Please note: This is posted with permission from Sir. I wrote this as a fantasy of what our first meeting would be like. It is a rough draft, so I have quite a bit of editing to do, and a lot of this is based on imagination rather than experience. I hope everyone enjoys it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
It was the first time we met.
I was nervous and scared, with a small ball of anxiety low in my stomach. Once or twice I started to turn back, all the niggling doubts in the back of my mind rushing forward. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this wasn’t what I wanted. Could I handle it? What if it was too much, too intense, too overwhelming? And the worst doubt of all: what if you were disappointed?
I knew I shouldn’t feel this way, you knew me better than anyone. All of the long chats, emails, phone calls, after the in-depth conversations about my hopes and desires, darkest fantasies you had teased out of me, one at a time…you knew me better than I knew myself. Still, I couldn’t help but worry. This was the first meeting, the first time we would actually see each other in person, physically be within close proximity. I was excited, yes, but mostly nervous. So many things could go wrong. And I wasn’t really sure I would be able to do this. I have never been a self-assured, confident person, and this was a huge step.
But I knew I had to try. I needed…something….more or I would suffocate. I just couldn’t continue this way, without at least knowing that I tried.
You were more experienced with it of course, I knew that, expected it. In truth, I needed that as well. Two novices would be disastrous, much like the old adage, “two virgins on a bed is one virgin too many.” I was completely new and would need your guidance and expertise. You knew that, as well.
Deciding that the punishment for changing my mind wouldn’t be worth it, I left my car a little ways down the street. I didn’t want to draw too much attention as I made my way to the address you had given me; worried that someone would read my face and knew what was about to happen, what I was walking myself into. None of my family or friends knew what was planned. Oh, they knew I was meeting someone out of state, but they were told it was for a collaborative business project. They knew what time I should be back and that my phone would be off during most of the trip that I would check in during the evenings or before bed, but they didn’t know the real reason I was here. That was just between you and me.
After a few moments of indecision I knocked on the door, perhaps a bit softly, but you heard it. There were footsteps and the slight creak of hinges as the door opened. I remember the expression on your face more than anything. After a second’s pause I remembered the first rule, quickly dropping to my knees and folding my hands across my lap and dropping my head down. It wasn’t a standard pose but it was the best I could do under the circumstances. I remember blushing. I was embarrassed that anyone on the street who happened by would see me, but at the same time I was exhilarated.
You knew I would feel this way, the shame and the thrill. Part of my nature. More than anything else, it made the situation real to me; I was here. I was actually going through with it.
You left me there, sitting subserviently on the top step for all the world to see, for what seemed like hours, although it was probably no more than three minutes. By now my face was flaming, ears straining for the sound of traffic on the street behind me, desperately hoping no one would see.
Finally you motioned for me to stand and follow you. With relief I complied, quickly stepping through the doorway and into a narrow hallway, my bright pink ponytail bouncing slightly as I walked. It was warmly lit, I noticed, with simple, tasteful abstracts dotting the walls. Somehow I hadn’t expected that.
At the end of the hallway it opened into a larger room, mostly in shadow. A squashy couch sat near a wall to the left, where you led me and offered a seat. This amazed me. I had expected to be on the floor. Apparently my surprise showed on my face because you lifted your lips in a half-smile as you reclined against the cushions. That was when I saw something shift behind your eyes, like you had pinned your prey and were waiting for it to realize that all you had to do was pounce.
So I sat on the edge, nervous and shy, while we discussed the main details. It was going to be simple, easy, light. A trial run, as it were. We set precautions, and then spoke about boundaries that could be pushed, under the right circumstances. You knew that you could press me further than I thought I could go, had already done so many times, but I felt it was necessary to reinforce my limits. I had learned by now that you liked to cheat. Still, this felt familiar, comfortable. Like we were messaging each other. I sighed as the knot of tension in my stomach loosened.
You noticed.
