That Weekend: Friday

This is the first part of a long piece, in which, after years of online encounters, a Dom and a 'virgin' submissive meet, in person, for the first time.

It was written primarily to persuade a hesitant sub to 'take the plunge' rather than as a piece of erotica.

However you may find, as we both did, that it's capable of arousing the reader, as well as the writer.

Friday - First Steps

She must be mad. All this way to meet someone she'd never seen in person before.

There had been online chats, on and off, for years, when her partner was asleep. The same partner who had, ironically, put them in touch with each other in the first place after reading one of his stories and using it to fuel their bedroom antics.

He provided a safe space for her to reveal life-long hidden truths. She, in response, admitting to a side of her that contrasted sharply with the confidently powerful woman, undoubtedly in control. She had disclosed, he had listened. She had felt ashamed, never for a moment had he judged. But neither had he been left unmoved.

Both aroused by her hidden desires, they'd shared the same repeated images - him looking stern, she gazing at him with needy eyes. Many fantasies had been shared and enacted upon, with 'happy endings' aplenty. She had surprised her colleagues the next morning as their highly respected boss, Miss 'Prim and Proper', glowed with sexual satisfaction.

The truth was that her needs and his desires aligned perfectly. She longed to surrender control, he was more than willing to take responsibility. She craved liberation, he was determined to set her free.

Yet not once had they laid eyes on each other's living faces, not even by Zoom or Teams. Not once had she heard his stern voice demanding her obedience or admonishing her reluctance. Not once had she felt his strong hands hold her firm in his unrelenting grasp. Not once had the fingers bringing her to orgasmic earthquake been his.

But now, after months of hesitation, weeks of persuasion, hours spent reading her husband's own fantasies of another taking control, permission had been sought and, astonishingly, granted. Doing this would meet her partner's needs as well as her own.

That final barrier removed, it was time to begin turning night-time fantasy into daylight reality - for all three of them.

Her task was the simplest, yet most terrifying of all, to begin her journey into submission, to step out of the well-known into the unknown. The risks were long-considered, her fears were real, but try she must or remain frustrated, disappointed, deprived, condemned to inhabit 'what-if' land forever. It would start by them occupying the same space at the same time.

A motorway services was the obvious choice. A 'Welcome Break' as they put in. An opportunity to begin a beginning, to allow her shadow side to see the light of day. A welcome break from self-chosen confinement. A chance to feel free, free at last.

Here their meeting might be a chance encounter, innocent to onlookers. She could watch, out of sight, suss him out, quieten her fears. Even if she shared his table, it was so easy to change her mind, pop to the loo and never return.

If he behaved badly there were plenty of witnesses, lots of CCTV, trained staff. It had been the right option.

He was there when she arrived, his dirty cup and empty wrapper evidence of his patient waiting. He saw her, waved, stood up - a strangely old-fashioned gesture. At another time appreciated, here an embarrassment. She was grateful that he didn't stand behind her chair and ease her sitting. That would have been far too intimate, too obvious a gesture to go unremarked by even the most disinterested observers.

She'd carried her own coffee, not ready to surrender her choices yet, that would come later, she hoped.

He smiled, confident, his warm eyes focused entirely on her. Not staring, this was no interrogation, but encouraging, inviting, reassuring. This too could be a safe space.

He spoke, asked a question. She took time to reply, distracted - not by the people around her, the noise of cups and conversation, but by the beating of her heart, the sounds of her breathing. Ridiculous! Hours before it had been her making others nervous, eager to please, held to account.

Submission, it seems, begins with a willingness to let go, to trust, to answer an innocuous question honestly.

"So, how are things? Busy day?"

He was waiting, unconcerned, his smile constant, the slightest of nods both saying clearly, 'I have all day, if you need it.'

She matched his expression, annoyed at her own reluctance and spoke, her voice strangely unfamiliar: "I'm fine. Not too bad. I finished early...."

... early, to meet her Dom. Even the thought filled her stomach with the liveliest butterflies.

Satisfied that she had broken her silence, he added energy, easing her into the dialogue.

"I hate the M1 at the best of times. Fridays are something else."

