I met her while running along the lake. It was cold, especially in March at six in the morning when it's still dark and the north wind whistles off the lake can chill your bones. But a northern girl knows how to dress for winter and I was sick of being stuck indoors, sick of being alone, sick of the damned virus, and a world that had just plain shut down.

I needed exercise, I needed to keep in shape, needed to keep the weight off and keep myself lovely for my Mistress. I had to find a way to keep up something like a normal life. Early in the morning, there were few people to bump into running along the lake. Then and there I could run, keep healthy, and maybe pretend the world was normal.

A few regulars came out for their morning run. Mostly we gave each other room, nodded, and ran on. One woman stood out; she was tall, slender, with pretty brown eyes above her mask. Late forties I guessed, maybe early fifties. Older than me. Not that it especially mattered on my morning run.

She had blonde hair in a long braided ponytail that hung almost to her waist. I smiled at her as we passed. Though she could not see it through my mask, I imagined her smiling back at me from behind her mask. For weeks that's all there was. We gave each other a wide berth for health reasons and headed our own way.

After my run on school days, I came home to take off the collar I cherish and set it aside on my bedtime table. My collar was a gift from my Mistress, a precious sign of mutual love and fidelity. I showered then it was time to dress. I never put on much makeup, just enough, putting on a bra, a loose top to minimize my full chest, a long skirt then drove to school.

Teachers greeted each other from across the hall, and I always spoke to Rachel Silverman, the other second-grade teacher. She was middle-aged, short and showing it, but with happy dark eyes and a perpetual grin.

“Ready for subtraction?” she asked with a grin. The school curriculum said this was the day we were to introduce subtraction.

“I am. Not sure if my kids are."

“Subtract your fears.” She hugged me. We were more than co-workers, we were friends. Rachel knew the real me. She had been my mentor when I first arrived at the school. She and her husband Bob had often hosted Sheila and me before My Mistress relocated. Bob was a wizard in the kitchen whose cuisine gave ample reason for Rachel's spreading bottom. They had three kids, five grandchildren, and a big hairy mutt who knew a soft touch when he saw one.

Every time I visited, he always came to rest his head on my knee. They knew me and didn't care what we were, nor talk about us in a school system where just being gay was enough for many to think you a pedophile. We talked about the curriculum for a few minutes then I entered my room to prepare the whiteboard.

The computer went on at fifteen before eight, always early. I waited in a chair in the center of my room for my children to log, so I could welcome them. One by one we greeted each other. Every day at eight-fifteen class time began with my official welcome. Then I stood, pushed the chair aside, assumed my pointer, and welcomed them all as a class.

“Good morning Miss Davalos,” they said as one, with some enthusiasm, finding a way though they were all far apart, home and staring at a screen.

I smiled sweetly at them, pleased to see them, missing them terribly, and then I began. “Today we will begin to learn about subtraction... “ So I began my workday, trying to instruct faces on a screen. I had their pictures blown up on the wall behind the cameras with their names. I'd read all their files more than once. I'd talked to their teachers from last year. Teaching like this was nigh impossible. I saw them as a grid of children, on their individual webcams. Sometimes, they stared at me, at times leaning forward, other times blankly, bored.

I tried to get to know them, to read their body language, to see who was getting the lesson and who was lost. Take Brandon, the boy with such haunted dark eyes, head tilted forward, watching. As a second-grader, he had already been in three different schools as he bounced from home to home. His father was in prison, his mother an addict, and who fed her habit through prostituting herself. For second grade Brandon was staying with his great-grandmother. She was well-meaning, and a bit overwhelmed by a quick boy at a time of life when she deserves to relax.

I wanted to go down to my knees in front of him look him directly in the eyes and let him know someone is listening when he speaks. But I could not. There were so many things I could not do. It was so hard to tell when they confused, getting it, bored, distracted, or upset because they're hungry and many were. And God forbid, how to tell when one has been abused? How was I to tell? I didn't know. But I did the best I could because in the age of Covid-19 our best was all anyone could do.

At the end of each school day, I logged off after my last student and shut down the school's computer. I filled out my daily reports, looked over my lesson plans, made adjustments, then talked to other teachers about things I had observed. Once home I hung up my blouse, my skirt, peeled off the modest bra I wore for school, and tossed my panties went directly to the hamper. Then I went to the closet and take up the collar Sheila had put on me.

