I am a submissive female writing in a fantasy Dom's voice as an exercise, maybe a manifestation

We’d been messaging online for a few months after connecting over a shared love of kink and erotica on a popular forum. What had started as a few flirty exchanges and notes turned into daily musings and explorations of each other’s desires and fantasies over a few weeks, which turned into months, as we mutually fell into new levels of vulnerability with an internet stranger. Our discussions kept inspiring our individual writing and art and play in real life, and every time I thought we might have exhausted our connection, free and ok to go our separate ways across continents as makes sense to do eventually, something would pull us together in conversation again and our chemistry only grew. The little red message notifications became little triggers of excitement for you, as you told me. Our conversation had been easy, also kinky as hell and thrilling, but never tied to a particular outcome.

Which is why I was so stunned when you walked into the airport lounge and sat just across from me at the bar on a random afternoon in April.

Yes, it was you.

I knew it was you, undeniably.

You had sent me pictures and little videos all this time. You liked the attention and we both shared your love for exhibitionism, both through your public pictures, sometimes for a little extra money, and also through the private and intimate photos you’d sent to me to give me that little extra peek into your life. I’d studied your face and absorbed your little looks and body movements, the choices you made in your clothes and hair. The art on your walls and the books on your shelves. You’d given me permission to devour you through images, and I did so happily, patiently and with every sort of intention a fairly depraved man can have looking at a beautiful woman.

But you had never seen even a photo of me. You’d never heard my voice and didn’t even know my real name. I’d offered to share these after some time, when it felt like the next step in getting to know one another. But after some time thinking, you’d declined. You told me you knew this connection between us was ephemeral, and that our distance meant we’d most likely never meet. And the image of me behind my avatar wasn’t as important to you as my writing and our discussions were. I understood how you’d want to keep whatever fantasy of me you had behind all of this so I didn’t push further.

And now here you were. Sitting in the flesh in front of me just where the bar angled off into the kitchen. You were tall and striking, more than I could’ve ever expected. Your long blonde hair moved breezly over the curves of your broad, tanned shoulders, a few tendrils falling softly into your fantastic fucking cleavage. Your movements were a little hesitant and you shifted around your bar stool a bit awkwardly to produce a book from your bag. The curve of your long neck peeking out as you nest your chin in your hand trying to settle in.

I was captivated. I had to force myself to stare down at my magazine while I thought about what to do. Do I go to you? Introduce myself? See what magic we can make happen in an airport during a layover? Or do I sit and watch you? Relish this inimitable moment of getting to watch you in person without you knowing? Would you feel my eyes secretly consuming you, sitting just above my magazine? Slowly taking you in, piece by piece for my own amusement and pleasure?

I hadn’t made up my mind when a man approached you, strode right up to the bar and drunkenly started chatting you up. Your body shifted and I could tell you were annoyed, your face stern and unsmiling and totally unsurprised. And why would you be surprised? Sitting there in tight leggings and a low cut tank top, showing off every curve and tone of that body. And I knew you wore those types of clothes to show off, too. You told me you had days where you enjoyed being perceived and objectified. You’d do your hair and makeup just so, but wear revealing gym clothes to make yourself look effortless and casual. I smiled to myself that I knew this from what you’d revealed to me, and that I was watching you in the wild enacting that body onto drooling men so easily.

But you turned to the man, cutting him off, and smiled wide and fakely. You asked him, in a ridiculous and exaggerated southern american accent, if he’d like to learn about the lord and jesus our savior and that christ had a lot to teach him. The man sputtered a bit, both shocked by your sudden response and unsure of what to say next. Hell, he was probably gaming if there was an angle he could maneuver into yet, even though it should have been clear enough he was being mocked. He mumbled something inaudible, possibly calling you a bitch, and brushed past you in defeat. You rustled around in your bag and unfurled a large sweatshirt, which you proceeded to put on rather quickly. You pinned your hair back and produced your reading glasses.

Ah, so this was a Not Wanting To Be Perceived day after all. Still, your extra clothes and efforts to hide yourself did very little to subdue just how beautiful you were. I understood a bit more in that moment your desire to control all the attentions you must receive. And I also felt my desire for you pumping a little harder. I was watching you, even when you were trying to hide.

The bartender came by and asked if you’d like a drink. “Sancerre, if you have it?” you asked him calmly, a little rasp coming through your traditional american accent. The pronounced difference in your voice made me involuntarily chuckle and your eyes shot up immediately and met mine.

The charge from your deep brown eyes looking directly at me made everything around us stand still.

You asked me what was so funny. Defensively and annoyed. I smirked just a bit and told you I’d admired your tactics but apologized politely for intruding further. And I did look back at you, directly back into those intense eyes, in admiration for you. Admiration for your wit and your anger. Your beautiful writing, and the ways you’d opened up to me over these past few months. For the journeys you’d taken yourself on and the curiosity you had for the pleasures you wanted so badly to get out of this world. For the vulnerability you offered me and all the nuanced ways you found to lean into your submissive needs with me. I stared back, unflinching, until after a moment, what felt like a long moment, you dropped your gaze and returned to your book.

I settled my tab and gathered my things, leaving in time to make my connecting flight and go on to my job and responsibilities. Walking by you I stopped for just a moment, pretending to adjust my bag on my shoulder but wanting to revel just a moment longer in this shared space and time with you, this strange and fleeting coincidence that I don’t think I’ll ever tell you about. As I righted myself, I watched from the corner of my eye as you took out your phone and opened what looked like our forum app. I continued out the door of the lounge and smiled to myself. I knew you’d be on that forum, hoping to see a little red notification from me. And even if I had to walk by you in this life, we’d found each other in another.

As I sat in my plane waiting for take off, I opened my phone and was surprised to find a notification from you. So you’d been writing to me- how fun and juicy. I pulled up the message just as the plane was starting down the runway.

Hello you. I have been so, so restless lately. I think of you and what we have and it’s driving me a little crazy. I look at total strangers and fantasize that they’re you. I almost nearly just laid myself on this airport bar and asked a man to fuck me just because there was something about him that reminded me of you. Please tell me we can find some way to meet, even if just on a layover in a strange city someday. Please tell me yes.