Even in his own mind he didn’t really know why he met her for the second time, one of those coffee dates spun into reality from a series of sexy exchanges and short bursts of fantasy; but there he was, hanging about the station waiting for her to arrive. She was at least easy to spot; bright red flowing coat, striding through the crowds on the arm of some rail assistance chap swinging her cane smiling and chatting, sightless and happy, how did that work he wondered?
He watched her as she said her goodbyes to the ‘help’, utterly at ease and in control of her world, directing others with a natural command borne he suspected, of years of making her world the way she wanted it to be despite the perceived disadvantages. No wonder she chose to be Domme, submission wouldn’t come easy to her, she’d understand the concept and perform the role if she thought it might be fun with the right person, but she would always be grading, marking, assessing. It would be so much easier to just walk away at this point he knew, she wasn’t the sort of woman to make a fuss about it, she’d accept at face value what ever excuse he gave and allow him the dignity to quietly slip away no matter what her real thoughts were. There were the photos though, the fantasy played out in messages of teasing her clit, that challenge he thrived on in meetings such as this with others, would they live up to the hype?
Greetings passed in a fuzz of non remembered words and phrases, smelling her perfume, reminding himself to stop thinking that she was looking at him, wondering what he should say about the environment, avoiding people and obstacles. Life was so much easier when he could make eye contact, eyes being the window of the soul and all that crap that at least gave him a fucking clue if she was horny or not!
The queue for coffee was slow, the shop heaving, she calmly moved along touching his thigh, his arse as if it was the most natural thing in the world, did the fact she didn’t see the world mean she just ignored it? Played by her own rules not those of the ‘be polite and appropriate in public’ brigade, she was certainly able to make him feel horny, not hard yet, but stirring, he just wished she’d worn something that showed her more as the photos did,,,,,
Coffee bought and table found, could they be any more centre stage he thought, Jesus the whole thing was screwed, right by the door, glass on all sides, fronting onto the main concourse people milling around all over the place! But then she sat, carefully arranged her legs either side of his, spread her dress and he knew, despite the conversational dancing, it was going to be possible……..
Teasing her verbally was fun, discussing the world in general, watching her trying to make normal faces often too animated as she misjudged the sentences he threw at her; as his hand strayed along her thigh and her legs widened. He had wanted stockings but she’d worn some crotchless body stocking thing, was it worth trying to come all Masterful and complaining? Threatening punishments that would never be given just to see how she played submissive? Or just explore and see, let her be the whore she was enjoying being. She rarely moved her eyes from him, reacting sometimes to sounds to her left, the passing of people in and out of the cafe that came too close to her, but nothing seemed to disturb her he thought. Her hands explored so lightly his inner thigh, and now his hardening cock (He really should move closer so that she could feel more and wearing his walking jacket that had no front zip and made it impossible for him to spread his legs wider to allow her to stroke him properly was just plain stupid!)Inch by inch his hands travelled towards the warmth of her cunt, his fingertips lightly caressing her unshaven clit, smiling inwardly as she attempted to keep the conversation flowing. Furtively looking about him it didn’t seem as if anyone in the coffee shop was paying particular attention to them, sensing almost his next move she spread herself just that little further allowing his finger to slide in easily. Wet and wanting, a fuck bitch in waiting, hand withdrawn teasingly he tasted her, pleasant, fresh. He offered some to her, her gentle yet demanding lips cleansed his finger expertly – it would be fun to have her clean his cock he thought in just that way. To make her wet just by his voice, his presence, a brief fuck just to coat himself then the real fun would begin having her lick her juices from him edging him, fucking her throat hard till she choked gagging on her saliva and his precum, gasping as he held her head back extending her neck so she could take more. Coming back to the here and now he thought of his train, time to go, she knew now as she had before that her time was over, gathered her things. Walking he back to the taxi rank confidently holding her hand leading her he retreated back to the ‘why am I here’ world the place he always ended up when the fantasy and the reality jarred. ‘Do you want me to kiss you’ he asked, ‘yes please’, the fumble the missed lips, the taxi the goodbye.
In the taxi she licked the small piece of chocolate fudge cake from the side of the lips, well that at least had been real she thought,,,,,,,,,