Carefully I adjusted it, checking in the mirror to see if I looked right. I then chose a corset from the three in my closet, usually the red one, and cinch it up to support and display my ample breasts. And then I would log on to my own computer and await the pleasure of my Mistress. I am Anita Davalos, I was twenty-eight then. Most thought me cute, of medium height, with natural red hair that hung over my shoulders, a sprinkling of freckles, dimples, and curves that drew unwanted male stares.

Every morning of social distance began with my run along the lake, and almost every day that tall beauty and I passed each other. It was normal to see some other runners, walkers, and bikers. Politeness decreed that if you came up from behind, you announce yourself. Then we began the Social Distance Dance, of shifting to maintain at least six feet - ten or more is the ideal - as we passed. I don't know if we always succeeded, but most people tried. 

As March gave way to April and April to May clothes came off as the mercury rose. We smiled and said, “Hi,” then ran past each other. Until one day that tall slender woman stopped in her tracks, staring at me, hands on her hips. It surprised me enough that I stopped too. She asked in a clear authoritative voice, “Who are you and who is your Owner?” Her language was formal, precise, in the way that a Dominant uses when speaking to a bottom like me.

I understood what she meant and in a moment it came to me why she had asked. My collar had become visible to her as the need for insulation diminished. I know I blushed beneath my mask. But her question was pertinent, it showed she was in the community, one of us. “I'm Anita. I belong to Mistress Sheila.”

Her eyes perked up at the name, and her mask flexed into what was likely a smile. “Sheila? Zaftig brunette with black frizzy hair and olive skin?”

“She is my Mistress.”

“What a small world! I know your Mistress well. She and I were once close. How is Sheila? I heard she was overseas.”

“She is abroad, and not sure when, or even if she will be able to return.”

“When next you chat with your Mistress tell her Miss Kimberly sends greetings.”

“I will tell her.” I bowed politely to my better, well not exactly “better”, but the term fit the roles that had chosen us. BDSM relationships resemble a play improvised in real-time, where each person has a defined role. Everything works better if all embrace their defined role. Of course, no one is in character all the time, nor are roles a straightjacket; in fact dominant and sub enjoy a relationship as equals most of the time. Except in bed and sometimes even then.

We chatted for a few moments then Miss Kimberly pantomimed blowing me a kiss and resumed her run. As I resumed mine, head spinning, A dominant! What were the odds I would meet one out on a run - clearly astronomical! And a pretty one, to boot! Older yes, but she knew my Mistress.

I knew I was free to pursue her if I chose, a privilege granted when Mistress moved abroad. Of course, Sheila would have to be told. I kept no secrets from my Mistress. But I was tired of one of us having to get up at oh-dark-thirty just to chat. I was tired of spanking myself. I was tired of romance through a screen.

But the virus didn't care what I thought. We were not masked for our pleasure. We were masked because an invisible plague was killing people and had infected people I know. No one I knew personally had died, but I knew of people who had died, like John Prine and the leader of the band Fountains of Wayne. And so many more. There had been no kink community munches for months, no parties or gatherings where I might hope to entice a dominant. There had been loneliness, and zoom dating, but as much as I loved Sheila the computer was hardly a substitute for the real thing.

That night Mistress as and I talked across our computer screens, I had my hands behind my chair when I asked her, my breasts bared for her, my eyes focussed on hers when I asked. “Do you know Miss Kimberly?”

My Mistress's eyes got big for a moment and she smiled broadly. “I do. I used to belong to her.”

That shocked me. Thus far I had only thought of Sheila only as dominant, but it never occurred to me that she might have chosen to kneel before another. Yet it made sense. Kimberly was older, lovely and sometimes the best dominants are former subs. “What was she like?”

Mistress smiled and remembered. “Very skilled with cane and flogger. Very precise, but loving and responsive. I learned most of my rope work from her.” I could see her eyes roll back for a moment as Mistress reminisced to some moments long ago, but still sweet. “She's a very smart woman. I think you two will get along. How did you meet her?”

“On my morning run. I had my collar on and she asked who I belonged to.”

“She would notice that sort of thing! Do you run with her?”

“Not exactly. Let's just say our paths cross regularly.”

