I danced pirouettes around my apartment as I dreamed of finally being alone with Miss Kimberly. It had been almost two years since I had been with anyone outside of Zoom. Now I had a date! A chance to look another woman in the eye.

A chance to violate social distance in the most intimate way. A chance to kneel before a senior Dominatrix and offer myself in servitude. These were things I craved with all my heart.

The moment seemed almost too good to be true. I had met Miss Kimberly while doing my morning run. To learn she was an experienced dominant made me feel like a lottery winner. I was on cloud nine, certain life would soon be bright. But there is a thing called Murphy's Law, and I have learned the hard way to believe in Murphy.

Most of all, Murphy is never to be teased. My name is Anita Davalos, and I am here to assure you that is true.

~~~

To make up for lost time and lessons, we taught through summer. And the next school day my plans to meet Miss Kimberly in person were shot completely to hell. I came into school, made my cup of coffee, then stopped to greet Rachel. She wasn't there. A young man was going over her lesson plans. When asked about her, he turned red and told me she'd called in sick.

That scared me. I made a beeline for the principal's office to ask Mrs. Henderson, the matriarchal school secretary. School secretaries always know where all the bodies are buried. Mrs. Henderson was no different. When she saw me, she knew why I. had come.

She came over and took my hand, a certain bad sign. “Anita, Rachel's positive. Bob is too. They admitted him yesterday. It's not good. He might not make it.”

I sort of melted, sagging against the cubicle wall. “Oh, no.” If Rachel was funny and the life of any meeting, Bob was her counterpart, a cheerful man who drove a big blue Chrysler from the middle twentieth with a rumbling engine and had tail fins to the sky. l kept thinking of all the times he'd taken us for rides in the country in his shiny, vintage toy. They had three kids and five grandchildren who now faced the possibility they'd never see their grandfather again. Bob and Rachel anchored each other, and if she lost Bob I felt my friend might be swept away.

Then I remembered I'd enjoyed lunch with them Sunday afternoon at an open-air cafe. We'd arrived masked, but hadn't worn them to eat. I'd sat across the table from them. I wasn't symptomatic, but everyone knew that was normal. It hit me like a ton of bricks that I too might be positive. “I've been exposed,” I confessed. “Rachel and I, well, we hug.”

Mrs, Henderson pulled back from me and went to sanitize her hands and where we had touched. “Well, I'll talk to the principal, but we don't have time to get a sub. Go ahead and teach today. We'll take care of your room. I'll call downtown and arrange for you to get tested."

I hung my head and headed back to my classroom. I took a moment to pull out my phone and text Kimberly that next week was off; that I'd been exposed, and needed to be tested. Then I logged on to get on with the business of welcoming in my children. I tried to forget that I'd been exposed to an illness that might kill me. My kids helped me through. I could focus on them and push back my fears for a time.

Until the time came to tell them that I had been exposed. "There's something I have to tell you all."

I watched them all shift in their chairs and their eyes got big. “You all have heard about the coronavirus.  It's why we aren't meeting in person.  Well, I have been exposed to it. I'm feeling fine, and I plan to return to you, but decency requires me to socially isolate for a while. That means I can't come in to be your teacher for a while.”

There were oohs and ahhs, heads swinging from side to side. And some loud complaints.

“But why!” yelled out Brandon, must louder than all the others. “Why, why, why? Why does everyone have to go away?”

His pain stung and hit me even harder than my own diagnosis. He had just shown me that I was making progress with him. Now the virus might sweep all that away. His disappointment made me want to weep. In fact, I broke for a moment. Then I got my chair and went to the center of the room. “Brandon, do you know what a virus is?”

“It makes you sick.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Lots of things make you sick.” His voice was sad and full of longing. I had to wonder if he was thinking about his addicted mother. 

I tried to console him. “Yes, the coronavirus a thing that makes you sick, and if I have it, I can make other people sick just by being near them. For me to go out, would be selfish; to put myself before others. The need to protect others is why you aren't here, in my room, where we all want to be. One of the other teachers is already sick. One of my closest friends. I can't risk making other people sick. It would be wrong. But I promise you, that I will be back in this classroom as soon as I am cleared. That I promise.”

Brandon didn't really take that well. I wondered if his mother had said similar things when she was dope-sick or when he was moved between homes. So I just got really close to the camera, and let the tears fall. “I'm sorry.” I apologized to each and every child by name. It was the most painful thing I'd ever done.

My substitute arrived by lunchtime and at the break, the custodians began disinfecting my room. I headed off for testing. I was tested in my car by a male nurse wearing a real M95 mask, gown, and gloves. He took my vitals and then began to press the long swabs up my nostrils. It felt like they went all the way to my eyeballs. Virus testing is no simple thing where they take a swab of your mouth or poke with a needle. A needle would have felt better. After that, there was nothing to do but isolate at home.

First, I called Kimberly to explain why I'd had to break our date. She was not happy.

"That is a shame. How long do you think it will take to get your results back?”

“Up to two weeks. More if I test positive.”

I could see her chin fall. “That's a very long time, Anita. A very long time.” She shook her head sadly and I worried if I might lose this opportunity.

“They say that is the worst-case scenario, Miss.”

“I certainly hope so. I suppose there's nothing to be done. Do let me know when you hear.”

“Yes, Miss.” We chatted a little, but we both were depressed, and soon the conversation soon fell off.

