I met her while running along the lake. It was cold, especially in March at six in the morning when it’s still dark and the north wind whistles off the lake can chill your bones. But a northern girl knows how to dress for winter and I was sick of being stuck indoors, sick of being alone, sick of the damned virus, and a world that had just plain shut down.I needed exercise, I needed to keep in shape, needed to keep the weight off and keep myself lovely for my Mistress. I had to find a way to keep up something like a normal life. Early in the morning, there were few people to bump into running along the lake. Then and there I could run, keep healthy, and maybe pretend the world was normal.A few regulars came out for their morning run. Mostly we gave each other room, nodded, and ran on. One woman stood out; she was tall, slender, with pretty brown eyes above her mask. Late forties I guessed, maybe early fifties. Older than me. Not that it especially mattered on my morning run.She had blonde hair in a long braided ponytail that hung almost to her waist. I smiled at her as we passed. Though she could not see it through my mask, I imagined her smiling back at me from behind her mask. For weeks that’s all there was. We gave each other a wide berth for health reasons and headed our own way.After my run on school days, I came home to take off the collar I cherish and set it aside on my bedtime table. My collar was a gift from my Mistress, a precious sign of mutual love and fidelity. I showered then it was time to dress. I never put on much makeup, just enough, putting on a bra, a loose top to minimize my full chest, a long skirt then drove to school.Teachers greeted each other from across the hall, and I always spoke to Rachel Silverman, the other second-grade teacher. She was middle-aged, short and showing it, but with happy dark eyes and a perpetual grin.“Ready for subtraction?” she asked with a grin. The school curriculum said this was the day we were to introduce subtraction.“I am. Not sure if my kids are.”“Subtract your fears.” She hugged me. We were more than co-workers, we were friends. Rachel knew the real me. She had been my mentor when I first arrived at the school. She and her husband Bob had often hosted Sheila and me before My Mistress relocated. Bob was a wizard in the kitchen whose cuisine gave ample reason for Rachel’s spreading bottom. They had three kids, five grandchildren, and a big hairy mutt who knew a soft touch when he saw one.Every time I visited, he always came to rest his head on my knee. They knew me and didn’t care what we were, nor talk about us in a school system where just being gay was enough for many to think you a pedophile. We talked about the curriculum for a few minutes then I entered my room to prepare the whiteboard.The computer went on at fifteen before eight, always early. I waited in a chair in the center of my room for my children to log, so I could welcome them. One by one we greeted each other. Every day at eight-fifteen class time began with my official welcome. Then I stood, pushed the chair aside, assumed my pointer, and welcomed them all as a class.“Good morning Miss Davalos,” they said as one, with some enthusiasm, finding a way though they were all far apart, home and staring at a screen.I smiled sweetly at them, pleased to see them, missing them terribly, and then I began. “Today we will begin to learn about subtraction… “ So I began my workday, trying to instruct faces on a screen. I had their pictures blown up on the wall behind the cameras with their names. I’d read all their files more than once. I’d talked to their teachers from last year. Teaching like this was nigh impossible. I saw them as a grid of children, on their individual webcams. Sometimes, they stared at me, at times leaning forward, other times blankly, bored.I tried to get to know them, to read their body language, to see who was getting the lesson and who was lost. Take Brandon, the boy with such haunted dark eyes, head tilted forward, watching. As a second-grader, he had already been in three different schools as he bounced from home to home. His father was in prison, his mother an addict, and who fed her habit through prostituting herself. For second grade Brandon was staying with his great-grandmother. She was well-meaning, and a bit overwhelmed by a quick boy at a time of life when she deserves to relax.I wanted to go down to my knees in front of him look him directly in the eyes and let him know someone is listening when he speaks. But I could not. There were so many things I could not do. It was so hard to tell when they confused, getting it, bored, distracted, or upset because they’re hungry and many were. And God forbid, how to tell when one has been abused? How was I to tell? I didn’t know. But I did the best I could because in the age of Covid-19 our best was all anyone could do.At the end of each school day, I logged off after my last almanbahis