Trish's Visit

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Trish’s Visit.

Wednesday.

Jane sipped her mid-morning coffee and clicked the icon on her PC screen. The familiar form popped into view. All her favourites were listed. She decided on salad, followed by fresh pasta and her favourite sauce. Underneath were listed her usual instructions, and she selected ‘Buy fruit and veg from organic store’, ‘Dust and vacuum everywhere’ and ‘Clean oven’. Then in the ‘Additional Notes’ section at the bottom she typed ‘fix trash can’, and hit ‘SEND’. Jane was in her office, where she worked as an administrator for the State pension scheme. It wasn’t exactly a high-powered job, but she’d been doing it for some years now and knew the work inside out. Her job was secure and reasonably well paid. And of course the pension was good.

Later that day, when she knew what sort of mood she would be in when she got home, she sent further instructions, mostly from the standard form, about what music she wanted when she arrived home, what sort of lighting, what he was to wear, and so on.

Driving her small Toyota home through the Minneapolis dark and rain, Jane remembered it hadn’t always been like this–not by a long way. She was in her late forties, divorced, with two kids grown up and living on the West coast. After her marriage of twenty years broke up she felt totally broken up herself, and for two years she’d just kept going to work and coming home to an empty house, eating instant meals and watching repeats of Frazier. Somehow she’d gained a bit of extra padding. She didn’t hold out much hope for the future. Even when she did eventually make an effort to pull herself out of it, nothing worked. She tried Pilates, the usual diets, Angel Therapy, internet dating. Sometimes she’d sit for an hour in Starbucks in the vague hope of meeting an interesting man (or a passable one). But nothing worked.

She pulled into her drive and smiled a satisfied smile to herself. The lights were on, the curtains closed. What was it Trish had said? ‘ Deep down you already know what you really want: You just have to make contact with it ”. And that is just what Trish had done—she’d helped Jane make contact with her inner needs– and inner strength.

The first time Jane heard about Female Supremacy it all sounded very strange. But it was obvious even on a superficial outsider’s view that Trish’s second marriage, to Hank, had given Trish immense confidence and, apparently, great happiness. Trish was a few years older than Jane and had gone through a particularly abusive first marriage. But now she was a changed woman.

” Listen honey, there are thousands of men out there who would give anything for the chance to live a life of service and devotion to a strong and experienced and mature woman like you, who knows what she wants. It’s true. What you need is to make a quality decision on your part to explore this, and be prepared to spend a lot of time selecting the right man. You’re sure going to have a lot of choice.”

Jane could hardly believe it, but it had obviously worked for Trish, and the idea didn’t just intrigue her, it got hold of her and more and more it began to excite her. Jane thought maybe this really could be the door to a better life for her.

Then one evening Trish had invited Jane around to her place.

” I’m in charge of everything around here. Hank knows his place. He treats me as his Goddess—when I let him”, laughed Trish. And it was certainly true. Hank obeyed all her orders immediately and even seemed to anticipate most of what she wanted. He served them both wine and disappeared again into the kitchen. Trish explained there were some basics Jane needed to get right from the start.

It was over the course of that long evening, fuelled by several glasses of wine, that Jane listened intently and Trish described the main elements of her lifestyle. Listening to Trish talk about all the wonderful advantages and benefits that evening had been the turning point for Jane. She decided to go for it with all her resources of energy and intellect.

Now, six months later, Jane was at her own home, with her own lifestyle. John opened the door for her. Then he kissed her hand reverently. He took her coat and hat and scarf and hung them up. Then he knelt and removed her boots, replacing them with her newly-warmed slippers.

” Mistress, would you prefer wine or coffee while I prepare your bath?”

‘ No”, Jane said, ” That can wait. First I’m going to inspect what you’ve done cleaning the oven. I hope it’s good for your sake. I’ve had a long day”.

