Cynthia's Education

Cynthia came in the room and noticed right away the poor quality of my work. "You know," she said, "That's bad enough I'm going to have to spank you." Immediately she sat down, motioned me over her knee, and told me to drop my drawers. The spanking was fierce.

Afterward, while she was holding me in her arms, she asked what the matter was. I told her about the breakup, and how heartbroken I was. She thought for a moment and said, "I see this as a real problem."

"What do you mean?" I asked. She said, "I think because of the loyalty you owe me, when you date these women, you really don't have enough to give them, and so they are bound to be disappointed. Also, you still show an adolescent attitude towards them. I'm not sure your interest is any more than superficial and purely physical." I nodded. She had hit the nail on the head.

"Just as important, these women distract you from the service you owe me. When you're dating someone, you are just not paying enough attention to me and my needs, and I don't like that."

"What can I do to make things better?" I asked. "I think if you are going to continue serving me," she said. "You do want this don't you?" I nodded. I did want it. Very much. "I think I'm going to have to ask you to stop seeing other women as long as you have this connection with me."

I must have had a resistant look in my eyes, because she said, "You've just shown me you can't give me the attention I deserve when you are involved somewhere else. Don't you see that this just can't work if you keep it up? You really do need to make this sacrifice for me." I didn't like it very much, but I realized the truth of what she said, and so I agreed. "Thank you," she whispered. She gave me a quick kiss on my forehead and sent me home.

The next few weeks I noticed I was getting better at the chores. Cynthia was smiling more. The spankings cut even closer to my core, and her ecstasies when she allowed me to go down on her, always with the blindfold, moved me more deeply than ever. I really felt closer to her. Not paying attention to other women allowed me to focus on how wonderful she was.

Several weeks later, on an afternoon when I had just finished going down on her, she untied the blindfold and pulled me onto the bed to cuddle with her. After a few minutes, she took my face in both hands and looked deep in my eyes.

"Gregg," she said. "There is one thing you've never told me, and I'm very curious."

"What," I asked. She replied. "You've never told me what you do for sexual release when you aren't dating, like now." I looked at her with watery eyes and admitted, "Well, I masturbate."

"Interesting. And what do you fantasize about when you masturbate?"

"Well, to be honest, for most of the time since we met, I've fantasized about you. What it would be like to make love to you."

"Do you think it brings you closer to me when you do this?"

"Well yes . . . and no," I said shyly. "It hurts me that we never make love, but it's great thinking about you."

"I think this might be a problem," she said. "Since I have no control over when or how you do this, I feel almost like I'm being used against my will. And I don't think that's fair. Actually, it kind of gives me the creeps."

"But it isn't like that," I said.

"No, not to you. But you have a limited, selfish point of view, so I don't think you can see how this hurts me."

"I truly don't want to hurt you."

"I believe you. The problem is, you're emotionally clumsy," she said. "So it's like you just do what you do and if my feelings get in the way, you don't notice until the damage is done."

"I hate it when you feel bad. What do you want us to do differently so this won't be such a problem?"

She said, "What I think we'll have to do differently. You want to stay connected to me, don't you?" I nodded. "That's not going to work any more unless this part of your life is connected to me, too."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"What I think it means is there's only one way to keep this connected. I don't want you masturbating any more unless I give you permission. That way, there's a connection, and when I do give you permission, you're doing it for us, and not just selfishly, for you. The other thing is, I can't let you ever ask for permission, because that just brings up the selfishness issue again. So I will tell you when you may masturbate, and otherwise you may not."

"But that will be so hard," I said. She buried my face in her shoulder and said, "I know it will, but you have to be strong. I need this. We need this. Trust me, it will make us closer." She began to gently stroke my back. It was so warm and I felt her heart beating through her clothes. I knew I had no choice but to agree.

"At least promise you'll be reasonable," I said, with a little bit of desperation in my voice.

She arched an eyebrow and smiled a guilty smile. "We'll just have to see," she said.

