0 comments/ 40245 views/ 1 favorites Margaret Ch. 1 By: richard-newton So many people see D/s relationships as solely about sex, about torture and humiliation. My view is different. The relationship between a sub and his lady is just that, a relationship. Both give and both take and, more importantly, both love. For me the gothic lady in leather, wielding a whip, rich and beautiful seemed as likely and as clichéd as it could be. I imagined an ordinary woman, unremarkable in the normal run but extraordinary for her chosen man. The search for this had taken me to many dark and sad experiences; occasionally and unsatisfactorily to "professionals." Pain is an essential part of submission; pain in all its forms. The problem is that the pain that is pleasure is not available in any situation where the other, more important elements of a submissive's needs are missing. Humiliation at the hands of the lady you love is a gift, at the hands of the professional or (why not be honest) those simply playing is, well, humiliating for both. I am straight and have had long and successful "normal" relationships. I have never had anal sex and it does not appeal. I love women. I just have known since I don't know when, that for me to give, totally and utterly, was my definition of true love. Consequently every relationship I had experienced was always subtly deficient. Every block has the "organiser." The one who wants to bring everyone together and who runs the maintenance committee. Ours was Harry. Harry wore a blazer with a badge I did not recognise on its breast pocket. He wore grey flannels and immaculately polished black Oxfords. He always sported either a regimental (?) tie or, on less formal occasions, a cravat. He was, simply put, a prat but his party for the block was a welcome distraction from the essay I was writing for my correspondence course: "Metaphor and Allegory in Twelfth Night." I went down about 9. The door to the flat was open and I walked in brandishing a bottle of wine, another of whisky and some beers. Harry greeted me with enormous bonhomie that felt entirely synthetic and bade me gorge myself on the delicious spread his wife and laid out. I spoke to several people, especially Mike, who was the other tenant on the third floor with me. He and I occasionally went to rugby matches together and had memorably, childishly and anonymously, set fire to Harry's dustbin after a particularly pleasant and indulgent international. Mike had brought his new girlfriend, Sally, to the party and she was an engaging and attractive girl who seemed to be taking substantial quantities of drink in her stride. Margaret was another neighbour. She was tall and sharp featured but attractive in a stunning, not pretty way. She was a little aloof I had always thought. Although we exchanged pleasantries on the stairwell we barely got to know each other in the 2 years we had lived close by in the block, she being on the second floor. She joined us. I think she sought refuge from Harry rather than our company. I fetched her a drink and we talked. Others joined and left our group but the four of us remained the core. I didn't drink much, nor did Margaret but Mike and Sally were well at it and by about 11 were obviously thinking that they had to be alone. Sally kissed me good bye and Mike led her off, his hand stroking her bum through her dress. "Pretty," isn't she?" "Yes." I agreed. "Bit pissed, too. Mike won't notice though, not until they have to fight for the paracetamol in the morning." She laughed. "What do you do?" "I'm a nurse." She was astonished, as so many people are even in these days. I went through the story I had been asked to relate so often and she seemed absorbed. At 1.30 I found myself inviting her in for coffee and a last drink. She accepted and it started there. No fireworks, no violins, no earthquake; just a cup of coffee and a whisky. * We had been seeing each other for about six weeks and our friendship was growing. We kissed hello and goodbye but nothing more. I found myself increasingly looking forward to our dates which included opera, which I detest, and rugby which we both enjoyed. Films, concerts and sitting talking in pleasant, local restaurants. In one of these Margaret asked me why I had no girlfriend. "I thought I did," I said. "Who, me?" "Well, aren't you?" "I suppose I am, sort of." "Sort of?" "Well, it's not a full-blown boy/girlfriend thing, is it?" "No." I paused. "I like it though. Rather a lot actually." "Oh?" "Don't you?" "Very much, but I thought you'd find it….. inadequate." The truth was that until she said this I hadn't. My friend the solicitor with whom I shared evenings and shopping and meals and so on was somehow not the friend I expected to sleep with until she broached the subject. Until she did it did not even think about it. It was just that she got from me what she wanted and