Later Mistress Sheila and I commiserated on line, She looked especially pretty that day with luxurious dark brown hair, and a wide face, and smooth milky white skin. I wondered if she had risked the beauty parlor. It was time to tell her. “Mistress, I have been unfaithful.”

Sheila arched an eyebrow. “How so mine?”

I told her of my online “date” with Miss Kimberly in detail.

Sheila laughed. “I believe I told you to do that.”

I was a little put back that my Mistress did not object. Even if she had in fact suggested that I offer myself to Kimberly. “Yes, Mistress, you did.”

“Does she wish to meet?”

“Yes. Mistress, once I am cleared of the virus.”

“Oh, that. God, I hope you're not sick! Let me know. And please, the moment you are clear, call Kimberly. Make a play date. I don't mind if she makes use of you. In fact, I expect a full report back. With details!” My Mistress smiled at me as though any explicit stories might actually thrill her a bit. Which kind of thrilled me.

“Yes, Mistress.” Well, there it was, official permission to stray, in triplicate. I should have been pleased, but it bothered me. A touch of jealousy would have made me feel possessed. But with Sheila, I should have known better. Sheila was never the jealous sort. I was free to meet Kimberly.

Social isolation was, as expected, boring. I made extensive lesson plans and communicating by Skype with the substitute they had arranged. I wrote volumes on my students and sent them on. My sub's name was a Heidi, middle-aged and curvy with a happy face and long dark hair. She was nice and interested, but I think I drove her a bit nuts with worry.

She seemed sincere, but they were my kids. I was afraid they wouldn't learn without me. Heidi's reassurances didn't help much though I knew she meant well. To me, teaching is a calling, a thing you have to do. To not teach, to pass the baton to another, even to one who also feels the call just feels wrong.

The was nothing to do but go home and wait. Nine days I waited. Nine days of worry. Nine days of boredom, though by the fifth I was pretty sure I wasn't going to die. Nine days without my kids. Then I got a phone call that filled me with terror. Thankfully the nurse didn't beat around the bush. I was clear, which made it feel as if a boulder had been lifted from my chest. By then I was about ready to climb the walls.

The relief was that my test results allowed me to call Kimberly with the news. I shook with nerves as I dialed. I wasn't entirely relieved when she picked up. Voicemail would have been less stressful. But she answered, and it was good to hear her voice. “Hello, Anita. How are you today?”

“Negative,” I said and saying that allowed me to let out my breath.

She didn't miss a beat. “That's wonderful! Shall we reschedule for this weekend?”

“Yes.” Inwardly I was rejoicing that the delay hadn't ruined our moment. She sounded eager even, and that made me blush with pleasure.

“Saturday, then. I'll make scallops. Assuming the local fishmonger has any good ones.'`

“I'm sure he will. This is the right time of year for scallops.” Scallops were a heavenly treat, and not inexpensive as the good ones have to be flown in daily. It was a sign she took the evening seriously. “How shall I dress?”

Kimberly chuckled. Then her voice to a distinctly formal tone. “I think, Anita, that you should dress in a manner appropriate for the sort of evening you wish to have.” Which left the onus on me.

“I understand Miss. Please text me your address.” If Kimberly was going to go dominant on me I would play the sub. One addresses a dominant with respect. One lets them know in tone and posture that you recognize who they are and are ready to play your part. I wanted Kimberly to know I was ready to play.

“Shall we say five for drinks?”

“Yes, Miss.” And suddenly it was exciting. I thought of Sheila, but she was there and I was here. Here was risky, but Kimberly was more at risk than I. Fortunately, Saturday was only a couple days off, so I only had a couple of days to consider my wardrobe.

Fetish gear is not inherently hot. But it is obvious and in early July I couldn't very well wear a long coat to cover up. I googled Kimberly's address. She lives in a  nice old neighborhood of quiet homes. The sort of neighborhood where a buxom woman in a bustier, stockings, and fuck-me pumps would draw the wrong kind of stares. I did not want anyone reporting me to the local Board of Education. So, I'd have to be a bit smart. Sexy, but not as overt as I, and Kimberly, might prefer.

The plus of ninety-degree heat is you can show a lot of skin without feeling guilty. If you're in decent shape, which I was, a lot of skin is all you need. For me, braless is not really an option, but I had a very nice set of pale green bra and panties that were lacy, sheer, and had made Sheila's mouth water. I didn't need stockings, they would add to the effect, but not in summer!

I chose a set of low summer heels and a short, tight sleeveless black dress that showed off my curves well enough to advertise. A good beginning, but not quite enough. I stared at my chosen lingerie while twirling my cloth mask at my fingertips. It was then that inspiration hit me. I had some skills, and I knew what I had to do.

The first thing I did on the Saturday of our date was to take a long, hot bath. It was a chance to shave, something I had no good reason to do for a while. I took my time and a new razor to remove every trace of hair or stubble from my legs. Then I lathered up my mound and carefully stripped it bare until my pink pussy was ripe and surrounded by bare creamy flesh.

I almost went to the beauty parlor for the full treatment, but the virus stopped me. I wouldn't assume more risk just for vanity's sake. Instead, I stayed home and did what I could to prepare myself. I laid my outfit for the evening. A short, tight, black sleeveless dress lay upon my bed. A pair of bright red pumps with four-inch heels. My crucifix, silver and ornate, given me upon my confirmation into the Orthodox church. My mask, bright blue, and plain. And then my chosen undergarments for this evening.

