Tales of Lupo Ch. 01: First Meeting

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I saw her jump down from the train, scanning ahead. She spotted me instantly and began to run. Was I ready for this? She fussed with her ticket at the barrier, her frustration with the fiddly machine breaking her smile momentarily. I stood still as she pulled herself through breaking into her run again, arms wide when she threw herself around me, hugging tightly. I staggered backwards a bit, not quite taken by surprise but a little overwhelmed by her enthusiasm. She pressed her lips against my cheeks, before burrowing her head tightly into my neck.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” was all she kept saying over and over again in her sweet Australian lilt.

I pushed back gently, uncoupling her from me. She was beaming, radiating excitement. She was exactly how I imagined her – a fire in her eyes, an uncontrollable smile, a youthful femininity about her. I took her all in. Every detail about her noted in an instant. My heart was beating fast but I didn’t want to show her just how excited that I actually was. I stepped back, holding out my hand to take hers and lead. I picked up her small overnight bag, the perfect gentleman.

“Hello, it’s good to meet you. You need to come with me now.” I said softly and coolly, my expression as flat as I could make it.

Her face dropped, her smile disappearing to be replaced by a look of puzzlement.

I tugged at her hand. “This way.” as I lead a few steps ahead of her pulling her behind me out through the front entrance of the station and into the Glasgow streets.

Although the Friday morning rush hour had just passed, a queue had formed for the black cabs outside in the rank. I walked briskly past to the waiting private hire that I had pre-booked. I wanted to show her that I was organised; a man in control. It was only a short ride to the hotel but it was neither an inconsiderable walk nor through the best area of Glasgow unless you firstly walked down to the waterfront. No, a taxi was better. We’d be exhausted if we walked at the brisk pace that I would normally set and with the sun shining, unusually for this city, I may not have remained the picture of cool calm that I endeavoured to portray. I sat in the car in collected silence, looking forward whilst catching her studying me in my peripheral vision. It’s surprising just how much detail you can actually see peripherally, it’s something that always amazes me. I so wanted to turn around, pull her close in and land a huge kiss on her lips but I knew that ultimately an action like that may spoil what I hoped would be the pinnacle of this short journey of self-exploration that she had set me out on.

***

I could never understand the whole game of domination and submission. I had always thought of the act of love or sex of being a transaction based on equality. You gave, and you received – end of story! Nothing else to it. I disliked the concept of one party being sub-servient, as my understanding of domination and submission was at that point. I would feel like I was exploiting a vulnerability, or taking something that was not quite mine to take – selfish, self-centred actions. But then again I had not really thought much about it at all. I had associated domination with pain; submission with weakness. I hadn’t really been attracted to all the BDSM costuming and paraphernalia. Nor the imagery, the fake-ness and sometimes the downright weird. It was a category on porn sites that I would by-pass, not even with a passing interest. The extremes were probably what I associated with my view of BDSM; unable really to disassociate the SM from the B&D. “A little bit of bondage is fun” someone once said to me online which, fair enough, could be quite playful and I could think back to a distant past when I had tried that, only to end up in fits of laughter at my bodged attempts to tie a very willing partner to the bed. Not much domination was forthcoming in that attempt! In reality it was not an area that did much for me. Vanilla appeared to be my flavour. That is until I found Lupo.

She considered me to be a natural dominant. I laughed at the thought. Me! Ordering someone to do something purely for my pleasure. Me? Yielding a cane or paddle, a naughty bare-bottomed girl across my lap? All the stereotypes filled my mind. Me, the ‘Daddy dom’? Me, wearing the standard outfit of a smart dark suit with my ‘sub’ wearing high heels, stockings and suspenders and not much more?Okay, I admit that I do have a perchance for erotic imagery that may or may not involve a bit of seductive dressing and undressing but to play it out in reality appeared unimaginable. But then, I suppose the eroticism that accompanies the B&D scene is rather better than the crude misogynistic portrayal of women in most internet pornography.