needed. "It's your call, always. I just enjoy being with you, being here for you." It sounded like a confession of love and, I realised, it was. She took my hand. "You're giving yourself to me, aren't you?" I looked into her eyes, surprised and felt she was looking deep into my mind, more deeply than I could myself. Simply: "Yes." When we returned home we went straight to her flat. She didn't invite me in but left me on the doorstep, "Wait there a second." A few moments later she returned and handed me a book. "Go and read that. Call me in the morning." She closed the door. No kiss, no nothing. I read it. * "How did you know?" "I came to see," she said. "You give so readily and you enjoy it." The book was a story of domination and submission, a man giving his entire substance to a woman who accepted it as a treasured gift. She took absolute control and their lives became one. "You know what this means, don't you?" "What?" "Don't talk, just listen. You have no idea what submission really means. You have dreamt of it, probably read about it, maybe even bought it. No, don't say anything. It is not like you have read, at least it would not be with me. I will tell you now exactly how it will be and you will think about it and decide. "Sex is only a part, albeit a big part. But this is not, for me, purely a fetish thing. The sex we'll deal with if you decide to come to me. This is all about everything either of us does we do for the other. Utterly unselfish. My needs are to dominate, to control. Yours are to be led, directed, controlled. Symbiosis. "By giving we take and are fulfilled. You would find I am moody, unpredictable and demanding. You would not be a slave, except in our games. You'd be my partner, my lover and my pleasure. I'd be the same for you. "You'd have to submit totally to my will. That's where the sex is so important. It demonstrates your trust in me and my care and control for you more tangibly than anything else can. If I beat you or deny you or humiliate you it will be for you. I enjoy it so you give it to me. You need it so I give it to you." I was sitting on the floor of her lounge, resting back on her sofa. She was sitting in her rocking chair. The clarity of it was overwhelming. It was my vision of the relationship, succinctly and accurately put. "Please….." "Not now. Think carefully. Formulate questions. Come again tomorrow after work." * I worked the next day in a daze and, I am sure, nearly killed several poor patients. I drove home from the hospital and went to my flat to shower away the smells of an operating theatre and change my clothes. I went to her door. "Well?" "Yes, please." "Good." She smiled and stood aside to let me in. Margaret Ch. 2 I had previously considered Margaret aloof but I came to see this as an innate superiority. She had said she could be moody and unpredictable and in this she did not lie. The day after the party in Harry's flat I had gone to hers when I had returned from work and showered. She held the door for me once I had indicated that I wanted to pursue a relationship with her. That sounds so complex, but our exchange was simple. She had seen my submission more clearly than I and she had explained her vision of domination and submission more acutely than I could have done. It was a reflection of mine. Her flat was warm, the lights low and soft. The table was dressed for dinner although she had not invited me. "You're expecting someone?" "He's here, I think," and she raised an eyebrow at me in question. "I didn't realise..." "Have you eaten?" "No but..." "I thought not. It's not much but will be all we need. We have a lot to discuss." She had prepared a pasta with salad. She poured me a crisp, dry, white wine and sat opposite me and ate. We talked about work and I described the antics of the Theatre Sister from hell who rules my life with a rod of iron. Her mocking eyebrow lifted again and I stammered that it was not like that. "I know," and she laughed. She cleared plates away and brought cheese, coffee and a bottle of brandy. We sat at the table and then it seemed she came to a decision. "Stand up." I was engaged in lifting a cup to my mouth and stopped, mid lift and looked at her over the cup's rim. "Stand." This was delivered quietly but with great force. I stood and replaced my cup at the same time. "Take off your shirt." I unbuttoned and removed my shirt, fumbling over the buttons. "Don't rush, just do what I say." Calm, authoritative, spellbinding. "Turn." I didn't feel stupid or embarrassed or any recognisable feeling. I just did what she said and turned. I hadn't heard her move but suddenly I felt her fingers alight gently on my shoulder. Her hand was cool, dry and firm. I was trembling. Her nail ran across my shoulder blade to my spine and slowly down it. "Turn." I turned and she had stepped away. She stood looking at my face and I felt that she