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She Said Yes – A Covid-19 Story Ch. 03

Toys

Amanda and I have been together for two weeks. Well, Amanda has been living in my condo for two weeks. Our days have evolved into a regular pattern. I get up early, make coffee and watch morning news in my room. Amanda wakes mid morning, after a long night of entertaining clients online.

Anticipating her awakening, I make a fresh pot at 10:00. She has her yogurt and nut breakfast before going out for a run. My condo is a mile from the lake. She has a route that goes to the lake, south along the lakeshore and back up Clark.

While she is gone, I am free for an extended morning wank. Still, I try to be in the living room when she returns. About half the time she rips off her top before going to her room. I do not want to miss that.

We have decided, on her recommendation, that we take our larger meal in the early afternoon. After her shower we work together in the kitchen prepping.

As the days have gone by, we have become more comfortable in our “Corona bubble.” After seven days we agreed to forego masks in the condo. So, in my kitchen dicing an onion, this amazing woman dressed in short shorts and tank top with no bra tears up. She asks me for a dish towel. Nothing in my life has prepared me for this.

Let me pause here to talk about her lips. I know this is, perhaps, off subject, especially when her lips were covered by her mask. But now, the mask is gone; now I see. Her upper lip, like gentle waves, forms two crests. Her lower lip curves out in a delicious pout. Full and inviting, alluring, tantalizing, like Odysseus passing by the sirens, I hear her voice and long to be devoured by those lips, those teeth. Left as nothing but white bones.

Well, never mind, I just want to say the last week has been an extraordinary experience for me. Since she moved in, my life has completely changed. Her physical presence overwhelms every facet of my existence. I have never had to masturbate this often, even as a horny teenager!

Generally, I clean up after lunch while she goes to her room to do an afternoon online domination session. It’s how she makes money; her only source of income. Since coming to my condo, she has expanded to video sessions by appointment. We hung a dark grey cloth in the corner of her room so she has a neutral background. She sits in a chair with her laptop on a small table I used to use for dinners alone in front of the TV. I feel good about having a part of her success as a dominatrix. And apparently, so does my cock.

Sometimes, while doing these video sessions, she wears the black corset she wore when I served her in the dungeon. It cinches her waist, accentuating her figure. The other day I was scouring a sheet pan. She came out dressed in that corset. Hair pulled back, lips aglow with a shiny red glaze, she asked me to help cinch the laces in back. Of course, when she went back to her room, I had to go to mine to relieve the stress she caused.

Stress she caused! I have wondered if she has any idea about her effect on me. Just the sight of the curl of her hair across her ear, down her neck is enough to “get a rise from me.” To say nothing of her thighs. The other afternoon we watched a couple of episodes of an English/French detective series. I could tell she enjoyed the French female detective. I had a difficult time not fixating on her bare legs, stretched out, next to mine. I’ve been across that lap, looking at those legs from below, my naked butt upturned, waiting for the spanking to begin, needing it to stop, to pause, to catch my breath, never wanting it to end.

Sometimes little things remind me of the times I have paid to be in her dungeon. Her voice, a phrase, a look, a gesture, all innocent enough in themselves, trigger memories and the impulse to kneel in her presence. She, however, will have none of it. This has been a clear boundary. I will not have free sessions because she is here.

But still, unintentionally, I have tested the waters. We have agreed some self improvement on my part would be good for me. I knew I wasn’t supposed to forage for food in the grocery store like I used to do. But still…

“Yeah, I know, the apples and the raisins weren’t on the list.”

Amanda was watching me unload the groceries when I returned from the store. Our agreement was that I would exercise self discipline and not purchase merter escort things on impulse.

“But the early season Granny Smith apples were on sale. They came from an orchard in southern Indiana. And I thought I could make my grandmother’s apples, golden raisins and rum recipe for you. So, I bought the ingredients we didn’t have. I hope you are not mad. I think you’ll like it – my grandmother’s recipe – for dessert tomorrow. It takes time to marinate the raisins in the rum. My grandmother always used Appleton Estate Jamaican Rum. I have some in the cabinet. You sauté apple slices in butter and brown sugar then flame the marinated raisins in with the apples. As a kid, it was always exciting to wait for the flames. I want to share it with you. I thought to would be good with a dollop of Greek yogurt. I…”

I stopped. I could tell she wasn’t interested in my reason for buying the apples. Just the look in her eye, the same look I knew from the dungeon, something like contempt or scorn. I had failed. I wanted to kneel.

“Your grandmother’s apple, raisin, rum recipe sounds delightful, but it wasn’t on the list, was it?”

“No, Ma’am.” Even though I didn’t kneel, I hung my head and studied the floor.

“I thought we had agreed to work together to create our menus and concurrent ingredient list. I believe you agreed to shop for the items we need and only those items. We agreed to this plan, didn’t we?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And was sharing your experience with your grandmother on the list?”