Mistress nodded and then leaned into the webcam, face suddenly serious. “Darling, you know I cannot be there. That's why I released you when I left.”

“I don't want to be released! I love being Yours.” I had not wanted her release when she gave it, though her logic was of course impeccable. But some bonds are too important to lightly cast aside. I take my collar very seriously and wanted Mistress to know that.

Sheila smiled at me and her eyes softened as she prepared to make a point. “Anita, I love you being mine. But it would irresponsible for me to think I can reasonably take care of a woman whom I cannot see for the foreseeable future. Your career has you where you are. Mine has taken me here, and may never take me back to you. We both know that. Darling, you deserve better. You need to give yourself to another. Consider Kimberly. Give her a chance.”

Her words hurt. Tears came to my eyes and rolled down my lips. Yes, Sheila's point was entirely reasonable, thoughtful even, and caring. Still, I did not want her gone. I didn't want to admit she was probably never coming back. My brain told me she was never coming back. My heart refused to agree.

“Baby, you know I'm right. I'm not leaving you. I'm just saying that you might want to let her know you're available. You should leave your collar behind for your next run.”

Sometimes doing the sensible thing feels wrong. Sometimes doing the right thing feels wrong. And that's how I felt. For the next few weeks, I kept my collar on. I didn't want to admit my limits. I loved the comfort of being owned, the stability. I didn't want to admit that Sheila had essentially given up on us when she took the job in Hong Kong. But hadn't I given up too? I could have quit teaching and gone with her. I could have altered my life for her. Or maybe that was never possible for us.

China is not particularly gay friendly, and we both always knew they would one day put the clamps on Hong Kong. There were, and still are, places she and I could never go as a couple. Not like a straight couple might have chosen. Sheila was right, but leaving my collar at home amounted to admitting that we couldn't be together. At that moment surrendering my hopes was the proverbial bridge too far.

But from that day Kimberly and I greeted each other. Some days we stopped and talked for a while. Bit by bit the details of our lives emerged. She asked me about teaching remotely and my Mistress. I asked her about a home office and her submissive. Turns out her name was Jeannie and she lived in Miami. They used to fly every other week to be together. Like many other things, weekend trips were no longer possible. Like Sheila and I, she and Jeannie survived online.

May turned to June when I ran only in gym shorts and a sports bra. One day I met her going the other way, at a stopping point. It was hot, even at seven in the morning and we were both soaked. She smiled at me as I approached. From six feet away, I held up a water bottle and tossed it her way.

Kimberly caught it, her eyes grinned, and presumably, her mouth did too beneath her mask. Only she took it, found a park bench, and peeled down her mask enough to grin at me. She was pretty, older yes, some lines on her face but lovely, and her grin was wide and toothy as she lifted the bottle to drink.

“Suppose I should have sanitized it first. You've seen the numbers haven't you?”

“I think we all have,” I said, choosing an adjacent park bench, maintaining proper social distance. They were bad, depressing. The virus retreated only to advance again. Relationships progressed like a dance; one where you never come close to your partner, even though you may wish the opposite. One moves forward - the other shifts back, warily keeping distance until partners find a safe spot somewhere in the middle. I took out my other bottle, popped the top, and took a long swig. And then I pulled down my mask to show my face. “Mistress told me she once belonged to you.”

Kimberly took a sip and leaned back stretching her arms wide out, legs neatly crossed. “She did. She was... special. I was proud of her. I didn't want it to end, actually. Sometimes you have to do the thing you least want to do. I've regretted it ever since. I'm glad she moved on. Honestly, I always thought her more dominant than submissive.”

“She has done very well by me.” I wondered what had torn them apart, but neither spoke of it, and neither spoke ill of the other. That was both odd and reassuring.

Kimberly chuckled. “The fact you're still wearing that collar this long after she left proves that. Pretty, loyal - out taking care of yourself in heat and cold. Sheila wouldn't go for a woman who wasn't smart. I'd bet there are many who'd be proud to call you theirs.”

I blushed a little and seeing that made her smile broaden. I took a drink, looked away to gather myself then said. “Well, you really don't know me yet.”

“I'd like to.”