An hour spent in front of the mirror perfected my makeup. Bright red lipstick, some extra base to hide freckles. Dark eye makeup to highlight my brown eyes and lashes. I looked damned good! I felt irresistible. Then I put on the bra and thong I had prepared carefully for this evening.

Which made it time for the last piece of my ensemble. Kimberly had said that if I were hers, she would want me plugged. So plugged I would go. I chose my amethyst jeweled butt plug, the one Miss Kimberly had ordered me to put in before, the one she had told me she would make me wear. I decided I did not need to wait for instructions. I set it out, got out the lubricant to work it into my bottom. I loved the feel off cool gel upon my star the feel of my finger working it in, then the cool, round metal pressed to my backside. I held and pushed, held and pushed, working in rhythm each pulse stretching my star a little more, each press making my cunt contract until I the round ball pushed far enough and it slipped inside.

I held myself still, breathing hard, bottom moving, looking in the mirror, my auburn tresses complimenting nicely the pale blue fabric of my lingerie. I felt my cunt leaking into the absorbent fabric. So pulled on my dress, stepped into my red pumps, slipped on my necklace so the ornate Orthodox cross rested between my breasts. It was time. I put on my cloth mask then I was ready.

On the ride over I felt each bump and crevice in the road. Every shock of the poorly maintained roads transferred through the plug directly to my bottom. I had never driven plugged before and was suddenly aware of how much anal penetration intensified and sexualized the most mundane of tasks. Being plugged made for a most pleasant drive. The trees were green, flowers out and there were mature trees in Kimberly's neighborhood. I felt alive and the near certainty that I was about to get fucked.

Her home was even nicer than I had seen on Google. It was a Queen Anne style, painted in periwinkle with dark purple accents, decorated with lots of ornate wood 'gingerbread' around the rafters and windows. It had a tower in the right corner, rising to a widow's walk though the lake was not that near. A shaded porch supported by wooden arches wrapped around it with a swing hanging in one corner, and a pedimented arch cantilevered out over the front stairs. The windows were tall and narrow, elegant and beautiful with a simple wrought iron fence. Even after I pulled into the driveway, I took extra time looking at her home which was less a house than a work of art.

Two cats eyed me with anger as I scaled the steps to the porch. A dark tabby came up to me as if eager for snacks, then left me alone when I didn't come across. The windows were closed and cool to the touch as I rapped on the glass and oaken front door.

Soon Miss Kimberly appeared. Her dress matched her Victorian house, a long, button-down, high-necked black satin dress that clung to her body. Her skirt was slit, showing off elegant black stockings with beautiful needlework held up by garters. White lace was visible between her long sleeves, and her heels were tall enough to suggest purpose. Her makeup was pale and perfect, eyes dark and lips red as rubies from lipstick.

My jaw dropped as I saw her, and once again felt as though I had underdressed. But her eyes were wide with pleasure as she saw me and she was smiling broadly. Perhaps her smile came from surprise, for normally I dress modestly, and both the dress, my heels, and the evident sway of my breasts was nigh obscene. She pulled up her mask and unlocked the door.

“Enter freely and of your own will,” she said, quoting the famous line from Bela Lugosi's version of Dracula. In that way, she announced that tonight she was to be predator and I, prey. I would have it no other way.

I bowed gracefully to her, and felt my breasts shifting as I did, as my bra strained to contain me. She noticed too. But she didn't say a thing, just looked me up and down as is I were someone new. So I straightened myself up, put a little sway into my walk, and went ahead of her.

I hoped she would notice the little bulge in my backside. Plugs do make a bulge, as the base has to be large enough to keep the whole thing from slipping in and leading to an unscheduled visit to the emergency room. My dress was tight enough that I'd had to wriggle into it, hopefully, tight enough to show the slight bump!

“Come with me,” she said. “The formal dining room is to our right.” She led me through the antechamber to the right and again all was perfect. Her furniture was antique, and if it wasn't real I didn't have the skill to tell the difference. The ceilings soared and there were many windows, all tall and framed by pale blue drapes. Paintings lined the walls, realistic mostly, antique portraits and landscapes over textured white and pink wallpaper.

I took in my breath. It had taken a lot of time, and doubtless, money, to put together a room this perfectly. In the center stood a long, antique dark mahogany dining table, covered with a white lace spread. It was big enough for a dozen people to eat at once. but there were only two chairs, one at each end.

“Have a seat at the far end, Anita. Make yourself comfortable. I'll bring us some wine.”

“Yes, Miss.” It was easy for her to fall into the role of the submissive, especially in such a fine home. It made me feel almost ashamed of my modest modern home, sparsely decorated in comparison. I took a seat and she disappeared and returned a few minutes later with two tall glasses filled with golden wine.

She set one in front of me, then retreated to her seat at the opposite end of the table. Once there she unmasked. As did I, happy to see her face to face in person.

“Once again you surprised me. You dressed like a cheap slut. I was expecting one of your corsets.”

“I did not wish to shock your neighbors, Miss.” Or get reported to the local PTA.

She laughed. “My neighbors are quite beyond shocking. Oh, there's a young couple at the corner who look at me in askance and drop off religious tracts periodically. I've become quite familiar with Jack Chick's little comics.”