“No, Ma’am. But I only wanted to bring it home to you.” I looked up, my God her lips are gorgeous.

“OK, that’s lovely and I appreciate that you had the impulse to share a treasured memory with me. But what is the purpose for sticking to the list?”

“So, I can learn self discipline.” I looked down. There was a crumb on the floor by the kitchen island. I thought about kneeling, licking it off the floor in front of her.

“Yes, so you can learn self discipline. It doesn’t matter whether you are excited or not. You have a shopping list. If you can’t find something, purchasing a substitute is perfectly fine. But in this case your enthusiasm has led you astray. You acted on impulse.”

“Yes Ma’am.” That crumb must be from the toast I made this morning. I don’t remember it falling, but there it is. It occurred to me I resisted acting on the impulse to lick to floor before her.

“I am pleased you wanted to share something of your grandmother with me; that’s sweet. And there is nothing wrong with wanting to please me. But our goal, as we discussed, is self discipline. In this case the discipline of sticking to a list rather than haphazard shopping. We could have talked about it first, and put it on the list together, don’t you see?”

“I do now, Ma’am. It is clear now. Self discipline means curbing my excitement until we talk about it. At the store I should be disciplined enough to keep to what’s on the list.” I did not look up, but the crumb was no longer in focus. I wanted to disappear.

“Very good, almost a metaphor for life. Self discipline means living life intentionality and with purpose, not by accident or impulse.”

“I get that. I’m working on it. I just wanted to do something special for you.” I looked up hoping for a reprieve.

“Oh, I really do appreciate your impulsive invitation to live here during the pandemic.” She clocked her head to one side as she stepped closer. Her hand touched my arm. I felt the gentle weight of her fingers. “You have helped me greatly. I am grateful. And I understand you wanted to do something special for me. But what I want from you is what you need: self discipline. With this, I think I can help you, if you let me.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Of course, Ma’am.”

She pulled my wrist; I turned to face her directly. She held my wrists and looked up at me. We were close. I could see the pores on her nose. She is so beautiful.

“I think we can turn this into a teachable moment. Do you want to learn self discipline?”

“You know I do Ma’am.”

“I want you to sit down and write out an essay detailing what went wrong, the reason why giving into your perfectly understandable impulse was wrong, and at least three strategies you could have employ to have a different outcome.”

“An essay, Ma’am?”

“Yes. şişli escort You are intelligent and creative. An essay will help organize your thinking on self control and allow you some creative thought on alternative strategies for impulsive behavior. For example, you might have phoned me and purposefully changed our meal plan.”

“I didn’t think. . .”

“Exactly, you didn’t think. This essay with be an opportunity to think. What do you say?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“If I am going to read it, I insist this essay be handwritten, in your best legible handwriting with no spelling or egregious grammatical errors.”

“You want me to write an essay on what went wrong, what caused me to lose control and three ways I could do it differently? And you want me to write it out by hand?”

“Yes! Exactly. I don’t think it needs to be long. Maybe 1,000 to 1,200 words, about five full pages, handwritten. I don’t know if you know it, but I was an English major. It turns out I can be a rather unforgiving editor. In something as short as this I expect no more than two errors.”

It was beginning to dawn on me what she was asking for. This would take me hours to compose on the computer. Then I would have to painstakingly transcribe it to handwritten form, perfectly presented.

She continued, “Teachable moments like this must be seized upon. I expect your essay finished by the morning,”

“Tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, I expect it on the table fully complete, when I get up. Handwritten, legible, with no mistakes in spelling or grammar. You should understand, if I find more than two errors the entire essay will need to be rewritten.”

“Yes, Ma’am.

“I’m really hoping this assignment will clarify your commitment to the discipline of self control.”

Through this entire discussion she held both wrists; I could not look away. Still, I had trouble looking into her face, or watching her lips, forming the words. The best I could do was examine the open shirt crossing her collarbone. I longed to kiss that spot where the two met. I felt like crying. I didn’t. Again, I resisted the impulse.

“Yes Ma’am.” I think I can do that. Tomorrow morning. For you.”

“Yes, for me to grade, but, more importantly, for you to learn. This essay is for you to think out what happened, why there is a problem, and to think out three alternative solutions – a teachable moment.”

Letting go of my wrists, she emphasized “teachable moment” by tapping my cheek with the back of her hand. A gentle touch, her soft skin against my cheek, a veiled threat, a backhand caress of love? I don’t know, but she melted whatever resistance I harbored.

“Yes, Ma’am. Thank you, Ma’am. I will learn, Ma’am. Tomorrow morning, Ma’am.”

I have this evening, while Amanda is working online, to write this essay. I haven’t written anything since college, but this shouldn’t be hard. It’s just the handwritten part. I don’t know how long that will take. But I have the evening. I will compose and proofread on the computer and transcribe it to paper.

