He grabbed her hair and controlled her with it. He didn’t do anything without passion or purpose. He pulled it to make her slam back onto him. The harder he pulled, the harder she would slam back, until he pulled too hard and there was a pause. Just a slight stopping until she pushed back with all the force she had. That was the moment he broke her. Where he pushed her passed her limits and she decided to keep going, decided to moan instead of whimpering out the safe word. Some would say that it made her stronger, but it didn’t make her any less his. She was his. His property, his slave. Her name was Lucy, but her collar said bitch. That’s what she wanted to be and what she wanted to be good at. He was training her. Teaching her how to be his dirty girl. She was a dirty whore. That how she felt. She was raised in a conservative home and sex was dirty. She liked that it was dirty and wrong. She loved being bad. She loved disobeying her master. She loved the punishment, her milky white ass turned pink then red by his rough hands. She’d squeak just thinking about it. Sir loved it when she squeaked and he loved it when she disobeyed.

He was older than her, every good master would be since she was only eighteen. This was her first non-vanilla relationship. This wasn’t random role playing like it had been with her past boyfriend, her only real boyfriend. This was real. What she wanted before she even knew what a submissive was. She wanted to be owned and used. Her ex-boyfriend was too much of a sweetheart and could never pull off the role. They lost their virginity together and he thought that meant they were meant to be. How could she have married someone like that? How could he have asked? They were so young. It half-way ruined her life. He stole her friends away with his crying. She kept some, but all her relationships were tainted by him. It wasn’t fair that they sided with him. That they felt pity for him. She might have been a heartbreaker, but she never had an orgasm with him and he acted like she was broken because of it. He made her feel like less of a woman because of his inadequacies as a man. At least now there was college. That’s where she met sir. He could tell what she was and he didn’t ask for her number because of it. He gave her a place, a date, a time and a simple slip of paper with everything he said and something else he didn’t.

“Wear something sexy, a dress that will come off easy and panties to match. Keep the glasses.”

Not a name, a number or anything, but a look and dominating attitude that made her feel like she was being dared to do something bad.

She wanted to do something bad, but that didn’t make it easy. She was ready for another guy— needed one. She missed sex, even bad sex. She longed for good sex. She just thought it would happen like it did before. She expected another normal, vanilla relationship or two before she found someone into this. She wanted something like this to happen, but she didn’t know if she was ready for it yet. She fought with herself about it. Part of her was offended by the note, but a bigger part was turned on. The place was a restaurant and she could keep it from going passed there if she wanted. Still she was excited. Her excitement outweighed everything. Him being so direct with her made her feel like a sexual object. Something that was deserving. Something of worth and of use. It made her feel beautiful, sexy, and dirty.

She understood that this wasn’t a date. Lucy understood that he wanted one thing and she was going to make it pretty for him. She took the day off from classes for a wax and built her outfit panties first. Dark purple satin with black lace, a matching bra and garters. It was the type of lingerie guys wanted girls to keep on. She had a floor length mirror and it now knew every angle of her. There were trouble spots. She didn’t like that her thighs touched so much and her arms could be toner. She took a deep breath and pushed the thoughts out of her mind. She changed her thinking and took her imperfections as trade offs for her nice ass and apple green eyes. Her hair had a natural curl to it and was the only thing she didn’t worry about. She worried about the heels and the purple sweater dress that clung to her curves. Then there was her make-up. She never really wore a lot of it. It took time, but she was a con-artist with make-up. She covered up her skin’s imperfections and made it look smooth and natural. She spoiled herself with the good stuff since it always lasted her. Lucy put on her glasses and got a good look at herself in the mirror. She gave herself a smirk and had bi-curious thoughts about herself on the way out the door.

The thoughts lasted as long as it took for the door to close. She felt all the confidence she had leave her once she was out of her studio apartment. It was her safe place. Where her fantasies always worked out. No one judged her for what she wanted a man to do to her, but outside she felt ridiculous and she felt like a slut. She was raised better than this. She let her body fall against the door and she pushed herself away from it with her fists. She was an adult. She was interested in this guy and she looked too good to walk back inside. She unlocked her car and slammed her head against the steering wheel. Took a breath, grew a little as a person then fixed what make-up she messed up in the car’s mirror.

At every stop light and stop sign she had to talk herself out of turning around. She would think about him and that would help. She wanted to please him. She wanted to know she could do a good job at something. She hoped that the dress was okay. It was one of the few she had. Would she have to buy more? She was thinking too far ahead. She pressed her foot down a little more than usual and got to the restaurant too early to go in. She sat in the car and tried not to sweat. She could hear her mother’s voice in her head and feel her father’s disapproval and disappointment. Lucy may have gotten out of her sheltered childhood home, but it stayed with her and played with her self-doubt and her sometimes low self-esteem. She saw him pulled up almost jumped out of the car. The more collected part of herself stopped her. The part of her that learned social norms and awkwardness, a part of her that was finally getting exercise after years of home schooling. It wasn’t the most developed part of her, but it kept her ass in the car and she thanked it for that. She waited for him to go in and looked at the clock. Five minutes would be too fast and ten too long. She decided to wait eight. She made it through six minutes and justified it in her head, it might take her two minutes to find him.

She walked to the door, then swayed to the man. He was in a dark corner of the restaurant with his back to the wall, so he could see everything and when seated, she could only see him. He stood up and pulled out her chair. She kept her eyes on his, they were intense, as she sat down she blinked and found his eyes moving over her body. He had a half-smirk that he licked while sitting down. He smelt like sandalwood, leather, and bergamot— which is to say he smelt like a man and not like a body spray.

His dress shirt was the right size on him and his coat had been tailored shorter in the sleeves to show off the right amount of cuff. He wore a tie that she wanted twisted around her wrist.

He leaned back in his chair, his voice was steady and commanded answers more than it asked questions, “Name?”

“Lucy.”

“Dominic.”

“Hello, Dominic.”

“Hello, sir.” He corrected sternly.

She looked down at the table blushing and managed a sexy innocence in her voice, “Hello, sir.”

“Age?”

She didn’t want to answer this question, but she didn’t want to have him ask her again. She didn’t want to upset him. She knew guys around his age got weirded out by her age. She lied and mumbled twenty.

He heard the pause of her thinking and saw the lie on her face, “Twenty?”

“I’m sorry, eighteen.”

“We’ll, do something about that later.” He said it looking satisfied and she wondered what would be done about it, she squeaked and he smiled.

The waiter came by and sir ordered for both of them, an Old Fashion and a virgin daiquiri, whipped cream and cherry. He called the waiter sir, looked him in the eye and said thank you to him sincerely.

She relaxed in her chair and smiled. Her breathing calmed for a moment before she felt it all fall apart in her head. She felt safe and that what started the crumbling. She dropped a hand on her thigh and dug her nails in hard. She straightened her back and decided to be honest.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

Her eyes fell to the table again, “This is my first time.” There was no response from him, and she didn’t look up to see his reassuring face, so she kept talking to fill the awkward and empty air, “I’ve never done anything like this, I like this, I really do. I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

He leaned in for the first time, his hand touching her knee underneath the table, “I’ll teach you.”