student and shut down the school’s computer. I filled out my daily reports, looked over my lesson plans, made adjustments, then talked to other teachers about things I had observed. Once home I hung up my blouse, my skirt, peeled off the modest bra I wore for school, and tossed my panties went directly to the hamper. Then I went to the closet and take up the collar Sheila had put on me.Carefully I adjusted it, checking in the mirror to see if I looked right. I then chose a corset from the three in my closet, usually the red one, and cinch it up to support and display my ample breasts. And then I would log on to my own computer and await the pleasure of my Mistress. I am Anita Davalos, I was twenty-eight then. Most thought me cute, of medium height, with natural red hair that hung over my shoulders, a sprinkling of freckles, dimples, and curves that drew unwanted male stares.Every morning of social distance began with my run along the lake, and almost every day that tall beauty and I passed each other. It was normal to see some other runners, walkers, and bikers. Politeness decreed that if you came up from behind, you announce yourself. Then we began the Social Distance Dance, of shifting to maintain at least six feet – ten or more is the ideal – as we passed. I don’t know if we always succeeded, but most people tried. As March gave way to April and April to May clothes came off as the mercury rose. We smiled and said, “Hi,” then ran past each other. Until one day that tall slender woman stopped in her tracks, staring at me, hands on her hips. It surprised me enough that I stopped too. She asked in a clear authoritative voice, “Who are you and who is your Owner?” Her language was formal, precise, in the way that a Dominant uses when speaking to a bottom like me.I understood what she meant and in a moment it came to me why she had asked. My collar had become visible to her as the need for insulation diminished. I know I blushed beneath my mask. But her question was pertinent, it showed she was in the community, one of us. “I’m Anita. I belong to Mistress Sheila.”Her eyes perked up at the name, and her mask flexed into what was likely a smile. “Sheila? Zaftig brunette with black frizzy hair and olive skin?”“She is my Mistress.”“What a small world! I know your Mistress well. She and I were once close. How is Sheila? I heard she was overseas.”“She is abroad, and not sure when, or even if she will be able to return.”“When next you chat with your Mistress tell her Miss Kimberly sends greetings.”“I will tell her.” I bowed politely to my better, well not exactly “better”, but the term fit the roles that had chosen us. BDSM relationships resemble a play improvised in real-time, where each person has a defined role. Everything works better if all embrace their defined role. Of course, no one is in character all the time, nor are roles a straightjacket; in fact dominant and sub enjoy a relationship as equals most of the time. Except in bed and sometimes even then.We chatted for a few moments then Miss Kimberly pantomimed blowing me a kiss and resumed her run. As I resumed mine, head spinning, A dominant! What were the odds I would meet one out on a run – clearly astronomical! And a pretty one, to boot! Older yes, but she knew my Mistress.I knew I was free to pursue her if I chose, a privilege granted when Mistress moved abroad. Of course, Sheila would have to be told. I kept no secrets from my Mistress. But I was tired of one of us having to get up at oh-dark-thirty just to chat. I was tired of spanking myself. I was tired of romance through a screen.But the virus didn’t care what I thought. We were not masked for our pleasure. We were masked because an invisible plague was killing people and had infected people I know. No one I knew personally had died, but I knew of people who had died, like John Prine and the leader of the band Fountains of Wayne. And so many more. There had been no kink community munches for months, no parties or gatherings where I might hope to entice a dominant. There had been loneliness, and zoom dating, but as much as I loved Sheila the computer was hardly a substitute for the real thing.That night Mistress as and I talked across our computer screens, I had my hands behind my chair when I asked her, my breasts bared for her, my eyes focussed on hers when I asked. “Do you know Miss Kimberly?”My Mistress’s eyes got big for a moment and she smiled broadly. “I do. I used to belong to her.”That shocked me. Thus far I had only thought of Sheila only as dominant, but it never occurred to me that she might have chosen to kneel before another. Yet it made sense. Kimberly was older, lovely and sometimes the best dominants are former subs. “What was she like?”Mistress smiled and remembered. “Very skilled with cane and flogger. Very precise, but loving and responsive. I learned most of my rope almanbahis yeni giriş work from her.” I could see her eyes roll back for a moment as Mistress reminisced to some moments long ago, but still sweet. “She’s a very smart woman. I think you two will get along. How did you meet her?”