She Said Yes - a Covid-19 Story

(All characters are over 18 years old. They have no memory of anything that may or may not have happened before their eighteenth birthday. All sex acts depicted are consensual, including those involving BDSM.)

One of Amanda's online clients gifted her the use of a Jet Ski on Lake Michigan for a day. The agreement was that she would ski past his lakefront condo so he could watch. On the first calm day, Amanda took him up on his offer. She picked up the borrowed Jet Ski from a marina on the north side at 10:00. After a quick lesson on safety from the staff, she was ready.

But this was Amanda. She added something to the drive-by. She added me. Instead of seeing just Amanda, her client would see Amanda with a guy behind her on the Jet Ski. When we started, I held onto a strap sewn into the seat. The three seat Jet Ski was big enough, I didn't have to touch her.

But this was Amanda. I wound up leaning forward and holding the sides of her life jacket as she drove fast through a series of tight turns. I had to move forward, putting my legs on either side of her hips to stay in place.

By the time we did our Navy Pier drive by, I was hanging onto Amanda as tightly as I could so I wasn't thrown off the boat. I cushioned my head on the back of her jacket. I didn't want to inadvertently head butt her as we crashed the waves. I think this was exactly what Amanda wanted her client to see. She waved toward lakefront tower while we were inside the breakwater. I'm sure he got her message.

It feels weird to mask up riding a Jet Ski. Amanda knew her client was likely to be taking pictures, so she had me keep my mask on. I'm glad I wore a cloth one. It got soaked from spray. It made it hard to breathe. But I did as she asked and kept it on. It got a bit easier after I hid behind her.

Have you any idea what it is like to hug Amanda tightly, even through a ski jacket? To feel so close to her, to feel her body moving in response to the Jet Ski, to feel her core strength, her agility? I tried, as best I could, to mimic her movements. She leaned, I leaned, her hair in my face.

It's natural to follow Amanda, to do as she does or what she says to do. Following Amanda brings good things. I never would have waxed on my own. It wouldn't have occurred to me. Hair is hair. It just is. But now I am denuded of hair down there and I really like it.

It is so much more fun to let my fingers glide over smooth skin, across a scrotum, under balls. I have found erogenous zones I never knew about. Whatever other reasons people get full Brazilian waxes; I think the best is a renewed enthusiasm for masturbation.

I had no idea my hair was inhibiting a myriad of arousing moves. I like what my fingers feel. For me, it is a whole new world of sensation, especially in the shower. I like standing where Amanda showered that first night in my condo, soaping my clean junk over and over again.

In bed, I love rolling my balls between fingers. I never used to do that, but now smooth skin makes it a delight. My prick responds with a full erection without even touching it. Pinching the 'taint, the perineum, and gently shaking while capping or rubbing the cockhead multiplies the sensations. It is all good.

It is all so good because everything feels different. It's like meeting an old flame for the first time over again. Soon after being waxed, I was back to three or four times a day, finding new opportunities to jack off. I spent the better part of an hour, the first day I could, teasing and exploring my newly erotic body. It was amazing.

But then the afternoon after the Jet Ski ride, before I had a chance to process being physically close to Amanda, she suggested it was time to cage my prick once again. I was hesitant. Last time was not pleasant. I really wanted to spend the afternoon teasing my erect cock while reflecting on the feeling of Amanda's hips between my legs.

But this was Amanda. Her logic was unassailable, her direction clear. This was happening and I was locked up. It was the right thing to do. I needed to learn to focus without the crutch of masturbation. I stood, feet apart, while she sat on a chair, cock cage parts on the table beside her.

This time there was no lubricant. The first thing she did was chill my erection with some ice in a plastic bag. Prick, balls, and frozen icy water in Amanda's determined hands had the effect she intended. She pushed the cold, shrunken cock head all the way into the cage with her finger.

The cage installed on my cockhead; she cupped my balls, warming them in her hand. My penis responded, swelling and firmly trapping itself in clear plastic. She encircled my cock and balls in the ring and its parts. And again, continuous unrelenting pressure brought the cage and base together; my erection defeated by her will. The lock was on. It happened fast. With no hair in the way, she easily prevented pinching of the skin. I watched the process, my hands at my side. Amanda, inches from my prick, concentrating on her task.

