You’re wondering what it would feel like if I owned you . You grew up in a repressed religious community, your father was the priest of the local church and you always needed to be the good girl, on show.

And now you’re wondering what it would be like to be the bad girl. The bad girl in a relationship with a domme. To be the bad girl in a safe relationship with your mommy.

You were told that your needs always should be shut down, unfelt. That they didn’t matter- you could never be that person, feel those feelings... Or else.

Or what? I want to know. I need to know how deeply they hurt you. I need to know how much I’ll have to rewrite your narrative to own you, to let you be mine.

But first, we’ll get coffee together. We’ll meet far away from your old town, but I’ll be dressed nicely, appropriately.. I’m wearing a navy pencil skirt with an orange sweater and brown heels. You’re wearing a pink frilly dress that I know you spent so many hours picking out, trying to impress me. We’ll chat, probably look like two friends meeting up for breakfast- only you’ll know why we’re really here.

After we chat and you give me the signal, I’ll give you a small box, wrapped like a birthday present, innocent enough, that you’ll slip into your purse and excuse yourself to the bathroom. Inside, you’ll find a small vibrator egg and a small travel packet of lube, and you'll insert it into your already dripping pussy.

When you return to the table, you’ll feel the eyes of everyone in the cafe on you- but they can’t see what they don’t know. When you’re not expecting it, you’ll gasp at the tiny sensation you’ll feel as the vibration starts, and you’ll look into my eyes and see how proud I am of you for trusting me to feel this way, to do this thing, in public.

You’re going off script, but you’re still such a good girl.

You’re being a good girl for me.

You try so hard not to blush or squirm as I change the sensations you’re feeling in your pussy, but I see you. I remind you that whenever you need to leave, we can go. You nod your head, afraid to even say the words, and I flag down a waitress and pay.

We get to my car and we sit in the back seat.

I offer you my hand that you take and kiss, and place it on your knee. Finally safe enough to share all your fluttering nerves and feelings, I begin to stroke your thigh- hearing you gush about how this is for you and all the people in the restaurant you think knew what was going on.

As I stroke you higher, and higher, you lean into me-- and that's when I kiss you. Deeply.

I know, from all our conversations, that this is your first kiss. I want this to be the kiss you come back to, over and over, when you think about how good kissing is. I take you in slowly, first just your lips, and then more hungrily, devouring everything you are giving me, pouring back in what I want you to know about this love, this connection, this process, this relationship.

And as we separate, I finally stroke your thigh high enough to brush your pussy, excited to find it as drenched as I know I am.

You shudder as I touch you there, mindful that I am the first to unwrap you, to know you as I am, to give validation to these needs, to this reality of who you are.

I turn the vibrator higher as I stroke your clit, holding you through this moment, allowing you to achieve your first orgasm.

I smile knowing, your next orgasm won't be as easy for you to experience... We're just getting started.

(To be continued..)