At first I shook it from my head. But more and more of our chats veered towards talk of a dominant / submissive nature. She had told me a few things about her past, it raised more than a few eyebrows! She got me thinking. Thinking about the sex that I had enjoyed in the past. What I liked doing. What I longed for myself. Was there a natural tendency kürt porno within me for domination or submission? I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t strike the line between domination and submission – in my mind it continually blurred. If I felt that I was in control, perhaps going down on my lover, was I not in fact being submissive as I was giving the pleasure, not receiving it? What was domineering about that? At what point do you switch? A term that I realised existed for that very reason.

So I set to thinking. What really does it mean to be dominant? What does it mean to be submissive? At what point do you ‘switch’? What are the pleasures? Why was I finding it a bit of a turn on that she thought of me being a natural dominant? And clearly, she was willing to be submissive towards me, very submissive, wherever that may lead.

It was hard to think past the stereotypes but I wanted to work out what she really meant. Why was I a natural dominant? She hardly knew me at all. She lived on the other side of the Earth after all. Literally! Eleven thousand miles or just less than eight thousand if I started digging. And yet, she did seam to know me, and I believed I had a good measure of her. I wasn’t convinced that she was the true submissive she thought that she was, nor I the dominant she may expect. I resolved to explore however, avoiding any research; avoiding the stereotypical ideas as much as I could; simply thinking things through to come up with a plan to test whatever theories that may fill my mind.

For many weeks I thought about it. Is it about exploitation? It was clear that there are many instances which quickly veer into abuse – mental or physical abuse – and that was unpalatable to me. Or does equality and equity figure? The words that I associated with BDSM all had negative connotations in my mind – slave, pain, inflict, imprison, dungeon, whip, spike, gag, stern, restrain, bound and similar. And the associated imagery, particularly how women are represented – thin, pale, ‘baby-girl’, begging, hopeless, compliant, if submissive; leather, rubber, dark hair, big breasted, strong, if dominant. Gradually I settled on what I thought would suit me, well at least the dominant side that Lupo had talked about. Dominance, I decided, was about control. Respect, control and release. Lots of respect, lots of control and, ultimately, exquisite release. And loyalty. It fitted perfectly if I thought about it like that. Perfectly for me, that is, as perhaps the dominant she saw in me.

Which brings me to where I am now.

***

Firstly, a few more background details to help you make sense of this journey.

My Lupo does live on the other side of the world. Australia to be exact, diametrically opposed to my home in Scotland. We had gotten to know each other after I stumbled upon her online in my feeble attempt to participate in the world of Roleplay. That seamed now in the distant past.

She had enchanted me from the start, perhaps I had enchanted her. Over the months we had grown to know each other, intimate details exchanged over the anonymity, or rather the belief in the anonymity, of the web. Perhaps we were each looking for a soul mate. Perhaps a relief from a mundane existence of our own lives. That doesn’t really matter and I don’t need to go into anymore details. Suffice to say, she had connections in Scotland and had already made arrangements to visit long before we stumbled upon each other, to repeat a phrase.

So we had arranged to meet. She was taking the weekend off from her visit, travelling up to Glasgow, a short train journey, to meet with me. I had planned to play out her fantasy, or maybe it was my fantasy after all. I needed to test if she was correct in her conclusions about me.

So here we were, the back of a private hire cab. Together. Her beaming in delight, myself with a stoical look of self control but with extreme excitement building within me. ‘Not allowed to let that show, though’ I thought as we neared our destination.

***

We pull up in the forecourt of the Glasgow Hilton. I had selected this particular hotel specifically for its spectacular views across the city. Earlier I had checked in and scouted out the room that I had chosen. I had been specific – a room on the highest floor, North facing, a large room with full height floor to ceiling picture windows. Double King bed, the largest they have. I had rearranged the furniture to ensure that it was laid out to my liking, opened the curtains wide. I knew that she would instinctively go straight to the window to look at the view. Who wouldn’t? The North facing aspect would mean I wasn’t blinded by the low but strong mid morning sunlight. Much as I like to admire a woman’s shape silhouetted against the sun, I wanted to see the details of her. Every detail. To take her all in.

I lean forward and hand the driver a couple of twenties although the fare would only be about ten. He raises an eyebrow and jumps out to open the door for Lupo. I open my own and climb out, the driver handing me her bag.

“Have a nice qiqitv.info day, sir,” he says and casts a silent nod in Lupo’s direction.