Of course you did; you knew me the best, knew when would be the time to strike. Without even stirring you ordered me to stand and strip. I was caught off guard but followed the command with only a slight hesitation; you cocked your eyebrow at me and smirked. I was going to be punished for that pause, I knew it. You always warned me what would happen if I lacked obedience. My stomach clenched again.
This was it.
Clothes neatly folded and placed on the couch I was motioned to stand upright, hands behind my head, legs spread. Facing you as your eyes traveled down my frame, carefully scrutinizing every detail. I was uncomfortable and bare, feeling vulnerable in ways I had never experienced before, especially aware of the cool air on my bare cunt. I shivered and you smiled. That is the point, your eyes said to me. That is why you are here.
For a long moment you just looked me over, making me suffer in my exposure, gesturing for me to turn now and again. I was mortified, a deep blush creeping up my body.
Which is what you wanted.
Finally you stood, turning me to face the couch again, still in my defenseless pose.
I averted my eyes in shame and excitement as you walked around me, hands roaming over my skin, cupping my breasts, stroking my back, tracing the line from ear to clavicle. Small electric shocks followed your touch, teasing and tantalizing. I bit my lip as your hands dipped lower, exploring, feather-light, taunting, building a smoldering need. I held my breath. Your hand hovered just above my nether regions, taunting me as I craved your touch. Could you feel the heat from my swelling lips?
I groaned softly when you turned away, walking to some area still in shadow. Little trails of arousal ran down my legs as I waited. Within moments you were back, starting down at me with dark eyes. You were planning something that I probably wouldn’t like, I could tell by the expression on your face.
One hand caressed my breast, drawing out the nipple into a hard pebble. I moaned, delicious feelings rippling through my body as you manipulated my sensitive skin. My eyes fluttered half-closed of their own accord as I leaned into your touch. It just felt so wonderful, waves of sensation flooding me as your fingers worked magic on my skin. Something cold made me gasp but you continued stroking, transferring your attention to my other breast. I could smell something with a menthol base. Icy Hot? The cold quickly warmed and began stinging, a deep burn seeping into my flesh. Yes, definitely the Icy Hot. I bit my lip. I had done this much before at your direction, I could withstand it again. Deep breaths. I could do this.
Without warning I felt a sharp, hard pinch. My eyes flashed open, wide with pain. Glancing down I saw a clothespin firmly attached to my hard, sensitive nipple.
It hurt.
But you knew it would. Just like you knew how hypersensitive my nipples were, how I was able to convert some pain to pleasure but not others. How the Icy Hot was a pain I enjoyed, but the clothespins were not. How this pain was one that always overwhelmed me, a limit that I wasn’t sure I could push.
The bite of the second clothespin was just as bad as the first. You smiled at your handiwork, pulling and tugging on each in turn, causing me to gasp and pull away. That was more than I could tolerate, but I didn’t want to safeword. I was too obstinate to give in this early in the game. I had to know I could do this.
After another moment you moved away, leaving me to dwell on my situation. My nipples were throbbing dully, stinging hotly, replacing my embarrassment. My legs were becoming sore, the strain of standing too wide taking its toll. My arms were feeling a similar distress from being held up, hands clasped over my ponytail. More arousal trickled down my legs.
I saw you walked back over to me, assessing how I was able to maintain my position. I must have done reasonably well because you didn’t make any comment. Instead you raised kind of whip. It had a braided handle with many different strips of conditioned leather.
We had spoken of this often. The flogger.
Without preamble you began, the leather striking my flesh, sending spikes of sensation deep into my skin. Back, stomach, the undersides my breasts, thighs, buttocks. Up one side, down the other, back to front to back again. Methodically you worked your way down and up my body, the sharp sound of leather on flesh echoing slightly in the austere room, each strike stinging a little more than the last. The clothespins shifted as the whip struck me, pulling and tugging on my already aching nipples. My small pants each time the flogger hit punctuated the air.
Abruptly the flogging halted. I tensed again slightly; would you be delivering my punishment now? You ran your hands over my heated skin, feeling the warm flush that covered my body and the slight welts from each strike, flicking the clothespins. My arms were trembling, hands still locked behind my head. My legs felt strained from holding a position so unnaturally wide. I had never been in this kind of tension for so long. You said nothing, moving behind me to shuffle something against the wall. I couldn’t see you, but I could feel your presence, hear the tinkling of metal.
