She Said Yes - A Covid-19 Story Ch. 02
My question is: what do I do now? I have no plan. Her brown eyes, her black mask, her body. Even if I had no plan, my body has it's own reaction to her presence.
I unbuckle my belt and slip my hand under the waist band to its familiar place. I like feeling my prick growing, becoming hard. Full and stiff, it confronts the restraining underwear and jeans. With just a little help it finds its way to full erection even trapped in clothing. I enjoy the moment of tension; I know my prick will soon be free.
I lay back on my bed for a long, slow wank. The thought of her, just past the wall overpowers me. My bed against the wall, the sofa on the other side, just a few feet between my erect, newly freed penis and her body. Even now, at this moment, her beautiful bottom is pressing into the cushion of the sofa, my sofa.
The intended long, slow, masturbation devolves into an intense flurry of motion. Before I am ready, the desperate anticipation of ejaculation takes over, my hand giving into the need to complete the act. I waddle, pants about my knees, to the bath, to wash ejaculate off my hands and restore my underwear and jeans.
Suddenly the thought occurred: Mistress might be disgusted or offended. Now, as always, she is the reason I masturbate. But there is a small chance she might have heard me. With post-climax clarity, I resolve not to do it again. I have often thought I might be masturbating too much. This will be good for me. I'm going to keep control of myself while she is here.
There was a knock at my door. She said, "I'm letting you know I'm going out for a run. I'll be back in about an hour."
"OK. Thanks." I heard the condo door close and lock. Relief. She must have been in her room changing clothes. She heard nothing.
I walked out into the living room and "Oh My God." I could smell her presence. She left behind a slightly sweet, floral scent. Maybe her soap, I don't know, but I recognized it from our sessions. I thought it was the dungeon, but it was her! Just faintly present in the air, I might have missed it if I had not recognized it from our sessions. I have spent amazing hours breathing it in.
I push back on the impulse to masturbate again. I must have some self control. Still, the scent of that powerful woman in my condo unnerves me. I know I am unlikely to keep my self promise, but this time I succeed.
While she is gone, I sit where she had been, settling into the dent in the cushion she left behind. I decide to see if she has been tweeting about me.
Besides my own, I have an anonymous Twitter handle that follows only her. It is the ID I use to interact online. Sure enough, she tweeted the whole time. I have been afraid to look, but I needn't have been.
She did not identify me. While at the dungeon I have only been known by my scene name. When I invited her to my condo, she demanded I give my real identity. Turns out she had me checked out by a service that sex workers use for the purpose of their safety.
She announced to her followers she found a safe place to land, that they should still support her, and that she would be able to offer new content on her "Only Fans" site soon. In the mean time, she would be available on "Niteflirt" for online domination and humiliation beginning this evening.
I had not thought about Mistress working out of my condo. I could not help but wonder how an online domination session would work. I've never tried it. Mistress didn't offer it very often, but I could see how it could be a source of income in the Covid lockdown, if guys signed up.
I don't have the money for it right now, but it would be funny; Mistress in her room, me in mine, texting back and forth. Or, not texting, calling. I love her voice. I could listen for hours, I just couldn't pay for it.
She doesn't mention me in her tweets. She just says she is safe. If I keep to my resolution, she will have no reason to leave. I don't need her to know she is the reason I masturbate. She will leave someday; I know that. But I want it to be because she is moving to something better, not just away from me. The key is in the door. I put my mask back on. I'm glad I wasn't in the midst of jacking off again.
June in Chicago can be warm, especially in the sun. She glistens with sweat after her run. My God she is magnificent: powerful, erect, commanding, beautiful. Damp, tangled hair contrasts with the side of her white cloth mask. She moves as if she is on her toes, towering over her actual height. There is a confidence about her; a confidence I shall never know.
"Time for a shower!" She laughs. She is smiling, happy, relaxed. All is good. She peals off her top, revealing a black sports bra. It's like she is comfortable here, like I don't even exist. She disappears into her room.
I'm at the dining table trying to make a shopping list when I hear the shower. For the second time in one day an erection seeks freedom. I rub my crotch through my jeans. My penis finds it's way into the leg of my pants. It feels good just to stroke it through the denim.
I force myself to stop, to put both hands on the table, to concentrate on making a list. I catch sight of her, wrapped in a towel like the night before. She waves at me. I wave back. Me in my cotton mask, she naked, her body wrapped in terry cloth. My penis demanding attention; me giving it none.
"I'm going to go grocery shopping. Since we are in this together, what would you like to eat for the next few days?" I asked as she came into the room. Hair still damp, this time from the shower, she was dressed in casual slacks. I caught a brief sight of the white bra she was wearing as she buttoned her loose shirt. Contrasting with her skin tone, the glimpse compelled my eyes; I could not look away. My penis moved, again seeking attention that would not be forthcoming.
She sat at the table and put her bare feet on the chair between us. The color on her toenails was chipped, especially on her right foot. She spread her toes. "I really need a pedicure."
I don't know if she said this to me because I should do something about it or simply a statement of fact. "How do you usually get your toes done?"
"Oh I'd love a reservation for a mani/pedi at a spa with massage and steam. It hasn't happened since covid and I don't see one on the horizon. I'm kinda bummed about it."