“They were often at my home growing up,” I said, remembering the simple, tiny cartoon books with simple drawings and an even more simplistic religious message.

“Are your parents particularly religious?”

“Yes, Miss. I haven't come out to them yet. Though the fact that I'm twenty-eight and have yet to mention a serious boyfriend might offer them a clue.”

“Yes, it should, but people can be very good at ignoring things they do not wish to see.” She lifted her glass. “To human sexuality in all its varieties.”

“To human sexuality,” I replied, lifting mine before we both drank as one. It was dry and delicious, the sort of wine I drank at a nice restaurant and rarely at home.

She sat down her glass of wine. “I need to go cook for a bit. Fortunately, sea scallops don't take long and everything else is ready. Do sit and enjoy your wine. Drink all you want, I have plenty, And I have plenty of butter,” she added with a wink. And I could smell the rich scent hanging in the air, it made my mouth water.

“Butter is so useful Miss, and enhances so many things.”

“That it does,” she said and disappeared through the door, giving her bottom with a little extra as her ponytail swayed as she moved through the tall, tall door. I watched every step. She returned masked and with her dress covered by a long white apron. I masked up as she approached bearing two bowls filled with a spinach salad. I saw strawberry bits, white goat cheese, and pink onions. Her next trip she returned with a fresh bottle of wine, to set in a silver cooling vase between us after refilling my glass. Then back to the kitchen.

Something sizzled in the background and steam wooshed from her stove. The sound of kitchen tools scraping filled my imagination. The smell captivated me. A few moments later Kimberly entered with our meal, masked but without her apron, holding two plates piled high with big beautiful scallops and steamed broccoli. She sat one in front of me and returned to her chair before unmasking. “Bon appetit.”

I wanted to dive in, but my parents had raised me with some manners. The scallops were golden, buttery, and seared to perfection. My mouth watered as I waited for my hostess and cook to take the first bite. Then I cut a small slice of buttery heaven. “Oh, this is exquisite,” I breathed before taking a bite of salad.

“I just love it when things are ripe and buttery,” Kimberly said with a slight grin.

Oh, the game was flirtation, and what could be better than shellfish when double-entendres are on tap? “Nothing better than the taste of buttery flesh,” I replied, careful to lick around a small piece of scallop before slipping it between my lips.

She grinned and lifted some salad with a pink onion speared upon her fork. “True, but the balance of pungent flavors with butter provides a great combination. Not everything can be sweet," she added spearing a small bit of strawberry before lifting it to her ruby red lips.

“Sweet and sour should balance each other.” I picked up a sprig of broccoli and placed it between my lips to use my lips to pull the green vegetable into my mouth, catching a hint of lemon.

“As pain is often pleasure,” she said, biting down upon the seared scallop meat, showing her white teeth.

I felt the bite I imagined that was my nipple she was clamping on and shook my chest to let my breasts shimmer visibly, which she seemed to notice. I took a sip of wine, letting the golden liquid wash around my mouth. “This is simply a wonderful meal, every flavor perfect.” Simple, well-cooked food, cooked to let the flavor of the ingredients shine through, light and healthy, the sort of meal you could savor without guilt. Except for the butter, and what is life without some excess?

“It must be difficult running with so much... mass,” she said, her eyes now locked upon my breasts.

“I have bras I wear for only running. I'll show you once this is over, but I'm rarely without one.”

“It doesn't look like you chose to wear one tonight.” She had noticed the bounce.

“Miss is mistaken. I wore a very special bra tonight, just for you.”

She grinned and leaned back eyes narrowing. “How interesting. And you wore it for me! How sweet of you.”

I looked her directly in the eyes, leaning forward to show her I meant it. “I made it just for you.”

She sat back, took a moment to gather her thoughts. “Do you make clothes often?”

“I know my way around a sewing machine. But no, I don't. I buy most of my clothes.”

“And your brassieres?”

“This is my first effort, Miss.”

“So I am unique? You never made one for Sheila?”

“I met Sheila in normal times, at a munch actually, one of those Friday night get-togethers we used to have back when it was safe to be close to each other. She was leading a man around then, a pretty boy to be sure.”

“Sheila always was... flexible. And she likes them pretty. How do you feel about boys?”

“I stopped dating men in college. But Sheila was interesting. Articulate. I liked her style, her presence when she dominated him. Later we got to talking. We talked on the phone. One night at a party I found myself bound to St. Andrew and she had a flogger in her hand.”

Kimberly met that with a wide grin and shook her head. “I suspect you edited that quite a bit. One does not just 'find yourself' bound to a cross.”

“I may have edited a bit,  yes. By now you know it went well for both of us because she collared me. We had six wonderful months before she took that job in Hong Kong.”

“What happened to the boy?”

“Don't know. Don't care. He wasn't around long.”

She nodded. “Well, I have no interest in boys myself, but sometimes a slave does, and if so, I try to indulge her.”

“You do?” I was kind of shocked by this.

“It's a small thing really. If you care for someone, it's important to cater to their needs, so long as there need be no intimate physical contact between me and the man. Personally, I'm relieved I won't have that problem with you.”

“No, Miss,” I said, “You will find me most obedient and compliant.”

“So when did you know you were submissive?”

“My second college girlfriend. She spanked me once.  It was playful, but I loved it. Her blows made my pussy drip, so I started asking her to do it. She was into it, for a while, but was basically vanilla and really didn't want to take me where I needed to go. The next step came at a science fiction convention.”

