Part VII of The Domme

Anyway, on that first time I hung out with the Domme, it was really a strange night for a variety of reasons. Online she is very beautiful and seems to be secure, proud, in control and in demand, taking no shit from anyone. In person I was able to see her for who she really is: a kind of a sad, quirky creature. When I'd be speaking to her she'd make quirky facial movements, almost like she was vamping. Eyes widening and narrowing, eyebrows moving up and down, lips pursing in a mou, lifting one shoulder... It was quite strange.

She gave me her address and number - I already had them both - but told me to meet her at a local bar, a block and a half from her house. I'm going to quote a part of one of my earlier entries about her:

She was going to meet me at a bar instead of her house, even though she already gave me her address and phone number- which I already had because I had done a bunch of research on her on the internet. She said she had a slave, an older man, coming to clean her house, and that she hated to be around for the cleaning process. I was thinking, Big Lie, her house is messy and she's covering for it and sort of showing off how powerful she is and how much she has going on.

Since I was late (see that earlier entry for details), she was just leaving the bar and I caught up with her on the sidewalk. Galumphing along on her giant monster shoes she was a tall, big girl, the kind that black guys are attracted to. Not fat, just, a scaled-up version of a small woman.

She was heading home and I asked whether her slave, who she said was a professor at a big college I won't name, would still be there. She said no, he'd be gone, so it was ok if we went to her house.

When we arrived, ironically it was the exact clifftop street at the beach where I had parked nine years earlier and dreamily made out with an earlier mistress, a beautiful half white, half Japanese girl with small breasts and a really big, shapely, round ass. Who I fell in love with, then fell out quickly, and whose heart I broke.

Inside her apartment was the smell of cleaning fluids and a handwritten note hanging from a nail above her bedroom door:

NOTE MISTRESS

YOUR LIGHTS ARE ON
IN YOUR CAR

We went outside to look and sure enough, the parking lights were on. She explained that someone else had used it.

The 10 or 12 black candles in her low chandelier were crooked, and she asked me to straighten them since they were out of her reach, saying she'd have to punish her slave for that. I tried to figure out whether she had left the note, she had left the car lights on, and had installed the candles crooked since she wasn't tall enough to reach properly. I even mentioned it to her, my paranoia and disbelief. She thought no-one would go to all that length to fake having something. I thought she was wrong. I bet scam artists do it all the time. She thought it would be weird to go to all that trouble. I thought it would be weird to have a slave come clean your house.

We talked on the couch, or I did most of the talking, this time. In the middle of it she climbed on me and rubbed her body on me, and told me to keep talking.

Eventually we ended up in bed, just hugging and nuzzling, not kissing. I had meant to leave earlier but ended up leaving at something like 4:30 a.m. I knew that if I drove 80 mph the entire way home without incident, I might just barely beat my father-in-law to my house. He was going to come over to pick up a tool I had borrowed.

If I didn't come over he'd know I wasn't there; he would never think I somehow got up early and left the house before he got there.

If I were really late, the wife might beat me home and I'd have to do some seriously skillful maneuvering to get out of that one.

I raced home for two hours, terrified out of my wits. Even the car's exhaust system ticking away for a half hour - an eternity - would be a dead giveaway that I had been out.

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