This was easy, her reply came automatically.

"I try to avoid the rush hour. Sometimes it's easier to work late, finish off the paperwork and then head home. It makes it such a long day, but at least it guarantees me a free weekend..."

She paused, flushed. If all went well she would be relinquishing her freedom for the next few days.

Although they'd got to know a great deal about some parts of each other's lives, there was so much more to discover. She described her day, he retold his favourite anecdotes. He laughed at her colleagues' antics, she expressed amazement at what proved to be everyday in his former life.

Both now relaxed, it was time for him to take a risk, to allow her to withdraw, gracefully.

"Sorry, I just need the loo, can I bring you another drink?"

She shook her head, but her grin was far from dismissive.

"I'm fine for the moment. But don't let me stop you from having another. We both have more driving to do."

He left his seat, aware of the subtext, she would be there when he got back.

He had a list, matters to confirm, things to agree. But, most important was her safety, and his.

"Did you do your check-in when you arrived?"

She had, she was careful like that. Her friend knew that she had arrived at the services. The same friend who had his address and personal details, should she make the second call from his house. The one who would alert the police if she didn't make the third call, thirty minutes after her arrival.

They had debated how they should begin.

Should she be naked within seconds, her clothes taken away, she obliged to wear whatever he gave her? Such an exciting prospect for them both, a delicious fantasy.

But, if so, they would need a hurried conversation then and there, of matters better not overheard, around a table whilst others walk past: servers clearing tables, families looking for a space to seat five.

Or should they reconvene at his house, where they could sit and eat as friends, finalising plans, revisiting limits, consent, safewords and aftercare at their leisure, all the time building excitement and anticipation?

Hunger confirmed their instincts. It was just over an hour later that he opened his door and let her in.

His first action surprised her.

"Here are my spare keys. They are yours for the weekend. I'd like you to try them out whilst I put the kettle on and take your bag to your room."

The message was clear. Whatever their roles, she was, in reality, his guest, not his prisoner. She was volunteering her liberty, he was not taking it away. Somehow, she shivered, the realisation made her tingle even more. She had chosen this, she was inviting him to take full control.

It was time for the third call, the second having been made as soon as she turned her engine off. With that out of the way, she could really be his.

She sat in her room to make it. The bedroom was basic, but towels were provided and there was a catch on the door. When he told her about her accommodation, she had been disappointed, perhaps hoping that she wouldn't need it. But he had insisted, she needed her own space, even if she had little use for it. Besides, she had agreed, they would sleep alone. This was play - sensual, seductive, even, for her, very sexual play. But not an affair. She was married, he respected that.

The takeaway was good, yet they stuck to small portions and alcohol free lager, they were eager to begin. They cleared the table, drank coffee.

Suddenly she grasped that it was all real. He saw her anxiety and held out his hand, holding hers before using his thumb to circle her palm repeatedly, almost hypnotically, waiting for her breathing to steady.

"Will you stand up for me? Just move into a space and close your eyes."

As she obeyed, she looked around - an ordinary kitchen, yet here her long-awaited adventure would begin.

She could hear him standing behind her, feeling his breath, aware of his warmth. He touched her arm and she nearly fainted. He held her until her trembling abated.

"Remind me of your safewords."

Momentarily confused, she racked her brain... traffic lights...

"Green is 'go on', amber is 'pause to talk', red is 'stop immediately.'"

"Well done. You're doing so well. Amber... anything to say or ask? What's your colour."

She turned towards him, opening her eyes, "Green... Uncle Paul."

His voice was firm, to begin with: "I asked you to close your eyes. Next time there will be consequences," but then he stroked her arm, relaxed his tone as he continued, "however you're a complete novice and I'm feeling generous."

His next touch was heavier, though transient, the brief weight on both shoulders emphasising his dominance. He had her, she had decided to submit, he was ready to take ownership of her body and her mind. Unless she safeworded, she was his, to do with as he chose.

It was time to claim his prize. His hands pushed under her arms and cupped her breasts.

"Stay still! Eyes closed."

