Certain Requirements

by Elinor Zimmerman

“Is that a no?”

  I shook my wet head. “It’s not a no.”

  “Is that a green light then?”

  “Yes, green.”

  Kris opened the shower door and reached in. I thought she was reaching for me, but instead she turned off the water. “We’re in a drought,” she said. “Can’t waste water while I’m fucking you.”

  In the heat of the steam, I felt my nipples harden.

  “Get out.”

  Naked and dripping, I stepped onto the bathmat.

  “Today I’m going to give you a taste of reward and punishment both, so when I give you directions later, you’ll know exactly what to expect if you follow them, or if you disobey.” She ran her hands over my wet arms. “But first I’m going to look at you. Get your hair out of the way, then hands at your sides.”

  I wrapped my hair in a towel on top of my head and stuck my fists by my sides. She skimmed my body with her hands, staring at each inch of me. She brushed her hands over my breasts, my stomach, my hips, my closely trimmed pubic hair, then dropped to the ground to touch my legs. Once her fingers touched my feet, she told me to turn around and inched her way up the back side of my body. Even this light touch was igniting me, making my stomach flip with anticipation and my pussy clench with need.

  She squeezed my shoulders as she stood behind me, her body pressed against mine. “Do you want your reward first, or your punishment?”

  “My reward.”

  “That’s too bad, because I’m in charge, and I’ve decided you’ll need to be punished before you get that. On your knees.”

  On all fours facing the door to my bedroom, I heard her zipper slide down. I looked back to see she’d already strapped on a large purple cock, smaller than the blue one but not by much. “Did I tell you to turn around?” she snapped. “Keep your head forward and don’t move unless I tell you to.”

  I looked back at the door. I was worried that I wouldn’t be wet enough yet, that the cock was too big, that the fantasy appeal of being taken on her terms and used wouldn’t translate to real life. She teased the opening of my pussy with her fingers, then explored my clit and labia with the same gentle, curious caress she’d used on the rest of my body. She nudged a finger inside me, and the ease of entrance surprised me. I was wetter than I expected.

  Without a word, I heard her snap open a bottle of lube and squirt the liquid on her cock. “I’m being so nice,” she said. “I could probably fuck your slick little pussy without this, but this will make it easier for you to take. You should thank me.”

  “Thank you,” I gulped.

  She eased the bulging tip inside me. I gasped. Slowly, she inched it in me until I felt the leather of the harness against my ass. Fully enveloped, she stayed still for a minute and took my breasts in her hands. She handled them roughly, pinching my nipples, as she started a slow rhythm with her hips. Her cock pulsed back and forth, still startlingly large for me. The thought of being taken by her like this, of belonging to this woman I barely knew, undid me. I melted around her and gripped the bathmat whenever her cock rocked deeper inside me.

  “What color, Phoenix?”

  “Green,” I moaned. “Green, green, green.”

  With that, she picked up speed. Kris yanked herself so far back she was almost out of me, then she slammed back in up to the hilt in one hard, fast motion. I shrieked in surprise and a flash of pain that gave way to overwhelming fullness. I moaned as she dug her fingers into the flesh of my hips and began fucking me—relentless, fast, hard. The movement untangled my towel, and it dropped to the ground.

  She kept on like this for I don’t know how long. I lost all sense of the world outside of the sensations in my body, just like I had the day before. My moans and cries were the only sound other than the slap of our bodies meeting. I felt more than just pleasure, more than the ache inside me. I felt like I was completely in my body and at the same time like I was dreaming.

  Unexpectedly, she sped up even more. After a minute of jarringly fast motion, Kris slumped onto my back. Her silk tie felt soft against my skin.

  “Kris?” I asked.

  “I came,” she panted.

  “From fucking me?”

  She nodded against my neck.

  “Am I done being punished then?”

  “Uh-huh.” I slowly eased her cock out of me and turned myself around to rest against the wall. Kris collapsed on the floor.

  “So, my reward?”

