealthy relationships over the years. But I never really indulged in exploring the real thing myself. Except online, stories, videos, pictures. I've got some pretty kinky masturbation fantasies, I admit. However, even when I watch the videos, one hand on the mouse, one in my pants, I always wonder about how it really works. It's so intense, so intimate, so... hardcore. How do you do that when there's a photographer, a video crew... is it just, lights, camera.... action? I've always been curious, always wanted to know. So I stay. I decide to be honest. I know from the website and the videos that this man is a highly regarded professional in his field. This office is in a respectable building, there is a nice maternal receptionist just outside the door. I feel strangely bold. Nothing is going to happen to me. I decide to speak up, and maybe satisfy my curiosity.

"Actually, I think your work is great. Although, I don't have much to compare it to. I've never tried anything that, um, adventurous, myself. But obviously, I've um... well, I watched them. More than once. I guess that says something in itself."

His gaze is definitely intense, but still playful.

"Yes, Miss Foster, I guess it does."

I am sure I am blushing ten times more than I was before, and I squirm a little in my chair.

"I mean, I've looked at other sites, other, ah, videos, and, well, they mostly seem tacky to me. The ones on your site are better productions, you know. More professional." He raises an eyebrow.

"Thank you," he says. "Sometimes I wonder if people even notice."

"Do you produce your own videos, or are you just, a... performer?" I swallow nervously. This is without a doubt the strangest conversation I have ever had.

"I'm part of the production team, yes."

"I always thought you had to be the director as well as the star. Frankly, it's hard to imagine anyone bossing you around." He laughs again.

"You'd be surprised, most of the time, the person in the most control is the one getting tied up."

I stare at my hands in my lap. What am I doing here? I resolve that I am not getting into anything, I am going to make small talk for a little while, then go. He surprises me with his next question.

"Do you have any favorites? Of my videos, I mean." My eyes are huge, I smile awkwardly, and pause with my mouth open before I speak. What have I got to lose?

"Uhmm... I guess I like the ones where the girl isn't actually tied up. Where she's obeying because she wants to, not because she's forced to. I'm not so into the plots and costumes, really. The complicated gadgets and stuff..."

He comes over and sits in the chair next to me, crossing his legs casually. He doesn't say anything, just looks at me expecting me to say more.

"Actually, I do like some of the role playing, I like the ones where there is already a power relationship between the characters, like the boss/secretary scenes. But like I said, the thing that gets me is the power play, the willingness to submit." He just keeps looking at me. At my face, thankfully. I know my nipples are like little rocks and I can smell my arousal wafting up from my lap.

"And you say you've never tried it yourself?" He asks the question carefully, kindly.

" I had a boyfriend in college that was willing to fool around with silk scarves and blindfolds, that kind of thing. But mostly, no. It's not something that I usually feel comfortable bringing up."

"Are you comfortable talking with me now?" I laugh out loud.

"Hell no, I'm as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. But I feel okay, you know, safe. Your secretary looks pretty legit out there." He chuckles.

"I mean, obviously this is your office, your "day job." I don't imagine your going to try anything right now."

"But you might just imagine it when you get home?" He smiles looking straight in my eyes. "Boss and secretary, like you said."

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He looks at my shoes, then slowly brings his eyes up to my face. All of a sudden the mood shifts. He's looking at me so boldly. My heart is beating way too fast. I realize he is enjoying himself. He is playing with me! Does he actually think I'm attractive? This is real, this is really happening to me. I giggle. I can't help it. It's my nature to joke when I feel nervous.

"Hell, I won't even wait till I get home. I'm imagining it right now." Shit. I put my hand to my mouth. Did I really just say that? I am so nervous and turned on and confused. What am I doing? He laughs again, but the air is definitely charged between us. I pause and take a sip from my water.

"I probably shouldn't have said that. I don't know what I'm thinking. I'm sorry."

"Please, don't apologize. I find this conversation very refreshing. Would you like some more water?"

"No, thank you. I'm sorry, it's just that I have never talked with anyone like this before." He looks thoughtful for a moment.

"I suppose, after having been in the industry so long, I've gotten a little jaded. I forget that it's a... touchy subject for most people. The people I work with are very open about it, so I apologize if I'm being too frank."

I put on my confused bimbo face.

"Who's Frank? I thought your stage name was John." Like I said, I can't help myself. I'm a joker.

"Actually, John is my real name. Stone is my middle name. You're a funny girl, Miss Foster."

He sat still for a moment, then looked at his watch. A slightly annoyed look comes over him.

"Ah... Our appointment has gone by so fast. I have a conference call in a few minutes." He looks at me speculatively. "I'm sorry to have to cut this off so soon. Would you like to meet me for lunch?"

No way. This is not happening. I don't get asked out for lunch like this. And not by dangerous handsome fantasy figures. Who just happen to be financial advisers. And I do need financial advice, but I have the feeling that's not what he's thinking about.

"Are you serious?" I narrow my eyes and give him a slightly dramatic suspicious look. I'm feeling bolder.

"I'm not used to sudden offers of lunch. It makes me wonder."

"Wonder what?"

"I wonder what your intentions are." I try to smile confidently.

"I would like to have lunch with an intriguing young woman I have just met. That's all."

"Young?" I scoff. "Intriguing?"

"Yes. I'd like to get your feedback. Most of the fans I hear from are, well, let's just say they're not like you. I'd like to get your perspective."

"Oh so this is a professional consultation, then?" I smile. "Maybe I should charge you."

"No, Kerry." He pauses before he says my name. "I want to take you out to lunch."

His eyes are boring straight into me. His eyelids are hooded, seemingly calm, his face is relaxed with a hint of a smile, but steely, and there is no doubt what is behind that look. I am like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming Mack truck. I feel the impending reality of what is happening here.

"Meet me at the Taproom, two blocks down Fifth. Do you know it?"

"Yes, I know where it is."

He glances at his watch again and gets up from his chair. He is obviously used to being the one in control.

"Meet me at one thirty."

I realize that a powerful thing is taking place, he's not asking me to have lunch with him. He's telling me. I want to say yes. I want to say yes to a lot of things from this man. Still I try to maintain some dignity here.

"Yes, Mister Stone, It would be my pleasure to have lunch with you."

His face spreads into a smirk at my choice of words. He knew I would say yes. I look up at him as boldly as I can. He really is enjoying himself. I have to admit that so am I.

"I'm looking forward to it Miss Foster." He takes my hand, helping me to stand. He has been so formal, so articulate, this whole time. It is a mystery to me that this is the man behind the videos. I let him hold my hand for a split second as we look into each others eyes. He lets loose my hand and steps toward the door, opening it for me. I have the feeling that even as I am walking away from his office, I am walking towards something big, something huge. And it's not just his cock, which I happen to know is not quite huge but definitely big. Something is changing within me. I am exhilarated, I feel on fire. I clutch my purse under my arm and smile shyly at his secretary sitting right there. I realize I can't remember the name on his business card, on the sign on the door. It doesn't matter, he is John Stone, and he is not my financial adviser.

"I'll see you at one thirty, Miss Foster."

I look over my shoulder, and look him in the eyes. I let my lust show in my face.

Please, Mister Stone, call me Kerry." He smiles back at me. He is confident, calm.

"Not yet, Miss Foster, not yet."