Right way things were different. Where before there was pressure and pain, there was now a comforting grip. This was so much better. I didn't feel a need for lubricant. The device was more a part of me. It's hard to explain, but it wasn't the enemy it was before, more like a new friend.

Amanda was happy. I was happy. I dressed. We went to the kitchen to prep the evening meal. The whole day was perfect. Being with her on the lake, being locked-up by her, working alongside her, dicing the onion and peppers, everything was right. Mistress Amanda and me, living together, who would have thought?

"I really feel good about trying this chastity thing again," I told her. "It doesn't hurt like it did before. Maybe I can make it work this time."

"Yeah, that was my fault. I should have been more careful. But I will say you look good in that cage, all hairless like that." She didn't look up.

"It is so much more comfortable. I could tell right away."

I thought about it. I thought about Amanda in her bikini. I thought about my arms around her life jacket. I thought about my thighs touching hers. This time I enjoyed the affirming tightness of the cock cage. Amanda's hold on me makes sense, I thought. But then a question occurred to me:

"We didn't talk about how long I'm going to stay locked."

Amanda was stirring the peppers and onions. I was dicing the squash. We were making a vegetable hash for supper. "Oh yes," she said, "I was thinking we should set a goal of one week. We can talk about it every day, but unless there is a compelling reason to unlock, I think a week would be good. What do you think?"

"Um, a week feels like a long time."

"What about we set the goal of one week and take it day by day?"

"Um, we talk about it everyday?"

"Of course, dear," she looked up at me. "We make the decision to continue on towards the goal each day. You tell me how it is going, and we celebrate each day's accomplishments."

I didn't reply right away. I guess Amanda took my silence as affirmation. I began chopping the kale after dicing the squash. She changed the subject, "Did you know that next Saturday will be our two-month anniversary? I will have been here two full months. Doesn't seem like that long. She paused a moment. "I think we should do something to celebrate."

"I don't know. Everything is closed, including the beach front. I like celebrating. What are you thinking?"

"I was thinking about that day. How you showed up in your chariot and whisked me off through rain and storm to this oasis. I was at wits end and there you were..."

She was not looking at me, but at the pan of vegetable hash she was cooking. The pile of kale was wilting into the squash and potatoes. "Final step," she said, "Would you open that can of black beans and rinse them so we can add them in."

"Of course." I busied myself with the beans. There was some silence.

Amanda spoke, "Almost ready. Time to incorporate the beans."

As always, we sat at the table on opposite sides. I plated the dinner and served it. I know my right from my left: "leave left, remove right." And, as always, Amanda said, "Thank you," as if we were in a restaurant and she had not prepared the food. It was our little game. It was fun to serve her.

At dinner Amanda talked about our time together in the condo. "It doesn't seem like two months, but a lot has changed for me. With your help, I've learned how to navigate this pandemic and make a living. That's huge."

"Yes, nothing is the same for me either. If the restaurant had not furloughed everyone, I would not have been able to get unemployment and the extra federal money. But you being here? My prick would not have been locked up in this small cage. So that's not so huge!"

I laughed a little at my joke. Amanda ignored it and said, "Our two-month anniversary coincides with the end of your week in chastity. We could also celebrate your accomplishment, if you make it that far."

"I remember your first night here. It may come as no surprise that I cleared my head and got to sleep that night by jacking off -- twice.

"Really! Well, that's not happening tonight, is it?" Amanda smiled at me. I could tell she enjoyed the moment as she dangled the necklace and keys to my cage between her fingers.

Truth be told, I actually liked seeing the keys on her necklace. But when did it become OK to talk with her about masturbating, especially masturbating because of her? Here we are, having dinner conversation, talking about my prick! So, I continued:

"You know, I've enjoyed the past couple of days after the Brazilian. I never knew being hairless would make such a difference. I really like the way my body feels down there. It makes the personal rub and tug so much better. I had no idea."

"I am glad you like it. The video of your Brazilian is selling well. I'm not a top producer, but I have a solid following. That's, in no small part, thanks to you."

"Awe shucks, Ma'am."

"Perhaps you will be able to reward yourself when we unlock you. That will be part of our two-month celebration! Yes, that is a good idea. I think we should have the same dinner we had the first night. Then we can have a ceremonial unlocking."