In these situations the routine was always the same. In the kitchen John handed his Mistress her whip and bent over, offering his ass to her. He was naked underneath his French maid’s outfit, apart from the chastity device Jane had installed. And he was clean-shaven all over. He was seven years younger than her and, Jane thought, actually had quite a nice ass. That was partly due to her. She kept him in trim by sending him to the gym three times a week, with special emphasis on exercises to keep his butt firm. The oven was gleaming.

” Good boy” She said, and casually patted his butt a couple of times. Since discovering this ‘pre-emptive’ technique, as she called it, she found it ideal whenever she wanted the bathroom or the kitchen or the windows cleaned, or some other task requiring inspection.

” Now go and run my bath, and I’ll have my coffee in the bathroom too.” Usually, she didn’t have to enforce discipline in these situations. But occasionally she did.

Whatever the occasion, one of the things Trish strongly urged—apart from the fact that it is essential to apply the whip regularly—was that a powerful woman like Jane should feel absolutely natural and relaxed when enforcing her natural female authority over her man. And Trish said the more Jane did it the more powerful and relaxed she’d become. Trish said this was just something she would grow into automatically over time. In fact, Jane very soon found it was second nature. Quite often she caned or strapped her man when she was wearing her old jogging pants and fluffy slippers. It was when she was enforcing her authority like this that she felt most relaxed.

The Golden Rule during a scolding, or discipline, session—apart from absolute obedience to Jane of course—was that her boy was allowed only to say: ”Yes Ma’am”. And then only when addressed by her. Otherwise it was absolute silence, until she had finished making her point or administering discipline. And Jane certainly didn’t spare the rod; she’d had far too much experience of men for that!

When her bath was ready and the candles lit Jane let her man remove her sensible grey work suit and take it away to brush it and hang it up in the wardrobe, before he went to prepare her dinner.

” Not too much basil this time”.

” Yes Mistress”. He was a good cook, since she’d sent him to evening classes to learn Thai and Italian. In the bathroom he had set out a small round table for her, with a crisp white cloth, on which were placed a jug of freshly-ground coffee, cream and a cup and saucer. (Her definition of luxury—crisp white or cream table linen and fine china, and of course a little vase of flowers.) Jane sat on the wicker chair in the bathroom in her midnight blue silk knickers and bra, with the same coloured lace trim, and expensive hose and garters, and sipped the hot coffee.

As she unwound from the day she recalled how pleasant it was to be able to afford nice luxuries like expensive lingerie, which she always wore even under her dull work suits, and expensive perfume, and nice jewellery. She had taken over John’s finances. He’d made a lot of money in IT but didn’t seem to have much sense when it came to holding on to it. So she invested his money in his name in a spread of investments that roughly tracked the pension scheme. This way they remained financially sep
arate. He paid her rent, half of which she put straight into a secure T-Bonds fund, and with the
other half she bought lingerie and perfume for herself. John also spent most of his allowance on gifts for his Mistress.

She’s been inundated—that’s the only word to describe it—when she’d advertised on an alt site as a 47 year old dominant BBW. BBW was actually a slight exaggeration, but she was certainly a few pounds over her ideal, and she was also short–5′ 4”. On a woman Jane’s height her extra weight showed. Even so, the response she received was enough to cause even the most sceptical to question the whole point of mass advertising using slim models. It could only be to exploit women’s insecurities. This was another reason she now believed absolutely in the whole Female Superiority lifestyle. Jane was actually quite average-looking, but this didn’t matter at all. With her short straight dark hair, large breasts and large midriff, powerful thighs, and a full behind, she could hardly fight them off. John, the one she had chosen, treated her like a Goddess—the Goddess she truly was. He worshipped ever inch of her mature and experienced body, but especially her fabulously full behind. For her front she’d chosen a Brazilian, so the contrast between her generous curves and the darker thin vertical strip between her thighs emphasised her power and authority. So much for the world of advertising, Jane thought. It was a huge conspiracy against women like her.

Instead of getting into the bath, she put her robe on and went to the kitchen. She stood by the door. John obviously hadn’t heard her. She had noticed that the plants in the bathroom had not been watered. It was his responsibility to water all her plants. His naked cute little butt was facing her as he chopped tomatoes. Jane put her hands on her hips, and licked Her lips.

