A few times in the last couple of weeks, a cute girl has been sending me post-run selfies, so this story is dedicated to her. I’ve been thinking about exercise-domming quite a lot recently, and I also love how I’ve subverted the phrase count them for me.
I get back from my run red-faced and out of breath. My legs are aching – the good kind of ache, that follows a satisfying workout or vigorous sex – and all I can think about is hopping into a hot shower and washing the sweat and exhaustion away. I’m so focused on the feeling of hot water running down my body that I forget that there’s something I’m meant to do first.
Stripping off my running clothes is always satisfying, and I do so after having switched on the shower and waiting for the water to heat up. That’s why I’m undressed when a woman who is dressed beautifully enters the bathroom and switches off the water. She leaves without looking at me.
“My office, pretty girl,” she calls over her shoulder, her voice firm and cold. I follow her down the passage, feeling embarrassingly naked.
By the time I’m standing in front of her desk – the sharp look she gave me when I headed for the cosy armchair in the corner of her office that I’ve claimed as ‘mine’ stops me from sitting there – I’ve worked out what I did wrong, and I’m cursing myself. I know better than to try and talk my way out of it. We have few pieces of protocol in our relationship, but ever since I asked my mistress to help motivate me to go running more regularly, there’s one she’s been very strict about.
“Why didn’t you come and find me when you were back from your run?”
The feeling of having disappointed her, mixed with the Pavlovian response of her controlling dominant voice that turns me on… this is why I asked her to include this in our d/s dynamic, but right now I’m regretting it just a little bit.
“I was heading to have a shower.” She raises her eyebrows and I quickly add on the word she’s expecting. “Miss. Sorry: I was heading to have a shower, miss.”
“Turn around,” she commands, and I spin slowly for her, feeling ashamed and exposed and – in front of my fully dressed wife – even more naked than I’d thought possible. “Can you remind me what we agreed you were going to do after you went running or went to the gym for a workout?”
“I was to come and present myself to you, Miss, because you should always get to see your girl flushed and sweaty, even when you haven’t made her that way through sex or kink.”
“Precisely. And as you didn’t, you now are going get down and give me twenty sit-ups, so I can see my girl all red and sweaty for me.”
“But I did a 6k run, Miss, so I’ve met my exercise goal for today.”
“That’s thirty sit-ups.”
“Mistress, surely you understa–”
“Forty. Are you going to keep talking or do as you’re told?”
I stand there with my mouth open, struggling to swallow the words that I’m sure will only get me into more trouble. She smiles at me, so sweetly, and I know she’ll be enjoying the sight of her girl standing helpless before her. And then my cunt betrays me, growing wet at my embarrassment and her control.
Focussing on the heat between my legs, I get into the position.
“Good girl. Now count them for me.”
I quickly find that counting sit-ups put me into a similar headspace as I fall into when I’m ordered to count spanks. I can see her eyes resting hungrily on my exposed cunt, and I know I’m getting more aroused as she watches me get out of breath and
When I’ve finished, though, I look up at her grinning. “That was new,” I say, preparing to push myself up.
“Nu uh, stay exactly where you are, pretty girl. You’re down on your knees, where you belong, and you have something else to do for me first.
She spreads her legs, and I see that despite the swirly skirt and thigh-high knitted stockings, she isn’t wearing knickers. Her cunt is just as wet as mine. I feel a strange kind of proud that my Mistress is so turned on just by watching me. I crawl into position and run my nose down from her clit between her labia, inhaling slowly to savour the smell of her arousal. I think it’s my favourite scent, and I bury my face in her cunt in a moment of self-indulgent delight before I start fucking her with my tongue and my fingers.
“Good girl. And maybe, when you’ve got me off, I’ll come and shower with you…”
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.