Kimberly's mouth turned into a big O. “A science-fiction convention? Really.” She dragged the word out like only the amazed can.

“Fen, as they call themselves, tend to be very tolerant and open in some ways, as nerds get picked on in school. They had a demonstration as part of the programming. I was curious so I attended. A male dominant very kindly explained how things work, the different techniques, implements, and such. He was kind and patient and though I'm not into men, I found myself getting turned on. Later they had a demonstration. Adults only. I watched a woman flogged a slim young man, and then later another woman. After spanking her, she used the handle of her whip to bring her to orgasm. That left me dripping.”

“Oh, my. I have never read much science fiction past Mary Shelley. I can only imagine how that affected you.” Kimberly had stopped eating then but was leaning forward with her chin upon her wrist. I had her full attention and loved it.

“It did. After the display, I went up to her and introduced myself. We went for snacks together and talked for a long time. Subs of both genders orbited around her. I asked her if she would be interested in using me.”

“In public?”

“God no! I was much too shy for that back then. She understood that I was a beginner. She gave me my first flogging. We dated for a while, and she introduced me to the larger local scene. I drifted between dominants for a few years, and I had vanilla relationships too. Sheila was my first really good fit.”

“How is it I never met you?”

I shrugged, and took a sip of wine, watching her, watching how the black satin framed her body, watched the intensity of her eyes.i leaned back to show off my breasts, and smiled at her.

She stood and lifted her plate. “Well darling, are you ready for dessert?”

It took me an instant to realize that Miss wasn't talking about food, but something else, that we were to be each other's dessert.

"I am, Miss."  I could not have been more enthusiastic.

“Masks up, please. I want you masked.”

“Yes, Miss.” I put mine on and carried my empty plates into the kitchen. She quickly rinsed them but told me to bring my wine.

“I think it time I showed you my basement.”

I felt myself moistening. Dungeons are traditionally located in basements, perhaps for the symbolism, but often because they're more private and bare rafters so useful in creating opportunities for bondage. More importantly,  no vanilla ever expects an invitation to a basement, which is often nothing more than storage.

Kimberly's dungeon was blue and fully finished. The stairway opened to a good-sized room, the center all was the original stone, but the rest finished in blue, with a royal blue soft carpet upon the floor. At one end stood a high backed, overstuffed chair in raspberry red with curved wooden legs. It looked sturdy and a worthy throne.

To its right stood a wide table covered with black velvet. Upon it rested the largest array of toys I had ever seen outside of a store. There were dildos, plugs, lubricants, harnesses, clothespins. To the left stood a rack, upon which I saw canes, floggers, crops, paddles, and a hairbrush. Attached to the basement wall was a large screen TV, with a blu ray player below it, and an array of adult films.

And from the ceiling eye bolts, anchor pins padded cuffs were dangling. Folded chairs were stacked in the corner, making it clear Kimberly did not mind entertaining. I wondered if one day I might be part of the entertainment.

To my left stood a piano bench, custom-made, higher than normal, reinforced and padded with rings built into it. My eyes fell upon it. “It seems that it takes a lot of equipment to become a well-heeled Domme.”

Kimberly laughed and took a seat in the high backed chair, mounted upon a low platform. She sort of wrapped herself into it, fingers below her masked chin, legs crossed with a beautifully stocking calf exposed from the slit in her dress. “I started out with a hairbrush, a couch, and a ping pong paddle. But I make a good income and over the years collected things.”

“The basics.” I sort of chuckled as my eye swept the room. It was lined with inked prints of beautiful, elegant women, and rawly sensual black and with photographs. Everything was perfect. “Did you hire a decorator?”

“I have a male friend who owns one. I used to let them play here before the virus. Man or woman, watching people fuck turns me on. In return, his slave helped me, though I did rather well without his help. I selected the art. He had excellent taste, but art is for me!” She waved her arms about emphasizing all that surrounded us. Then she pointed at the piano bench. “My friend took his boyfriend right there.”

I looked again, mouth open, and imagined myself upon it, bound and helpless before her. I looked at the bench, then back at her. Her words affected me, but I thought about it for a moment, imagining one man mounting another. And of course, because I enjoyed having my bottom used, I well understood how a man might feel so taken. Men were primal, often beastly in sex, and I understood why Kimberly might enjoy watching such a thing. I might enjoy watching such a thing.

She stroked her chin and leaned her head forward a bit. “I think it's time you removed that dress and showed me the lingerie you made especially for me.”

I grinned but struggled to maintain my composure. I was before Kimberly now, senior Domme, Dominant to my Sheila before me. I needed to take this seriously, to assume my role as the obedient submissive. I stood tall, arched my back, and reached behind my back to unzip my dress, then moved to push and pull my arms free and then wriggle out of it, until I stood before her, clad only in a bra and thong fashioned from blue medical masks, laced together. My big breasts spilled out of the bra, for the masks covered little, and my blue thong had bunched up but was absorbing the slime gathering upon my tingling cunt.

Kimberly applauded. “Bravo, Anita! So unique, so appropriate for these terrible times! Oh, must take a picture of you this way. You are a sight I wish to remember.” Kimberly got her camera out of a pocket and returned. “Arms at your sides, dear, legs apart, show me you know how to present yourself.”