But she was right. The new discipline did make me feel closer to her. And everything I did for her was suffused with a new degree of ecstasy. It was a bit like the front porch of heaven. She began by giving me permission once a week, along with detailed directions of what I was and was not allowed to fantasize about.

"Remember, this is about us now," she said.

Soon, though, permission was given no more than once or twice a month. My chores continued. The periodic confessions and spankings kept on. About every week, she would have me go down on her. And from time to time, she would take me up on the bed and would cuddle with me.

It felt like I was floating on air. My admiration for her as she began to make her original discoveries just grew. My respect for how she was handling me grew, too. My unselfish devotion to her was making me a better person. And now she was smiling a lot, and that was the best treat of all.

One day, after she let me into her apartment to get started on that day's chores, I just noticed a deep inner beauty radiating from her. Her intense control of my intimate psyche made her seem almost like a goddess. Right away, I knelt to the floor and kissed her feet. She raised me up almost immediately and told me she loved what I had done, but she didn't want me ever to think I was allowed to just play with her feet. Then she patted me on the bottom and shooed me off to my tasks.

Afterward I would kneel to kiss her feet whenever I first saw her after entering her apartment. It always made her smile when I did this. (After the first four months she had given me a key so I could help her even when she did not have time to be present.)

This middle period of our relationship went on for nearly two years. I was performing much better at work, and began to get raises and commendations. I was having to spend more time on the job, and even travel out of town some. But Cynthia never complained about having less of my time. Over the months I grew more efficient at the chores she gave me and they took me less time.

A little more than a year into our connection, I came over one evening to help with the chores, and a male friend and she were discussing a technical problem at the dining table. "Oh, hi," I said. This was the first time I had seen any other person at her apartment. "Am I interrupting anything?" She immediately snapped her fingers and pointed at her feet.

Her colleague looked puzzled, as I blushed and just stood there. She scowled and pointed again at her feet. She wanted me to kiss her feet in front of her friend. Her scowl brought me back to reality, and hit me hard with all of the guilt I felt whenever I disappointed her. In spite of the humiliation I felt in having to show my submission in front of this guy, I realized I had to do it. I knelt down immediately and did as she wished.

Just as quickly as I finished, she said, "Now go on. Get to your chores and don't bother us." This hurt, because I almost always had been the center of attention when I was serving her at her apartment. Nevertheless, I did as I was told.

The guy asked her as I left the room what the deal was, and she replied, "Don't worry about him. Like I explained to you, he's my slave," and giggled slightly. They talked in low voices for a couple of minutes and then went back to what they were working on.

A couple of hours later, the guy left and as soon as she shut the door, she called me over to her. "You embarrassed me in front of one of my most valuable colleagues when you showed up and did your 'What, who me?' act."

"But," I replied, "I was really embarrassed having to do that in front of that guy."

"He's not 'that guy,'" she said heatedly. "He's one of the most important post-docs in my department. I have to work with him very efficiently whenever he gives me the time, or I won't make the kind of progress I need to on my thesis project. And I can't have you messing that up. Kneel down in front of me."

I did so. "In fact," she said, "Get over my knee." I did so, with my pants down, and she proceeded to give me one of the hardest spankings she ever had. She had me kneel up in front of her when she got done, but there was no cuddling. Instead, she looked me in the eyes, and said sternly, "You will show me the same respect and render me the same homage when I am here with a colleague or friend, as when we are alone together. Is that understood?"

She continued, "I don't want you to show any hesitation, or any lack of enthusiasm. You should be proud to serve me. I considered it very embarrassing when you failed to show this in front of my colleague, and it better never happen again." I cried and nodded weakly. This was difficult.

Over the next several weeks, she from time to time would have friends, almost all of them colleagues from the lab over to her apartment. I learned to behave just as inconspicuously as she desired, and always to kiss her feet upon greeting her, no matter who was present. One evening, I even cooked and served a meal for six, and cleaned up afterward as her friends and she laughed and enjoyed themselves.

