Valley Winter Loop

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Saturday

We were in the same position when I woke at sunrise. Her warm soft body felt so good against me, my nose in her fragrant hair. I stayed there for several minutes with one arm draped over Becca’s waist, then gently withdrew. Her hand reached out to rest on mine.

“So ...” she mumbled. She was at least half asleep.

I paused, then continued separating my body from hers, and she let me. I found my shorts and T-shirt in the living room, then searched the kitchen for anything I could make breakfast with. There wasn’t much, and some of the condiments in the fridge were moldy and well past their expiration dates. Cereal and milk, banana and apples, and individually wrapped coffee cakes were pretty much the only edibles I found. This wouldn’t do. I wrote a note and went to put it on the dining room table when I saw a piece of paper with “Chris” written on it. It was folded over with a note inside.

“Get naked and clean the bathrooms. Thoroughly,” it said. “Then go out and buy something to make brunch for two. I will sleep in. Let me know when it’s ready. You will be naked when you open the door to wherever I am, then you will get on your knees.”

There’s no way she could have written this last night or this morning, which meant she wrote it before dinner — she’d pre-planned everything. Wow.

I wondered again what I’d gotten myself into. I knew I could leave at any time, but I still felt good even though I hadn’t come last night. I removed my shorts, shirt, even my socks, and went to the full bathroom. There was a freestanding tub long enough for two and a separate walk-in shower with two showerheads on opposite walls and room for two or three people to shower together between. I imagined bathing Becca from behind and it was a very pleasant thought. The tub and shower weren’t exactly clean, but were better than the toilet and sink. There was a tray with cleaning supplies on the floor. I sighed and got to work. Toilet first, then sink, then the floor, then the shower and tub. It took two hours before I felt like everything was clean enough for me, which I hoped would be clean enough for Becca. The half-bathroom near the front door was easier; just a toilet and sink and the floor. I finished that in another half hour, then put my clothes on and walked to the market. It’s a college town with small, family-owned markets just off campus, catering to students and faculty who might not own a car.

I spent $200: eggs, thick-cut bacon, herbs, sea salt, a pepper grinder with peppercorns, lunchmeats, English muffins, cheeses, spicy brown mustard and sandwich bread, capers, shrimp, andouille and pre-sliced cremini mushrooms, baby red and gold potatoes, pre-made mashed potatoes and frozen mixed vegetables, chicken, veggie, and beef stock, onions, garlic and scallions, sauvignon blanc, prosecco, orange, blood-orange, grapefruit and mango juices, granola, linguini, smoked paprika and sweet Hungarian paprika, heavy cream, half-and-half, whole milk, and teriyaki sauce. A wonderful big USDA Prime ribeye steak, a sockeye fillet, and two whole chicken legs.

I didn’t know what Becca liked so I overbought for dinner, hoping we would have more than one, but I figured the makings for breakfast and lunch were safe. All I’d seen in the kitchen that seemed relevant was coffee beans and a grinder, avocado oil mayo and some spotty bananas, which reminded me to buy fresh raspberries, blueberries, buttermilk, maple syrup, Greek yogurt, raw almonds, brown sugar, steel-cut oats, and what the heck, fresh unspotted bananas plus a quart of organic vanilla bean ice cream with chocolate and caramel syrups. Irish Cream, cognac, and Grand Marnier.

The bags were almost too heavy for me to lug home. A wonderful woman saw me struggling with them and offered a ride. I recognized her as a staffer from the college admissions office. Her eyebrows rose when she recognized the house. I thanked her profusely, letting her know she’d made my week, which would have been true any other week, and she smiled as if she knew. I wondered what sort of rumors this might start.

Becca wasn’t in bed when I returned — she was doing languorous yoga on the back patio in the sun. She looked like a goddess, or a cat. Or a cat goddess. I removed my clothes and dropped to my knees just outside the French doors. I don’t know what kind of pose she was in but it didn’t seem like one I could ever make myself. She still managed to turn her head, motion me close, reach to my chin, pull my face to her, and kiss me deeply.

“Welcome back, sweet boy,” she said, smiling warmly. “What’s for brunch?”

“I brought several options. Is there anything you don’t like?”

She reached for my c**k and stroked it to hardness. The knuckle of her thumb pressed against the sweet spot of my frenulum, the rest of her small hand encircling me. She pulsed her fingers, which felt heavenly. “Not here. Surprise me. Stay naked.”

She let go after a few seconds and I started to rise.

“No. Back away on all fours. I don’t want to see your butt unless I specifically ask for it. No matter how ... cute it is.” She smirked. I backed away until I was in the house, then stood and walked into the kitchen. ‘Surprise her,’ eh? Well, that means nothing too simple. I thought for a minute.

Italian-Greek scramble with toast, mimosas, coffee, and tea. I had the necessary herbs and cheeses. It took 45 minutes and required that I wash and dry a few of the dozens of dirty dishes in the sink and on the counter. She finished her yoga before the eggs were ready and embraced me from behind, her hands clutching and stroking me from knees to neck, paying special attention to my n*****s and c**k. Finally she pulled my head around and kissed me deeply. She pulled away as soon as my tongue met hers.

“No tongue. Tongues are mine. Just your lips.”

We kissed more and I let her tongue explore my mouth, even as I tried to kiss her back as passionately as she was kissing me. She drew back, her warm eyes in mine. “Mmmmm. I’ll set the table.”

