Pretty little Doll PT 1

It’s the same feeling every time I walk up to a friend’s door, no matter how many times I have been there before, the “butterflies” never go away. Stand up straight, silence phone, breathe, don’t die and most important smile without looking crazy. There is also the matter of carrying whatever you need while seemingly carrying nothing (this is multi-purpose.) The outfits, experiences, and location will always be different, but the butterflies are always the same. It’s that crazy nervousness that seems to go away after the door opens.

He opened the door as soon as I walked up, saying my name while he stepped back from the doorway. The way he said it stuck to me for a second. “Anya”, no one had ever said it like that but I brushed it off. He led me to his gorgeous red and black kitchen where he grabbed a bottle with two glasses and we continued through the house. Its fun to see how people decorate their homes, some do not care and others go over the top. It really says alot about you. This house had a color scheme of red and black, there was zero signs so far that someone else lived here which would tell me that he is an organized type A but that is irrelevant at this moment.

*With New friends, they are not only people but puzzles. I will probably never disclose the lengths i have gone through to fine tune my methods. Noticing small things like this gives me cues. To me, sex is never just sex. If it was as simple as just getting off, you would save the money and do it yourself. I have super powers that make our meeting an experience and not empty and transactional*

He stopped in front of a door, turned and smiled and me “you can get ready in there”

“American Psycho” instantly popped in my head and all i could do was hope the room was lined with plastic with a chainsaw nearby while playing “hip to be a square”. Dark humor as a sex worker, go figure.

It was just a bathroom LOL

He smirks and I cant help but wonder what I will walk into. Even the bathroom was sleek and sparkling. Maybe he is out of town most of the time or has a badass housekeeper. I barely saw what was on the counter, a post it with “Anya” on top of a beige bodysuit. I stared at myself in the mirror asking wtf while trying to figure out how I am going to fit into this thing without looking like a busted can of biscuits. Sometimes a guy will tell me all the details and sometimes I am clueless and just go with the flow for the excitement.

When I set the note down, I noticed there was writing on the other side. “Open Cabinet Door.” …ummm OK.

I take the random risk to open the cabinet at most eye level. To my surprise, there were two wigs perfectly on stands. Going with the flow, I pick the one that is Curly and Dark brown, I love playing dress up. Wigs take out the guess work. Giving my hair southern beauty queen volume can take 3 hours whereas a wig takes less than ten minutes to put on and go.

After magically making it fit and taking a moment to look at myself in the mirror. This was tight as a second skin, like my Spiderman suit but crotch-less and an open face but hair covered. I felt dumb but this is what he wanted, after all, I am here to give him exactly what he wants. I take a deep breath and open the door; I feel weird and didn’t even want to look up. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the wig, I would feel like an alien.

However, it’s not my house, and I have no clue where I am going or what I am doing so that left me no choice but to look up, and there he was and he seemed happy. “Come to Anya” grabbed me by the hand and led me to what was of course a red and black bedroom. So stylish? Possibly OCD and everything must match. Guys with OCD can be thrown off by something as simple as a twisted strap and it’s always unsettling when the breaks abruptly get pumped. Suddenly my attention is drawn to the opposite side of the room.

It looked like something you would have seen in a Fredricks of Hollywood dressing room. I have been in those dressing rooms many times and always been a positive experience. Here is my guilty pleasure; I love trying on formal wear for no fucking reason and those platforms make it worth it.

He asked me to step up on the platform, I still had zero clue but couldn’t help but look at myself in the mirror. This nude bodysuit erased any sign of a tattoo, I’ve often wondered what I’d look like with blank skin. He went to his closet and came back with a few things. “Anya, step down and sit.” I do so silently as I have not been told how to handle this, so the experience has taught me to roll with it without adding anything. I sit in the stiff chair that is upholstered in a velvety fabric as I am told, and he kneels in front of me but not in a submissive stance. He has a pair of black thigh-high stockings that he proceeds to roll up my leg, this is obviously not the first time he has done this. He stands up and leads me back to the platform.

Walks back to the bed and comes back to with a corset, “lift your arms”, he seemed to be a man of few words or deep in thought. This took a few moments to lace the black corset to fit me like a glove, I suddenly felt a little better about being in a nude stocking. He looked at me in the mirror like he was working on his own puzzle and then I realized that I was just a stand in. There was no thinking involved. He handed me a glass of wine while he went for his next choice which happened to be this. It was beautiful. He placed it on the floor in front of me and in a clear tone said “step, step” without even looking at me. He pulls up the skirt around my waist and zips it up. How did he even know this would fit me?! I swear this is what a fashion designers sex life must be like.

Still not sure on what to do, I waited for my instructions. He walked around me, tracing certain point, running his hand along my leg. I resort to humor to cover how nervous I am about being left in the dark. It’s kind of like a “what the fuck?” moment but not something I want to walk away from. Simply enough to keep me there to entertain him.

He sat down in the chair, without taking his eyes off of me. It felt like an eternity, I think he was enjoying piercing my soul and watching my reactions. Either that or figuring out his next move. You never realize how uncomfortable it is to watch another person as they watch you. He locked eyes with me, and I knew in this moment I was not my own. I moved my gaze down in physical symbolism that I knew my place and had no intention of giving him any issues. This did not feel like the type of man my brat side would enjoy so she took a well needed nap.

Leading me to the bed he says, “Exactly as I say.” in a simple direct sentence with a smile but no “please” was said. I was so focused on his thick accent that I hadnt noticed his hands found their way along my lower back and remained there stiffly (odd but “ok”). I felt his hands trace down the curve of my waist and settled on my hips pushing me to sit on the bed. His movements led from blindly inspecting me with his hands to looking me dead in the eye. A level of intensity that left me confused.

“Stay,” he said with no further instruction.

I did not question this. I had no intention of toying with this command. It could have been the way he said my name or the stern tone and very possibly the simple rare use of words. He had figured out the perfect way to turn my brain off. To eliminate the use of thinking.

Part 2 is Currently going thought my insane editing process



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