"Ceremonial unlocking? Not a real one?"

"Oh yes. I mean a little ceremony where we unlock your cage. That could be fun -- and one you will enjoy after a week of celibacy. Now that's a good goal. You spend this week finding appropriate substitutes for the time you might have spent wanking and we make a big deal out of letting you out to release pent-up frustration. What do you think?"

"I could look forward to that."

Amanda didn't actually pause for a response. She just kept right on, "Oh this is good. I believe little ceremonies and repeated rituals create memories and give meaning to life. I am excited about this. Our two-month anniversary will be great. You simply must make it locked up for a week. I know you can do it. I have every confidence in you. If you don't, I have no idea how we can celebrate."

When I got back to my room, I had time to contemplate my life. Since my penis was locked away, and there was no TV in the smaller bedroom, I had nothing but time to consider the events of the day. Still, my balls felt smooth between my fingers. I rolled over and forced myself to be still.

Amanda was in my dream. I don't remember a lot of particulars, but she was in her bikini. It was early when I woke. I slept through the night. Morning wood, limited in scope by the cage, insisted I get out of bed. I sat on the toilet waiting for urination replace the nascent erection. I longed to rub out a quick one like on other mornings. I knew how good it would feel.

The dream left me with a desire to kiss Amanda's toes. I have no idea why. Well, I do have an idea. It was the only part of her I was allowed to touch in my monthly sessions before the pandemic. In the dream I felt close to her. That translated to a desire to kiss her foot.

The thing is, later that day when we had our discussion, I told Amanda about my dream and kissing her foot. She complimented me on accomplishing one full day in chastity. She asked if I missed masturbating. I admitted I had thoughts, all good, about her bikini, thoughts I could not dispel all morning. I told her really wanted to masturbate. But I got all the cleaning done in the condo, even if she never left my mind.

"You've told me before I'm the reason you masturbate, so thinking about me is not surprising. In fact, I rather appreciate your affirmation. But I'm really glad you have been able to go past your fixation and you are getting things done. That's a great first step!"

Our discussion took place at the table after out noon meal. Amanda got up and came around to sit next to me. She turned her chair so we faced each other. She took both my hands. "Are you ready to commit to another day in chastity?"

She was looking directly at me. I stared back for what felt like a long time, at least 10 seconds. I looked down at her feet and said, "Yes, Ma'am."

"Very well, you may kiss my feet."

That became our little ritual of affirmation. Each day, usually after our noon meal together, we would sit facing each other, knees touching. She would take my hands and have 'our talk.' We always began with the question, or rather the order, "Tell me how you are doing."

We talked about practical things like keeping the cage clean, and minor skin irritations. We talked about my increasingly graphic fantasies involving her. She wanted to know what I had accomplished, what I had done to make her life and my life better. We set goals. I lamented the frustration that replaced masturbation and how at times I wasn't sure I could go another day. In the end I answered "Yes, Ma'am," and knelt to kiss her feet.

Kissing her feet, the act of kneeling, letting go of her hands, letting go of my resistance, submitting to her will, all felt right. It was as if, with that kiss, I was empowered to continue. I committed to her my sex, my body, my person.

Still, I admit I held back. I held back dark thoughts. I held back anger and frustration. Late at night it was impossible to substitute good thoughts for bad. Awake for hours, I confess to hating Amanda. But, thank God, those thoughts never survived the morning. The consolation for being awakened at 4:30 with unrequited morning wood, was the expectation of kissing Amanda's feet at noon. I knew there was an end date, a goal. I could succeed one day at a time, one morning at a time.

In our daily talk, the intensity of her focus on me, and me alone, never failed to undo me. I confessed my fantasies, my desires, my fears, my successes and failures. Without the release of masturbation and orgasm, it was impossible to get Amanda out of my head. Confessions of dreams became confessions of daydreams about her. I told her of my attempts to translate my longings into purposeful activity.

"I can hold a plank longer if I imagine you watching over me."

"You're finding ways to make your passion useful," she replied, "good for you! That's our purpose together in this project. You know I wouldn't spend this much time if I didn't think you were worth it."

