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 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. 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. . ."
