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A femdom story – Lena – part 1: Meeting LenaWe met at a café with good coffee and a quiet corner and talked about our lives, politics and culture. Why did we not talk about sex?Her screen name on Hamster was horny_Scot, but her real name was Lena, and we had messaged for a wee while, sharing some sexual fantasies, and she had liked them enough to meet me.When I had sat down at the table to wait for her, I had been nervous as hell. What if she didn’t like me? What if I didn’t like her?The latter worry turned out to be unwarranted: she was lovely! A smiley attitude, sparkling eyes, a sexy voice only bettered by an irresistible laugh. Shallow as I can be, I was particularly drawn to her fingers with those sharp nails and her elegant yet killer heels, half-covered by her jeans. She didn’t let on at all that she noticed me eating her with my eyes….When we had just finished discussing the implications of the upcoming Brexit, she suddenly said, “It’s obvious you fancy me, I bet you’d love to fuck me here and now. But so do all the other men I’ve met. Don’t get me wrong, I like you, but they all have much bigger cocks, and some of them have these amazing bodies. Why should I be interested in you German?”She had called me “German” from the beginning, ignoring my real name which I really loved, because it had such a dismissive but somehow personal ring to it. But now istanbul escort I was shocked. I had somehow thought I was the only one she was seeing, the only one she was interested in. How stupid can one be, how naïve? All my fantasies with her were being crashed, I was devastated!“I don’t really think about … fucking you Lisa” (I hesitated before using the harsh f-word), “I.., well, .. I… “… While I was too pathetic to say anything coherent, she moved in her chair and dropped a coffee spoon to the floor. “German, would you be so kind?” she asked at the same time that I was getting out of my chair to dive under the table and get it for her. I’m a gentleman after all, and it gave me a good chance to gather my thoughts; and to hide from her gaze.It was dirty on the floor, and when I found the spoon (which had been wet from coffee), it was covered in muck, but my eyes darted towards something far more interesting, and I took in the amazing view of her shoes with those long and deadly stiletto heels. Her laughter caught me unaware. “What does it take you so long, are you drooling over my heels German?”I quickly got up, hit my head on the underside of the table and got back into my chair. I bet my face was burning red from shame and arousal. I handed her the spoon, not knowing what to say. Lena helped me out. “It’s dirty German.” She zonguldak escort looked at it with some disgust, though she still looked beautiful when looking disgusted. She then said conversationally, “Be a darling and clean it for me. Oh, and be thorough. And then I’d like you to answer my question.”It was kind of obvious to me that she didn’t mean for me to clean the spoon with a tissue, it was clear she meant with my mouth; but it was not totally clear, not 100%. I had the feeling if I blew the simple task of cleaning the spoon, if I made the wrong choice between mouth and tissue, that that would be it, that she’d be up and gone, out of my life for good. I slowly lifted the spoon to my mouth, watching her all the way. She looked back at me, not showing any sign of approval or disgust. When I put the spoon into my mouth, she started to smile, and later on we identified this moment as the beginning of our special relationship. Right there in the café though I just felt this disgusting taste and most of all texture of I-never-want-to-know-what in my mouth, and a bulging erection in my trousers, surely mixed with huge amounts of pre-cum. I know myself well enough to be certain of that.I cleaned the spoon as well as I could in a reasonable time, actually feeling a bit proud of myself: it looked like properly rinsed. Lena took it escort bayan and inspected it critically. “I’m listening”, she said while contently putting the spoon next to her mug. I was a bit disappointed, I had hoped for some praise, and I also realised that she had already finished her coffee, that she didn’t need the spoon at all.Oh God, her question, the one about her heels. But now it felt so much easier to admit it, after all she had made me clean that yucky spoon; she just had to have a cruel, sadistic, dominant side; she would not only understand, she might find my confession attractive. So I just told her, told her about my high heel fetish, how for some weird reason I found women intriguing and magnetically attractive who wore them, how I had this desire to worship them, and how sexy I especially found hers, how I loved their elegance and that I loved the thought of being physically hurt by them. She listened to it all, and she smiled at that, a lovely but somehow wicked smile. “Well German, that’s a lot food for thought. I need to go know.” With that she got up, gathered her things, looked at me one more time and said, “I’ll be in touch”. She must have noticed my sad face; I didn’t want her to leave, not like that. She came closer and put her hand onto my cheek, gently cradling it. “Don’t worry; it might just make up for a small cock.” And then she did something that left me somehow baffled, and when she later tried to explain this to me she called it “a spur of the moment”: She gave me two hard slaps in the face and then she gave me a very soft kiss onto my lips. She turned around and walked away like a queen….TO BE CONTINUED…….
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