Coming around to stand in front of me again, you signaled for me to kneel. I complied a little clumsily, the cold floor feeling like an electric shock on my warm skin. It was almost soothing at first, before the discomfort of the unyielding floor began to seep in my bones.
With deliberate slowness you removed your pants, almost like a striptease, watching my face to gauge my reaction. This wasn’t some romantic encounter, with kisses and cuddles and peeling away garments one at a time in a haze of passion; this was about power and assertion of authority, demanding that I acknowledge your dominance. And I did.
Your cock stood out, proud and erect, eye-level with me as I kneeled on the cold floor. Inflicting pain on me had obviously turned you on, but I knew that it would. I remember the trepidation I felt as you walked toward me, signaling my next task in silent commands. I wasn’t concerned about the act itself; despite having only a little experience, it was fairly obvious what to do. It was the lack of verbal communication that was starting to wear on my nerves. And the worry that I would do something incorrectly, fail to please you.
Hesitantly I opened my mouth, sliding down over the head of your cock. As you filled me I reached down with one hand to stroke you but you grabbed my hands in one of yours, trapping them above me, sliding further in. I would have to do all the work with just my mouth.
I risked a glance up. You were watching my face, your eyes dark and burning, waiting for me to get started, seeing if I could follow your commands despite my discomfort. So I tried. I swirled my tongue over the head of your cock, tasting you, formed my mouth into a wide “O” and ran it down your length and back up again. I repeated the process, feeling each pulse of your flesh in my mouth.
You let me work for a few minutes. Perhaps I wasn’t moving fast enough, you never said. Perhaps you simply required more control. Without comment you tightened your grip on my wrists with one hand while your other moved to the back of my head. You began thrusting hard, choking me, the head of your cock forcefully sliding down my throat. Liquid was leaking down my legs again; being used was turning me on more than I had ever been. The harder you thrust the more I gagged, choking, but you kept on, over and over, grunting softly as you moved. I was little more than a vessel, something to be used at your whim. My comfort was irrelevant. I struggled for breath as you pushed you cock as deep as you could and held it there, cutting off my oxygen until my eyes started to roll back, then withdrawing to allow me air. Over and over, my throat spasming around your cock, until my eyes swam with tears. Another hard, deep thrust and I choked again, feeling your cock swell, tasting your cum as you withdrew. You released my hands and stepped away.
Gasping, I fell forward, palms spread on the cold floor, trying to steady my breathing as I quivered. You watched critically as I calmed myself, making sure you hadn’t pushed me too far, too fast. It was still early and neither of us wanted me to break. Not yet.
I don’t know how much time passed while my heart rate slowed and breathing returned to normal. Trembling, I raised my arms back up, hands clasped behind my head, grasping the hard knot of the rubber band that held my hair to keep my hands steady. Satisfied that I was ready to continue, you moved away, preparing for the next activity. Giving me time to recover my equilibrium. You had deliberately placed me so I faced away from you as you worked. I wasn’t supposed to know what was coming next, that was part of it. Anticipation and trepidation built up in equal measures as I strained my ears, trying to decipher your movements.
Footsteps.
A breeze caressed my skin as you passed closely, still beyond my line of vision. So I waited. As my breathing continued to settle I began to re-notice the ache in my knees from the hard floor. I longed to move, to ease the soreness of my muscles and the strain on my knees but I held still, barely fidgeting.
More footsteps. Something heavy sliding against the floor. A soft click. A light, it sounded like.
Perhaps this was part of my punishment, the silent treatment. I was property, undeserving of attention until you were ready to use me. You ignored me, moving around the room, completing preparations. Reinforcing my place, kneeling at your feet. A reminder that you were in charge.
After what seemed like hours you moved to stand in front of me, motioning for me to stand. I lowered my aching arms and rose unsteadily, wincing as my knees protested. I turned as you indicated, following to the space you had prepared while I was waiting, my eyes widening apprehensively.
