Whenever I accessed the site, there was always a message waiting. She never came across as eager, easy, nor pestering. The connection was friendly, almost naturally unassuming. It was a reflection on how genuine and real she was. Maybe she felt the same. Whatever she asked or instigated, we pursued the idea. She had a suggestion, that we might move to a messaging site, as it took ages for a message to register and then appear. Instantaneousness was everything; the centre of modern day contact. I approved and said that I had access to a popular one; she had the same. We moved across. I was met by an image. What an image. The slender physique, face made up, hair in long ringlets - left side brought forward to cascade over her breast, right side pushed back over her shoulder -, dressed in a semi revealing black lace body, with black pvc mid-thigh length skirt with full length waist to hem front zip, red nails, black slightly platformed heels, one hand on a hip...and a smile. "It was my mum's birthday party night out. You like it, or is it too much?" Like it? What wasn't there to like about it? Stunning, was the word in my ancient, polite head. "You are stunning!! " "You not just saying that to like make me feel good about myself?" The insecurity began again. " One guy come up to me in the pub and told me I was a slut! Could have smacked him one! " Words weren't lost with her. A spade, was a spade. "Dressing is a personal expression. It's you. How you feel or if you're going somewhere, how you want to look. The guy was totally out of order." " Yeah. Well, I hate that skirt now, after what he said. " "You get much chance to dress up, with the kids around you all the time?" "Nah, not much. Hoody n jeans most days... Well...yeah. I mean the kids go to my mum's every other weekend, so I get out with my mates, my gfs - girl friends - and so I like to find a good bodysuit to kind of suit how I feel. I can show you sometime. " "Only if you want to." " You mean you don't want me to show you? " "Yes! I mean no! I don't want you to feel obliged that you have to show me, after the hounding you've had from the other dom." " You're not hounding, and I want to share how I look. I like that idea. " "And...your bf?" " What? " "Where does he fit in all this?" " He doesn't. He's a knob head. Treats me like sh*t. He doesn't care about my feelings anymore. " Ideas blossomed from these convos. Desires were beginning to emerge. She liked showing what she might wear for her nights out, to the point where we agreed that she'd ask if she could go out with her mates, and once she had permission, she'd model three different outfits, and she would want me to decide which one she would wear, or a mixture if I saw a combination from the three shown. "I like you telling me stuff about what I can do." " Why? " "It....kinda takes me back to being a stressy teen, always fighting against what parents saying, like you know, they say don't do this, don't do that. It's like you approve of me doing stuff, not saying don't, all the time." " You're beginning to find yourself, and what you want. " "I want controlling, some more. I like how you say stuff, how you explain, then listen when I say stuff back. You treat me like I'm something...someone." "So...how about I control your language? It doesn't stop you from saying anything, nor from being able to ask questions, nor stop you from safe wording. It's the way that you do it, with new rules, that counts. It might make you feel differently inside your head, too. But, like we've said all along, if you don't like it, then it either gets scrapped, or altered, whichever we agree on." " Can I think about that? " "Take all the time you want."