The words were simple, but they hung in the air. An expression of interest had been made. The truth is I wanted to know her. Normally a dominant waits for the sub to offer herself, to make her interest clear. On the other hand, she wasn't offering me a collar. Just a chance to get to know each other. There would be no broken oaths. So I asked her for her phone number. She gave it without hesitation. I typed it into my phone and pressed dial. A moment later her phone rang. Just like that, we were connected.

A few minutes later, we were both running again. I felt the circulation in my veins, the rush of endorphins passed through me as I pushed myself to run a little harder and faster. Soon afterward I was showered, dressed, and in front of my students, struggling to keep bored children's minds focused on basic arithmetic. About noon. I received a text message from Kimberly. It was polite, a simple just, “glad to finally have contact with you.”

And it went that way for a while. We waved to each other as we ran. And later there would be a text message. Or I would send one, simple things, an appreciation for the weather, a man to look out for, a loose dog who likes to chase. And of course the funny cat videos and other frivolities. One day the tone took a decidedly flirtatious turn when Kimberly suggested she really enjoyed how my college gym shorts hugged my bottom. I smiled then replied: “I love that you run in spandex.” Which she often did, and quite well.

That was it for a few days. Then out of the blue, she sent me a picture of a riding crop. The accompanying message was simple. “Thinking of ordering this. What do you think?”

I was surprised. At first, I didn't know what to say, the sight of it flustered me, but it warmed me too. I felt... wanted. But I did not feel right approving a device that might never kiss my own bottom. So I took a picture of my hairbrush and sent it back with the message. “This is a dual-purpose device.”

I got an, “LOL,” in return. Then one night, a zoom invitation came my way from Kimberly.

I accepted. As the hour approached, I worried. So I did what I would for a date, my makeup, arranged my hair, and selection of wardrobe. Not wanting to seem too eager for this waist-up call, I chose a favored bra and a tight t-shirt. I put on some blush and made a final check of my makeup before logging on by now realizing I wanted this to be like a date.

No, I wanted it to be a date. So I took off my collar and set it aside and I waited for Kimberly to log on.

If I had gone casual, Kimberly had chosen differently. Her makeup was pale, lipstick black, eyes dark. She wore a black leather bustier that pushed up her small breasts to make for cleavage, and her long braided ponytail hung over her shoulder and down her front as she appeared for me on the screen. She even wore a black-billed cap of the sort favored by bikers in the fifties. It was the look of a tough, confident woman, who knew she had it and didn't give a damn what anyone thought. I saw her as a Dominant for the first time. I liked what I saw

She looked... hot.

“Hello Anita,” she purred, a small smile forming on her lips. If she noticed my collar was off she said nothing, but I stretched out my neck to make it impossible to miss. I studied her, pretty, perfectly turned out, every detail nailed. Yes, she was older, but it really didn't matter. She wasn't in Hong Kong.

But her formal bondage attire also told me I had seriously underdressed. “My apologies to you Miss Kimberly. I will dress more appropriately next time.” I could have dressed is I did for Sheila.

“Nonsense. You are not mine, and under no obligation to dress in any particular way. You have received no instructions. We're meeting, that's all. Don't worry: I think you're pretty, as I did from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“I was dressed in winter clothing then.”

“You had pretty brown eyes and you cared about yourself. That's a good combination. And I liked your 'dual-purpose' response? Do you enjoy the hairbrush?”

Through the screen, her eyes seemed to look through me. I shifted in my seat, thinking back to my last real spanking, bent over the back of the couch, each blow making my bottom shake and burn. “Yes, Miss, I very much enjoy the hairbrush.”

She nodded, studied me for a moment, the grinned. “Actually a hairbrush has three purposes. Sometimes you can use it to brush hair.” She let her joke resonate for a moment reached down to her right for something. Up came a flogger, red suede leather, wide tines, no balls for extra pain, and the tines exquisitely woven together, spread out in both her hands for me to see. “What about this.? My Jeannie says this is her favorite.”

A flogger is in many ways perfect for a beginner. The wider the tines and the softer the material the less the pain. Different floggers allow a dominant to tailor the implement to match their submissive. Even an introductory flogger may work for an advanced sub. Quantity has a quality all its own. Things do build up over time. I could feel myself blushing, but I could feel more than that, I could feel my cunt tingling. “I think it's beautiful and easy to see why Your Jeannie enjoys its kiss.”

