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Strictly Business
    The shaft of light from behind the closed black flock blind illuminated the room, but in its wake revealed another grey February day. It was the kind of day that ultimately leads to sunny summer afternoons where in my world the smell of sweet jasmine and sultry sex combine. But, today, in an attempt to evade winter reality for as long as possible, I pulled the heavy duvet up tight, although sanctuary was only short lived. A spurious slumber was interrupted in the usual obtrusive way thanks to the sound of contact from my mobile discarded on the bedside cabinet. Fleetingly, it occurred to me that I really should check my phone for messages and a passing glance at the table also suggested a bit of tidy up might be in order.
    â€œYou’re quiet this morning” read the usually succinct message. I pondered whether this was a simple suggestion of ‘I haven’t heard from you yet’ or whether it was in actual fact secret code for ‘I expected to hear from you this morning’. Either way I felt it polite to reply with a suitable response even though my first instinct was to be rather discontinuous in my communication with business boy at what I envisaged was such an unearthly hour.
    I pondered only momentarily upon the content of my reply, but quickly decided that short and simple was the way to go on this occasion, not wanting to come across as too enthusiastic. After all, here I was, Mistress Bibi, a self-assured and self-reliant Dominatrix, a professional and experienced Goddess, and Bitch, who was about to Mistress a man for free ... on the house ... gratis ... a complimentary offering. It may have been a cold winter’s day but it was also business boy’s lucky one. Becoming a Dominatrix had been a life time in the making, and I was incredibly adept from a young age on how to use my sex to exude power over men, and yes, from time to time exploited this to fulfil my own intrinsic needs. I’d never been and never would be ashamed of that. Today was simply one of those occasions. So, in a cool but firm riposte, “I have much to do in preparation for this afternoon” I retorted.
    As instantaneously as the message disappeared into the technological ether, the time appeared: 9.27am, and with it advised this Mistress that she really should get her ass out of bed in readiness for taking his.
    The first time I set eyes on business boy was when he had sent me a photo of himself. It was from this that I had mistakenly concluded he was some kind of beach bum and not the professional business man or libertine he purported to be. After all, as an active participant in the kink scene, I am well aware that bullshit reigns supreme, where online profiles of young brats, middle aged doms, subs and slaves that offer themselves up on the basis of their intrinsic need to be dominated or humiliated are little more than fanciful fabrications.
    In the picture business boy looked young and almost innocent. His body was tanned and toned, reminiscent of those you see on Bondi. His hair was short but messy and was teamed with a smattering of seductive stubble and an inviting smile. I had been intrigued by the Ray Ban camouflage, and envisaged a pair of enticing eyes in alluring azure. Whatever, I had deduced, there sure as hell hadn’t been a designer suit in sight. Of course, alongside the simulated holiday snap, my inbox had also been perpetrated with the inevitable cock shot, suitably embellished with an erection. I’ve never quite sussed whether it represents the male human display of peacock feathers or a feigned attempt to ingratiate oneself with Mistress. Although, to be candid, I have to admit that on this occasion I had been uncharacteristically impressed. After all, a cock is a cock, but, some do look better than others. Some are straight, some have a charming little curve to the side or upward. Some are short and stocky, others long and lean. Business boy’s cock was