It was the first time we met.
I was nervous and scared, with a small ball of anxiety low in my stomach. Once or twice I started to turn back, all the niggling doubts in the back of my mind rushing forward. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this wasn’t what I wanted. Could I handle it? What if it was too much, too intense, too overwhelming? And the worst doubt of all: what if you were disappointed?
I knew I shouldn’t feel this way, you knew me better than anyone. All of the long chats, emails, phone calls, after the in-depth conversations about my hopes and desires, darkest fantasies you had teased out of me, one at a time…you knew me better than I knew myself. Still, I couldn’t help but worry. This was the first meeting, the first time we would actually see each other in person, physically be within close proximity. I was excited, yes, but mostly nervous. So many things could go wrong. And I wasn’t really sure I would be able to do this. I have never been a self-assured, confident person, and this was a huge step.
But I knew I had to try. I needed…something….more or I would suffocate. I just couldn’t continue this way, without at least knowing that I tried.
You were more experienced with it of course, I knew that, expected it. In truth, I needed that as well. Two novices would be disastrous, much like the old adage, “two virgins on a bed is one virgin too many.” I was completely new and would need your guidance and expertise. You knew that, as well.
Deciding that the punishment for changing my mind wouldn’t be worth it, I left my car a little ways down the street. I didn’t want to draw too much attention as I made my way to the address you had given me; worried that someone would read my face and knew what was about to happen, what I was walking myself into. None of my family or friends knew what was planned. Oh, they knew I was meeting someone out of state, but they were told it was for a collaborative business project. They knew what time I should be back and that my phone would be off during most of the trip that I would check in during the evenings or before bed, but they didn’t know the real reason I was here. That was just between you and me.
After a few moments of indecision I knocked on the door, perhaps a bit softly, but you heard it. There were footsteps and the slight creak of hinges as the door opened. I remember the expression on your face more than anything. After a second’s pause I remembered the first rule, quickly dropping to my knees and folding my hands across my lap and dropping my head down. It wasn’t a standard pose but it was the best I could do under the circumstances. I remember blushing. I was embarrassed that anyone on the street who happened by would see me, but at the same time I was exhilarated.
You knew I would feel this way, the shame and the thrill. Part of my nature. More than anything else, it made the situation real to me; I was here. I was actually going through with it.
You left me there, sitting subserviently on the top step for all the world to see, for what seemed like hours, although it was probably no more than three minutes. By now my face was flaming, ears straining for the sound of traffic on the street behind me, desperately hoping no one would see.
Finally you motioned for me to stand and follow you. With relief I complied, quickly stepping through the doorway and into a narrow hallway, my bright pink ponytail bouncing slightly as I walked. It was warmly lit, I noticed, with simple, tasteful abstracts dotting the walls. Somehow I hadn’t expected that.
At the end of the hallway it opened into a larger room, mostly in shadow. A squashy couch sat near a wall to the left, where you led me and offered a seat. This amazed me. I had expected to be on the floor. Apparently my surprise showed on my face because you lifted your lips in a half-smile as you reclined against the cushions. That was when I saw something shift behind your eyes, like you had pinned your prey and were waiting for it to realize that all you had to do was pounce.
So I sat on the edge, nervous and shy, while we discussed the main details. It was going to be simple, easy, light. A trial run, as it were. We set precautions, and then spoke about boundaries that could be pushed, under the right circumstances. You knew that you could press me further than I thought I could go, had already done so many times, but I felt it was necessary to reinforce my limits. I had learned by now that you liked to cheat. Still, this felt familiar, comfortable. Like we were messaging each other. I sighed as the knot of tension in my stomach loosened.
You noticed.
Of course you did; you knew me the best, knew when would be the time to strike. Without even stirring you ordered me to stand and strip. I was caught off guard but followed the command with only a slight hesitation; you cocked your eyebrow at me and smirked. I was going to be punished for that pause, I knew it. You always warned me what would happen if I lacked obedience. My stomach clenched again.