I nodded and complied, heels tight together, legs wide open showing off the blue mask covering my moist pink cunt. My pussy convulsed as I held my arms at my side, shoulders back, back arched to lift up my breasts offered up to her. And Kimberly was looking, eyes wide and moving up and down my body. I could see her mask move in what was certain to be a smile.

“Very nice, Anita. I knew Sheila would instruct you properly.” Miss Kimberly rose, circling me, moving slowly eyes up and down as my masked body was displayed for her. I felt her fingers upon my bottom, touching the plug I had worn. “Is this the same plug you showed me earlier? The one Sheila gave you on your anniversary?”

“Yes, Miss. The very same plug you made me pull and release when we were on zoom together.”

I felt her fingers on my bottom, gliding down my crack until I felt the pads wrap around the jeweled base of the plug. Kimberly gave it a tug and I groaned as the motion went straight to my pussy as my rectum expanded to adjust to the ball. She pulled back and then released as the plug slid back into place, tight inside me. Her fingers then slid across my other cheek as she resumed circling, trailing fingertips across my belly as I struggled to hold still, to hold the position as an obedient girl should.

Her fingers swept upward, to tug at the strings binding together the two masks that made up my bra. She stood in front of me, eyes locked on mine as her fingers lifted my breasts, tips circling the nipples and then a cruel, painful, yet wonderful pinch to my right nipple. I moaned at the sweet pain, waking me, sending a shock wave through my body, and for a moment to break posture before I caught myself.

“Nice,” she said. “I imagine you're quite buttery right now.”

I groaned, as her fingertips explored my nipple, gently this time, like it was precious to her, I felt it swelling the slow tingling spreading out from my sex to my entire body. Kimberly turned away, opened a drawer to remove a pair of stainless steel scissors.

“I want you bare,” she said, cutting the strings binding my bra, letting the masks fall away and my breasts spring free, moving from side to side. The mask bra fell to the floor slowly catching the air as it floated to the ground. And her hands found my breasts, rolling my nipples and pulling. “You have such delicious breasts. I must see you in a bustier. You would look so pretty.”

“Yes, Miss,” I said contemplating a shopping trip that might require.  The scissors made one more snip and my “thong” slipped down to the ground.

“Now that's what I wanted to see.” Kimberly's fingers slid over my thigh as she continued circling, fingers upon my buttock. “Oh, you're a pretty one. So ripe.” A fresh tug on my plug led to a fresh groan from my lips as my bottom stretched. And another, making me groan my breasts shaking and my head fell back as Kimberly teased me.

I rolled my head around as she teased me, fucking, no un-fucking me as my star was stretched and released. Each pull made my pussy contract and release, contract and release, and my hips pushed back against her, struggling hard to maintain poise, while I slowly lost my composure.

And then she stopped.

“Stand where you are, remain at ease, whore. I am going to change into something more... appropriate for what we are about to do.”

I nodded and watched as she disappeared up the stairs which, old as they were, creaked with every step. Soon I was alone, standing on the soft carpet, free to look about the room, free to wander, really. I knew I would hear the creaks on the steps if she returned. But I had been told to wait so I waited, letting my eyes wander, lingering upon the white cane, the wide wooden and leather paddles, the extra-large dildo.

I knew any and all of it might end up used upon, or inside, of me. Of course, a Dominant who is wise will go easy on a new sub, careful to push up slowly to my limits. I had that on my side, and Kimberly was no rookie. She was too poised and self-assured, I knew that when she put me to the test she would do so with skill and experience. That frightened me, and made me wet because I knew I was in good hands.

So I waited, obedient slut that I am, simply looking, and possibly turning a bit at the posters, the handcuffs, the whips, and toys, and the chair I might soon be laying across. And the piano bench upon which she watched the men fuck. Would she fuck me there as well? I wondered, and dreamed.

Time moves slowly when you wait. Eventually, I heard her delicate footsteps upon the stairs, one by one, carefully making her way down the stairs. No doubt Kimberly was still in the very tall heels she had worn before, heels only a stripper might wear with aplomb. When she stepped off the steps I found myself catching my breath. The long black satin dress was gone. In its place, she wore a black leather corset, cinched tight. Her small breasts were bare, long pink nipples pierced with a simple steel rod.

Underneath the corset, she wore a black garter belt holding up exquisite stockings with the profiles of a beautiful woman stitched into the hem. She wore a black satin thong to protect her sex, and of course, those tall heels, raising up her already tall frame. And she had let her long blonde hair out of the tail, letting it sweep aside and slide as it hung to the small of her back.

She was beautiful, provocative, and entirely sexual. She came to me. Her fingers slid over my belly and back and I felt her covered mound pressed to my hip. And she whispered in my ear that I was looking a bit pale, that some color would improve my look. I felt her fingers in my hair, pulling on it guiding me toward the piano bench. “I saw you looking at this earlier whore. Did you dream of being bound to it?”

Of course, I had, but to simply agree was not part of our game. I had a role to play, and I would play it to the hilt, “Miss, that hurts,” I said, pretending to complain when really I was perfectly happy to be led to the bench, to feel the sharp shove that led me to get down on it, to wrap my hands around the leg as I lay my chest upon the padded surface, and to arch my back and raise my bottom for Kimberly, to let her know what was hers to enjoy.