  “Give me a minute.”

  “But I need it.” My pussy felt tragically empty all of a sudden, and my clit ached.

  “Don’t try to be the boss or you’ll get punished again. Go downstairs and lie on the bed. Just lie there until I tell you otherwise.” Despite her commanding words, she was still out of breath.

  I was tempted to tease her, but I didn’t want to delay my reward any longer than I had to. I stood up. “When will you be in?”

  “When I’m in. Go downstairs.”

  I reached for a towel.

  “No, as you are.”

  Naked, my hair still wet, I walked through my bedroom and then down the stairs. In the lavender room, I lay down on top of the covers. A clock on the wall ticked away the minutes she made me wait. Finally, she came in, sans button-down and tie, but wearing her pants still, and a white undershirt.

  “Were you waiting nicely?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “I like making you wait. But that’s your punishment, and it’s over now. Ready for your reward?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Gingerly, she strapped my wrists and ankles into the fake-fur-lined fabric restraints at either end of the bed. Spread out like a star, I felt even more exposed than I had in the bathroom.

  “So pretty.” She checked the tightness of the restraints. “So good. How’s it on your wrists and ankles?”

  “Perfect.”

  “You’re ready then?”

  I nodded quickly.

  “Say please if you want it.”

  “Yes, please, Kris. Please.”

  She lowered her face to my pussy and began slowly licking. “I’m going to try things, and you’ll tell me which you like best. Just like yesterday.”

  “Like another experiment?”

  “Yes,” she said, her breath on my swollen clit. “Now, this is option A.” She circled her tongue on me, teasing me everywhere but the place I most wanted her mouth. I tried to buck against her and shift my body into place, but the restraints held me fast.

  “This is option B.” She moved her circling tongue where I wanted it, swirling over the most sensitive part of me.

  “Option B,” I cried. She sped up the pace, bringing me to the edge. Just as she started to pull away and say the words “option C,” I felt the clench deep within me. I wanted to grab her head and pull her back, but of course I couldn’t. As if sensing what I needed, Kris pressed her face back where I wanted it, resumed that perfect motion of her tongue, and brought me over the edge again and again and again, until I couldn’t anymore. Finally, Kris lifted her face to look at me. I lay on the bed whimpering.

  “Is that a good incentive to do your chores?” she asked from between my legs.

  “Yesss,” I breathed.

  “Good.” She stood and unstrapped me. “Do you need anything?”

  “Just water.”

  She got us both waters from the mini-fridge. Tentatively, she put her hand on my head and lightly stroked my damp hair.

  “How was that?”

  “So good. I can barely move it was so good.” I chugged my water.

  “You don’t need to flatter me,” she said. “I like praise, but I don’t need exaggeration.”

  “So fucking good, Kris,” I said. “How was it for you?”

  “A dream come true,” she said. “But I had a lot more experiments in mind.”

  “You’ll just have to save them for tomorrow.”

  “Provided you deserve them. Which reminds me, I want to give you your chore list.”

&nb
sp; I leaned my head on her shoulder. Kris pulled a list out of a drawer. “Things to do every week,” it read. I was tempted to give her a skeptical look, but stopped myself. Following her orders was the fantasy, and at least they were clearly laid out. When I read the list, the tasks actually weren’t much, and all were things we’d discussed. I looked over at her and nodded.

  “Anything else you want? We have a couple of minutes left.”

  “Just one request, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m naked and you haven’t even taken off your shirt. You didn’t yesterday either. I want to see you.”

  Kris gave me a small smile that revealed just the hint of her slightly crooked teeth. “Sometimes I like that, being dressed when my sub isn’t.”

  “Please?” I batted my eyelashes.

  She hopped out of bed and pulled off her undershirt. “I’m feeling generous.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She chucked her pants, which she’d never fully zipped up again after our session in the bathroom. I admired her lean body in just a harness and a binder. I looked up at her hopefully.

