Preparation

Strip down to your underwear and toss your clothes into the pile in the corner of your room. Admire your body in the mirror, thinking about what I’ll say, what I’ll do when I see you undressed. Turn this way and that, taking in your lines, admiring your lean body and all of its curves – and how my fingers and tongue will feel when they slide across your silky skin.

Unclip your bra. Let the straps slip off your shoulders, drooping gently before they drop, the cups falling away from the swell of your breasts. Wriggle slightly, allowing it to drop to the floor. Watch the swells of your chest as you twist in front of the mirror, tiny goosebumps rising on your areolas as the pink buds of your nipples harden in the cool air. Resist touching them, as if that would stop you getting more aroused; it’s the thought of your fingers, my lips and teeth, that makes your pink tips erect.

Trail your fingers between your legs, brushing your soft mound through your knickers, feeling the swell of your mons and brushing your lips. Hook your fingers in your panties, imagining them to be mine, dragging them down over your hips, pushing them down your thighs until they drop to the floor. Lift a foot, and snatch the garment in your fingers, rubbing it softly between your legs, savouring its soft silky feel over your slightly-wet lips.

Look at the clock, and sigh, realising how long you’ve been there in front of the mirror, feasting your eyes on your naked form. Waft into the bathroom and twist the dial, the fog of steam warm against your skin. Step into the shower, the first touch of hot water almost burning your skin, making you jump the same way you will later when I touch you. Rivulets stream down your body, drips gathering on your elbows and nipples before leaping to their fate in the foamy whirlpool around your feet. You’re looking skywards, eyes closed as the water trails down your back, drawing your hair into a long smooth strip down between your shoulder blades.

The first handful of shampoo lathers up and you writhe as you work it into your scalp, fingers massaging your skin, soft touch triggering tiny reactions through your body. Thick blobs of suds run down your belly, caressing your skin like the lightest of touches, trailing to your navel before flopping to your feet. As the warm soapy bubbles trail across your pubis, kiss your lips and run down your thighs, imagine my touch there, lingering and probing, driving into your sex. Hold back from taking yourself too far – the delicious denial only heightening your excitement of when you’ll climax in a few short hours.

The shower over, pause to let the last of the water trail away down your long slender legs and then towel yourself dry, soft fluffy warmth soaking up the dampness from your smooth clewn skin, but leaving one moist area out of reach.

Apply your make-up, softening the smile-lines around your mouth, accentuating the stormy darkness in your eyes, and finally painting on a scarlet heart of shimmering colour so that later, when you are on your knees, your lips will leave a ring around the base of my hard flesh.

Next you brush and style, twisting the straightening tongs and pulling your hair taut until it springs back in loose spirals that frame your face. You stretch your hair, gripping harder than you need, savouring the feeling of your follicles straining, and smiling inwardly at the mental image of my fist gripping your curls, forcing your face down to my lap, or pulling your head back as I stand behind your kneeling form.

Reluctantly you rummage amongst your lingerie for something to slip into. You slide the hold-ups over your feet and smooth them onto your thighs, taking extra care on the only pieces of clothing you’ll be sure to keep on all night. The decadant lace patterned tops look and feel pretty; you know I’ll appreciate their finesse as I make my way between your spread legs.

Next a tiny black thong, so small it barely covers what would be your pussy – were you not waxed bare – but sheer enough that it won’t afford you any modesty. You giggle as the fabric presses up against your already-wet lips: “modesty” will hardly be appropriate.

A lace, half-cup balcony bra which lifts your firm breasts and creates an extra touch of cleavage. You know how I love to kiss and lick your decolletages, and the lace trim that nestles up to – but doesn’t cover – your nipples will guide my tongue to your sensitive buds.

The dress you pick out is black, tiny – so short you will have to beware of strangers when walking up stairs. But you know that as I follow you up to the table you booked in the gallery, I will get more than a hint of your stocking-tops. It slips over your head and ripples on the air as it settles around you and drapes over your hips, enhancing your curves, and giving a very explicit message.

Finally the footwear… black, patent, with a four-inch silver heel that will leave scratches in my back. Not quite dominatrix, but definitely fuck-me shoes.

As the buzzer rings on your door, and your grab your purse and coat to head out and meet me; your body tingles, your nipples erect, pussy dripping and heart thumping.

And, after all the time, care, primping and preening, perhaps you’ll just invite me in and cancel the restaurant booking after all?