His reward was to
be allowed to come at her command as she counted slowly to twenty or
twenty-five. If he came too soon or not at her number, she whipped him
with a riding quirt. "You are not thinking of _me. _ You are doing this
for _ME! _" He learned to think only of her as he masturbated, or, less
often, as she worked him with her hand. When he dedicated himself
completely, she counted him to orgasm at the perfect moment; she was
pleased; there was no whipping.
They went out to dinner several times, a normal experience--at least
externally. Beneath the conversation, Oliver was well aware of what was
coming after dessert. She would encourage him to be assertive and then
she would pull him back, reminding him of his place with a glance or a
small smile, a good natured cat and mouse game.
She told him about the two older brothers who had bullied her on the
basketball court. She was a power forward in high school but too small
for the team at the University of New Hampshire. "Same game, different
scale," she said. "I should have been a guard." Oliver was impressed.
She had trained to be a referee and still reffed high school games.
"You just like the uniform," he teased.
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