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Laura walked into the room, looking like a million dollars, but feeling anything but. She nervously searched for the man whose ad she had answered looking for a woman to submit to her master’s wishes. She hoped she was that woman. Life had become nearly intolerable and chaotic since her divorce, where she was forced to sink or swim on her own.
She had never done well on her own; she’d always needed that reassurance that someone was there, even if it was an abusive husband. The straw that broke the camel’s back was the punch that broke her jaw. The jaw took several months to heal; but her heart was shattered and ripped apart by a bully who belittled her for ten years, there was no cure for her broken heart.
Until now. She had spoken to Michael Fitzgerald several times on the phone and instant messenger. She had dared to share her innermost secret desires—she wanted to be spanked. And not just a few playful swats while making love, but the burning, stinging sensations she’d read and fantasized about the past year since the divorce. They were the kind of sensations that could tell a woman that a man cared about her as more than a quick fuck.
Michael felt himself to be the man to make Laura’s dreams come true, along with his own of a submissive to serve him. He knew her naughtiness and bratty comments on the phone and instant messenger were a façade, which covered pain and humiliation of years of abuse. He found a yearning submissiveness in her manner that she succeeded in keeping hidden from others. She had told him how she wanted “to be made” to follow his orders. He would see to it that her wish was granted.
She found the man wearing the black carnation in his lapel. She headed straight to the table, where he stood and pulled a chair out for her. Laura awkwardly accepted the proffered chair, hoping she wouldn’t fall into it before it had been tucked under the table appropriately.
His hair was gray, mixed with charcoal tones with a well-trimmed beard. He stood about a foot taller than her and carried himself with a quiet confidence in himself. He was a dozen years older than she; a mere carton of eggs difference she giggled to him once on the telephone. Her mind flashed back to that memory as she smiled at him. He had told her that making fun of his age would result in an on-the-spot spanking, which she filed conveniently away in her mind for future reference.
As they sat Michael asked, “Why are you laughing, my dear? Is my appearance humorous?”
Nervously she answered, “No, you just look so dommish, dressed all in black. Do you think Johnny Cash was a Dom?” He cocked a questioning eyebrow at her, and she quickly retracted her answer. “No, Sir, I was remembering a humorous moment on the phone.”
“It appears that you are just as much of a naughty girl in person as you are when safely out of harm’s way.”
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