She seemed confused. Five minutes ago she’d been in total control of our relationship and now I’d somehow changed things.
“Am I ready? I don’t know what you’re asking, boy.”
I was silent for half a minute. “I’m not a boy. I’m two years older than ...”
“Shut the f**k up!” She was yelling. Maybe she was screaming, but I wouldn’t say so.
“Becca,” I said, as softly and gently as I could. “I want more than to be used.”
She was silent for a full minute. I checked the steak in the oven and it was getting close. It would finish cooking in its own juices. I pulled it out and let it rest on the counter.
‘Cook in its own juices,’ I thought.
Becca had calmed. “What do you want?”
“Well, first and foremost, I want you, I ...”
“On your knees.”
I complied.
“Am I your Mistress Becca?”
“Yes, Mis
