Her ad was very direct, and I should have been scrolling through them in the first place.
"I want a man to clean my home," the ad read. "You will be completely nude the whole time you're here; I will not be. There will be no sexual activity, and if you ask you will be told to leave. Basic household tasks. I am open to one man for the whole day or two men for part of the day each, depending on your availability. You will not be paid. You will be expected to masturbate to completion for my husband (who will be here) and myself to watch."
I'm a married man and I was traveling in her city for work, and I did have time available. I live in a sexless marriage, and have for a very long time.
I don't expect that that excuses my behavior; perhaps makes it easier to understand.
Mistress Nikki responded to my email! We exchanged some emails and then by a texting app with which she was familiar.
I anticipated being rejected when I got to her home, so I went way out of my way to "get" that rejection via email or text rather than in person.
I took some videos of myself naked, doing chores at the place I was renting. That was somewhat risky because I was renting a room from a single lady and wasn't entirely sure of her schedule.
But I took my clothes off, left them upstairs in my room, and went "to work." I recorded myself carrying groceries in from the garage, naked, and talked to Mistress Nikki as if she were there. Cleaning the kitchen. Vacuuming the living room, all naked.
I was ready to ditch whatever I was doing and race upstairs if I heard the garage door open, but it didn't and I completed the work.
Unexpected benefit: the lady I was renting from was very pleasantly surprised when she came home and much of her house had been cleaned!
I sent those videos to Mistress Nikki with the caption, "Is this what you have in mind? Tommy."
At that time, for more than 17 years I had only had sex with my wife, and I had not played with any other women. Our sex life was (and sadly, remains) so vanilla that it's diabetic friendly. But I've seen myself in the mirror; I'm a shift worker and not a model.
Guys like me say things like, "I carry it well," and while that's pretty true, I'm overweight. I suppose most men are "average," and I am too. I wanted to have the experience--so unlike anything I've ever done--and I was talking myself out of it and bracing myself for the rejection I was positive would be her reply.
"YES!!" she wrote back quickly. "YES! That is it exactly! You do have my address, correct?"
"Yes, Ma'am," I replied. I decided to leave out my anxiety about her rejection. She'd seen me naked, watched me from all sides, watched me move around...and she said YES! "I will see you then. Thanks for inviting me."
I've never been a "submissive" man. I stumbled into the "CFNM fetish" quite by accident some years prior, but when I saw it it stuck immediately with tentacles that I could not dislodge.
And then, I didn't want to.
I've never been a submissive man. In the rest of the world I'm driven, direct. I've learned to work through people instead of knock them over like I used to, and I think "well I'm a type-A personality" is just an excuse for being too lazy and arrogant to learn to work with people instead of bully them.
I didn't sleep well for a few days leading up to The Day. I resisted growing urges to jack off. I wanted to provide a good show so I began "saving up."
And then the day before I was to meet Mistress Nikki, while lying naked in bed and trying to get to sleep but enraptured with fantasies of tomorrow, I went too far.
One can get more bullets and reload the gun, but no one can put spent ammo back in the gun.
Despite the post-orgasm endorphin rush I didn't sleep well. In fact my anxiety about tomorrow's performance only increased.
I worked the night shift, went back to my place and showered and put on clean clothes, sent Mistress Nikki my ETA, and joined the morning traffic crawl.
Mistress Nikki was prettier in person than she had been in the two photos she had sent me. Neither had been provocative; they could have been in a real estate agent's side-of-the-bus ad.
Mistress Nikki had red hair that curled at the ends below her shoulders. She had green eyes behind cute glasses. She wore some makeup, like I imagine most women would apply for a casual dinner date. Her black skirt topped inches above her knees and was neither form-fitting-tight nor billowy-loose. A white top, with cleavage revealed appropriate for an office, was held by a thin black belt, and she wore simple black sandals.
Mistress Nikki opened her door and hugged me on the front stoop as if we were lovers reunited.
She invited me in calmly as inviting one's neighbor; I was the one with "nerves."
I removed my shoes and socks at the entry way, already thinking of the significance of this insignificant difference: she was wearing shoes and I was barefoot.
We visited in the living room for several minutes and then she got up from where she was seated and sat next to me as if I were her boyfriend, and leaned into me.
Together we video-called her husband, whom she had sent to work that day.
It seemed like a huge concession on her part, for me. I could not wrap my mind around being naked around another man. I couldn't get past it.
And so she had adjusted her plans for me, and sent him away!
It was a huge gesture, I thought, and I felt more at ease.
We visited with her husband for a few minutes, and then I happily followed her sashaying hips and bouncing skirt up the steps to her office.
Her office was in their master bedroom and my penis stirred in my pants.
The bed hadn't been made, and in email exchanges and text she had described their "vigorous" nights of play. And there was the bed! And the woman stood before me.
Rather, I stood before her.
Mistress Nikki is the woman I have met who stood confidently, resolutely in power of her sensuality. It was at once both clear and understated.
It was far more than her beauty, though she was a very pretty women.
It was...HERSELF.
She was both unnerving and magnetic.
And I was in her bedroom!
Mistress Nikki sat at her desk and began looking at papers on her desk and at her screens.
As if an after-thought she spoke toward the computer, not even to me.
"Strip."
One word. Crisp. A command but it didn't feel like "an order." Calm, not barked at me as orders had been delivered in the military (or in the years since by Vets who still hung too tightly to their former roles).
