The First Night

She showed up at eight exactly.

I opened the door and looked at her for a second longer than necessary. Same black raw-silk dress from the bar — thick halter straps, fitted bodice, that full flared skirt. Heels still on. She had tried to look composed. I could already see she wasn’t.

“Come in.”

She stepped past me. I closed the door and walked ahead into the living room without waiting. She followed. I didn’t offer her a drink. I didn’t ask her to sit. I just turned and looked at her again, the same way I had in the bar — measuring.

“The contact you wanted,” I said. “I made the call this afternoon. It’s done. You’ll get the email tomorrow.”

Her shoulders loosened with relief. She started to thank me.

I cut her off.

“Clothes off.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. Take them off. Everything.”

For a moment she just stood there. Then she reached back and unfastened the halter. The thick straps fell. She pushed the dress down over her hips and let it pool on the floor. The bra came next, then the underwear. She stepped out of the heels last, slower than the rest.

I didn’t rush her. I just watched.

Full C, almost D. Heavy, soft, dark nipples already tight in the cool air. Narrow waist. Rounded hips. A plump, bare ass. Smooth cunt, outer lips soft, the inner ones a deeper pink. Long dark hair falling over one shoulder. Olive skin that looked like it would mark easily. Everything I had measured in the bar was right in front of me now.

“Turn around.”

She did. I walked up behind her and ran both hands over her shoulders, down her arms, then around to cup her breasts. I weighed them in my palms, thumbs brushing the nipples, squeezing just hard enough to make her breath catch. I moved lower, hands sliding over her stomach, her hips, then back to her ass — spreading her open for a second, feeling the soft give of her, before I let go.

“On your knees.”

She knelt on the rug. I walked around her slowly, still fully dressed, looking down at the line of her back, the way her hair fell, the soft weight of her tits resting against her thighs. I stopped in front of her and tilted her chin up with two fingers so she had to look at me.

“I told you in the bar I already knew how I’d use you.” I kept my voice calm. “Now you’re going to find out.”

I spent the next while doing exactly that — nothing rushed, nothing soft. I played with her body the way I had planned: hands on her tits, fingers in her mouth, spreading her open, making her arch, making her stay still while I decided what I wanted next. I didn’t fuck her yet. I just used my hands and my voice, learning the exact sounds she made when I pinched too hard, when I slapped the inside of her thigh, when I slid two fingers into her and found her already wet.

She never asked me to stop.

When I finally decided I was done exploring, I looked down at her flushed face, wet mouth, and the marks already starting to show on her skin.

“Still want that contact?” I asked quietly.

She nodded, eyes glassy.

“Good. Then you’ll come when I call. You’ll stay as long as I want. And you’ll take whatever I give you. Clear?”

“Yes.”

I let go of her chin.

“You can get dressed and go home now. Or you can stay on your knees and see what happens next. Your choice.”

I walked to the kitchen to pour myself a drink and left her there on the rug, naked, deciding.