This was it.
Clothes neatly folded and placed on the couch I was motioned to stand upright, hands behind my head, legs spread. Facing you as your eyes traveled down my frame, carefully scrutinizing every detail. I was uncomfortable and bare, feeling vulnerable in ways I had never experienced before, especially aware of the cool air on my bare cunt. I shivered and you smiled. That is the point, your eyes said to me. That is why you are here.
For a long moment you just looked me over, making me suffer in my exposure, gesturing for me to turn now and again. I was mortified, a deep blush creeping up my body.
Which is what you wanted.
Finally you stood, turning me to face the couch again, still in my defenseless pose.
I averted my eyes in shame and excitement as you walked around me, hands roaming over my skin, cupping my breasts, stroking my back, tracing the line from ear to clavicle. Small electric shocks followed your touch, teasing and tantalizing. I bit my lip as your hands dipped lower, exploring, feather-light, taunting, building a smoldering need. I held my breath. Your hand hovered just above my nether regions, taunting me as I craved your touch. Could you feel the heat from my swelling lips?
I groaned softly when you turned away, walking to some area still in shadow. Little trails of arousal ran down my legs as I waited. Within moments you were back, starting down at me with dark eyes. You were planning something that I probably wouldn’t like, I could tell by the expression on your face.
One hand caressed my breast, drawing out the nipple into a hard pebble. I moaned, delicious feelings rippling through my body as you manipulated my sensitive skin. My eyes fluttered half-closed of their own accord as I leaned into your touch. It just felt so wonderful, waves of sensation flooding me as your fingers worked magic on my skin. Something cold made me gasp but you continued stroking, transferring your attention to my other breast. I could smell something with a menthol base. Icy Hot? The cold quickly warmed and began stinging, a deep burn seeping into my flesh. Yes, definitely the Icy Hot. I bit my lip. I had done this much before at your direction, I could withstand it again. Deep breaths. I could do this.
Without warning I felt a sharp, hard pinch. My eyes flashed open, wide with pain. Glancing down I saw a clothespin firmly attached to my hard, sensitive nipple.
It hurt.
But you knew it would. Just like you knew how hypersensitive my nipples were, how I was able to convert some pain to pleasure but not others. How the Icy Hot was a pain I enjoyed, but the clothespins were not. How this pain was one that always overwhelmed me, a limit that I wasn’t sure I could push.
The bite of the second clothespin was just as bad as the first. You smiled at your handiwork, pulling and tugging on each in turn, causing me to gasp and pull away. That was more than I could tolerate, but I didn’t want to safeword. I was too obstinate to give in this early in the game. I had to know I could do this.
After another moment you moved away, leaving me to dwell on my situation. My nipples were throbbing dully, stinging hotly, replacing my embarrassment. My legs were becoming sore, the strain of standing too wide taking its toll. My arms were feeling a similar distress from being held up, hands clasped over my ponytail. More arousal trickled down my legs.
I saw you walked back over to me, assessing how I was able to maintain my position. I must have done reasonably well because you didn’t make any comment. Instead you raised kind of whip. It had a braided handle with many different strips of conditioned leather.
We had spoken of this often. The flogger.
Without preamble you began, the leather striking my flesh, sending spikes of sensation deep into my skin. Back, stomach, the undersides my breasts, thighs, buttocks. Up one side, down the other, back to front to back again. Methodically you worked your way down and up my body, the sharp sound of leather on flesh echoing slightly in the austere room, each strike stinging a little more than the last. The clothespins shifted as the whip struck me, pulling and tugging on my already aching nipples. My small pants each time the flogger hit punctuated the air.
Abruptly the flogging halted. I tensed again slightly; would you be delivering my punishment now? You ran your hands over my heated skin, feeling the warm flush that covered my body and the slight welts from each strike, flicking the clothespins. My arms were trembling, hands still locked behind my head. My legs felt strained from holding a position so unnaturally wide. I had never been in this kind of tension for so long. You said nothing, moving behind me to shuffle something against the wall. I couldn’t see you, but I could feel your presence, hear the tinkling of metal.