could read me as if my thoughts were printed before her on a hoarding. "What will you give me?" I looked at her eyes and answered truthfully, "Me." She nodded and sat down. "Good." She motioned for me to approach her. I noticed, as if for the first time, her short blue dress, it's upper half like a shirt with three buttons open at the neck. It was demurely spread across her knees which were slightly apart. When I was within reach she reached to my waist and pulled me so that I stood with one leg either side of her left leg. She undid my belt and unzipped my trousers and pulled them down so I was standing in my underpants. "Show me." I hesitated, not from embarrassment or disobedience but simple misunderstanding. "Do it." Now I was embarrassed but pulled my pants away and pulled my penis out. "What do you call it?" "I...I don't call it anything." She laughed and reached up to touch it. She didn't hold it, just touched it with the tip of her finger, her nail running around the end. She reached with her other hand to take my balls and just let them lie in her palm. "And these?" "Balls." "She lifted that eyebrow (always the left one) again and smirked. She pushed her chair backwards and slid her leg from between mine and stood. She put her hands on my shoulders and reached to kiss me, careful not to let my straining penis touch her dress. It was a kiss of possession. "Take off your clothes and follow me." She turned and went to her bedroom. I took of my shoes and socks, trousers and pants as clumsily as I had removed my shirt. I followed her, drawn by her as surely as if she had a chord tied to my neck. She pointed at her bed which was covered in a thick, deep duvet in a crisp, white cover. "Sit." I sat and watched, enthralled as she undid the buttons of her dress and removed it. She dropped it to the floor and stood, wearing only a black thong, a scrap of lace that was as transparent to me as my needs were to her. Through it I could see no hair. Her breasts were small and came to points which were surmounted with dark, full nipples. She came close to me and said, "You do exactly what I tell you; always. You will learn what I like and, slowly, I will need to tell you less and less, things will become instinctive." She held my penis. "Never lie to me. Never pretend." "What... what should I call you." "My name is Margaret. We both know I am your Mistress, you don't need to call me that. It would make me laugh." She stroked me and, as she did so, leant down to kiss me. "I will look after you and it will be wonderful." She stepped back and took off her thong and slowly opened her legs until her feet were a shoulder's width apart. She touched herself with the lace. She handed it to me. I have marked it, you do the same. I touched it to my end, where I noticed, horrified, that I was sticky and wet. "Cum on it." She watched my face as I held my penis and began to stroke it." She stared into my eyes. "Now." I came, my semen rushing from me and onto her panties, too much for the small piece of lace to hold. Her eyes never left mine, nor mine hers. I sat, holding the thong to me, my cum all over my hand. "That was easy. The hard part is not to cum when I refuse you. Can you do it.?" "I believe that with your help, I can do anything." "So do I." She took the thong from me and put it on the bed beside me. She took my hands and placed them either side of me on the duvet. She held my cock and gently stroked it as she looked into my eyes and kissed me again, steadying herself with her other hand on my shoulder. When I grew hard again she knelt astride me and lowered herself onto my erection. I remained sitting and held her to me as she moved slowly and surely up and down it. I loved the feeling of her hair on my skin, her flesh on mine and her wetness around me. She bit my neck. "Not yet, my love." She continued to ride me and each time I felt myself on the brink, as if she knew, she bit me somewhere. Each time until the last, when I could hold back no longer and, as her teeth tightened around my lip, I released. As the semen rushed I tasted blood in my mouth and felt the sting of the bite. Her eyes lifted to mine. "You will learn." and she bit me again. Margaret Ch. 3 Sister Bennet was the bane of my life. At 40 she seemed to be much older and she had an imperious air and manner of speaking that, frankly, irritated me beyond words. She was, however, a fantastic Theatre Sister. Nothing escaped her and her attention to detail was phenomenal. It was just that she always seemed to find the thing you hoped she wouldn't. She wasn't good looking but nonetheless turned people's heads with her erect posture and immaculate grooming. Years ago she would have been a matron and terrorised nurses, doctors, patients and visitors alike. I was just leaving at the end of my shift when she poked her head out of her office and asked me to look