Her guests never spoke to me, except once in a great while to ask me to get them a drink or to bring them their coat or some such. Cynthia encouraged them all to treat my presence as her servant as something perfectly natural. This seemed a bit weird to me at the time. I think maybe she got away with this because of her high standing in her department. She also never entertained faculty when I was present.

A few weeks later, after I completed my chores, she ordered me to strip and then cuddled me on the bed. Her soft caresses, as usual, brought me very close to her and opened my heart to her suggestions. "Do you know I haven't actually had a man since about six months before I came back to school here?" she asked. I nodded, not quite knowing what to say. "I think what it is I might be gay." I started to shake my head no, but she put a hand on my cheek and continued, "Why I'm telling you this now is there's this new exchange student from Thailand. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever met. She's brilliant. We've become very good friends, and just this last week she's started flirting with me.

"What I want to do is have you prepare a totally romantic dinner for the two of us; candles, dim lights great food, wine, soft music, the whole bit, and then serve it like a first class waiter. And then of course you would clean up afterward. I've told her a little bit about how I handle you, and I think it excites her. It would mean so much to me if you did this." She looked at me with pleading in her eyes, and I heard her heart beat harder as she waited for my reply.

Finally I told her I would do it. She sat half way up on the bed and said, "Yes-s!" just like a little kid who'd been given her favorite candy. Then she set the date, told me when to be over and how to dress, and what to cook and what wine to buy. Then she told me to put my clothes back on and go home.

On the appointed evening, I arrived at five with the wine and all the ingredients, and spent the next three hours cooking up a great repast, if I do say so myself. I set the table in a formal style, dimmed the lights and set out candles. I set out the appetizers and uncorked the wine so it could breathe.

As soon as Cynthia and her lovely and exotic looking new friend walked through the door laughing and giggling, I dropped what I was doing, walked over to them, knelt down quickly and kissed Cynthia's feet. "Wow. You have got him trained," her friend said. "I think this is going to be exciting," she giggled. Cynthia gave her a quick hug and kissed her on the cheek.

I took the two women's wraps, and having got preferences gave them each a pre-dinner drink. I brought appetizers as they sat chatting amiably. As soon as the main course was ready they sat down to table, and continued their animated conversation. I didn't hear much of it because I was busy in the kitchen and working hard to make sure the table service went smoothly, but it sounded intense, and it was clear they were getting along very well.

After dinner and dessert, Cynthia asked me to bring them coffee and brandy in the living room. Their conversation continued just as strong, soon being replaced by giggles and soft moans as they began making out. As soon as I got all the dishes in the dishwasher and was drying the last of the pieces that had to be washed by hand, Cynthia came into the kitchen. She was looking very excited and almost out of breath.

"I think it's time for you to go," she whispered. I was a bit disappointed. I had kind of hoped to see some of the show. But I knew she was right. I looked her in the eyes and sincerely wished her good luck, even though I feared if this went really well, I might lose her. But she was so clearly having a wonderful time, that it would have broken my heart as well as hers if I had done anything at all to disrupt it. As I turned to go, she grabbed my face, giving me a kiss on the lips, and saying, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so much for this."

After I got home, I realized she had not given me permission to masturbate for a month, and I lay awake all night in a frenzy, fantasizing about what was happening at Cynthia's apartment.

There was no new email from her the next morning, and for three days afterward. On the fourth day, her email said simply, "Come over at three." I showed up as directed. As soon as I kissed her feet, she told me to strip right there at the door and follow her into the bedroom. Once the blindfold was on me, she pulled me roughly to her sex. I could tell she was angry. She bucked herself against my face so hard my lips were cut and bruised. She wasn't done for almost three hours.

Afterward she pushed my head back, pulled up her pants, and ordered me to get dressed and go. "But what happened?" I asked. "I don't want to talk about it," she almost shouted, and started crying. "Just go. Now," she said. She never mentioned her erstwhile lover again, or said anything else about being gay.