I lead her in, straight past the reception to the lift lobby, the concierge nodding respectfully in recognition of my earlier visit. I ask her to enter and follow her in. We stand in silence. I can’t work out if she feels puzzled, annoyed or disappointed in my forced silence and politeness. I keep this facade up as we arrive at the top floor. I lead her directly to the room, slide the key card in and invite her to enter first.

As expected, she immediately runs to the window. The excitement of when she first saw me at the station returns.

“This is amazing!” she says in her light Australian lilt. “This view is fantastic.”

She turns to me beaming, the full height window lighting her up perfectly.

She’s expecting me to join her in her excitement. I remain cool and collected, standing near the door, fighting my own inner desires to smile back and enjoy our enthusiasm together. I step forward and sit on an armchair that I had positioned some way back at the foot of the enormous bed. The room was large and I had earlier created a clear space between the bed and the window, with the long settee against the wall and the coffee table pushed out of the way.

“Step forward,” I order softly, gesturing with my hand to the centre of the space. “Stand. I want to see you.”

She steps forward into the centre of the space shrugging her shoulders, her arms outwards towards me.

“Well? This is me.” she says smiling.

I stare at her, holding my cold look.

She giggles and pirouettes around.

“Am I to your satisfaction, sir?” she continues playfully. Perhaps I had misjudged her ability or desire to be submissive.

“No talking! Did I say you could speak?” I talk softly but forcefully.

She freezes, realising that I may be being serious. If she hadn’t recognised the various clues and signals that I thought I’d given out she was realising now that I was about to show her who exactly was in control here.

“Did I?”

She shakes her head, lowering it along with her arms and shoulders.

“Stand straight.” I demand. She complies.

I begin to study her. She is what I imagined. Youthful, exuberant, yet a bit shy. Her curves matched her height perfectly. If I stood next to her her chin would settle on my shoulders, a good match. Her hazel blue eyes are warm in the indirectly lit room, her pupils large and dark.

I remain silent for about two minutes, our eyes not parting from each others’ gaze. Inside my heart races. I am feeling more than a bit turned on, my cock hardening fast inside my jeans. ‘Calm and cool, remain in charge’ were the words that I was focussing on. I see her begin to tire as she stands still in front of me. I am reminded that she may be feeling uncomfortable.

“Undress” I say softly.

Her mouth opens slightly.

“Undress for me.” I repeat a little louder but with a gentle inflection. I swallow hard, just as she does the same. We probably just shared an intensely erotic moment. A shiver passes over me.

She unzips her hoodie, drawing her arms out. I point to the settee.

“Place your clothes neatly over there.”

She lays her top down and returns to the stop in the centre. I nod ‘continue’.

She begins to unbutton and unzip her jeans, realising that she still has her trainers on. She stumbles a bit as she prises them off one by one. I stifle a laugh. This is probably not the most elegant of strips but that’s reality for you. She kicks her trainers to the side.

“Neatly!” I say. She moves to straighten them at the side of the settee.

“I like neatness. You must remember that.” I’m not sure that I am now displaying stereotypical behaviour after all. I look down at her feet, she follows my look downwards then leans to remove her socks, stretching them out together and folding them, moving to place them next to her top. I laugh inwardly again. ‘Who flattens and folds socks?’

Her hands return to her zipper. She looks across at me, hesitating. I nod again. She looks unsure. I lean forward in my seat, my eyes not leaving hers. She knows I mean business. She glances downwards, slowly slipping the waistband lower across her hips, peeling her tight jeans down over her legs, using her feet one by one to release them. A faintest of nods from me signals her to pick them up, sort them the right way around and fold them, adding to the pile of her clothes on the settee. She stands in front of me, in her knickers and t-shirt, hands on her hips. A clear signal that says, ‘So what?’. I breath in deeply and exhale, shaking my head slightly – my attempt at a clear signal back showing that I wasn’t happy that she was fighting against my wishes.

Her arms slump to her sides.

At this point a slight panic passes over me. I was asking her to expose herself to me. With nothing in return. I was simply sitting and watching. Was this really dominance and submission? Or was I back to vulnerability and latin porno verging on exploitation? All I really know is that she looks incredible. Her curves exposed. Her t-shirt tight across her boobs. I swallow again. I need to go on.