” HEEL !”John immediately dropped to his knees behind his Mistress, with head right down at the level of her right heel.

” I can see I’m going to have to teach you another lesson. I’ve told you four times already about those plants. Where’s my cane?” She dragged him by his ear to the lounge where there was more swinging room, removed his chastity device, and bent him head first over the back of the sofa, so that his ass was completely exposed and at her mercy.

But first she took her time to scold him. She was an expert at scolding. She stood behind him and for several minutes she lectured him on his unreliability, while he held the position, with tip-toes just touching the floor, as he’d been trained. Every now and then there was an obligatory ‘Yes Ma’am’. She flexed the 30 inch rattan cane and swished it through the air a couple of times to renew her acquaintance with the feel of her favourite implement. At each whooshing sound her boy automatically clenched his butt cheeks in fear. She was going to enjoy this!

” Eight strokes. If you clench your cheeks it’s right back to the start. I want to see those cheeks bounce. Understand? ”

” Yes Ma’am”

” Good, now I’m going to teach you to obey my instructions without fail.”

Jane took up her place. Grounded. Powerful.

With slow deliberation she raised the cane right back over her head.

Then she brought it with forceful determination onto its waiting target.

‘THWACK!’

‘YOWWW’ Her boy whelped as the cane made contact. Jane felt power surge through her. She waited thirty seconds or so—she always took her time—before raising her cane again.

She raised her cane again.

‘TWACK!
‘YOOOOOWWW!

This time when she brought the cane down it landed just under the first stripe. Her boy cried out again when the cane made contact. This, thought Jane, is SOOO much better than therapy. All the frustrations, all the years being treated as a second-class nobody– she felt the catharsis of it all flowing away as she swung her cane. ”I’m in charge now, just as I should be”, she thought to herself. ”This is how it should be. A non-arguing male, a well-balanced cane, some swinging room—and a nice butt too! What more could a girl want? ”

THWACK!
”OOOOOOWWWW”

Her tactic was to start at the top of her boy’s ass and neatly work downwards, on to the tops of his thighs. Then she would work her way back up again. Each time she waited short while between strokes, to maximise the effect. ‘And let’s be honest here, thought Jane, it’s such an eeeaaaasy way to….

THWACK!
”YOOOOOOWWWW”

….show who’s in charge, that….

THWACK!
”YOOOOWWW”

…I should have started this a looong time ago..

THWACK!
”OOOWWWWWW”

Her swing was pretty impressive too. Trish would be proud of her

THWACK!
”OOOOOWWW OOOOWWW”

And now let’s see if I can get a really good bounce…

THWACK!

”’AAOOOWWWWAAAAAAOOOOWWW”

After the full eight his ass and the tops of his thighs were on fire. He remained in place, sobbing. She’d trained him always to maintain the position, until she gave him permission to move. Jane went to the kitchen to get a glass of chilled wine. When she returned she told him that when she’d finished the wine he was going to get a further six very hard strokes for ruining her bath and dinner. The response through sobbing and tears was a satisfactory ‘Yes Ma’am’.

Thursday

At six thirty her boy awakened Jane with freshly-squeezed orange juice. He was wearing his morning uniform of cream polo shirt, matching smartly creased cream shorts and knee –length white socks. Jane had chosen this as she thought a vaguely nautical theme was suitable for the level of efficiency she wanted in the mornings, before she left for work. Yes, it should really be all white, but that seemed a bit bright for early mornings, so she’d decided on cream. She particularly liked her initials embroidered on the chest pocket of the polo shirt.

” Right, let’s get this ship on the road”.

”Yes Mistress, I’ll put out your emerald silk lingerie, white blouse and grey suit. I’ve polished your shoes. What would you like for breakfast today?”

After her shower Jane put on her robe and went to the kitchen where he was preparing breakfast for her.