  She pulled the binder off, then unbuckled the harness and dropped it on the bed. Kris stood there for a minute, letting me look at her gorgeous, full breasts, the neatly trimmed dark hair between her legs, at the body that was hidden from everyone but me.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Consider this part of your reward. If you want to keep being rewarded, you need to do all the chores properly.”

  “I will.”

  “I’m warning you, I’ll check.”

  “Well, if I do a bad job, you’ll just have to punish me, right? And then I’ll learn my lesson.”

  “Next time you get punished, you won’t get rewarded afterward,” she said and walked to the bathroom, giving me a long look at her firm, smooth ass as she did.

  Chapter Eight

  Over the next few weeks, everything was how I wanted it to be. I felt the ache of attraction with Kris, but not the pull of romance, probably because I almost never saw her outside of our play. It was practically like living alone. By the time I woke up at seven, Kris was usually gone, or at least showering. On Sundays, the only morning she didn’t head to her office early, she went running first thing and was in her room with a video game or a show by the time I came back from teaching. In the first month I was there, I caught her eating cereal while I made my morning coffee only once. I spent the day busy with aerials, and came home to an empty house. The cleaning and cooking and laundry and errands, once I fit them into my schedule, were only a few hours more a week than I had always done. Every night, she came home around eight, and only a few minutes earlier on Fridays. Sometimes she grabbed leftovers I’d made, but often she’d eaten at work. For the most part, I made the kind of simple meals I had always made, but when she ate them, Kris always told me I’d done my chores well.

  And the sex? Most nights she found me reading in the living room, waiting but pretending I wasn’t waiting, and told me, “It’s eight thirty,” before ordering me to strip. Every night was unique but familiar at the same time. Some days she had me pick an implement from the closet and hit me in the slow, methodical way that let me release into my body, before she buried her face between my legs or touched me with her long, talented fingers. Other nights she spread her legs—sitting on the living room sofa, or on the purple bed—and ordered me between them, telling me how to touch her or ordering me to use my mouth. On nights following some slipup on my end, like forgetting to unload the dishwasher or failing to restock milk, she never let me come with her, leaving me dripping. Afterward, I’d go to my room and touch myself, and come within minutes. Some nights she strapped on and used my mouth and my pussy without letting me orgasm, and other nights she strapped on and rewarded me with release again and again. A few times, she didn’t make it home in time and texted me directions: where to be, what to use, and how long I had to wait before I came. Usually on those nights she timed it to walk in the door just before I screamed out.

  One Friday when I was wearing a skirt, she told me to give her my underwear, and we went for an evening walk, her whispering hot, filthy promises in my ear, the night air cool against my wetness. When we got home, she let me grind myself onto her bare leg until I came. Usually, Fridays and Sundays involved long sessions of elaborate bondage with those lovely eye hooks in the ceiling and intricate knots she tied; a selection of floggers, paddles, riding crops; and plenty of orgasms for both of us. One afternoon she played with my nipples until they ached, then sat in the room reading erotica to herself while pretending to ignore me, just to make me wait because I’d failed to clean the bathroom. Sometimes, I forgot half on purpose.

  It was like living with a ghost. A kinky sex ghost. It was also the best fuck buddy arrangement in the world. During the few hours Kris was home and not playing with me, I still had the house to myself. She wasn’t unfriendly; she just wasn’t there. Sasha’s concerns seemed laughable. How could I fall in love with someone I barely knew?

  Our living arrangement was the exact opposite of what I’d had with John. John and I had been the sort of roommates who shared meals most evenings, who went to donation-based yoga classes together, who cuddled on the couch while staying up too late talking. The only problem we had was a compulsion to hang out together, and hurt feelings when one of us wanted space. We didn’t just share an apartment. We shared our lives in many ways.

  Of course, that started to change in the months leading up to quitting my job. I’d become single-minded about launching my artistic career. He’d been spending more and more time at Ollie’s, and it was clear that them moving in together was only a matter of time. But even then, John and I were a team, albeit a team that was increasingly busy with separate activities.