in. "How are you?" She had never asked me this before in 3 years working for her and I immediately worried that something was going on. "Fine, thanks." "I need to speak to you. I know you think I am hard as a manager but," and she motioned with her hand that I should not protest, "but I care only that we provide the best for our patients. Lately your mind has been elsewhere. The incident with the swabs?" I had nearly miscounted blood soaked swabs in and out of a patient's wound, a cardinal sin. "I want to know why." Well, I suppose I could have told her about Margaret but I had a feeling she wouldn't either understand or approve. "Sister, I am sorry. You're right, of course. I have been distracted; just some domestic things. I will try to keep my mind on my work." "See that you do. You have hurt your lip." She said this with an air of professional interest rather than concern. "Let me look." She stood as I protested it was nothing and approached me. "A bite." "Yes, Sister." She sniffed. "You should be careful. Don't be late in the morning." And she swept out of the office, leaving me feeling silly. She seemed to manage to do that all the time. * When I got home (actually Margaret's home but even after this short time it felt like my own by this time) the flat was empty and I showered and changed before doing some tidying away and getting Margaret's dinner ready. I love cooking a roast and we rarely ate such a large meal but I wanted to give her something special. Beef, rare and pink with all the trimmings. A big, strong red wine and cheese and coffee to finish. That, I hoped, would please her. At 6.30 she burst through the door. As always she carried a large briefcase and a pile of papers. A busy solicitor, she always brought work home. I never did. Before Margaret I had been studying for my promotion exams but now, well, they didn't seem to matter. I went to the door and helped her with her things. She kissed me, gently, and kicked off her shoes. "Something smells good." "G and T or wine?" Gin and please, I beg you, make it a big one." "I will. Sit down and rest for a while." She didn't, but followed me into the kitchen and watched as I prepared her gin. Lime and lemon, ice then gin and then tonic. "What's this all for?" "You, Margaret." It was that simple for me. I told her about Sister Bennet and the world's shortest bollocking and her cursory examination of my lip. "She a domme too?" "A vampire," I said and turned to my Yorkshire pudding. "Asexual and determined to prove it." "I doubt it." I felt her hand on my shoulder and stood still. "Good boy, " she murmured and reached between my legs to cup me in her hand through my trousers. She touched my erection lightly and said, "Irresistible." She kissed my neck and began to massage me. "Not yet, my lovely. So much to learn." She nuzzled my neck and caressed my swollen penis. Licked behind my ears and rubbed me. "Margaret….." "No." She turned me around and let me lean against the worktop. She put both hands in my crotch and kissed me. "Please?" "No." She undid my fly and reached in. "Wet," she said and looking at me with the raised eyebrow she pulled me out of my trousers. Abruptly, she pulled away. "Leave it like that and finish dinner." * I served dinner with my cock variously hanging or standing out of my trousers. The zip sometimes rasped against it and I felt ridiculous. Margaret barely seemed to notice it, or the wet mark around my groin. "Lovely beef," she said over coffee. "Does Sister Bennet excite you?" "God, no. She's an ogre." "What am I?" "You're…well, you're Margaret." "I bet she doesn't make you walk around with your cock hanging out of your trousers." She laughed and enjoyed my embarrassment. "Do you feel silly?" I did, but it was what she wanted. Before I could answer she told me to run her a bath. I went to the bathroom and set the taps running, the room filling with steam and the scent of her bath oils. She came in, still dressed, and told me to go the bedroom, undress and kneel by the bed and wait for her. I did, leaning on the edge of the bed and reading a book. This was, I was to learn, a mistake. "Did I say read?" "Er, no but…….." She was wearing a long, dark blue nightdress. It was silk I think and slit up the side so that when she moved, her thigh was visible. The top was cut low and held over her shoulders with thin straps. Her hair was loose and fell over her shoulders. Her sharp features seemed softened by the low light and her hair falling around them. There was, however, no mistaking the steel in her voice. "If I had wanted you to read a book I should have told you to." I was still kneeling by the bed, leaning on it and looking over my shoulder at her. I was, to be fair, a bit confused. This didn't seem like a major sin. "I didn't……." "Why are you here?" "For you." "No, why here, on the floor by my bed? What is the purpose of