” Let me see.” Jane said. She stood behind him. He was taller than her. She pulled down his shorts and told him to touch his toes. After caning him the night before she’d sent him straight to his bed in the spare room. Now she inspected her handiwork. Not only was her swing smooth-flowing and relaxed, she was also getting pretty accurate. She liked to think she was aiming for a perfect Stars and Stripes, or at least the Stripes. Anyway, she wouldn’t have to worry about her plants any more. Another burden, if only a light one, off of her shoulders. After breakfast Jane drank her freshly-ground coffee and gave her boy her list of work and shopping to do that morning. He stood respectfully at her side, taking down her instructions in his notebook.

Work dragged, as it usually did mid-week. But after dinner that evening Jane sat in the lounge at home and began to unwind. John was next to her, watching a football game on TV. They often watched TV or listened to music together. Mostly she chose what show they watched, but not always. Their tastes weren’t exactly the same. She certainly wasn’t interested in football but she usually let him watch it. Once, he’d mouthed off about one of her soaps. Every night it was on over the next week he had been ball-gagged and forced to watch it all the way through, kneeling naked on all fours.

She felt so fortunate. It had taken her and Trish more than six months to winnow out the right man. But it was worth the effort. Trish’s advice was good—go for the ones with integrity. It was obvious enough, but how many women overlooked it? John was kind and gentle and considerate. And he brought a lot more interests and culture into her life. It was very enriching. For example, the natur
e reserve. She’d never been much interested in bird watching, but since John introduced her to it she had really got into it. It was the same with a lot of his musi
c, books and favourite films. They went back-packing and kayaking together. Her life had actually expanded beyond anything she could have imagined only a few years ago. She felt not only a deep and loving bond between them; she also felt powerful, and powerfully protective towards him. He needed her experience and firm hand. He had never been so happy, calm or fulfilled he said, as he was now, serving her.

Anyway, time now for some Girl Power Jane thought, smiling to herself. It was ten minutes from the end of the game. She reached for the remote and turned off the TV. (In this household there was no question of who had the remote.) A look of disappointment came over John’s face. Jane snapped her fingers. Immediately and without question John knelt on all fours in front of her, eyes fixed looking expectantly upwards , towards her thighs.

” Good Boy.”

She opened her legs a little and drew her robe open. He could see a small area of coloured silk at the top of her thighs.

She had trained her boy, when he received the command, to focus to the exclusion of everything else on the center of her power and authority, her magnificent Womanhood. She demanded a worshipful attitude. In fact, when they were at home, between the hours of 6 am and 8 pm, he addressed her as ‘Mistress’. But between the hours of 8 pm and 6 am he was always to address her as ‘Goddess’.

She read a magazine. An hour passed, and her boy contemplated his Goddess in silent worship.

She gave the order to prepare her room, which was known as the Mistress Bedroom (how quaint that in the past the main bedroom was apparently called the master bedroom.)

” Which jewellery will you require tonight, Goddess?”

” Mayan, I think. No, Egyptian”

When she entered the Mistress Bedroom an hour later the candles were lit and a Norah Jones CD was quietly on in the background. Her slave was kneeling, head bowed and naked, apart from his chastity device, at the foot of her bed. On the middle of her bed, where her hips would be, was a large and exotically decorated satin cushion that caught the light of the flickering candles. Goddess Jane went over to her slave and put a hand on his head. Then she put the collar around his neck and clipped on the long leash, and looped the other end over the bedpost at the head of her bed.

She slipped off her robe and sat at her dressing table. Her slave’s head remained respectfully bowed while she removed her lingerie, garters and stockings. She knew he didn’t dare look. By candlelight she put on a large Egyptian turquoise necklace and matching earrings. Around her Rubens-esque waist she put a heavy bronze and turquoise belt, with a large buckle inlaid with emerald coloured images sacred to the Goddess Isis. Her bracelets and ankle chains with intertwined serpents were in the same style. (Earlier in the week, while she chatted to Trish on the phone, he’d manicured her toenails perfectly, as she’d trained him to do, and painted them with emerald varnish.) Finally she dabbed a little Chanel on her ass cheeks.