I poured mimosas. She let me push her chair in close and had me sit next to her, her bare leg against mine. She smiled and clinked my glass. “Thank you, Chris, for everything. Truly. This looks and smells wonderful, and the bathrooms look great. You’re spoiling me, and I could totally get used to it.”

“To you,” I said, raising my glass, and her smile broadened.

“To the new me,” she said, and we sipped.

The eggs turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself, and of course the bacon was good. “Don’t get up,” she said when we’d finished eating, then reached down to take my c**k in her hand. I grew. She stroked and squeezed me until I was very hard indeed, but kept things slow enough that I wouldn’t come from it. When I started leaking precum she reached a finger to catch a drop on her fingertip, then held it to my lips. I kissed it, took it inside, and licked her fingertip clean.

“How do you taste?”

“Yuck. Thick and oily.”

“Get used to it. If you want to be with me, there’ll be a lot more.”

“You ...”

“You’ll come, don’t worry, but not as often as me and only when I allow it. It’ll be really good when you do, I promise. Have you ever tasted a man’s c*m before?”

“No.”

“Not even your own? Not curious?”

“No.”

“Well, I have. Too many times. I think it’s disgusting, but ...” She reached down and took another droplet onto her fingertip, then put it into her own mouth and made a face. “I’ve had worse. For you, if you behave, I might have more.”

She reached both her hands to my cheeks and looked deep into my eyes, then came closer and kissed me, gently but with what seemed like genuine affection. I returned her kiss but didn’t try anything with my tongue. Then she drew back and licked each of my lips lightly.

“Mmmmm ...” She released me. “I’ll clear the table, then change in the bedroom. Start the dishes and we can do them together. I’ll find a way to make sure you enjoy it.”

Washing dishes took more than an hour. We took turns washing since my lower back hurt if I washed for too long, and drying was easier. I had to take a break to stretch and do sit-ups after twenty minutes. She’d changed into a skimpy bikini with a push-up top and 4” strappy, barely-there heels, and working so close to the sexiest woman I’d ever imagined kept me at least at half mast. Becca massaged my shoulders as I stretched on the floor, which felt really good; her hands were small but strong. She wrapped her legs around my waist from behind and pushed mine apart with her high-heeled feet, then had me stretch forward. Looking down at her small feet in her sexy heels as they pushed my legs apart made me fully hard. She gave me a playful squeeze.

As I was drying the last few pots, Becca came close from the side, put one hand on my ass and the other on my c**k, and stroked me very gently. She’d been feeding me my precum whenever it seemed in danger of dripping to the floor and did the same for me now. “You should be thanking me for this. If you dripped onto the floor you would have to lick it up, and we haven’t cleaned the floors yet.”

“Thank you, Becca.”

“Uh uh. I want you to be more respectful than that. When we’re together alone like this, I’m Miss Becca to you. Don’t forget.”

“Thank you, Miss Becca.”

“Good boy. I want you to crave my praise. It means I’m pleased with you, but I’ll only say it when I want.”

“Thank you, Miss Becca.”

She backed away. “Now I want you to go home. Stretch more and get some exercise that might help you loosen up from all this dishwashing — I know it was hard on your cute little boy-body — and I want you to think of ways you might please me. I have ideas of my own. We’ll do the floors and more cleanup another time. You may not masturbate to orgasm — your pleasure and your orgasms are mine now — though you may tease yourself as long as you think of me while you do it. Do not try to contact me. Do not come here. I’ll let you know when I want to see you again, and you must be ready for anything I want at a moment’s notice when I do. Understand?”

“Yes. Thank you, Miss Becca.”

“You’ll have several hours of alone time. I need to go shopping. And Chris?”

“Yes, Miss Becca.”

“Thank you for brunch, and for helping so much with cleanup. That was very sweet and I appreciate it — I know it was a lot of work. It warms my heart and ... elsewhere when I think of how good you’ve been to me. And for me.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Becca. It was my pleasure.”

“Just ... don’t get used to me thanking you for doing what I ask. Think of anything I request as being a command. Don’t question me, don’t second-guess me, and don’t even think of arguing. Just obey.”

“Yes, Miss Becca.”

“Good boy. Put your clothes on, then come here and kiss me. I want to hold you.”

I did. We embraced. Her breaths were deep but trembly. She drew back, looked deep into my eyes, and kissed me. She was still wearing her skimpy bikini and tall, narrow, ankle-strap heels with open toes. Her toenails were painted pinkish-white. She raised one of my hands to her breast. It was the first time she’d let me touch her there. She was soft yet firm. Her n****e quickly rose to the size and consistency of a pencil eraser.

“Both hands, boy. That feels so good.” She guided my thumb to brush back and forth over her n****e through her top, and as I continued doing so for both of her lovely breasts, her knees seemed to wobble. Then she lowered my hand, brushed it up her s*x, gasped a little, and pushed it away.

“Fetch your date clothes. I’ll walk you to the front steps.” She took my hand in hers.

I opened the door, crossed the front porch, and descended two steps before she stopped me. In her 4” heels and with me two steps below, I was looking up at her. She took my face in her hands and kissed me deeply for a full minute. I got harder. Anyone passing by would have seen.

“Good boy,” she said. “Be ready for my call. Goodbye for now.” She turned to re-enter the house, me watching her gorgeous legs and butt sway as she walked, heels clicking on the porch, shimmying in full knowledge that she had my undivided attention. The door closed gently behind her.

Wow. Just ... wow. I had a lot to think about on the walk home.