It was a battle, one she realised she was bound to lose. She squirmed, hoping to persuade him to grasp more firmly, rub with his thumbs, anything to satisfy her need.

She was bent over the table in seconds, her skirt lifted, her hands struggling to find a grip as he spanked her with his hard hand, in truth not at all painfully, but in a way that shocked her to the core.

How dare he! No-one treated her like that! And then she remembered what she'd dreamt of, yearned for, needed, since those days of her youth, those life-changing experiences when her innocence had been taken advantage of, no, abused. It was precisely this! She desired the strength of a man who would take charge, make rules, demand and get full compliance, whatever the price she had to pay. He dared because he must and she in turn must, without question, accept her admonition.

He helped her up, dazed as she was, allowing her no time at all to regain her balance.

"Next time it will be on your bare bottom. Now undo your top button. Eyes closed. Quickly, you've wasted enough of my time already."

Thoroughly subdued and unable to see, she fumbled before finally releasing the fabric.

Instantly his fingers pushed the pieces of material further apart, his nails moving slowly over the exposed flesh.

Her bottom still tingling, she tensed lest she moved, her senses on fire, aware of every subtle sensation.

"And the next."

She knew, before she reached for it, that by undoing this her bra would come into his view for the first time. She couldn't decide whether the thought made her nervous or excited. Nonetheless she did as he asked, thrilled by his grunt of approval and the way in which he smoothed the cups over her heaving flesh.

Impatient, he dispensed with the other buttons, warm breath blowing over her skin as he leant forward to take a closer look at her upper body.

"Open your eyes and look at me."

She did so, noticing the excitement in his eyes as he gave her his next command.

"Undo your bra and give it to me. Keep your eyes on mine at all times."

Such a simple, everyday task, yet nigh impossible under such close attention, she forced to make such a daring revelation. So, struggling to comply, she took her time, his heavier breathing and his lengthening undisguised glances confirming that he was enjoying every second of her disrobing. Clearly he was admiring the view!

He took the piece of lingerie, testing its elasticity before ordering her to put her hands behind her back.

She had guessed correctly, now her arms were secured. She would, even if she wished to, be unable to prevent his investigations.

He took his time, fingers first. He began with the lightest of touches as if he were mapping her breasts' size and shape, like a corsetiere of old. Then he dragged his knuckles more firmly over her curves, discovering her softness, feeling the warmth. Now his palms cupped once again, the thumbs brushing over the buds until she nearly screamed with desperation.

Then she felt his mouth. The licking was tentative at first, focusing on where she wanted him the most. Now the tongue poked and circled, her nipples swelling as hot blood flowed into them. Now he was sucking and she was shaking, no longer wanting to hold back, whatever punishment he threatened her with.

With alarm she felt the wetness, her body was no longer under her control.

"You failed to keep still. I warned you what would happen. Lift up your skirt and hold it in place, your knickers must come down."

They both knew what he would discover. She felt shame that her body had betrayed her. He experienced satisfaction that her body was fast becoming his play thing. Yet he had a task and she mustn't know his delight at her failure.

His expression stern, he reached to find the elastic. He was in no hurry, he enjoyed keeping her waiting, it enhanced everything as she was held on tenterhooks for a while longer.

So, rather than pull her underwear down, he took his fingers on a journey. He began by crawling his digits under the waistband, lifting it just enough to allow access to her bottom cheeks. He allowed his fingers to wander, smooth, tease, tantalise, rub.

Soon he found her dampness. Apparently shocked, he yanked her knickers down and off, feigning disgust as he touched and sniffed the gusset, holding it before her eyes. She blushed furiously as he stretched the fabric and brought it once again to his nose.

"Delicious. An aroused sub looking forward to her first bare bottom spanking."

Horrified, she almost called amber, he'd got it so wrong. But then she caught his eyes - he was teasing. No masochist, she was nervous as hell.

What overcame her panic was him kneeling at her feet, his hands clutching her bottom.

Like every woman he'd ever met, she was dissatisfied with her body. Yet he seemed to worship it. He spoke clearly, with obvious sincerity as she stood astounded.