“She does. It's a shame really the virus shuts everything down. Every other weekend one of us would board a plane. We both earned a bunch of frequent flyer miles until the virus stopped all that. And it really isn't the same via computer. I'm sure you and Sheila both learned that spanking over the internet really isn't practical.”

“Bondage either,” I added, remembering Sheila's exquisite rope work. Sometimes she'd take an hour or more binding me, wrapping soft ropes to emphasize my breasts and to make me quite helpless. Not that I resisted. I felt loved and sensual bound.

Miss Kimberly chuckled at that. “Let me show you a picture of my Jeannie. Not her face, of course, she doesn't know you and won't until things open up again.” She reached to her iPad, and typed a bit. Then she held up the screen. Upon it the torso of an elegant and toned olive-skinned woman.

Row after row of blue rope wrapped around her chest just below her breasts, crossing patterns, lifted and separating them. Her small dark nipples were hard as rocks. Diamond weaves covered her belly and then wraps around her waist. More bound her thighs and calves together, legs wide open, her bare sex exposed, two rings in her hood. I caught my breath looking at her.

“She's lovely. How long did that take?” I was staring until Kimberly took the iPad away.

“Not sure, less than two hours and almost as long to get it all off. I had to be really careful. Blood needs to circulate. This sort of complex binding is not something one does regularly, not when a pair of padded handcuffs work so well.”

“Always practical,” I said with a chuckle. “Cuffs do indeed work well. Sheila was blessed with a big basement with exposed rafters. I wonder if the current owners do with the hooks she had installed.”

“Probably hang fake potted plants.” I pictured a nice middle-class couple looking up and wondering what the hooks were for.

“Big fakes I hope. Unless they're building a grow room.”

“Maybe the realtor found a kinky buyer and the hooks sold the deal.” We both laughed at that. The eyelets installed were each easily capable of supporting two of me. When I was chained to them, I wasn't going anywhere. Not that I wanted to go. Freedom was never more than one word away. “Perhaps they hung barbells from them. You know how often people buy exercise equipment they use for a week or two.”

“Don't remind me. I have a stair master that I got back out in January. It works, but it's so boring like it needs its own TV.”

“You have many I am certain.” She stretched her neck, then dipped it so her chin was close to her chest. The motion fascinated me.

“Oh yeah, I have all the soaps!” We both laughed at that. But deep down I felt drawn to Kimberly. She moved with feline grace, leaning forward one moment, her eyes looking deep, or leaning back, smirking, back arched to best show off her small, delectable breasts. The way she turned and displayed herself drew the eye, accentuated her curves.

Then at certain moments, she would sit erect, shoulders back, posture perfect in detail and command in her gaze. I responded in kind, leaning back, hips forward showing what many considered my best asset. Her eyes focussed centered on me, and I saw her lips move to a small o.

“So what has your Mistress told you about me?”

I froze for a second, a bit afraid, but there was no point in hiding anything. “She said she used to be yours. She said I should offer myself to you.”

“Are you inclined to make that offer? I notice you're not wearing her collar.”

I shimmied a little, out of nervousness, and looked down. “I've been thinking about it.”

“Play does not imply ownership.” She must have understood my fear. I did not wish to leave my Mistress, even if there was no way to even guess when I might see her again. “And I would never tell you to end your relationship with Sheila.”

“Yes, Miss.” And I found myself snapping to attention, shoulders back, head respectfully down but my posture erect. “I would enjoy it if you chose to make use of me.”

“Excellent.” Her arm twitched and I heard the snap of a riding crop. I did not feel it, I could not feel it, but I sort of did, the sound was familiar and wicked, it put me up on point, a pulled my shoulders back a little more, chest out a little more.

“Anita, take off your top.” Her words were a statement, plain, and simply assumed my compliance.

I obeyed without a thought. I wrapped my fingers on the hem of my t-shirt and pulled it up over my breasts, m head and then tossed it aside. I looked into her eyes as I reached behind my back to undo my bra. The snaps came upon and I pulled the cups clear and gave my chest shimmy as my breasts were bared to Miss.