Jane stood up and admired herself in the wardrobe mirror. In the shadows she could just see the top of the dark strip between her thighs, beguiling and powerful. Goddess Power flooded through her. As usual, she put her just-worn knickers over her slave’s eyes—making sure to leave his mouth free. She pushed his head down onto the bed and raised his cute ass in the air and inserted a butt-plug. Then she forced him down again into a kneeling position at the foot of the bed.

”Tongue! One minute!”

Her slave, still kneeling obediently at the foot of the bed, put his long tongue out as far as it would go and held it there for sixty seconds. ‘A man’s proper place’, Jane thought with profound satisfaction, as she put the long peacock feather in his right hand.

Friday.

Jane’s sex life with her husband had never been very intimate or satisfying, even at the start. Her ex was boring and selfish when it came to sex—as he was with most other things. But that was a golden age compared to the two years ‘desert’, as she called it, before she embraced her present lifestyle. Trish, as usual, had been clear about the benefits six months ago.

” Sex is entirely and absolutely for MY pleasure” She said. ” Hank is completely under my control. But I’m absolutely free to express my sexuality in whatever way I please, with whoever I want.” This was certainly an amazing situation for a woman in her mid-fifties to be in, Jane had to admit. Trish said she now had a more fully satisfying sex life than ever before. She certainly looked radiant. Until Trish showed her one, Jane had never even seen a male chastity device before. Trish had ordered Hanks to take off his clothes and show her the one she had installed. It had Trish’s initials stamped on it. It was basically an expression of Trish’s total ownership. Also, it sharpened her boy’s attentiveness and obedience, Trish explained.

” This is definitely the way to go, honey.” Trish pointed to her ankle chain, on which hung a small key. ” That’s the key to Hank’s chastity belt. He was ironing yesterday evening. I was out all night. You should have heard me at One O’ Clock in the morning”, she laughed. ” Oh, and at Three O’ Clock, and Four O’ Clock.”

Jane had thought about this conversation for months. But so far, although as a Dominant Woman she undoubtedly had the right to spread her wings, and her legs, wherever she felt like it, she had decided not to cuckold her man. In truth she valued the commitment, the sense of total ownership of John, and was happy to explore their intimacy, and her increasing dominance, just with her man. But who knows, she thought? She might just use it to drive him into deeper submission to her.

Last night had certainly been very satisfactory. Yes. You should have heard her at One O’ Clock in the morning, too, she fondly recalled. And it gave her even more power to know that while she chatted with co-workers around the water cooler, her boy was frustrated in his chastity belt, desperate to please her when she arrived home. Her power was snowballing. Unstoppable.

Jane had invited Trish over that evening, so it was imperative that John was on his best behaviour. She brought up the form and typed in instructions about cleaning and food shopping and recipes. The Sauvignon Blanc should be chilled. And fresh flowers for the lounge.

When she arrived home everything was perfect. She took a bath and luxuriated in the bubbles, listening to Bebel Gilberto while John prepared salsa verde and put the main course in the oven.

When Trish arrived Jane greeted her herself.

” My boy’s in the kitchen, cooking.” Jane explained. ” Fancy a drink?” Trish had come by public transport so she could enjoy a few glasses, so she said yes.

Jane rang the little bell on the coffee table and John brought in an elegant little hostess tray with the chilled wine and glasses. He was wearing sheer tights, and attached to his butt plug was a fluffy ‘ ‘Playboy’ –or should that be ‘Playgirl’–type bunny tail. ‘Ha’, thought Jane, ‘one up to me. I bet she hasn’t seen that before! ‘ She had released him temporarily from his chastity device for the evening, so as not to spoil the lines on his tights. It was all about avoiding ‘Visible Chastity Device Line’ she thought with amusement.

The meal was excellent and John waited on them, and when they retired to the lounge afterwards he filled their glasses before disappearing to clear the dishes and tidy the kitchen.

