We meet for a drink. You understand that you do not have a speaking role on this date, except to the extent that I specifically ask and authorize you to speak. I might hand you a notepad on which to communicate with me. Or a napkin. Or nothing.
You would dress for me, you would, in fact, do everything for me. You would sit as I instruct. You would drink when I instruct. You would look where I instruct. Mostly down, I expect.
This all would be incredibly difficult for you. And, no doubt, it would make your pussy drenched.
Anything else would, of course, depend on your limits. But, for the sake of argument, let’s say that your stated limits for our second date were “no anal, no marks, and condoms for any fucking.”
At a certain point, I would either leave you at the bar, or ask you to leave me. One of us would go to a hotel room. The other would follow, when I decided. For the purposes of this e-mail, let’s just say that you would go first. Your instruction would be to use the hotel key I’d give you to let yourself in, to use the bathroom, to freshen up, whatever. And to strip nude, and kneel. And, once kneeling, nude, say, facing the window, or better yet, the door, to text me. And to text me that you are ready for my cock.
What would happen next?
Gosh, I don’t know. I suppose we’d just have to figure it out.