Kimberly bound me efficiently, taking out carefully selected cuffs, attaching them to the eye bolts, clicking the cuffs about my small wrists and binding me on all fours, bent over the padded bench. Cuffs for my legs too, binding my ankles to the bench. Soon all of my limbs were bound. I was helpless as I wished to be and my mind swirled with possibilities, wondering what Miss Kimberly would choose next.

What she chose was my plug, again tugging on it, again, sending the pleasure and the pressure through my groin as she pulled and released, pulled and released and then with one tug, pulled it free of my bottom leaving me open and empty, making me moan aloud and frantically crane my head to look for it.

Kimberly had it her table, cleaning it with disinfectant wipes, cleaning the toy later. “For what I have in mind next, pet, it would not be good to have this in. I have another, larger, toy to replace it with. Something that will stretch your nicely trained ass even more, should the evening take that particular turn."

She set down the shining clean plug upon her table. "So nice that you came prepared though, it was quite thoughtful of you and shows how truly slutty you are.” Then she went to the rack. She stood like a model, tall and erect her long hair shimmying as her fingers glided across the top like a spokesmodel pushing a product. “Which of these, do you think, shall I use to warm your nice, round bottom?”

There were so many, a few of which I had experienced, and others whose kiss I had not yet felt. There were so many choices, so many things that would make my skin burn and send the heat deep. My eye was drawn to one of the floggers, red, wide tined, it didn't look too brutal, but I did not wish to seem uncooperative. I punted on choosing. “I think Miss should choose.”

Miss Kimberly must have been paying attention. “Of course I will choose, Anita,” she said, but she picked up the flogger my eyes had lingered upon. Her choice thrilled me, for it showed me more about her.  What separates a good dominant from the also-rans is how carefully they pay attention, how they prepare. Already I knew she was special.

She held the flogger close to me, so I could see the details, the quality of the leather, the width, and the material of the tines. All these things make a difference and she held it close enough I could smell the leather. It was of fine quality. beautifully made. I was not about to be flogged with a cheap toy. But it was a wise choice for starting out.

The soft wide tines would sting more than hurt, almost zero chance of actual injury. A few swats would be enough for a newbie, but even an experienced submissive like myself could be taken where Miss Kimberly wanted because I could take many strikes from such an implement. In BDSM, things add up if you let them.

Of course, one may wonder why a woman like me might crave pain. In some ways I cannot answer, you do not choose kink; kink chooses you, and I was one of the chosen. Pain, of course, hurts, so there is a certain absurdity to wanting it, but masochism is not without reason. Pain is a warning, a call for action, either to rest and bind a wound or to flee the suffering of more. Pain releases neurotransmitters, endorphins mostly but others including adrenaline to assist in fleeing. In skilled hands and with trust, pain can take over, become something else, something that can take you to a place nothing else can, a place where you lose yourself, a place as addictive as any drug, because it is one.

Miss Kimberly had such skill and she showed it. Having shown me the flogger, given me a good look, it was time to awaken my skin. There is something about the touch of leather to the skin, and I could smell it, feel it as the soft tines were draped across my skin. Kimberly moved, slowly, deliberately as a circus ringmaster as the tines lingered as they glided down my back and draped across my buttocks. Three times she let the tines slide down my body, waking my skin, preparing it.

Then there was a pause. She was behind me, and I could see nothing, but the walls of her dungeon, but I knew what was coming. With a whoosh of air, it came, then a smack, and my buttocks rebounded from the strike. I screamed because I scream when I'm beaten.

Kimberly being Kimberly, came around to look me in the eye, fingers under my chin to check. “I'm great,” I told her and smiled as the pain spread across my right cheek. She smiled and my left was struck, preserving symmetry. I screamed, but Kimberly soon realized that was my normal. Then my beating began in earnest.

The flogger itself is not so bad. It stings. And so each blow arrived with stinging heat. Then another followed and another, the rhythm steady as the flow of a river. The pain of each strike was a temporary thing, the heat it created remained behind. Slowly my fair skin turned from pale white to deep red, and the pain turned into heat, and the heat into a glow as the neurotransmitters poured into my bloodstream. The feeling did not come quickly, it was more like heavy rain filling a reservoir, the water level rising, rising until the earth gives way and the flood no longer can be contained.

So it was for me, my body all light, burning consumed in the flood of chemicals coursing through my blood. Juices leaked from my pussy running down my thighs, forming fresh paths as I was tested. The blows stopped but the heat continued to rise like bread dough, becoming warmer and greater than ever. I could hear myself as if from a distance, sobbing, whimpering with pleasure and need.

It was right then that Miss Kimberly entered me. Three fingers deep in my cunt, twisting and thrusting, driving deep, and thumb on my pearl. That was enough, no more than enough to send me over the edge, to drive my cunt into spasm after spasm, to release the remaining cream in my pussy to drip down upon Miss Kimberly's carpeted floor.

But she did not halt there, knowing I had more to give. I smelled coconuts. She poured slick oil down upon my star and a fingertip worked the oil inside. Then I felt something, something big enough that even my experienced bottom would not admit. The big cock? I was not sure. What I absolutely knew was it was larger than anything I had taken before. ”Open up little whore,” she said, “it's time to surrender that sweet round bottom of yours.”

Frantically I craned my neck to see what she was using, but I could not, I caught of her bending over me, eyes intent, holding something, pressing it to me, making me moan with each push and release against my practiced rectum. And then I could feel my bottom parting, stretching and the tip was inside me. It was huge and I gasped out, my voice filling the room.

