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A mom and her son grow more intimate.
This is your last chance before the wedding. Once we get married and we sign this. . . . Honey, I'm not kidding with this. I'm very serious. I will absolutely hold you to what we've agreed to."
He thought he should probably re-examine the contract a second time."Mistress, I'll consider it more carefully."
She studied him for awhile, then returned to reading the contract. "Wine. Red."
He scurried to obey.
"Jim!" she called. He rushed back, still holding the bottle and the corkscrew. "What's this about joint accounts you added?"
Her eyes flipped up and leveled him. "Well?" He felt small and weak.
"I . . . I added it for safety reasons."
She pressed her lips together until they were pale. "So, you don't want to sign over your paycheck to me. That's going too far for you. I expected you might cross it out, but you just changed it."
"Mistress . . . I don't want to sign over my paycheck to you. It makes me nervous. It scares the--" He re-considered his words; Mistress didn't like profanity. "It scares me, and having only one account only in your name is not safe. If you get hurt or go to the hospital, I won't be able to pay bills or take care of you. It's a negotiation like you said, so I offered a compromise."
She blinked. A very soft smile appeared on her face. "I see. So, a joint account make sense, but I'm asking you to re-consider your paycheck. I think if you're my slave, you shouldn't be allowed to make buying decisions."
He took a deep breath. "I added it in the margin here. I would have to ask for every major buying decision."
"For every buying decision, I think," Ella corrected. "No matter how small."
"Mistress--" Jim used his 'be reasonable' voice. She hadn't heard that tone for a long time. "Even a cup of coffee? Do you want me to phone you or text you for every tiny decision?"
Her eyes shifted. Her leg bounced. She crossed her arms. "That would be bothersome. I guess we could set a money amount."
He opened his mouth to suggest an amount, but figured anything he suggested would be too high. In a negotiation, it's best to--
But this was his Mistress, the woman of his dreams. He wanted--
What did he really want?
It killed him when the solution appeared in his mind. She'd been using his own desire and that of his cock against him for months. Now his brain was joining suit, conspiring against him in her favor. Begrudgingly, he offered, "What about an allowance?"
She smiled at that, a big smile, a big, happy "gotcha" smile. "I LIKE that. Yes. Hmm, I like that quite a bit." She pointed to a space before her foot and snapped her fingers.
He ran to her and dropped, setting the bottle of wine and corkscrew on the coffee table. His heart was in his throat again, and there were ecstatic butterflies churning in the pit of his stomach. His face was hot; he could feel his own pulse in his cheeks. She'd zapped him again. He couldn't blame the hypnosis; she'd created this response long before Amy had come into their lives.
She reached out and caressed his burning cheek with her hand, sending him spiraling into heaven. His breath quickened; his lips parted; his eyes glazed over. She could see it in his face: love, devotion, adoration. With the softest whisper, she continued to condition his obedience with pleasure, "Good boy."
She was rewarding him for having given himself away, for helping her dominate him far beyond the bedroom into a very personal part of his life. "How much though? Twenty a week?"
Jim's eyes bulged. "Twenty?! Mistress . . . I spend more than that on one lunch!"
She sat up straight and glared at him. "Slave. Did you just yell at me?"
His throat bobbed as he shook his head, croaking out, "No, Mistress. Sorry."
She ran her finger down the length of his nose and suggested with a soft tone, "I was open to negotiating, but you just sealed the deal. Twenty dollars a week until I say otherwise. If you need more, you will need my permission . . . and a very good explanation."
There were further negotiations.