this exercise? "To wait for you?" "No. To think about me as you wait for me. To be in my bedroom and wait for me, thinking only about me." "I didn't understand." "Sit on the bed." I sat and she came close to me. She looked down at my penis, flaccid and lying between my thighs. "Had you been doing this properly, that would have been poking your eye out. As it is….." She flicked her fingers derisively and told me to stand and turn. I did. " I am going to teach you. It may take a long time but I will." She hit me hard on the buttock with something I later learned was a belt. She hit me again and again. "You will learn that there is a reason for everything, you just have to look for it. Do you understand?" The belt struck again. "I think so." "Good." She stopped the beating and gently touched my arse. I had not cried out, even though I felt like it. It hurt like hell and I felt it was unfair. Margaret got up onto the bed and sat, leaning back against the pillows piled against the headboard. She made herself comfortable and spread her long nightdress around her. "Kneel on the bed at that end," she pointed to the end near her feet, "and stroke yourself." I did so and was amazed by my reaction, I was immediately erect. I was also close to orgasm. "Margaret…." "I told you, you will learn. You will cum when I want you to. It is not for you but for me, understand?" "I don't see how I can……." "It's simple, you must." She took a book from her bedside table and began to read, occasionally looking up and raising her eyebrow questioningly if I looked like I had stopped. I am rather ashamed to admit that my interest in masturbating waned in the light of her apparent indifference and as my interest flagged, so did my erection. This was mistake number two. "I told you, you will learn, and learn you will my love." Margaret said this barely audibly as the magazine fell to the floor. "Everything has a purpose, even if you can't see it. Come here." She patted the bed next to her and I moved up to sit beside her. "I am not teaching you how to prevent yourself cumming, I simply require it. You have to find a way. I want you to so you will. If you fail it is simply because you don't look hard enough. It's exactly the same with me telling you to kneel down there and stroke yourself, if your erection fades because of lack of attention or because you cum, you have not tried hard enough. I wont teach you how, merely demonstrate that you have to do it for me. Lie down on your face and put two pillows under you stomach." With two black scarves she tied my hands to the bedhead. They were not tied tightly, I could have pulled away easily but I realised this was intentional. Margaret thought about everything. She knelt beside me and I watched as she slid her hand through the side slit in her nightdress and followed its progress, slow and gentle, to her groin. I could only imagine what was happening under there until her hand slipped out and she put two glistening fingers to touch my lips. The eyebrow lifted and I opened my mouth and took them in, revelling in the taste and scent. She seemed to caress my mouth, then withdrew them and the hand slipped under her nightdress again. When it next emerged it did not come to my lips but slipped between the cheeks of my backside and I felt her press against my resistance. I looked at her in surprise, she knew I had never had, or wanted anything to do with anal sex. She pulled the nightdress to one side and I could now see her pussy, lips swollen and open, the pink entrance shining with her liquids. Her other hand slipped to it and she mirrored the actions of one hand with other, pressing at herself and me at the same time and, it seemed, to the same effect. She did not speak. As she overcame my resistance she slipped deep into both and, to my horror, I found that I was cumming after only a few seconds. "Margaret……" "I know, lover. Wait a few moments longer." I closed my eyes and thought of anything I could rather than the sensations and conflicts I was experiencing. She worked at us both and then, smiling, she leant down close to me ear, her hair caressing my naked shoulder. "Now, my love." * She returned from the bathroom and I was still spread on the bed as she had left me. She had changed into another nightdress, white and demure. She untied me and pulled me to her to hold me. "Do you understand?" "I think so." "It will become clear." She spread her legs, lifted her nightdress and said, "Love me." I did. Margaret Ch. 4 My relationship with Margaret was not solely about sex although it had assumed a most important role particularly, I think, for Margaret. The more I gave myself to her, the closer we became. We did all kinds of things together as we had before she had accepted my submission. We enjoyed making the flat our space and exploring books and films together. We spent weekends walking ourselves