“On my morning run. I had my collar on and she asked who I belonged to.”“She would notice that sort of thing! Do you run with her?”“Not exactly. Let’s just say our paths cross regularly.”Mistress nodded and then leaned into the webcam, face suddenly serious. “Darling, you know I cannot be there. That’s why I released you when I left.”“I don’t want to be released! I love being Yours.” I had not wanted her release when she gave it, though her logic was of course impeccable. But some bonds are too important to lightly cast aside. I take my collar very seriously and wanted Mistress to know that.Sheila smiled at me and her eyes softened as she prepared to make a point. “Anita, I love you being mine. But it would irresponsible for me to think I can reasonably take care of a woman whom I cannot see for the foreseeable future. Your career has you where you are. Mine has taken me here, and may never take me back to you. We both know that. Darling, you deserve better. You need to give yourself to another. Consider Kimberly. Give her a chance.”Her words hurt. Tears came to my eyes and rolled down my lips. Yes, Sheila’s point was entirely reasonable, thoughtful even, and caring. Still, I did not want her gone. I didn’t want to admit she was probably never coming back. My brain told me she was never coming back. My heart refused to agree.“Baby, you know I’m right. I’m not leaving you. I’m just saying that you might want to let her know you’re available. You should leave your collar behind for your next run.”Sometimes doing the sensible thing feels wrong. Sometimes doing the right thing feels wrong. And that’s how I felt. For the next few weeks, I kept my collar on. I didn’t want to admit my limits. I loved the comfort of being owned, the stability. I didn’t want to admit that Sheila had essentially given up on us when she took the job in Hong Kong. But hadn’t I given up too? I could have quit teaching and gone with her. I could have altered my life for her. Or maybe that was never possible for us.China is not particularly gay friendly, and we both always knew they would one day put the clamps on Hong Kong. There were, and still are, places she and I could never go as a couple. Not like a straight couple might have chosen. Sheila was right, but leaving my collar at home amounted to admitting that we couldn’t be together. At that moment surrendering my hopes was the proverbial bridge too far.But from that day Kimberly and I greeted each other. Some days we stopped and talked for a while. Bit by bit the details of our lives emerged. She asked me about teaching remotely and my Mistress. I asked her about a home office and her submissive. Turns out her name was Jeannie and she lived in Miami. They used to fly every other week to be together. Like many other things, weekend trips were no longer possible. Like Sheila and I, she and Jeannie survived online.May turned to June when I ran only in gym shorts and a sports bra. One day I met her going the other way, at a stopping point. It was hot, even at seven in the morning and we were both soaked. She smiled at me as I approached. From six feet away, I held up a water bottle and tossed it her way.Kimberly caught it, her eyes grinned, and presumably, her mouth did too beneath her mask. Only she took it, found a park bench, and peeled down her mask enough to grin at me. She was pretty, older yes, some lines on her face but lovely, and her grin was wide and toothy as she lifted the bottle to drink.“Suppose I should have sanitized it first. You’ve seen the numbers haven’t you?”“I think we all have,” I said, choosing an adjacent park bench, maintaining proper social distance. They were bad, depressing. The virus retreated only to advance again. Relationships progressed like a dance; one where you never come close to your partner, even though you may wish the opposite. One moves forward – the other shifts back, warily keeping distance until partners find a safe spot somewhere in the middle. I took out my other bottle, popped the top, and took a long swig. And then I pulled down my mask to show my face. “Mistress told me she once belonged to you.”Kimberly took a sip and leaned back stretching her arms wide out, legs neatly crossed. “She did. She was… special. I was proud of her. I didn’t want it to end, actually. Sometimes you have to do the thing you least want to do. I’ve regretted it ever since. I’m glad she moved on. Honestly, I always thought her more dominant than submissive.”“She has done very well by me.” I wondered what had torn them apart, but neither spoke of it, and neither spoke ill of the other. That was both odd and reassuring.Kimberly almanbahis giriş chuckled. “The fact you’re still wearing that collar this long after she left proves that. Pretty, loyal – out taking care of yourself in heat and cold. Sheila wouldn’t go for a woman who wasn’t smart. I’d bet there are many who’d be proud to call you theirs.”I blushed a little and seeing that made her smile broaden. I took a drink, looked away to gather myself then said. “Well, you really don’t know me yet.”