As our connection continued, so did our passionate conversations. But I noticed something. Even though she would tell me a lot about herself, she began to refuse to answer when I, wanting to know more, asked questions. Finally she told me she wanted no more questions from me. Anything she chose not to tell me simply was not my business. Twice when I forgot myself and asked questions in the next four weeks, she stopped the conversation immediately, turned me over her knee, gave me a severe spanking and sent me home.

Her work progressed. She began receiving invitations to conferences and important technical meetings, and won a couple of awards doing so. Her research was nearly complete. Even though she was still a graduate student she started to carry herself with even more pride than before. She told me in a few weeks she would be able to begin writing her thesis and expected to be able to graduate by the end of the year.

One day I was driving to pick her up. She was coming back from presenting a paper. On my way to the airport, I got a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. Maybe it was because she had seemed a little distant the past week. She hadn't talked as much as usual. Also it had been nearly three weeks since I had had a spanking.

At the airport we greeted each other as usual in public with a quick peck on the cheek. I grabbed her bag and we went to my car. I tried engaging her in conversation, but she stayed very quiet, and I, remembering her rule against questions, did not feel free to press the issue.

When we got to her apartment, I carried her bag in, and was getting ready to go unpack for her when she stopped me. She told me to put the bag down and ordered me to strip. When I was naked and on the bed, she got down beside me and we began to cuddle. I realized the last time this had happened was almost a month ago.

Her soft caresses and the closeness I always felt with her opened my heart and I began telling her how much she meant to me. After a few moments, she shushed me and said, "Gregg, I need to talk to you about something."

"About what?"

"You know, I've been practically celibate since about six months before I came back to school here. And it's been great. It's left me free to concentrate on my work and not get distracted by things that don't matter. I'm going to be able to publish three or four papers from my thesis, and what I've done is going to make a real impact.

"And you've helped me be disciplined like this. Your work to take care of my household needs so I haven't even needed to think about it, and the way you let me relieve my frustration on you (and here she smiled) have made all the difference in the world. I really don't think I could have done it without you.

At this my heart began to beat fast. I thought she might finally be willing to make love to me. Her caresses felt so intimate and wonderful. She put one hand on my cheek, and said, "I really want you to stay with me. So you have to listen to what I need to say. When I was at the conference, I met an old friend from where I got my masters. We got to talking, and . . . well I just might as well tell you. We slept together."

At this point I put my hands on each of her arms and pushed her back. I was angry and frustrated and sad and lonely all at once. "You can't have! Why did you do a thing like that?" I blurted out. "After everything I've done for you, why couldn't you just do it with me?"

I suppose if I had been a more forceful person I would have just continued to push her away, gotten out of bed and left her apartment for the last time. But I wasn't. I just lay there a second deep in shock.

She saw the moment and took my face in her hands. "Gregg," she said. "This is exactly why I don't. It's always about you. What you need. Your selfishness would just distract me and I wouldn't be able to focus like I have. I wouldn't have been able to do the work I've done. I wouldn't be able to be me."

She inspected my whole face to try to get a clue what I would do, but I just lay there. She started again. "I've been celibate, as I just told you for over three years, and it was getting to me. I had to face up to the fact that I needed a man inside me again. And it had to be something I could walk away from. Don't you understand? I could never walk away from you."

At this point she began crying, and I couldn't help myself. I put my arms around her and began to comfort her. I caressed her hair and her back and held her close to me until she began to breathe evenly.

She looked at me carefully. "Gregg, I don't want to lose you, but if you can't accept what I have to do to meet my needs, I'm prepared to. You really will have to leave. And I won't ever be able to talk to you again. I would hate that. Please tell me you'll accept this."

At this she caressed very gently along my bottom, and a small jolt of what felt like electricity went through me. "It won't be so bad. I'll be happier. You'll see. Please say yes. Please be there for me."