Author's Note: This is a fictional story of an intense female dominant/male submissive relationship between a mature woman and much younger man. If you enjoy such stories, please read on - if not, please choose another more to your tastes. If you choose to read this story please vote and comment. Chapter One is necessary for a full understanding of this chapter. Thank you - FJ.
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"There is an element of truth in all legends," Professor Abraham Van Helsing, Bram Stoker's Dracula.
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Bill slowly regained consciousness.
It was a different feeling than waking from normal sleep. His mind was in a fog. He was disoriented. Opening his eyes took a conscious effort. He noted by the dim light through the window that it was early evening. He was on his back, in a bed - naked!
The room was dark, a warm yellow light coming from an open door. From that door came the aroma of baking bread and the deep contralto voice of a woman humming old Beatles songs.
The voice was comforting and reassuring, though he couldn't remember why.
It's Mother Marie he thought. I'm home!
Joy flooded him. Then he realized the voice was not like Mother Marie's at all. It lacked that subtle Eastern European accent. Bill's joy vanished.
The memories of the afternoon began forming - disjointed, intense, confused.
Bill pushed his mind through the dissipating fog and these vivid snippets coalesced into a coherent narrative of his afternoon.
He knew this place - it was his new apartment.
He knew the slightly sweet aftertaste in his mouth - it was her milk.
He knew the dry, sticky stuff coating his cock and pelvis - it was his semen and her cum.
He knew that voice, her voice - it was Clare!
Ms. Clare Stanfield - Bill's short, big titted, big clitted, voluptuous, fifty-something, sexually voracious landlady!
As he pictured this woman in his mind, his cock began to harden. Lying on his back, on his bed, naked - Bill recalled with a mixture of dismay and euphoria that she had fucked him into semiconscious sexual rapture not long ago on this very bed. The thought of which caused his prick to grow even more. The memory of his gentle nursing on her gorgeous breasts brought his dick to full stature.
Bill slowly stood up and began to walk towards the open door.
In contrast to Bill's confusion and fatigue, Clare was in a delightful, energetic mood. She couldn't remember the last time she felt this good - physically, emotionally, mentally and sexually.
Partly it was due to the just finished phone conversation she had with an old client who booked her services for tomorrow morning after an absence of six months.
But she knew the real reason was her new tenant - the handsome, strapping, compliant, six foot, 24 year old with the magnificent cock whom she could hear slowly stirring next door.
Clare was engaged in one of her favorite pastimes - cooking. While she preferred to roam her home sans clothes, she had learned that naked cooking was both inconvenient and dangerous. So, after sating herself with Bill, she wrapped herself in her cream colored silk robe, bound it at the waist with the bright red silk sash, donned her stilettoed heeled red silk slippers and protected it all with a generous floral print apron. She enjoyed cooking and those with whom she shared her bounty invariably became enthusiastic patrons of her culinary skills. She found cooking for herself tedious, but cooking for her new tenant renewed her enthusiasm.
She was putting the finishing touches on the first dinner she would make for 'her' man in over a year - lasagna, fresh baked bread and Caesar's Salad (the recipe for her dressing a closely guarded, and much sought after, secret).
While cooking, Clare had ruminated on the day's events. After her long, laborious search, she had found an apparently ideal tenant. He appeared inexperienced and naïve, both of which worked to her advantage. But, she sensed that he was no ordinary callow youth. There was seriousness and depth about him which she found appealing and which aroused her curiosity.
But she had piled a lot on his broad young shoulders very quickly - including forcefully initiating a sexual relationship on him and allowing him to nurse at her abundant lactating breasts - both activities which he seemed to crave and enjoy.
Still she knew she would be adding to the amount he had already absorbed this evening. As aggressive as she was this afternoon - a style her friends and clients knew well - she would need to be gentle this evening - a side of her she seldom revealed.
So when Bill slowly emerged from his studio apartment into her kitchen naked, sporting his fully erect penis, Clare pointed at it with a long handled wooden cooking spoon and simply said, "Good evening, sleepyhead. I hope that's for me. You're just in time for dinner."
Bill blushed and sheepishly explained, "I thought of you when I woke up and this just happened. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry my young man. You flatter me. But, until I can control that beautiful stick of yours, your default option in our clothing optional community had best be clothed," Clare answered lightly.
Bill smiled in relief and asked, "Do you like the Beatles?"
"Of course," she laughed. "They were 'The Band' of my teenage years," she continued.
Something struck Bill as odd about that remark. But, he didn't have time to figure it out, as Clare grabbed his attention.
"Be quick, Bill," Clare said. "You have a few domestic duties to perform for me before we sit down to eat."
Bill quickly donned slacks and polo shirt, returning to his landlady whose 'domestic duties' he hoped might include anything having to do with her delectable body.
He was disappointed however when Clare pointed to the dining room sideboard and directed him to, "Set the table. Open the bottle of Chianti and pour us each a glass."
Domestic duties to his landlady appeared to be much the same as those to his last foster mother. He was beginning to feel comfortable, at home. It had been six months since he had felt this way. It was a feeling he missed. It was a feeling he needed. It was a feeling he enjoyed.
Bill began setting the square, deeply stained wood dining room table. It was small enough to be intimate for two but large enough to comfortably hold the entire dinner Clare had prepared. In addition to training in such chores under the watchful tutelage of his foster mother, Bill had waited table to help make ends meet. He deftly set out the placemats, napkins, silverware and plates. He chose appropriate glasses for the red wine, opened the bottle smoothly and poured glasses for each of them.
Clare glanced at the table with evident approval and placed a sturdy wood block
in its center.
"Wash your hands, Bill," she directed as she returned to the kitchen.
Bill retreated once again to his apartment and washed his hands. When he returned, he saw the steaming lasagna in a glass pan placed on the wooden block, a loaf of warm white bread on a wooden cutting board accompanied by a bread knife, a crock of butter and a large wooden bowl containing the Caesar's salad and large wooden serving spoons.
Bill stood politely until Clare returned with the serving implements for the lasagna. She removed her apron. He pulled out her chair and helped position her comfortably.
"Thank you, sir," she joked with mock courtesy.
Waving to the feast present on the table Bill responded in kind, "Thank you, Ma'am."
