Kelly stood in the kitchen, humming to herself as she kneaded the dough for the evening's meal. She liked baking, and since they could afford for her to stay home she made it a point to bake fresh baked goods at least twice a week. Corm loved it, and always went on and on about how good it was. That pleased her, because it reinforced the fact that he loved her for things besides sex. No matter how often he told her this, no matter how often they'd stay up late talking about politics or literature or art, some small part of her still feared that he'd taken her only for the physical part of their relationship.
It had been three months since he'd found her in the hammock that afternoon and made her his. Even now, the thought of that afternoon made her blush and smile at the same time. On her front porch no less, in full view for all the neighbors to see. She didn't think anyone had seen them, though the couple across the street, Brenda and Mark, always made a point to wave to her now where they hadn't before. Kelly had discussed it with Corm, but he'd just laughed at her concerns. So what if someone saw them, he asked?
She knew what she was, she knew who she was, but the realities of it were still sinking in. He'd liberated her, freed her from the constraints of 'good' behavior and unlocked a part of herself she'd barely been aware of, let alone expressed. Now, she wasn't sure if she could go back. The ability to fulfill her desires in an environment free from reproach was a precious gift. He gave it to her, and she loved him for that.
The dough needed a little flour, it was too wet for a pie crust right now...if she didn't dry it out it would stick to the plate and burn. And she made a point never to burn her crusts. She reached over and scooped out a handful of flour and began to work it into the dough.
She was dressed, as she often did when she was home by herself, in a plain cotton dress. Left to her own devices she preferred simple clothing. Her friends often complained that she didn't take care of herself, that she didn't let her looks work for her. Prior to meeting Corm, she would have disagreed with them. Since then, however, he'd forced her out of her box through a combination of gifts and a ruthless purge of her wardrobe. Her underwear collection, a rather boring assortment of bras and frumpy panties, had been the first to go, replaced by satin, lace, and mesh ... when she was even allowed to wear such things. Next he'd attacked her collection of tops, discarding anything he thought was too frumpy or hid her form too much. Corm knew full well how lush her body was, and unlike her, fully intended to display it. Her new clothes were cut lower and tighter, and emphasized her curves.
Kelly hadn't ever thought in that mind frame, and so had been at first embarrassed, then pleasantly surprised, and finally titillated at the hungry looks she'd received from strangers. Women now viewed her with a combination of admiration and disdain, and most men openly displayed their lust for her.
There, the dough was the perfect consistency. She began to roll it out, spreading a little flour on the large stone cutting board.
The past three months had been exciting, scary, and strange all at the same time. Since the day he'd caught her masturbating and taken her for his own, her body had been used more frequently and in new ways she hadn't even imagined. In each case however, whether it was the blindfold he'd made her wear their second night together or the photographs he'd taken of her (and then framed for display in his house) or the body painting, she responded eagerly despite years of convention to the contrary. He freed something in her, let her release that inner urge to be wanton, to be lustful.
Some would have called her a whore for the things she did.
Corm did.
And she loved her new title. Because he didn't call her "a" whore. He called her "his" whore, "his" slut. He emphasized the connection, spoke to the fact that he was the one giving her the gift of herself. To be called a whore or a slut by anyone else would have insulting. When he did it, it made her wet.
Just thinking about how she'd changed, about all they'd done together made her a little aroused.
She sensed his presence before she could actually tell he was there. When she stopped rolling, the faint sound of his breathing reached her. But otherwise, she might as well have been imagining things. Kelly stopped rolling and rubbed her forearm against her forehead, smearing a fine dusting of flour there as she did so. Sighing, she turned to get a dishtowel.
One firm hand stopped her, gently exerting pressure on her side to prevent her from turning. His fingertips just barely grazed the swell of her right breast, but suddenly she was painfully aware of how frumpy she looked. She was tired, covered in flour, and dressed in a shapeless cotton dress much like the ones he'd thrown out.
Kelly tried to turn into him, hoping on some small level that his fingers would reach out and caress her, but the didn't. Instead, his other had appeared her hip, pointed down with the flow of her pelvis toward her mons venus, and exerted equal pressure to return her to her original position. She relaxed and let herself be moved.
"How long have you been watching me?" She asked?
"Not long enough. Turn around and keep going. I like to watch you work." Obediently she did so, turning and resuming her ministrations with the dough. Knowing he was behind her, however, was terribly distracting. What was he doing back there? What was he thinking? Was he really watching her? Why was he watching her?
Was she doing something wrong? A small doubt crept into her mind.
"No, my pet, you're doing fine." How did he always seem to know? "I just love to watch you cook. I know you like it and it's a joy to see you enjoy yourself."
"I've missed you," she said tentatively, not quite believing his explanation for why she had to turn around. Why couldn't she just turn and kiss him? Wrap herself in his arms like she'd done at the end of every day for the last two months? What was he doing? He'd never been like this before.
"Keep going," his voice told her that it was more of a command than a request. Kelly took the pie plate and began to shape the dough to it. You had to crinkle the dough just right for the pie to look the way she wanted it to.
His hands slid down from her sides to her legs, caressing her thighs, then her calves, then sliding up underneath the cotton dress to move up the length of her. He stopped when he reached her butt, and she could hear the slight "hmm" of disappointment as he encountered her white cotton panties.
"What are these?"
How strange it was that she didn't even think to question his right to ask that. Kelly pushed back slightly in response, her breathing a little faster.
"I...umm...I was just home by myself and didn't think I would see you until later tonight, so I thought I would wear my panties while working around the house, and then prepare myself for you later."
"Even though I told you not to?"
"Yes."
"Why would you disobey me?"
"I didn't. I figured I could get dressed for you before you arrived. I had plenty of time."
"Did you?"