” Impressive” said Trish. ” But do you whip him enough? I know you, you’re too soft.” In response Jane rang the bell and ordered her boy to bend over and show the other woman his well-whipped ass—from the whipping he’d received on Wednesday evening. It looked particularly cute underneath the bunny tail. Despite last night’s marathon session Jane began
to feel the well-catered-for thrill between her thighs again. ”Mmmm, I might just make use of that cute
piece of ass later”, she thought. She could still hardly believe it totally belonged to her.
.
They spent the rest of the evening chatting. As usual, Trish was full of ideas. The latest was apparently Chakra Balancing. This, Trish explained, was very good for a woman, especially the more mature woman. On her birthday she had secured Hank’s
chastity device and sent him to bed early. Trish was a member of a very private and select Goddess –Worshipping Club. In fact, she’d said she could fix it for Jane to join, but Jane said she wasn’t really ready. At the Club there were two collared slaves belonging to another Goddess, and because it was Trish’s birthday the other Goddess lent them both to Trish for the evening. Trish took them home and installed them in her living room. Chakra Balancing, Jane learned, involves the woman standing naked, legs slightly apart, with one naked slave kneeling in front of her giving her oral worship, and the second man kneeling behind her, orally worshipping her divine ass.

That, thought Jane, is something I could get used to.

Trish left about ten to catch her train home. It had been a very nice evening Jane thought, as they said goodbye. After her friend had gone Jane went into the tidy kitchen and patted her boy on the butt.

”Good Boy! I’m very pleased with you”.

” Thank You Goddess”. He knelt to kiss her hand.

” Tonight I’m going to exercise my rights. Go to your room”

” Yes Goddess”.

Saturday.

Yes, thought Jane, I’m going to exercise my rights.

One day last week she had gone out at lunchtime to buy a new bra. It was difficult enough for a woman with her large breasts to buy a normal bra, let alone the sort she was looking for now–a sports bra. She could tell the slim young assistant was thinking ‘what does a middle-aged woman like her want with one of those? What’s she going to do? Run a marathon? Well skinny, thought Jane, I bet I’m going to have a LOT more fun with my sports bra than you have with yours.

On the way home after buying the sports bra, the way you always think of wittier things to say after the occasion has passed, she thought, ‘its for a triathlon’. ‘I should have said that with a straight face.’

She still couldn’t really believe how lucky she was. It was just after midnight and the lounge was quiet. Her boy was awaiting her pleasure in his room. The candles were low. She put on ‘Beyond The Missouri Sky’ by Path Metheny and Charlie Haden. Then went upstairs to get her things.

Down in the lounge again she took off all her clothes and began to dress again. She loved this slow ritual. Her gleaming black leather boots came up to her knees—nothing too gothic, she was a woman of taste after all! They were a beautiful fit, real quality, a present from a slave to his Goddess. The spiked high heels made her two inches taller than him (as she should be!). She stood up in her boots, otherwise totally naked, and sipped her second mojito. Next she put on the sports bra (good fit—cleavage and control), and over that a sleeveless black halter-neck top. She sprayed a little Dior behind her ears, a pretty, floral fragrance. The classical jazz guitar played a gentle and slightly sad melody with Charlie Haden’s double bass thrumming poignantly underneath. Next her tiny silver earrings. Then her silver chain with the mystical Vesica Piscis symbol—two overlapping circles, with the shape in the centre representing the source of all, the Female Part.

She ran her hands sensuously over her full behind. She knew it was very, very attractive. She loved the photo she’d posted on Alt. of her displaying her fabulous behind. It was simply the best on the site, and she had a large fan club. Would she allow him to worship her behind tonight? Probably not. She pulled on her thong. On the front of her thong was the stunning eye of a peacock’s feather. Finally, she pulled on her elbow –length black silk opera gloves. She picked up her whip and was ready for business.

We don’t know what happened in the half hour or so after she entered her slave’s room; what intimate things passed between them as he prostrated himself before his Goddess. But after that we can see in the candlelight as the Goddess unfolds her whip. Downstairs you can just hear Pat Metheny plucking chords. Slave is kneeling on the bed, face in the pillow, ass high in the air.