  In those first weeks at Kris’s, I saw John two or three times a week and talked to him or texted him nearly every day. Since I was not getting much in the way of performance gigs, I spent Saturday evenings at his place—my old place. Right around when I moved out, Ollie moved in, leaving his spot in a housing collective full of obsessive bicyclists. But because a cross-country move was in the works, nothing was actually unpacked. Every time I came over, another stack of boxes greeted me.

  A week before John and Ollie began their drive to Boston, John came over to my new home for the first time. We’d been pretty social as roommates, hosting big dinners (that he cooked), brunches for all our friends, movie nights, and the occasional party. Plus we were always having someone over for a cup of tea and some gossip. But in my new house, I’d never had a single guest. My friends all lived on the other side of the Bay, where I was teaching or training half the time anyway. I didn’t really know anyone who could actually afford to live in San Francisco, so any invitation to see me came with a quick but smelly journey on public transit or a possibly traffic-ensnared nightmare with nowhere to park.

  But more than that, I wasn’t totally comfortable hosting in Kris’s house. She never had anyone over. Of course, she was hardly there herself, but still, it seemed strange to invite guests to her house when she didn’t. One thing Sasha had been right about was that I sometimes thought of myself as a servant in the place, rather than a full-fledged housemate, despite all Kris’s assurances otherwise. And servants didn’t go and bring around folks to the boss’s house.

  John kept bugging me to see the place, though, and finally I relented. One sunny morning in September, I welcomed him in as he whistled at my fancy new living situation.

  “Gorgeous,” he said over and over as I gave him the tour. He caressed the kitchen counters for so long that I took our coffee to the backyard without him.

  “This place is ridiculous,” he said with a smile when he finally joined me. “What even is this?”

  “It’s how rich people live, I guess. And their sex maids.” I sipped my coffee.

  “How is it living with someone who has all that money?”

  I gestured at our surrou
ndings. “Mutually beneficial.”

  He shot me a look of disbelief. “There’s no disconnect there? She has a nice house in one of the most expensive cities in the country, and six months ago you were worried you might need to move back in with your parents in Albuquerque if you wanted to be a performer without a day job.”

  “It wasn’t because I was that broke. And it was my sister and her family in LA I thought I’d need to live with, not my parents, remember? She was complaining about childcare and we had this strange fantasy that I’d take care of my nephew and then perform and teach. LA is a better market for aerial dancers than San Francisco. Plus you know I’ve got my yoga teacher certification, and LA always needs yoga teachers, right?”

  “Ugh, I must have blocked out the idea of you living with your sister,” he groaned. “Thank God her husband said no. You and Connie would have killed each other.”

  “We’re not that bad.”

  “I remember her visit when we first moved in together, in our old place. What did you two end up shouting about? How you organized your closet? Or was it about a flat iron? And that lady who lived downstairs came running up and saying she was going to call the police because you two were so loud? Honestly, I started looking for other roommates. I was so relieved when she went home and you went back to being a regular person.”

  My sister was six years older and a lot more conventional than I was, and yes, we did fight. Maybe more than was normal. “Okay, so maybe that LA fantasy wasn’t a great idea.”

  “You think? And you did say you were going to move home to your parents’ at one point. I remember I had this terrible image of you off in some tiny miserable room surrounded by desert, counting your change to pay for gas.”

  I laughed. “Why do you always forget that I grew up middle class? My parents work at the University of New Mexico. Honestly, their house is bigger than this place. Way less expensive, but bigger. I mean, it’s not worth commuting to Santa Fe for aerials all the time, but the part of Albuquerque I’m from isn’t the windswept poverty you’re picturing.”

  John gathered his dreadlocks in a rubber band. “You know why I misremember your family? It’s those stories you told about your dad being a Brown Beret and your folks getting arrested at protests. I think of them as, like, impoverished laborers, but they’re humanities professors.”