Wanted to share my recollection of some true events… names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.

I’m hoping this dynamic resonates with a special woman. Perhaps we can see if we can build something new together….

“Just parking, so sorry! I’ll be there in two seconds…” I texted furiously, slamming the car door behind me as I sprinted toward the courtyard. My heart pounded harder with each step, nerves and excitement knotting my stomach. The sound of fountains blurred into the background as I pushed through the door of the Cheesecake Factory, scanning the room with bated breath.

And then I saw her.

She was standing by the host stand, effortlessly radiant, and my pulse stuttered. Her smirk was the first thing that struck me—subtle, confident, and utterly devastating. She was just like her pictures. No—she was better. Petite yet commanding, with golden-brown curls gathered in a loose bun atop her head. She moved with a quiet, sublime confidence, folding her sunglasses and slipping them into her bag with practiced elegance.

“I’m Joy,” she said, her voice low and warm, as though we’d known each other for years.

In that moment, I knew I’d do anything to please her.

It wasn’t the first time I’d stepped into her house with the intent to serve. That summer afternoon was like the others—hot, sticky, and charged with an energy I couldn’t quite name. I arrived on time, and Joy greeted me at the door in a simple sundress that clung to her petite frame. Her bare feet tapped against the cool tile, and I swear she was glowing in the sunlight that streamed through the open door.

“Right on time,” she said with a hint of a smile. “You remember the protocol?”

I nodded, heart pounding. Without a word, I stripped, the humid air brushing over my skin as my clothes fell to the floor. Vulnerability buzzed through me as I stood there naked, her eyes trailing over me like I was a canvas she was about to paint. She circled me slowly, her gaze lingering, and I felt both exposed and powerful.

“Good,” she murmured. “Let’s get started.”

She handed me a snug white t-shirt and khaki shorts that hugged my body a little too closely, the fabric a constant reminder of her watchful eyes. With a flick of her wrist, she gestured toward the garage. “Oh, and an Aperol spritz first,” she added, her tone making it clear she wasn’t asking.

I moved to the kitchen, where I prepared her drink with care. When I noticed dishes in the sink, I took care of those, too. It wasn’t part of the plan, but something about going the extra mile for her felt natural. By the time I returned, she was reclining in a lounge chair near the garage, the sunlight bouncing off her skin.

“Such a good boy,” she murmured, taking a sip and holding my gaze just a second too long.

The hours flew by as I sorted, stacked, and scrubbed. Every so often, Joy would glide into the garage, her presence like a magnet drawing my attention. She inspected my progress with a critical eye, offering the occasional instruction or teasing comment that made my cheeks burn.

When the garage was finally spotless and her Tesla parked neatly inside, I wiped the sweat from my brow, only to find her leaning against the doorframe with that devastating smirk.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” she said. “Shower. Now.”

I followed her inside, my body humming with anticipation. She led me to the bathroom, where the steam from the running water curled in the air.

“Strip,” she said, her voice soft but commanding. I obeyed without hesitation, stepping under the hot spray as she perched on a stool in the corner, her eyes on me.

“You’ve worked so hard today,” she said, her voice carrying a note of warmth that made my chest tighten. “It’s only fair I take care of you now.”

When the shower ended, she toweled me off with slow, deliberate care. Her hands were gentle but firm as she applied lotion to my skin, her touch lingering just long enough to make my breath hitch. She even brushed my hair, her fingers threading through the strands as she offered tips on how to care for it better.

Then she presented me with a small box tied with a black ribbon.

“For being such a good boy,” she said, watching as I opened it.

Inside was a black thong, sleek and daring. My face flushed, but her expectant gaze left no room for hesitation. I slipped it on, the fabric clinging to me in a way that made her grin wickedly.

“Perfect,” she said, circling me like a predator admiring its prey.

Later, as she lay facedown on her bed, the silk of her robe pooling around her, I worked her shoulders and back with slow, deliberate strokes. Her soft sighs of pleasure filled the room, spurring me on as I let my hands explore her curves, my touch lingering on the places that made her shiver.

Her voice broke through the haze, low and teasing. “I want to come, Tom. Make me come.”

The request was a command, and I didn’t hesitate. I poured everything into her, my focus unwavering until she gasped my name and melted beneath my touch.

Afterward, the smell of freshly baked cookies wafted through the air as she led me to the kitchen. She stood there in her silk robe, holding a plate with a single cookie.

“Hungry?” she asked, her smirk returning.

I nodded, stepping closer, but she held up a finger. “Not yet. It’s missing something.”

Before I could ask what, she tugged the thong down, wrapping her hand around me and guiding me to my knees. The plate clinked softly on the tile as she rested her toes against my lips, her voice low and commanding.

“Stroke yourself. Aim for the cookie.”

The words sent a shiver through me, and I obeyed instinctively, her gaze locked on mine. When I finished, she picked up the plate, inspecting it with a satisfied smile before breaking the cookie into pieces.

She fed me by hand, her other hand stroking my hair as she whispered, “Such a good boy.”

In that moment, with her touch and her praise, I knew I’d do anything to keep hearing those words.