"Such a generous bottom, a true woman's bottom, made to be fondled, licked, rubbed... and reddened. I shall give it a massage later. And now your pussy," he turned her slowly, pausing to take in every detail, "which is sopping wet - you are such a sexual being, your passionate nature is obvious, I shall taste all of your goodness before you return home."

Revelling in his flattery, excited by his promises, she offered no resistance as he pushed her back over the table, before adding cushions to pillow her head, support her stomach and raise her buttocks into the perfect position to receive his strikes.

Yet despite his kind words and mind-blowing suggestions she sucked in her breath as his hands left her body - this was it!

But his hand landed so gently, a tap she barely felt. Then he rubbed her skin in small circles and it was so soothing she could have wept.

The second strike was no harder, merely a flip of his fingers. This time the rubbing was longer, more intimate.

The third was louder, fuller, but now she knew what followed, the sumptuous sensation of warm fingers of pink skin. This time he used his fingernails too, the 'not-quite' scratching sending shivers up and down her spine.

The fourth went deeper, the fifth seemed faster, yet they were welcome as she discovered how much she relished his attention on what, previously, had been a bodily feature she was so anxious to hide.

The last was the best. For as soon as he completed the impact, he licked away any soreness, kissing and salving her bottom as one might delight in a succulent piece of fruit.

If this was punishment, she wanted more.

They both sensed that it was time to finish for the evening and so he left her, though only for a moment, as he reached for a thick blanket and wrapped it around her naked body.

"Time for a cuddle," he announced, putting slippers on her feet before taking her into a different room, obviously his study.

Here they sat, snuggled up on the sofa, her head resting on his chestk, him stroking her back to set her at ease: safe, secure, under his care.

"Role play tomorrow. We'll aim to begin by 11 am. So up at 8 o'clock, breakfast at 9 am. You can leave this evening's clothes behind, you won't need them tomorrow. In fact you can take out your washbag and put your suitcase in the Unicorn room. Although I shall leave the room unlocked, should I become aware that you have re-entered it, I shall call a halt to this weekend's play and send you home early."

He waited for her nod of acceptance before moving on.

"Tonight you will sleep naked. I want you accustomed to the sensation of fabric caressing your body, awakening your senses. The dressing gown is only in case you need to visit the bathroom downstairs. You can wear it at breakfast, your costume will be decided once our plans are complete."

He offered a range of drinks for her to choose from, but already light-headed, she asked instead for hot chocolate. He joined her.

He had one more trick up his sleeve. As she stood to go upstairs, he stood behind her once again. Without warning he hugged her tightly, his hands surrounding her breasts, before moving slowly downwards. Never once relinquishing his hold, he reached her thighs, spread her legs. Using his own legs to maintain her stance, he used his fingertips to part her labia. His stroking was vigorous, unrestrained, tapping and circling constantly.

She felt his hard cock pressing into her bottom cleft as his fingers pushed inside her body, teasing and tantalising her, he deliberately ignoring her protests.

All of a sudden a wave of lust overwhelmed her, she was going to cum, from his fingers alone.

Timing his words to perfection, he whispered in her ear as she dissolved into ecstacy: "come for me, my sub, your orgasms are mine, now."

But even then he didn't stop. Fucking her pussy with one hand, he reached behind her with the other, an impertinent thumb stroking around her bum hole.

As he pushed deeper, rubbing insistently over her G spot, he synchronised his movements, using her building excitement to distract her from his actions elsewhere. As she felt herself reaching for an unbelievable second peak, he pushed his thumb inside her anus, the unexpectedness of the intrusion triggering delightful pulses deep inside her loins.

Panting with desire, desperate for release, she was shocked by his final instruction as he withdrew completely: "This body is mine, I want it primed and ready for tomorrow. No touching my pussy during the night." She gasped, still reeling, as he asked his question: "Can I trust you or must I tie your hands?"

Her answer was clear, her mind racing as she faced a new reality. It was true, he was totally in control of her; not just her body, but also her mind. She could think of nothing else but the tsunami he had denied her. "yes Uncle Paul, you can trust your sub. I am yours."

Their kiss was unforced. She slept soundly, her hands firmly wedged under her pillows.