I kissed her feet twice that day. It was my way of saying, without saying it, that I could never really hate her. On Thursday she asked me what I missed most about masturbating, apart from the obvious moment of ejaculation. I thought about this question quite a while. "What I miss most is the variety of ways I get off. I miss the creative intimacy I have had with my body."

"Oh yes? You will need to tell me more about your creativity! I have a niteflirt scheduled right now, but we will get back to this. I am interested in the variety of ways you have found to jerk off. I do so want to hear about it. Are we going to continue another day toward our goal of Saturday?"

Her curiosity was evident. I had said something that was really interesting to her. I kissed her feet and she left me.

Oddly, it wasn't Amanda that populated my morning dream on Friday, but Julie. I remembered wanting to hump my hand after I filmed her hogtied in my bed. I was on my stomach, the cage pressed into the mattress. I lifted my hips and reached down. The unforgiving plastic, now a familiar presence, was somehow comforting. I remembered planning to hump my hand. I wanted to mimic humping Julie in the bed where she struggled. But I didn't get to do it that day. And not today either. It's probably right that I not.

Now Amanda is sleeping in that same bed, and I in hers. And just like that, Amanda replaced Julie in my imagination. Perhaps not all of Amanda, but the key, between her breasts, and her feet, I was kissing her toes. I was kneeling before her in my fantasy. I realized I was kneeling in my bed, head down, holding my cage in one hand, supporting myself with the other.

I miss masturbating. I miss feeling my prick get hard, the engorged firmness, the softness of the skin. I miss the buildup, the climax, the pulse of contractions. I miss the release of an orgasm, the moment in which my body let's go of the building tension and I can breathe again. I miss it all. But I don't hate Amanda. Awake at 4:30, I only want to please her.

My hand, by muscle memory, knows it's place. I cup the place my prick used to be, finding instead a hard plastic semblance of a penis. Still, touching an unfeeling cast form of a penis brings some pleasure. I've learned to like touching the cage, stroking my scrotum, feeling my balls, trapped between ring and cage. Pushed forward by the plastic ring, my balls never retreat. They're always available, cold or hot, ready, ready for nothing.

All this made sense to me. I was learning how to live without jacking off, balls available, prick not so much. Day by day, my fantasies became more vivid, more real. Later, when we had our talk, Amanda asked about "my creative intimacy with myself." She wanted to know what that meant. She asked about how I masturbated and what I meant by creativity.

Seated, my knees touching hers, my hands in hers, my eyes held in her unflinching gaze, I began telling her about my preferred techniques and some special ones; the helicopter intensifying into the mixer, the mushroom cap with the base jerk, feeling the contractions with my finger up my ass, exploring new found erogenous areas, pinching, shaking scratching. She sat silently and listened to me mansplain masturbation. When I described the hand hump, the move she interrupted with her knock on the door, she reacted out loud. "Ha! I remember that. I remember how disheveled and undone you looked. I thought I might have interrupted a wank. At the time it made me laugh."

"Yah, well, you've interrupted a whole week's worth now."

"Now, now, we agreed to this and I am really proud of you. You have come a long way. Only one more day to go. Tomorrow after dinner we will have our celebration."

I knelt. She touched my back as I kissed her feet. Oddly, that touch lives in memory. I felt affirmed. I felt like she cared about me. I felt close to her, my secrets hers, my fantasies hers, my body hers. I felt captivated. I felt safe.

This week has been amazing. Amanda has not let go of me for even a minute. Awake and asleep, she has me by the balls, so to speak. Not in a bad way, I mean in a good way. I feel comforted by her grasp, by the cage she locked on me. Locked, I feel free.

While most of the city felt trapped and frustrated by this lock down, I have had a fulfilling week locked in chastity. Amanda and I have found a natural rhythm to our day. There is a balance between necessary time together and independence. In independence, I am free to think, and what I think about is Amanda. When close, she has my full attention. Close or separate, she has a hold on me.

While I clean the living room, do laundry and prep the kitchen for the noon dinner, Amanda goes to her room to edits clips for posting. I had no idea how long it takes to edit and prepare short videos. It makes total sense that I clean and care for the condo as Amanda does her work. But all the while, together or separate, I'm drawn to her. There are boundaries, and I stick to them. Still, everything I think and do revolves around the center, the hub, the bright star, Amanda. And she has the key to the lock at the center of me.