I am not small-breasted. There are many women more amply endowed but the moment puberty bit everyone noticed. By the time I was sixteen, I wore heavy bras. Back then I was teased about them, mostly by girls. For a time I hated my girls, they made boys stupid and obnoxious and less well-endowed girls jealous - at least in school. But they did draw looks and when it was the right person looking, an appreciative gaze was a thing I enjoyed. But the girls need support. I don't go anywhere braless except bed.

“Pretty,” she said. “Lift them, play with them for me.” She raised one eyebrow, a small smirk on her face, eyes narrow and focused. I happily did as she asked, letting my palms lift up my breasts, full and heavy, finger lifting and offering the girls to her eyes, squeezing and compressing the soft flesh. I extended my thumbs to circle the tips of my nipples, slowly, showing Her how I liked to be touched, letting the fleshy pads rub and extend.

I felt each touch of my fingers to breasts spread to my cunt. What affected me most were Kimberly's eyes, focused on the screen, intent, studying each motion as I rubbed myself; as I let my index finger rise up to squeeze the tip between my finger and thumb. Soon I began to sigh regularly. I wanted to touch my cunt but Kimberly's eyes were upon me, and I would await her command. She smiled I pinched my nipples hard enough to hurt a little hard enough to add a little red to the pink of my flesh, to roll and twist out the tips.

I watched as her shoulders began to move, to lean back, her own fingers extended and lacing, her mouth slightly open as Kimberly watched. “Beautiful,” she whispered, voice hoarse as she watched my fingers squeeze my breasts and pull them, pressing them tight together. “You look so pretty this way, so obedient showing yourself off for me. Now show me your pretty bottom. It always looked so ripe in your tights.

There was a moment of panic as I had only dressed from the waist up. For Mistress Sheila I would not have done that, I would have worn something more overtly sexual than gym shorts over basic cotton panties. Yet, I am submissive and a submissive love to do as she is told. So I rose and turned my back to her, working to center my bottom in the webcam view without being certain exactly where it was. My fingers hooked under a pair of elastic waistbands and yanked them down, baring for Kimberly my round, full bottom

“Thank you, darling. Now open your cheeks and show me your star.” The was a sweet lilt of mischief to her voice and for a moment I wish she had been there, hairbrush in hand, ready to give me a little red hot color. But she was not, so I pressed my fingertips into my crack, tips slipping in to pull my cheeks open, bending over to improve the angle so Kimberly could see both my pink rosebud by my already slippery slit.

“Oh, that's very nice, voluptuous Anita. Tell me, has Sheila ever plugged that sweet bottom?”

The thought of being plugged made my cunt and ass tingle in pleasure. I arched my body even more so I could look back at the screen. I wanted to see her face. “I have three plugs, Miss Kimberly. Two were a gift from my Mistress. Would Miss like to see?”

“Please,” she said, the word was drawn out for emphasis. “I've shared some of my toys with you, it's only fair you should share with me.”

“Be right back, Miss.” I smiled and hopped out of the room kicking off my shorts and panties as I went, fully nude for Miss Kimberly, cunt tingling because I was baring myself for a real dominant, one I actually saw now and then. I reached into my nightstand, and into the toy drawer. My favorite was stainless steel, cool, round, and not very small with an amethyst jeweled base. I took it into my hand along with a tube of lubricant.

I had guessed where Miss Kimberly might be heading and wanted to be prepared should she ask what I hoped. I slipped in again, took a seat in the chair, and head up my prize in both hands, turning and displaying it like a proper spokesmodel, but with less clothing. “Mistress Sheila gave this to me on our first anniversary.”

“Oh, it's lovely. We're you mine, I would have you wear it all the time.”

My mind drifted back to the night Sheila gave it to me when I was tied to a chair, bottom upward, as she brought it to me. I was new to plugs then and was worried, but Mistress made it so very right. And I was feeling naughty, with someone I'd laid eyes on recently, might even see tomorrow if things went as normal. “I can wear it now if Miss would like?”

“By all means.” Her grin was broad now, but I wasn't surprised. I don't think there's a dominant alive who doesn't enjoy watching a plugging. And there may be a submissive who does not enjoy being plugged, but their number does not include me! I held up the base and with my tube carefully coated the plug side with slippery gel. I watched my plug, but out of the corner of my eye watched her as she leaned over closer to the screen, eyes focussed on my actions.

