"Hi! It's so nice to see you," I say as I open the door, welcoming him into my cozy bungalow nestled in a quiet suburb. The birds chirp outside as the afternoon sun slowly melts the snow away from last night's storm.
He smiles, "It's a pleasure to see you again, Ma'am. You're looking gorgeous today. I love your new hair."
"Thank you for noticing," I reply, gently smiling. I had it cut, dyed apple red, and styled into a bob this morning in preparation for seeing him. I spent all morning getting myself ready for his arrival, smoothing my favorite lavender and cedar lotion over my arms, chest, butt, tummy, and freshly-shaved legs. I'm wearing a black, sparkly polish on my nails from yesterday's mani-pedi.
I'm in my work clothes: a faded grey t-shirt and a pair of soft, time-worn jeans with a few rips in the knees and thighs. He's wearing exactly what I asked for: a grey ribbed tank top that clings to every ridge and valley on his chest and stomach, and "good butt" jeans that make him look positively peachy. We have goals to accomplish today, and I'm excited to watch his biceps as we get to work.
I look him directly in the eyes, trying hard to not grin because I know my deep, close gaze captivates him to the point where he has to look away. Like Medusa, I know I am turning at least one part of him to stone with my stare. "Any changes from what we talked about last night?"
"No, Ma'am," he utters, blushing as he looks at the ground.
"Alright, then, let's go." I lead the way to my bedroom, where there is furniture to rearrange. I'm a single woman, and while I'm in good shape, I certainly can't move a large bed or dresser by myself. And why would I force myself to be independent when this adorable, sweet boy is so gleefully offering his help?
"You're awfully quiet today, love," I playfully tease. He was so animated and talkative at dinner last week, when we finally met in person after he replied to my ad three weeks ago looking for a service submissive. We had so much to talk about, we closed the restaurant down.
"I'm nervous, Ma'am."
"I know it's your first time submitting. I'll lead you, and I will take such good care of you. I want to earn your trust. You never have to do anything you don't want to do, OK?"
"Yes, Ma'am." It's adorable to watch this strong, confident man turn shy and quiet.
"Let's move the dresser along this wall, and we can move the head of the bed to where the dresser is now. Sound good?"
"Yes, Ma'am." For someone new to this, he seems awfully skilled in protocol already. I can tell he's read the articles I sent him.
"You, over here." I point to one end of the dresser.
"If I may, Ma'am," he says, and pulls those little furniture moving disks out of his back pocket. "Allow me." I step back and watch as he pops one under each leg of my heavy solid wood chest of drawers. Like it's nothing, he pushes the dresser against the wall, no help needed.
"Ah. OK, then," I laugh. He made it look so easy.
"Let's take care of moving the bed." He moves the little padded plastic disks from the dresser to my bed's feet. We work together to slide the modern pine 4-poster bed exactly where I want it.
"May I draw your bath now, Ma'am? I can unpack the boxes in your kitchen," he offers. He seems excited, wanting to please and move our evening along. He knows he only gets his reward if I'm satisfied with his completed work.
"Yes, please! But I'd like a glass of wine to enjoy with my bubble bath. Would you be a dear and make that happen for me? I left everything out on the kitchen counter."
He leaves the room and I slip into my black silk kimono robe as I hear him draw the bath. Something about wrapping myself in this luxurious fabric instantly makes me feel powerful and sexy. I take the time to change my bedroom lighting to soft pinks and blues. I turn on my sexy playlist.
I feel my body and mind turning its attention toward the sexual, hungry part of my Dominant self. I know what's coming because I have planned every moment. I wrote the script, will direct the scene, and will produce the show just as I have countless times over the years. This is my art. He is my muse.
I call out, "Garçon! Vin, s'il vous plaît," giggling. I open the bathroom door, and right as I'm untying my robe he appears behind me. He places the glass of my favorite beaujolais on the corner of the tub and holds his hands out, offering to take my robe. I turn around and shimmy it off my shoulders and into his waiting hands.
"Thank you," he says, hanging the robe and walking back to my kitchen. As agreed, he leaves me to my bath while he unboxes a few things for me. I can't believe he's thanking me; I'm the lucky one with a handsome, strong man at my whim, doing me favors.
After I soak and scrub, I call for him. "Garçon? I'm ready." Within moments he is by the side of the tub, towel in hand. He offers me his hand and I rise, water dripping down my shoulders, off the tips of my nipples, down my ass. I step onto the plush pink bath mat as he dries me, gently patting the water droplets off every crevice and bump of my body. His breath quickens. I watch him, but he does not make eye contact. He is intently focused on his work.
"Excellent work, dear. Thank you for helping me relax. Would you mind helping me with my body oil?"
"Yes, please, Ma'am," he whispers. "Please." I love it so much when they beg.
I grab his hand and lead him back to my bedroom. I open my closet of sinful delights, grab a towel, and lay it on my dresser. I go back to the closet and carefully select my tools for the night, lining them up on the towel: a thin black leather collar with the words "my boy" in silver, a bottle of massage oil, a set of leather ankle and wrist cuffs, four dog leashes made of heavy-duty chain, a vibrating cock ring, and the cutest little blue butt plug with an anchor base.
I turn to him right as "Desire" by Meg Myers begins to play. "Are you ready?"
He gulps air. His eyes are wide, his breath is quick. "Yes, Ma'am." His eyes land on the plug.
"I know you've been curious about being trained for pegging," I almost sing. "This is the first step in your training program. Unless, of course, you've changed your mind?"
"No, Ma'am, I have not changed my mind. I want to be yours. I want you to use me. Please."
"You've already been so useful, but I think I have some more plans for you," I tease as I lay face down on my bed. "Like a massage. Give me a massage."
He picks up the massage oil and obliges, pouring the coconut oil into his hands to warm it before placing them at the small of my back. He pushes and kneads up to my neck and shoulders, and then back down. His lubricated hands reach my cheeks and I spread my legs a little. I can feel my wetness on the inside of my thighs. I have been anticipating this moment all day.
He moves down the back of my thighs, barely grazing the inside of my thighs. He works his way to my feet, massaging out every last bit of tension I didn't know I was carrying. He didn't tell me that he was so good at massage! He works his way back up my legs, and I open them wider, my wet folds beckoning his fingers.
He gently grazes my clit and it feels like it's on fire. He tries for a little more, rubbing my wet lips and barely penetrating me with 2 fingers. I want to grab him, throw him down, and grind on his cock. But it isn't time for that, yet. I have other plans. I moan as his fingers go deeper in me, finding my g-spot.
"Wait, not so fast," I say, pulling away from his needy fingers. "We need to get you ready. Kneel."
He drops to his knees at the side of my bed, head bowed. I reach over his shoulder and grab the collar. "I picked this one out just for you," I say as I place it around his neck and secure it. I place my index finger under his chin and he looks up at me with his deep brown eyes, lusciously kissable lips slightly parted. I feel like I'm going to melt into a puddle on the floor if he keeps looking at me like that.
"Stand up," I instruct, and he listens because he's a good boy. I put each cuff on, locking them at the close. "Kneel until I'm ready for you." He kneels again, head down, hands behind his back. I could sit here and look at him like that all night. He is irresistible.
I loop a dog leash around each bed post and through the handles made of nylon webbing. I give them a good yank to make sure they're secure. "OK, garçon, on your back on the bed." He obeys without a moment's hesitation. How am I ever going to correct this boy like he craves? He's too good.