“I’d like to.”The words were simple, but they hung in the air. An expression of interest had been made. The truth is I wanted to know her. Normally a dominant waits for the sub to offer herself, to make her interest clear. On the other hand, she wasn’t offering me a collar. Just a chance to get to know each other. There would be no broken oaths. So I asked her for her phone number. She gave it without hesitation. I typed it into my phone and pressed dial. A moment later her phone rang. Just like that, we were connected.A few minutes later, we were both running again. I felt the circulation in my veins, the rush of endorphins passed through me as I pushed myself to run a little harder and faster. Soon afterward I was showered, dressed, and in front of my students, struggling to keep bored children’s minds focused on basic arithmetic. About noon. I received a text message from Kimberly. It was polite, a simple just, “glad to finally have contact with you.”And it went that way for a while. We waved to each other as we ran. And later there would be a text message. Or I would send one, simple things, an appreciation for the weather, a man to look out for, a loose dog who likes to chase. And of course the funny cat videos and other frivolities. One day the tone took a decidedly flirtatious turn when Kimberly suggested she really enjoyed how my college gym shorts hugged my bottom. I smiled then replied: “I love that you run in spandex.” Which she often did, and quite well.That was it for a few days. Then out of the blue, she sent me a picture of a riding crop. The accompanying message was simple. “Thinking of ordering this. What do you think?”I was surprised. At first, I didn’t know what to say, the sight of it flustered me, but it warmed me too. I felt… wanted. But I did not feel right approving a device that might never kiss my own bottom. So I took a picture of my hairbrush and sent it back with the message. “This is a dual-purpose device.”I got an, “LOL,” in return. Then one night, a zoom invitation came my way from Kimberly.I accepted. As the hour approached, I worried. So I did what I would for a date, my makeup, arranged my hair, and selection of wardrobe. Not wanting to seem too eager for this waist-up call, I chose a favored bra and a tight t-shirt. I put on some blush and made a final check of my makeup before logging on by now realizing I wanted this to be like a date.No, I wanted it to be a date. So I took off my collar and set it aside and I waited for Kimberly to log on.If I had gone casual, Kimberly had chosen differently. Her makeup was pale, lipstick black, eyes dark. She wore a black leather bustier that pushed up her small breasts to make for cleavage, and her long braided ponytail hung over her shoulder and down her front as she appeared for me on the screen. She even wore a black-billed cap of the sort favored by bikers in the fifties. It was the look of a tough, confident woman, who knew she had it and didn’t give a damn what anyone thought. I saw her as a Dominant for the first time. I liked what I sawShe looked… hot.“Hello Anita,” she purred, a small smile forming on her lips. If she noticed my collar was off she said nothing, but I stretched out my neck to make it impossible to miss. I studied her, pretty, perfectly turned out, every detail nailed. Yes, she was older, but it really didn’t matter. She wasn’t in Hong Kong.But her formal bondage attire also told me I had seriously underdressed. “My apologies to you Miss Kimberly. I will dress more appropriately next time.” I could have dressed is I did for Sheila.“Nonsense. You are not mine, and under no obligation to dress in any particular way. You have received no instructions. We’re meeting, that’s all. Don’t worry: I think you’re pretty, as I did from the moment I laid eyes on you.”“I was dressed in winter clothing then.”“You had pretty brown eyes and you cared about yourself. That’s a good combination. And I liked your ‘dual-purpose’ response? Do you enjoy the hairbrush?”Through the screen, her eyes seemed to look through me. I shifted in my seat, thinking back to my last real spanking, bent over the back of the couch, each blow making my bottom shake and burn. “Yes, Miss, I very much enjoy the hairbrush.”She nodded, studied me for a moment, the grinned. “Actually a hairbrush has three purposes. Sometimes you can use it to brush hair.” She let her joke resonate for a moment reached down to her right for something. Up came a flogger, red suede leather, wide tines, no balls for extra pain, and the tines exquisitely woven together, spread out in both her hands for me to see. “What about this.? My Jeannie says this is her favorite.”