Then the time came to turn, to present my bottom to the screen. Fortunately, I was well-practiced in lubricating my own bottom as the feeling of gel squeezed out upon my star. I could feel myself smile, my cunt tingle as plugging time arrived. I watched carefully to help me aim as the “ball” touched my star. It was a moment I knew well, from the moment when Sheila first pressed this ball to my bottom, and now I pressed it to myself.

I pushed the chair aside and with my left hand leaned forward upon the table behind me to raise my bottom higher. And then I pushed: slight pressure at first, pulsing it, and then I bore down upon my star and pushed until my pink sphincter opened like a flower to admit my toy. I moaned out as it entered, stretching me, filling my backside, clamping down around the toy as it slid in all the way with slight but sweet pain, leaving only the jeweled base outside my owned ass. I felt full and possessed.

I squeezed the unyielding shaft, felt it inside me, savored the penetration. I took a moment to look back at the screen, so see Miss Kimberly's face, to see the broad grin spread across her face, to see her leaned close to the skin and so I wiggled my bottom making the plug dance for her, showing it was buried deep in me.

“You look so pretty. Were you Mine, I would take you out in public that way. Jeannie used to love it when we went out that way, to dine and drink, to meet our vanilla friends - just a secret between us, a dirty little secret. And then there were the parties. She drew every eye when the state of her bottom was revealed.”

“Along with the red welts,” I replied, remembering the two parties Mistress Sheila and I had attended together, the feeling of being taken, people crowded together to watch as I was flogged. Remembering the kiss of her flogger, the many strikes building up, how sweet that felt. All gone of course. Simply too dangerous to crowd together in a room for heavy breathing. Which made me sad. I am not the world's greatest exhibitionist, but in the right space, with the right Mistress, I wanted to be shown off again, to be seen, to be the center of attention - these were things I missed and wondered if they would ever return.

“The welts came later,” she said, drawing out each word. “If I am at a party to play, I push mine deep at the party. I would want you to arrive with your bottom pale and pristine and slowly warm it to pink and then to a warm glowing red.”

“I believe I would enjoy that Miss Kimberly,” I told her, remembering those feelings, the slow build until the pleasure pushes through the pain, in showing off my obedience to the woman I adored. “Shall I warm my own bottom for you?”

“No, darling. I have learned that unless I am there any pain administered is a pale shadow of what things might be. I prefer you concentrate on what might be, in the future, when you may kneel before me without the protection of social distance.”

“Yes, Miss.” I was disappointed of course, but completely understood and agreed. Spanking myself always fell short. It was showing my obedience that mattered. There was no reason to argue.

“I see your pretty peach, Anita. And it is June, and peaches are coming into season. Yours, it seems, is juicy as a pretty peach should be.”

Oh, those words, the talk of my cunt, already tingling with desire and need. I bent lower, so Miss Kimberly could see her clearly, see what was offered to her, what might be hers.

“Turn around slut, face me. I've seen your pretty plugged bottom. Now, I want to see you touch your cunt. Show me how you touch yourself, what gives you pleasure.”

That was a command I was happy to obey. There is a thing about touching yourself before a lover, to show her how you like being touched, to see the desire in her eyes. My fingers slid down to my mound, and doing it for Kimberly was a chance to show her how much she turned me on - how much I wanted her. This was one thing I could do for Kimberly through a screen.

So I took my palm, placed it flat upon my mound, fingers flat on my sex, and began to trace out the folds of my sex with the pad. I moved slowly, making myself move slowly, wanting to drag out this moment as I rolled and unrolled my finger up and down the center and lips of my pussy. Slowly, inevitably the moisture spread from my cunt to roll up my finger and make it shine in my wetness.

As I touched, Miss Kimberly watched, first calmly, then I noticed a change in her posture that mirrored the slow motions of my fingertip upon my sex. She began to sway, side to side, front to back, eyes watching as I touched myself. As the pressure built, as the heat in my groin gained speed. I let my moist finger now circle my pearl, a gentle touch then back down cunt flesh. I felt my breathing deepening, my breasts swaying more and more as I played.

And I could see Kimberly's nipples begin to poke above her bustier a sweet rose color, tips hard and tingling. I thought of them and imagined them in my mouth, pinned between my teeth, tasting her. With each breath came a fresh moan, each sigh a touch louder than the last.

