Gentle dom seeks sub for playful relationship. No pain, humiliation. Just sensual good times.
She wrote back an hour after the ad was posted. She was, she said, 21, brunette, buxom. She sent an unimaginably hot picture. Exotic-looking, olive-skinned, long brunette hair, a tight dress, an unbelievably hot body.
I was sure she was a dude, just playing around: she sounded too good to be true, and there’s no such thing as that good on CL.
“Meet me at 4 p.m.,” I told her. “Wear a short skirt, a tight white cotton t-shirt and a white bra.”
“Ok.” she wrote.
I walked into the restaurant and found her waiting at a quiet round table in the back. She stood up to greet me. A schoolgirl skirt, way too short, barely reached her thighs. Her top wasn’t a t-shirt – it was a white button-down shirt, the buttons nearly popping off. Her cleavage was impressive, impressively distracting. Her bra seemed to reach above the opening of her shirt.
It would have been hard to look at her face had her eyes not been spectacular: pitch black, then pure brown, then clear, bright white. Her teeth were sparkly, her smile effervescent.
In retrospect, I imagine we must have talked. I must have said some things; she must have said some. We must have reached some sort of implicit agreement. Before we ordered any food or drink, I had sent her to the bathroom.
“Take off your panties. Take a picture of your cunt for me. And one, of your panties, on the floor. Play with yourself just enough to get yourself wet, and to cover your fingers in your cunt’s smell.” Then come back to the table. Carry your panties out, but in plain view. Everyone here should know that you’re not wearing panties. And everyone should see you hand them to me.”
She did bring me her panties, her fingers did smell delicious.
But the cell reception was awful.
The pictures she sent didn’t reach me until we were in the cab, my cock in her mouth.