Goddess is going to pluck a few chords of her own tonight.

” Legs WIDE apart”

” Yes Goddess”

Slave gripped the head of the bead tightly with both hands as Goddess’s arm curled the whip elegantly through the air to its target. This was important. She sought him out with her whip, and slave buried his head in the pillow when it struck. She, Goddess Jane, had to loosen him up, physically and emotionally, to make him more supple, more open and receptive to her absolute domination and control. She had to do this for the expression of her power. Slave knew this. Slave knew She had to do this to claim Her rights. Goddess Jane’s heart was beating fast. She had a wild animal between Her legs….Her thighs could hardly control it. How She loved the contrast between feeling Her full-bodied mature sensuousness and the tautness of control. She raised the whip, and felt Her power snake out across the room to its quivering target.

********

The candle went out. In the darkness Goddess Jane removed the thong and strapped on a large cock. She could hear her slave whimpering. She was in control of her slave but she was hardly in control of herself. She strapped on the SheStallion and gasped as the inner part found Her Clit. With a husky voice she ordered her slave to assume the position.

As he moved to the bottom of the bed and reached with both hands to hold his ass cheeks fully apart She quickly applied the KY to the proud extension between Her legs. She was breathing very fast now– no, panting. How much she wanted this! She should have had it twenty-five years ago. But now she was going to claim her rights—her rights of ownership.

When Goddess Jane penetrated Her slave, from deep inside Her came a long feral cry, like something from a wild animal in the darkness. It was cry of triumph, of possession. She knew She’d come home. His face was buried in the pillow and only a muffled sob escaped from him.

” I am your Goddess and your Owner” She held the cock deep inside without withdrawing it or moving it at all.

” OH YES PLEASE YES PLEASE YES PLEASE YES.

Goddess Jane bared her teeth like some sort of primeval creature, and began to move Her hips in a steady grinding movement. Her lower spine felt it was on automatic, flowing with an unknown energy of its own. It seemed to be flowing into Her sex and spinning round in a fiery wheel between Her thighs. God it was good.

She focused. Breath in. Breath out. Breath. Thrust hips. Breath. Thrust hips. Breath. Thrust hips. Deep in her belly a second fiery wheel began to spin. Downstairs Pat Metheney was on repeat and her favourite track ‘Spiritual’ was starting. Powerful nature began to take over, and she could feel her hips slowing to the hypnotic sway of the music, causing her spine to flex along its whole length, as she repeatedly penetrated and withdrew to the rhythm.

Her body was on automatic. Her Goddess Power had taken over. She was voracious, now mounting him. She looked down. There was her mark tattooed on his lower back, just above his ass. A butterfly with her initials on the wings. She put her hands on her head and thrust rhythmically. She’d have a matching tattoo, she thought, but MUCH bigger—two intertwined snakes rising up her spine from her ass to her shoulders, and exploding into…. she could feel it coming…exploding into…a great cry from deep in her belly, an explosion of her Life Force. A fireworks of spectacular white.

******

It wa
s only short distance along the corridor to the Mistress Bedroom, but she sashayed, pulling her whimpering male along behind
her on all fours, by his collar and lead, to her bedroom.

”The Triathlon—- We’ve had the Whip, then the Strapon. Now it’s time for the Marathon.”

She took off her top and sports bra. Her heavy breasts swung free. If her slave was satisfactory tonight performing his Clit worship duties she might let him worship her breasts too, later, though she doubted he’d have the energy. He knelt, as he’d been trained, at the foot of her bed. She moved onto the bed and positioned the large luxurious cushion under her thighs. Lucky Jane. Grateful Jane. Ex-suburban housewife, divorcee and middle-aged pension administrator–Goddess Jane opened her legs and exposed her Brazilian—her boots gleaming in the candlelight—and snapped her fingers. It was going to be a long night.

(To be continued……?)

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