Isabella’s POV
I held my breath, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. What would I feel as he used those tools--disgust or something deeper?
Spanks were familiar ground; I could endure those. However, the cold, clinical tools most masters preferred always left me feeling hollow and tainted, as though I were debasing myself.
What truly ignited me was the sensation of a strong, warm hand connecting with my buttocks
A touch imbued with authority and closeness.
The tools were cold. Finger insertion? I liked finger insertion sometimes.
I enjoy so many aspects of this.
After a prolonged silence, which was basically me struggling with my thoughts and the building climax bubbling in my core.
Mr. L sent another message.
Mr L: Feeling overwhelmed, aren't you?
His ability to read my mind and emotions even though he wasn't staring at me was remarkable. I did not doubt in my mind that we would hit it off when we met.
Some people were just born to have sex with each other; that's me and Mr L.
Also, I had no doubt that he was indeed a skilled master, and I trusted his ability to bring me pleasure.
Mr. L: Let's begin with the fundamentals. I'll advance gradually, and you can signal with "yes" or "no". Our first in-person BDSM session won't involve genital penetration or oral sex. Are you in agreement?
How could there be such a good master? Respect flowed naturally between us. I cherished how he valued my opinions.
Me: I agree.
I affirmed, typing in acknowledgment of his decision.
Me: I trust your judgment completely. Let's start simply.
Mr. L Good girl. I also want to ensure we honor all your preferences. Perhaps we should reschedule for next week to give you ample time to prepare.
His suggestion caught me off guard. Was there a reason for the change? While I appreciated his concern for my readiness – the spa appointment, grooming, and exchanging medical reports were all on the checklist – the next weekend coincided with a break.
But what if our team didn't win the upcoming game? Leaving me feeling disappointed, I won't be as excited as I am this week. It seemed more practical to proceed this week now that my job is going well.
Me: Master, did I make a mistake? Why do you think we should move the date?"
Mr. L began typing…
***
The day after Mr. L's sudden silence was a restless one. Despite my attempts to engage with Franco and the PR team and bury myself in work, my mind kept drifting back to Mr. L. It was meant to be my break, but I found myself working extra on unfinished manuscripts, desperately trying to distract myself, but it was no use. I tossed and turned that night, consumed by thoughts of our upcoming potential meeting.
If Mr. L ended up bailing on me, Charlotte would undoubtedly give me an "I told you so." But beyond the embarrassment, I genuinely wanted to meet him. Please, let this work out.
At ten o'clock the next morning, on a quiet Sunday, a document finally pinged from Mr. L's email. I clicked it open, finding his medical examination report and a certificate of no criminal record. The names were redacted, leaving only the initial "L" visible. As I scrolled through, relief flooded over me. It confirmed that he had undergone a comprehensive physical exam and had a clean record, free from any criminal or sexual health issues.
This was a weight off my shoulders. I could only hope these documents weren't doctored to manipulate me into having raw sex with him.
"Think good thoughts," I murmured to myself, staring at the documents over again.
The dilemma churned within me like a stormy sea. Would he be offended if I asked him to use a condom, especially after all the effort he'd made to earn my trust? But in this day and age, trusting men blindly was a risk I couldn't afford.
"No, no," I reasoned silently. "I need to trust him, or this won't work.”
I finally closed his documents.
Opening my email, I quickly located the lab reports from earlier this year. As I forwarded them, a flicker of resolve sparked within me. I hadn't been intimate since the year began; this moment felt significant.
Nothing is going to make me back out now! Bye-bye to overthinking and fear.
Taking a breath, I typed out my message.
Me: I haven't had sex since this year.
I sent it to Mr. L in case he has worries about the date.
Mr L: I trust you, baby girl. No need to worry.
Now I feel bad for not trusting him when he's trusting me. I need to learn to trust him.
Soon, Mr. L sent a photo of a car. My curiosity piqued, I clicked on the image and suddenly felt breathless. My heart raced hard against my chest, and my fingers turned to jelly.
The license plate number on the car read "[Bella]" with a bright red heart at the end. How could such a license plate exist? It seemed too perfect. The rush of excitement nearly overwhelmed me; I could feel myself on the verge of fainting.
I remember hearing about customized license plates in Australia, even ones that could include emojis, but I never expected such a thing to happen to me. It was a gesture beyond anything I had imagined, and it struck a chord deep within me.
"I liked it," I thought, sniffing back tears that threatened to fall from my eyes, “I liked it very much.”
Mr L: I made it specially for you. Do you like it?
Me: I love it.
I typed, smiling so wide my cheeks hurt.
Me: Master, I don't know what to say. This means so much to me.
Mr. L's message appeared on my screen, his words heavy with promise and desire.
Mr L: Nothing is too much for you, baby girl. I just want you to know that I'm committed to giving you a good time. A very good time. And trust me, there's more where that came from.