I cried out, for it had to be the huge dildo I'd seen upon the table And once my voice began to fade, the fingers in my cunt started up again, fucking me with a squishing sound that never seemed to stop. And of course, I felt myself falling again, into the deep bliss of orgasm, as one moment pressed into the next, each thrust, each motion so tight. It was huge, the contrast so evident in the thin wall between ass and cunt and yet, I felt myself draw tight like a bowstring and then twanged as the arrow released, and with it, I began to cum and cum.

I felt empty and limp when Miss Kimberly stopped, and her fingers slipped from me. She pulled down my mask and held a glass of water to my lips. I drank, sucking in the clear liquid to replace that which had poured down my legs onto her carpet. I could smell my own sex. raw and liquid. And then she planted a kiss upon my bottom.

There is a thing about aftercare, that a sore bottom must be tended to. Kimberly tended to mine with her tongue, long smooth licks easing the heat of my burning ass. Patiently she covered me, and I cooed softly at the tender kisses offered up. Her kisses kept my skin tingling while my chest heaved and my bottom swayed. I heard the clicking of my hands and ankles being released, and I stretched, relieved at being able to move again if I had wanted to, for at that moment nothing mattered but her soft tongue and lips kissing away the pain.

I lay there for long moments gathering myself, letting my breath recover, even after Miss Kimberly rose and stepped away. I rose to my knees, and almost sat until I realized I was way too tender for sitting. And I beheld her in her chair, breasts proud, legs open, mask laying at her feet, legs open and her bare sex exposed to me, liquid and shiny, coated with sweet juice, lips twisted and opened. With a single finger, she summoned me. Upon my hands and knees, I came.

As I got to her knees she stopped me, peeling aside my mask, holding her wine glass to my lips, letting me drink from what her lips had touched and then she lifted it away, held it in her hand, and smiled. “What are you waiting for?”

What was I waiting for? I could see what I wanted, pink and perfect, coated with fresh slime. I leaned in to fill my nostrils with the scent of her, pressed them to her mound, let my upper lip rest upon her hood, and extended my tongue to taste. She had a spiciness to her flavor, distinct, lovely, possibly from her diet, but I loved it as my tongue glided up and down then the center of her sex. I wanted to explore her fully, moved to circling her moist pussy lips, licking clockwise, surrounding them, pressing them between mine as my tongue dipped inside then swept up and down.

My ass burned, my cunt and rectum were so tender that I needed to return her tenderness with the careful patient sweep of my tongue. Up and down I licked, up then down, resting my upper lip on her hood, then pulling back to blow cool air across her. I didn't touch her pearl, but licked around it, emphasizing it by the absence of touch, knowing I could force her mind and body to concentrate on what was being touched and what was not, wanting her climb to orgasmic bliss to be as slow as my journey had been with the sweet steady kiss of her leather.

She was wet, not too wet, but wet enough that I knew her pussy mouth was ready for penetration. But I had not been granted permission to enter her, just to worship, to show my sweet appreciation through my kiss and I kissed her, closing my mouth over her slit and licked.

Kimberly sipped her wine, and her hips began to move I looked up at her brown eyes, looking down at me, watching me at worship, following me as her hips began to pulse and her breasts to shake as her own arousal grow. Up and down, up and down until finally I could take no more and made a V of my tongue and pushed it deep inside her, thrusting as deep as I could to then withdraw to lick straight upward and finally allow myself the taste of her pearl.

Her clit was small, just the top peeking out from beneath her hood, but I felt it between my lips, pressed into it circling gently. I heard her catch her breath, take a sip and her free hand found its way into my auburn tresses to curl in my hair and force me deeper into her mound. But I flicked my tongue across her and I heard a moan. I swept my tongue down then up to circle her sweetness. She moaned again and set down her wine, took my head in both hands to mash me into her cunt.

At that moment, control passed from her to me, for she was mine even though her hands controlled where she wanted my tongue by the motions of her hips, by the press of her pearl upon my flatted tongue. But at that same moment, I became hers. Hers as her moans rose and turned to screams. Hers as her pussy convulsed in sweet pleasure and fresh juices coated my lips and cheeks. Hers as she cried my name as ecstasy overcame her.

~~~

It's been a long time since that day. We don't need to wear masks anymore. Kimberly and I now run as a couple, smiling at people Ias we pass. Someone made a vaccine, in fact, several different teams developed vaccines they blended a cocktail that could protect us. Someone else improved the treatments so that those who fell through the cracks had a much better chance of returning to normal.

At last, I was able to greet my class of boisterous children in person, able their skin of all shades, hair curly and straight, voices high and full of enthusiasm, alive with the sheer energy of youth. Now I could stand in front of my room, and look them in the eye, see how they held their bodies, learn their habits, and enjoy again the company of my children.

I dressed as I imagine a Victorian schoolmarm might have. I wore a high necked dress with oversized sleeves that did not entirely conceal my full chest. But my blouse's high collar concealed a new collar, a gift from Kimberly, which she had placed upon me in a public ceremony before a company of our friends. A wide belt cinched my waist over a wide almost hoop skirt which carefully concealed the citrine plug buried deep in my bottom.

And I smiled and began to talk about the lesson. This day I taught standing up, knowing it would not be a good day for me to sit. But eventually, I sat down anyway, to feel the pain and just to let it remind myself how lucky I truly am.