I look up at her directly.

“Go on.” I say reflecting my inner thoughts.

I think that we have now reached the point of no return. I believe that she realises that too. She pulls her t-shirt over her head, I see she is about to toss it to the side but she stops, folds it carefully and places it on the pile, returning swiftly to her spot. She passes her arms behind her and un-does the clasp on her bra, shaking herself loose. She moves to place that neatly on top and returns. She stops.

Her hesitation un-nerves me, although I cannot let that show. All that is going through my mind is that somehow I have this gorgeous woman in front of me, naked apart from her knickers, very exposed in front of the full height window. So it was nearly as I had planned but the fact she was now there, waiting, when I had clearly given her an instruction to undress kind of threw my confidence. I decide that I need to change direction a little, assert myself a little more. Perhaps she was an expert in this game after all.

I stand, upright, and make as if I’m adjusting my clothing. I am aware that if anyone cared to look closely that they would see my cock stiff, pressing against the buttons on my jeans. I hold her gaze again, not wanting her to look down and see my excitement. I step forward and circle around her. She focusses on something up high, holding her head still as I move around. I make out like I am inspecting her.

Indeed I am. I am taking in all details about her. Her pale skin, not what one expects from a typical vision of a youthful Australian. I look at her shoulders, wide and firm. Her boobs, full. Perfect nipples. My eyes break with her’s as a glance downwards. I see the creases in her skin where her jeans have pressed in tightly, the pink impressions gradually fading. I breath in deeply, as I imagine her hips and her legs wrapped around me. My cock is so hard, wanting her now. I stop and stand in front of her. I can sense her deep breathing although I know she is trying to hide it. I lean in close.

“I said undress.” I walk back to my chair and sit.

She stands looking across at me.

‘Damn’ I think to myself. ‘I need to push this a bit further’. I knew she was experienced in this, but I didn’t know what experiences she’d had. I decide to expose her further, take it to what I would think of as bordering on going too far.

I stand again, gesturing her to move back towards the window. I pull the coffee table out into the middle. I know it’s strong and sturdy, I had checked that earlier just in case. I reach out and take her hand to guide her up to stand on top of it.

“Now, undress!” I say, again softly but this time with a hint of ‘I’m not going to ask again.’

I sit.

She now stands in front of me. The full height window behind her exposing her to the city below. No sunlight shadows to disguise herself in. She looks like she is floating, the wide cityscape behind her. I nod a final instruction.

She peels her knickers off, sliding them down her legs and stepping out. She reaches down holding them in her hand, not quite knowing what to do with them. I stand and take them from her, flattening and folding them, noting the damp patch along the middle, adding them to her pile of clothes.

I sit again.

I realise that perhaps sitting this time is the wrong thing to do. She cannot expose herself any further. I am aware that as she is standing on a table, not a high one, perhaps about 30 centimetres off the floor, the exposure that she may feel with the full height window and 120 metre drop below may be a bit extreme. After all, I didn’t know if she suffered from vertigo or acrophobia. She appears to be doing okay, however.

I stand, then approach her, circling around once more. She stares at the spot high up again. I like that now my head is lower than hers. I move close, circling slowly again., my line of sight directly at the level of her breasts. She stands perfectly still. My heart beats out of my chest. I breath deeply, taking in her scent; the sweet scent of her exposed flesh. I long to touch her but I resist, truly using all my willpower. There’s no detail about her that I don’t take in.

I hear her breathing deepen, watching her breasts heave. There is a slight tremble in her legs. I hope that her back is okay, perhaps this is torture for her standing still for so long? I move my head in close to her shoulders and raise a hand up to hold her hair against my face. I breath in deeply, overplaying so that she can hear me taking in her smell. I am standing in front of her, a bit to one side. I look directly into her eyes, her pupils as wide as they could ever be. Pure lust is what I see in them, a deep wanton desire. I release my hand from her hair and track a finger down her spine, slowly from the nape of her neck. Her back arches in response, her hips throw forward. I steady her with my other hand on her stomach, not breaking eye contact. Her body freezes, her face contorts as she bites her lip hard. Either this is incredibly painful for her or incredibly pleasurable. I know what it is for me.

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