Coming around to stand in front of me again, you signaled for me to kneel. I complied a little clumsily, the cold floor feeling like an electric shock on my warm skin. It was almost soothing at first, before the discomfort of the unyielding floor began to seep in my bones.
With deliberate slowness you removed your pants, almost like a striptease, watching my face to gauge my reaction. This wasn’t some romantic encounter, with kisses and cuddles and peeling away garments one at a time in a haze of passion; this was about power and assertion of authority, demanding that I acknowledge your dominance. And I did.
Your cock stood out, proud and erect, eye-level with me as I kneeled on the cold floor. Inflicting pain on me had obviously turned you on, but I knew that it would. I remember the trepidation I felt as you walked toward me, signaling my next task in silent commands. I wasn’t concerned about the act itself; despite having only a little experience, it was fairly obvious what to do. It was the lack of verbal communication that was starting to wear on my nerves. And the worry that I would do something incorrectly, fail to please you.
Hesitantly I opened my mouth, sliding down over the head of your cock. As you filled me I reached down with one hand to stroke you but you grabbed my hands in one of yours, trapping them above me, sliding further in. I would have to do all the work with just my mouth.
I risked a glance up. You were watching my face, your eyes dark and burning, waiting for me to get started, seeing if I could follow your commands despite my discomfort. So I tried. I swirled my tongue over the head of your cock, tasting you, formed my mouth into a wide “O” and ran it down your length and back up again. I repeated the process, feeling each pulse of your flesh in my mouth.
You let me work for a few minutes. Perhaps I wasn’t moving fast enough, you never said. Perhaps you simply required more control. Without comment you tightened your grip on my wrists with one hand while your other moved to the back of my head. You began thrusting hard, choking me, the head of your cock forcefully sliding down my throat. Liquid was leaking down my legs again; being used was turning me on more than I had ever been. The harder you thrust the more I gagged, choking, but you kept on, over and over, grunting softly as you moved. I was little more than a vessel, something to be used at your whim. My comfort was irrelevant. I struggled for breath as you pushed you cock as deep as you could and held it there, cutting off my oxygen until my eyes started to roll back, then withdrawing to allow me air. Over and over, my throat spasming around your cock, until my eyes swam with tears. Another hard, deep thrust and I choked again, feeling your cock swell, tasting your cum as you withdrew. You released my hands and stepped away.
Gasping, I fell forward, palms spread on the cold floor, trying to steady my breathing as I quivered. You watched critically as I calmed myself, making sure you hadn’t pushed me too far, too fast. It was still early and neither of us wanted me to break. Not yet.
I don’t know how much time passed while my heart rate slowed and breathing returned to normal. Trembling, I raised my arms back up, hands clasped behind my head, grasping the hard knot of the rubber band that held my hair to keep my hands steady. Satisfied that I was ready to continue, you moved away, preparing for the next activity. Giving me time to recover my equilibrium. You had deliberately placed me so I faced away from you as you worked. I wasn’t supposed to know what was coming next, that was part of it. Anticipation and trepidation built up in equal measures as I strained my ears, trying to decipher your movements.
Footsteps.
A breeze caressed my skin as you passed closely, still beyond my line of vision. So I waited. As my breathing continued to settle I began to re-notice the ache in my knees from the hard floor. I longed to move, to ease the soreness of my muscles and the strain on my knees but I held still, barely fidgeting.
More footsteps. Something heavy sliding against the floor. A soft click. A light, it sounded like.
Perhaps this was part of my punishment, the silent treatment. I was property, undeserving of attention until you were ready to use me. You ignored me, moving around the room, completing preparations. Reinforcing my place, kneeling at your feet. A reminder that you were in charge.
After what seemed like hours you moved to stand in front of me, motioning for me to stand. I lowered my aching arms and rose unsteadily, wincing as my knees protested. I turned as you indicated, following to the space you had prepared while I was waiting, my eyes widening apprehensively.
