Based on true events. Names have been changed to protect the (not very) innocent.

“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.

Instantly I knew I’d do anything to please her.

We split a cobb salad and a slice of chocolate cake for dessert. She told me exactly what she needed from me. Made sure I understood what would be expected. I couldn’t sit still.

The summer afternoon was like others—hot, radiant sunshine, but charged with an energy I couldn’t quite name—the first time I stepped into her house with the intent to serve. 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 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. A script she was about to write. 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 jogging shorts that hugged my body a little too closely, the fabric felt like 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 with her drink, 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 her gaze just a second too long.

The hours flew by as I sorted, stacked, and scrubbed every corner. 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 hung 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. She told me I was a beautiful boy, and should do a better job taking care of myself. The nurture in her voice made my dick twitch and tears start to well in my eyes. 

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, boy. Make me come.”

It was her command, and I didn’t hesitate. My soft kisses traced down her stomach and around her thighs. I devoured her, savoring every sound, taste, and smell of her womanhood. I poured everything into her, my focus unwavering until she gasped my name and melted beneath my touch. She embraces me tenderly and holds me to her chest. We do this until our hearts are resting again and our breaths slow back to normal. 

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 my prick and guiding me to my knees. She clinked the plate 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. Sucking desperately on her toes and licking her soles like a needy little bitch. When I finished, she picked up the plate and inspected it. With a satisfied smile, she broke the cookie into pieces.

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

At that moment, I knew I was addicted to her touch and her praise. And I’d do anything to keep it.