My pussy demanded. I acted; pushing two fingers deep up inside myself, palm forward, left hand brought down now so my index finger could trace slow circles upon my clit. The room filled with the sound of squishing as I fucked myself for Kimberly, watching her eyes intent, her own breathing deepening as I executed her command.

I felt my fingers up inside me, finding my sweet spot, circling it, then releasing to thrust, for touched that way I could not, would not last long. I had a beautiful woman in my sights, clearly aroused, clearly a woman I excited, a knowledge that made my skin tingle and muscles tremble. My moans mingled with the squishing sound of fingers thrusting. Oh, I wanted that, but not without permission!

So I asked.

Miss Kimberly chuckled. “Not yet, Anita. Resume edging yourself, you haven't yet earned the right to cum.”

I publicly pouted but really was not disappointed, slowing the plunge of fingers into sex, letting my finger run more about my hood than my clitoris, letting myself hang as the rush to ecstasy calmed a slow, desperate burn, an undeniable tingling denied and halted, but I liked that. To hang on the edge is delicious; to slip across divine. But that led to a further question, what could I do to earn Miss Kimberly's approval? We were divided by disease and distance, united only by technology. In person, there were many things I could do.

“Turn around darling, and give your plug a tug.”

Oh, that. I smiled and swiftly moved to comply. To be plugged is a mind fuck, to be full, to feel it moving with you as you move, but also it can be passive, it moves when you do unless you move it yourself. And the best way to play with a plug is to give it a tug, to pull until the ball is at its widest, stretching and releasing your sphincter, making it expand and contract. It isn't fucking exactly, but it isn't not fucking, but it makes you stretch.

Each and every tug, every stretch sent a bolt to my cunt, made it contract and release in time with my star. My hips sagged with each pull and pushed up with each release. Oh, this was unfair, unfair, the sweetest of torments. I stilled the fingers in my cunt to prevent breaking Miss's command. But the pressure rose anyway, even though I slowed the pace, taking a deep, deep breath only concentrating on holding back. And then I called out, more in desperation, “Pl-e-e-e-a-s-e!”

Her voice was perfectly calm as if she'd asked me to pass the salt. “Come. Now!”

Of course, I obeyed. A simple touch of thumb to clit and the white light of orgasm flooded through me. My cunt convulsed in a series of sweet spasms. My groan of joy filled the room and juices leaked from my cunt to run down my thigh. Kimberly quietly watched as I released, spasms passing through me. Then I calmed and slipped my fingers from myself, pussy feeling a touch empty as I did.

“Taste yourself for me, Anita. Please describe your flavor.” Her eyes narrowed and she leaned forward. Her lips shined a bit more, or perhaps it's just at that moment I longed to kiss them. To kiss her. To kiss all of her.

I tasted myself, not an unfamiliar flavor, for I often tasted myself when I imagined myself beneath another woman, tasting her, I would taste myself and help me imagine the slippery fluid was hers, given as a reward to me. “My taste is slightly musky, Miss, but light and sweet.” Then I took my fingers deep, swallowing them as I might her she-cock, a message I hoped she might get.

“Excellent.” Her lips were moist tongue working in her mouth as if Kimberly were imagining the taste herself. I could see her chest rise and fall and I knew she was in heat.

“What can I do for you, Miss?” I wanted to know. I had cum, but she had not, and Mistress always cums first, and often.

“Nothing sweetheart. You have not yet earned the privilege of my orgasm. To earn that reward you will have to kneel before me in my dungeon.”

I liked that idea. I liked it a lot. But was it safe? “Can we do that?”

“You can if you choose. I'm not inviting over the local softball league, I'm inviting you. Just you, and me. One on one. I'll even cook.”

Oh, now that was temptation. I was a functional cook, capable of a few good meals but really not the best. I was tired of carry-out. A real home-cooked meal sounded almost better than sex. We should get tested.”

“We're both mask wearers when we jog and we both work at home. Are you insisting?”

I paused, then decided. No, I would not insist. I would trust. The following weekend sounded good. It was a risk, yes, but a controlled risk. I wasn't going to be at a bar, I was going to be with Kimberly. And in the very CDC definition of “close contact”. My date with Miss Kimberly seemed like a dream come true. But, Murphy's Law exists for a reason. And in a pandemic, things may go awry in many unexpected ways.