Whitney keeps me occupied every Sunday morning.

She lives upstairs from me, and from the moment the newspaper hits our front stoop, I am hers to use as she wants to use. To punish and play with. Those are the rules that Whitney set up when we initially got together, and I wouldn’t change our relationship for anything.

The first thing I do is make her breakfast. I know exactly what she likes and how she likes it: fruit salad, fresh coffee, a hot buttered scone. Then hot-buttered me. So to speak.

We didn’t meet in any traditional sense. There was no dinner and a movie. One morning, I simply brought her newspaper up to her door. I’d seen her in the building, but I hadn’t had the balls to make a move. She was too sleek, too pretty, too…

“Early,” she said, when she opened the door. “Too damn early.” She had a sleep mask pushed up on her blonde hair, and her face looked adorably sleepy. “Who are you? Why are you knocking? Is there a fire?”

I shook my head. “I’m Todd,” I said. “I live downstairs. I brought you your paper.” I had the newspaper in my hand. I realized the paper was shaking. Whitney realized that at the same time. “You were sweet to bring me the paper,” she said. “But I’m a night owl. This is dawn to me.”

It had to be ten in the morning.

“But now that I’m up…” She backed into her apartment and beckoned me to follow her.

I followed meekly.

“Let’s see what we can do together,” she finished. I had no idea what she was talking about or what she wanted from me. But the look in her clear green eyes was sending me messages that went straight to my groin. I could feel every part of my body responding to the way she was gazing at me.

“So are you in general an early riser?” she asked. I realized that I hadn’t said much so far, and I cleared my throat and nodded at the same time.

“All parts of you?” she asked next.

Had she noticed my hard-on already? I put the newspaper down so that it shielded me. She laughed and took the paper from me. “Headlines can’t be more captivating than that,” she said, eyes on my crotch.

I felt completely naked even in my t-shirt and sweatpants. She was appraising every part of me, walking around me. I wished I knew what to do, what to say. I’d been drooling over her for too long. Now that I was actually in the room with her, I felt completely lost. Thankfully, Whitney seemed to appreciate my silent adoration.

“I let out a yelp of surprise, and my cock bobbed fiercely”

“I’d like a cup of coffee,” she said suddenly.

“I have coffee!” I told her. “It’s downstairs. I can get you a cup!”

“Black,” she said, “and fast. I’ll expect it up here by the time I’m dressed.”

I turned and practically sprinted back down to my apartment. I had no idea what was actually going on, but I sensed some sort of playfully kinky game, and I was all in.

I came back as quickly as I could with a cup of hot coffee. Whitney, in the few minutes I’d been gone, had made a total transformation. She no longer appeared the slightest bit sleepy. Her hair was brushed back into a tight ponytail. She’d traded her robe for a formfitting zip-up hoodie made of some sort of shiny material. She had on stretchy leggings. I handed over the coffee, then I waited. I didn’t want her to release me. I wanted to do something else for her, anything else for her. How could I make my intentions clear?

“Could I…?” I started. “Would you like…?”

“Your total obedience?” she asked, and there was obvious humor to her voice. “Yes, that’s what I require if you want to play.”

“You’ve got it,” I nodded, not at all sure what I was agreeing to.

“We’ll start with you undressed,” she said almost casually. She sipped her coffee and watched me with glittery eyes. Would I take off my clothes in front of a girl I’d just met? You bet I would. I kicked off my sneakers and got naked in record time. My cock was a beast of its own, springing forward happily once unhindered by my briefs. Whitney grinned at me. She seemed so pure, so young to be this domineering. But I loved it. I loved the way she came forward and raked one hand across my chest, her short nails sending a subtle spark of pain throughout my body. She tugged on my nipples and then leaned in and bit one. I let out a yelp of surprise, and my cock bobbed fiercely.

“Oh, you’re a fun one,” she said. “You’re so emotive. I’m going to enjoy this.”

She led me by my dick to her bedroom and had me climb onto her mattress and present my ass to her. I felt my cheeks go hot as she stroked my butt with one hand, cupping and almost caressing me. Then she let loose with a slap that was harder than I’d anticipated. I looked at her over my shoulder, and she winked at me. “Nice,” she said. “Your skin is lovely. I can see the handprint I left. I’d like to try that with a paddle. Are you up for a paddling?”

I was up in multiple ways. I had to shift my hips on the mattress so I didn’t bore a hole in her bed with my dick. I watched as she opened a drawer in her dresser and removed a paddle. She told me to hold myself still. I locked into position. She said that if I didn’t cry out for ten blows, she would give me a reward. A reward! I promised myself to do what she asked. But the minx didn’t make things easy for me. She fairly blistered my behind with that mean paddle, smacking me in a flurry of blows that stung like wildfire.

I had to bite my bottom lip to keep from making noise, but I succeeded. Whitney seemed pleased when she dropped her toy. She had me turn over on her mattress, so that my cock was now pointing skyward. To my delight and utter surprise, she got between my legs and slicked the tip of my dick with her lips.

I made a noise then, let me tell you. I moaned ferociously, and she tutted and said I had to keep quiet if I wanted her to continue. It took all my strength, but I was a good boy. I behaved as she bestowed the most thrilling blowjob I’d ever received. Right when I was on the verge of filling her mouth with my cream, she backed away and told me to hold myself in check.

“In check” meant not to coat her ceiling with my come, I guessed. I thought of space travel, of cold showers, of multiplication tables. My strength came back, and I didn’t shoot. Whitney let me know that she would reach her orgasm first, then decide if I might take my own. She was a thing to behold as she stripped and slid on top of me. I didn’t touch her until she said I could. When she gave me permission, I stroked her pert breasts and let my fingers ever so gently pinch her nipples. She said, “Harder,” under her breath, and I pinched her with more force. “Do my clit,” she said next, and breathlessly, I let my fingertips find her swollen button and pinched her there. She came almost undone, her hair floating around her face, loose from her ponytail, her eyelashes fluttering, her mouth open. She looked so different, almost innocent, when she climaxed, the steel vanished. For a second.

Then she was a domme once more, telling me I’d done well, telling me I could come for her. And come I did, bucking her up toward the ceiling as my hips moved on their own and my cock unloaded inside her.

That was our first morning together, our first explosion of erotic delights. Now, every Sunday I am Whitney’s. To use as she sees fit. To punish and play with. She is all things to me, and I will forever bow at her feet, subdued and sublime.