Have I spoken enough about her lips? Her strong jawline with the cheekbones of a high-end model, frame gorgeous, luscious lips. I guess you could say I might have a small fetish about those lips.

Living with someone else has it benefits. I now have a regular routine, no longer mired in pointless procrastination. Sleep and eat, that’s all I did. Mistress has brought order to my life. She even has me exercising, something I haven’t done since the restaurant closed.

The restaurant: one of the owners has hired some of the kitchen staff to open a ghost kitchen. I’m too expensive. Early on we agreed that unemployment would be better than part-time pay for full-timers.

It turned out to be the right decision financially with the extension of unemployment benefits, but I was left without purpose. I did my duty, I applied for jobs that didn’t exist, and I waited. Time stood still; every day interminable. The two weeks with Amanda in the second bedroom have gone by in an instant.

Today the rhythm of our days has been interrupted by the assignment of this essay. It is 4:00 now. I have until about 10:00 tomorrow to compose this assignment and commit it to paper.

I had forgotten that yesterday Amanda asked if it would be OK for fatih escort her to bring someone home for an overnight visit. We discussed it. She says this person has quarantined for ten days and has not been exposed to the virus. Of course, I said yes.

Amanda seems happy. She even gave me a little kiss on the cheek after reminding me about her coming visitor and my essay. She said, “This way you will have something important to do while I entertain my visitor. Don’t worry, we will stay in my room. We won’t bother you at all.” Amanda went out to meet up with her evening guest.

I had not thought about Amanda with some guy overnight in my condo. I never expected her to pay attention to me, and I know she needs her own sexual fulfillment. I should have anticipated it. I wonder what he will be like: some big, intimidating, muscular guy with a big dick who can please her? I don’t even want to know. I can try to be in my room the whole time. I can’t even imagine what he might think of me, if he sees me.

There it is. I’ll be working on my essay in my room while she entertains a guest in hers. I sat at the dining table and began my essay. I started with an outline: What I did wrong. A paragraph on our agreement and then one on my impulsive purchase. I decided to write a paragraph or two on my grandmother’s recipe and the way I remembered it. Then I added a paragraph on why I wanted to share it with Amanda.

It wasn’t too long before I came to the three possible ways it could have been handled differently. I got stuck. I was still sitting there when Amanda came through the door. I had intended to be in my room when she got back. But I wasn’t. I got involved in planning my essay. I realized how much my life has been driven by impulse, especially in reaction others. This will take some time to think out.

Amanda opened the door. I looked up to see not some big hulking stud, but a young woman. Amanda introduced us. Julie wore a red cloth mask printed with the name of a local sex shop: The Pleasure Chest.

Shorter than Amanda, the first thing anyone would notice about Julie were her breasts. I suppose that was her intent. She wore a tight top with a very revealing sweetheart neckline. Very little was left to the imagination; her breasts appeared larger than life to me. I tried not to stare. I was, however, able to enjoy her play on words: Pleasure Chest / decolletage!

I could hardly hear her greeting; she was so soft spoken. She followed Amanda to the bedroom hall. Amanda turned toward me, “How’s the essay going?”

“I’ve been working on it. I will take a while. I haven’t written anything since college.”

“Well, keep at it. You have the evening, as do I. I have a paying video customer who asked for something special. Julie is going to help me with that.”

Standing in the doorway, she pulled Julie’s mask off. Entwining her fingers in Julie’s hair, Amanda pulled Julie’s head back and kissed her, deeply, full on the lips, yes, those lips! Amanda turned Julie around and swatted her bottom, sending her into the bedroom.

Amanda looked back at me. “I do so look forward to grading your essay in the morning!”

I spend the evening trying to concentrate on the essay. I was frequently distracted with thoughts about that kiss. Sometime after midnight I had an essay. I thought it was pretty good. My three alternatives were: 1) Make a phone call or text proposing the substitution of this opportunity for another in our plan. 2) Take a picture of the apples and discuss returning to the store. 3) Write out my grandmother’s dessert recipe and share it with Amanda. If we want to make it, there will be apples and raisins later.

It took another couple of hours to transcribe it perfectly. I made mistakes and started pages over several times. My penmanship was never very good. I had to write slowly, forming each letter carefully. I created a title page. I was actually proud of what I had done. And I learned a lot about myself in the process.

I put my paper on the dining room table and went to bed. But then I couldn’t sleep, even though it was late and I was tired. Visions of Julie’s breasts danced in my head. Or maybe insomnia was caused by what I imagined might or might not be happening in the other bedroom. Anyway, about 3:30, after working at ejaculating a second time, I finally collapsed into a deep sleep.

——-

Thank you for reading this chapter. Life events slowed its publication, but the next is already outlined. Your comments are appreciated. This chapter is a little longer: 3100 vs 2500 words.

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