



















1.



It just slipped out.





They were making love. It had finally happened. After all that time, after all those weeks of longing for him, she had finally gotten him into her bedroom. They had been kissing and caressing and she’d rolled him over before he could resist. She’d mounted him delightedly. At last! At last! And she’d penned him to the bed below her. To her amazement and delight, he lay sweet and submissive under her! Oh, Lord!





She rode him fiercely. She crushed into him. She pushed him deep into the mattress and held him captive beneath her. She heard his breath coming in great gulps and his eyes were closed.





And, before she knew what she was doing, she commanded him. “Say it!”





His eyes opened. “What?” he gasped out.





“Say my name.”





“Your name?”





“Say my name, bitch.”





There was a flash of amusement on his face, and pleasure, and he said it. “Miss Holland.”





“Again!”





“Holland!”





And then she rode him to orgasm after orgasm.











2.





She woke up in the morning. He wasn’t in the bed. But she could hear him moving about. He was in the kitchen doing something.





She shuddered. What in the name of God had possessed her? How could she have said that? “Say my name.” Unbelievable.





Well, she thought, sadly, that buggers that.





She’d known Timmy for months. He was a waiter at her favorite cafe. She’d walked in one day to get a coffee and a scone, and he’d been there, the most beautiful young man she’d ever seen. He was small, delicate, smoothly muscled like a dancer, and very graceful. She’d thought to herself, I’ll have you.





It hadn’t been easy. She was not a natural seducer, and sometimes she came on way too strong. It served her well in business. She was now on her way up and everyone knew there was no stopping her. “She’s a power to be reckoned with,” everyone said.





But when it came to wooing a man, particularly one of such loveliness, that didn’t help at all.





She had kept at it, though. Tipping him lavishly. Getting into conversations with him. Then, one day, offering him a ride home from work when it was raining. He didn’t have a car. Then, it was a lunch or two. Then, dinner. Then, finally, she had him home!





And now, I’ve ruined it, she thought. He must be laughing himself silly “Say my name.” How idiotic.





She thought she might as well face the music. She stood, put on her big terry cloth robe, and headed out into the kitchen.





He was busily cooking something. He was nude except for a flowery apron that he’d found under the sink. It had been a gift from her sister. She’d never worn it herself. Way too girly. But it seemed to suit him.





He turned when she came in. “Ha, there you are,” he said, in his musical little voice. “I thought I was going to have to come get you.” He poured her coffee and handed her a cup.





















3.





“You know you’re way around a kitchen,” she said, thoughtfully.





“Of course. I’m in the food services trade, after all. I was a cook for a while. I thought about being a chef.”





“Really?” She sipped the coffee. It was delicious. “My God,” she said, “this is really good.”





“Thank you. But you really need to wash your pot more often. The old oils and such can spoil the taste. I’m afraid I’ve been doing a bit of cleaning as well. You honestly need someone to look after you.”





“I, well, I don’t pay much attention to things like...”





“To things like eating,” he answered for her. “I went through your fridge. Left over Chinese from three weeks ago. Some cold cuts. A half eaten sandwich from the deli. For heaven sakes. The wonder is that you didn’t starve to death.”





“I’ve been busy,” she said, blushing.





“Ha! I say again, you need someone to take care of you.”

























4.





The aroma of whatever he was baking came tantalizingly from the oven. “That smells wonderful,” she said, amazed.





“Thank you. Cranberry muffins. I was lucky to find something in your kitchen I could work with. Though I am afraid to ask how long that bag of flour’s been in your cabinet.”





“There’s flour in my cabinet?”





“Oh, Christ,” he laughed.





“It still smells wonderful.”





“We’ll see. I enjoy baking.”





“Why didn’t you stay a cook? I mean, why didn’t you become a chef?”





“Because I can make a lot more money as a waiter. People like to give me tips.” He winked at her. “And I don’t mind taking orders.”





“I see.”

























5.





He hopped up on one of the kitchen stools. “Ooo,” he said, as his naked behind touched the cold metal. “Forgot I wasn’t wearing anything down there.”





She sat, too, but in one of the chairs around the kitchen table. Well, best get it over with. “I want to apologize.”





“For what?”





“For that thing I said last night. It was stupid.”





“Thing? What thing?”





“You know. Say my name.”





For a moment he looked utterly bewildered. Then, he said, “Oh, that. Why on earth are you apologizing for that?”





“It was stupid. It was cliched. It was idiotic.”





“It was?”





“Of course. Didn’t you think so?”





“Not in the least. It was kind of a turn-on, actually.” He hopped off the stool. “Better check the muffins.” He opened the stove door and looked in. “Excellent.” He took a couple of oven mitts and extracted a muffin pan full of something warm, brown, and wonderful. “We’ll let those cool.”





























6.





He hopped back up on the stool. “Ouch. No warmer.” Then he gave her an odd, calculating look. “You don’t know why you said it?”





“No. It just happened. I don’t know where it came from.”





He sighed. “You really don’t know, do you?”





“No.”





Where did it come from? It came from inside you.”





“Pardon me?”





Off he came from the stool again. In a few graceful steps, he was in front of her. Then, with a sudden twist, he was sitting in her lap. She gasped at the feel of him.





“Much better,” he said. “Way warmer than that nasty old metal stool.” He touched her cheek. “Now, listen boss lady, I’m going to tell you all about yourself. Are you ready?”





“I guess.”





“It’s like this. You try to treat everyone like an equal. But deep down...” He touched her lightly on the chest, between her breasts and just over her heart. “Deep down, the real you is commanding. It is dominating. It knows it is, you know, in charge.”





Well, yes, she thought. She supposed that was true.





“And that’s the part of you that told me, Say My Name, Bitch. It was the real part of you. And that was the part of you that talked to the real part of me.”





Wait? “What do you mean, the real part of you?”





“The part of me that loves you, and adores you, and really is your, er, your bitch.”





She was so startled she nearly dropped him. “Are you serious?”





“Of course. You’re my Lord and Master. Okay, Lady and Mistress. You’re the one that gives orders. I’m the one that takes orders. I can’t change that. I don’t want to change that. I enjoy it.”





She watched him in amazement. “You’re my, uh, bitch?”

























7.





“Yes. Though, when we’re not in bed, maybe we could use a different word. Something a little less earthy. Houseboy? Boytoy? Your boyish bride? Subby-Hubby? We’ll think of something.”





It took her a few seconds to put it all together. Boyish Bride? What did he just say? “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”





“Well, we ought to give it a while to make sure. But, if everything clicks, maybe love, honor, and obeying...you...is on the table.”





Oh my God! Could it be true? She looked deep into his beautiful eyes. “And you really and truly don’t mind taking my orders?”





“Not in the least.”





She nodded. “All right,” she said, with a laugh. “In that case, you may bring me my breakfast. At once. And...say my name.”





“Now you’re talking, Miss Holland” he said. And then, with a happy smile, he jumped to serve them both the muffins.



