She was looking at her toes, so was I, but, perhaps, we were seeing things differently. Without thinking I blurted out, "Your toes are lovely."
"You say that to all the girls." She kicked at me.
I blushed and looked down. She was laughing at me. I felt like going down on my knees, and apologizing, but I just sat there. After her moment of laughter she said, "We should talk about meal planning."
"Yes Ma'am. What would you like? To eat, that is, what would you like to eat?"
"I like to eat healthy, I try to be vegetarian, but I am not strict. I can be flexible. Generally I like fish for protein."
"If you plan the menus, I can do the shopping, Mistress. Oh, sorry, Amanda."
"Now that's a plan. I do the menu, you do the shopping, we do the cooking together as needed."
"Yes, Amanda. I like your plan."
"You interrupted. We cook together as needed and you do the cleanup."
"Of course, Amanda."
"Hey, I'm kidding. I plan on pulling my own weight around here. I may not have much money right now, but I can clean. I am not helpless."
"I didn't mean... Um, what are we going to eat today and tomorrow?"
"Nice pass on the question of responsibilities."
This is my apartment, she, the quest. But it is more than hospitality causing me to defer to her. It seems right to serve her, but she doesn't seem to want my submission.
When she sits upright on her chair with her feet on the floor, like she is now; when her attention is focused on me, I feel small. I would love to kneel right now and kiss the chipped paint on her toenails, as if that would restore them. I just want her to tell me what to do.
"OK, let's plan the menu and then get back to discussing shared responsibilities. What do you normally eat?"
"Oh, I usually just go to the store and buy what seems interesting or familiar and come home. It's kind of haphazard. Then I order out a lot because it's hard to cook for one."
"You eat what you find. Interesting. You have no plan? No discipline?"
"I've never really thought about it that way. I guess I just live day to day. Working long hours ordered my life. Saving and getting ready to have a session with you twice a month was pretty much my plan. Now I just get by."
"Really. Work and the dungeon. That's your life. We should do something about that."
"Most of the time I'm solving other people's problems. As a restaurant manager I have nothing but other people's problems. From the owners demand for a greater return on their investment, to the front of house staff and endless personnel issues, to the kitchen, to the suppliers, to the customers, everyone has problems for me to solve. I'm not complaining, that's just my life: solving problems."
"And you are solving mine."
"It's who I am."
This whole conversation made me beam under my mask. I felt good about being called "the problem solver" at work. People want to work for me. My restaurant always had less employee turnover than the competition. Customers noticed, sales good, table turnover excellent, tips above average.
"And who solves your problems?"
"I try not to have any that bother anyone."
"Hmm. How's that going for you?"
"Well, you're here!" even I chucked at that one!
"Yes, I suppose I am. Your dream girl right here in your condo."
Dream girl! She is gorgeous, especially up close. She has been very close to me before. While torturing my nipples she leans in to her work, her lovely neck calling for a kiss, my kiss.
In sessions, not so long ago, standing spread eagle before her, cuffed to her St. Andrew's cross, I revel in her joy as she pinches, pulls and twists my nipples. The pain is tolerable. I can do this for her. I memorize her brown eyes, the gloss on her lips. I can feel her breath even now.
But then she changes her attack, digging fingernails into flesh. I am forced to bend, my forehead on her shoulder, involuntary struggling to move away from her. She takes my breath way; delivering overwhelming pain I must endure for her. That's the moment I am filled with desire. That's when I want to taste her beautiful neck. And, oh my God, it hurts. Being close to her hurts; hurt and desire bound to the cross.
I have not spoken. I realize my mouth is open and I am looking at her. Being this close to her hurts. "I'm sorry, Mistress."
"We are going to have to do something about your self discipline. You have no agenda but what other people put in front of you. This is something I can help you with. And, remember, the name is Amanda."
"I'm sorry, Amanda."
"I'll prepare some menus and draw up a list of necessary ingredients. Shall we meet back here in an hour? We can confer about what you have in your kitchen and make the shopping list. Our first lesson in self discipline for you is to be intentional about your food plan and shopping."
"Yes Ma'am." I got up and went to my room, leaving her to plan menus. I had every intention of keeping to my personal promise, to abstain from masturbating, but it didn't take long before I "rubbed one out" as they used to say.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I heard was a knock on my door. "It's past time to plan your shopping trip."
She looked at her watch when I opened the door. "We were to reconvene in an hour. Were you napping?"
I had to admit to sleeping while she planned our meals. She responded, "We really do need to work on your self discipline."
My only thought was, "If you only knew."
She read her shopping list and crossed out items I said we already had. I went to the store and did as I was told. I walked the perimeter first, then down the aisles. I got everything on the list and didn't add anything to it. I thought about a box of my favorite cereal, but it wasn't on our list. I should remember to add it next time.
Our first day ended eating a meal we prepared together. She adjourned to her room to spend time on Niteflirt. I cleaned up and went to my room. I watched an action movie on Netflix to take my mind off what she might be doing in the other room.
-------------------
Now, dear reader, again I seek your direction. Our protagonist remains caught in his fantasy of Amanda. In the next installment, she invites another to her room for sex. Without getting into a debate over the multiplicity of gender identity, is the person she invites male or female?
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