into exhaustion through the countryside or with her watching me play rugby. The nature of our relationship was always there, a positive force. She knew she had total control and she loved it. So did I. Our relationship was ours to cherish and not to expose to the world's curious gaze or derision. She liked the fact that I worked and, despite occasional arguments about my hours (shift work can be a real bind), and the pressure of working with Sister Bennet my life outwardly continued as before. But my life had changed beyond all recognition. * Sister Bennet asked her staff to join her to celebrate her 44th birthday which coincided with 25 years in the profession. We were all surprised by this. She was not the most approachable of people as I may have indicated before and such an invitation was not typical. She arranged her celebration in the Nurses' home common room and a surprisingly large number of past and present colleagues attended. It was a Saturday and Margaret came with me, looking gorgeous in a long black dress. I had helped her to dress and knew every clasp, zip and clip. She had arranged, sometime earlier, for us both to have piercings. I hadn't fancied this at all but she called me a wimp and took me to a specialist. A ring in my scrotum had frightened the life out of me but she (and the lady who did it) were dismissive. I was so scared it must have been micro-surgery; nearly everything tried to hide! Margaret's ring in her labia was lovely and she showed no fear when it was installed. Now we were sometimes joined by a chain between us – sometimes to her labia, sometimes to her wrist. She often wore the chain wrapped around her wrist or around her neck, as it was this night, as a sign for me alone. Sister Bennet came to talk to us. I introduced them and stood by proudly as she talked to Margaret. They talked for a long time and I wandered off to talk to some colleagues. By about 11 I was sitting talking to Julia, a staff nurse with whom I worked closely, and I was, to be honest, slightly the worse for red wine. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to look up at Sister Bennet standing beside Margaret. I stood and moved to stand beside Margaret. "Do you think we should go now?" "Yes, sure." I said my goodbyes to Sister Bennet and to Julia and followed Margaret to the door. I heard Sister Bennet say to Margaret, "You should be harsher, he needs it." I heard Margaret's gentle laugh. "You can't drive can you?" She was amused rather than angry and opened the door for me. I got in, slightly confused, and she got in the driver's side and adjusted the seat. "Alice knows." "Alice?" "Alice Bennet." "What? What the hell did you tell her?" Margaret stopped abruptly. "Pardon?" "I'm sorry, sorry but how does she know?" She drove off again. "She recognised the symptoms in you and saw the reflection in me. She knows, that's all. She understands too." "But Margaret….." "It doesn't matter, lover." * "Don't get drunk. You know I don't like it." "I'm sorry." Many couples would have had a row at this point, me slightly drunk and Margaret a little angry about it. It would, for many, have become one of those arguments, the sort that open old wounds and run interminably into the night. For us, there was always a way for Margaret to deal with it. She stood me against the wall in the entrance to our flat. She unbuttoned my shirt and took it off. She unbuckled my belt and pulled my trousers and pants down. "Socks are silly, " she said and I knew enough to take them off. Margaret stood in front of me. She unwound the chain from her neck and reached down to clip it to the ring in my scrotum, gently cupping my balls as she did so. She turned her back to me and I undid the clasp of her dress and unzipped the long fastening from her neck to the small of her back. She stepped out of the dress and, turning, handed it to me. She wore no bra and her nipples seemed to point accusingly at me. She was wearing French knickers, black and wide in the leg, loose fitting. She handed me her end of the chain and I knelt. I eased her knickers to one side and touched her lips with my fingers. "Just fix it," she said. Somehow with Margaret, the quieter she spoke, the more menacing the sound. I clipped the chain to her ring. "Good, come with me." She turned and I, carrying the dress still, followed her to the kitchen. With no ceremony she bent me over the kitchen table and slapped my backside, slapped it hard and often so it was hot and stinging when she'd finished. Pain is not a real turn on for me and this was a genuine punishment. But when the punishment ended, so did the problem that had led to it. Margaret stood behind me. She reached between my legs and held my balls lovingly and, with her other hand, stroked my back. The chain rasped lightly on my skin. She ran her finger down the long scar caused by an over eager back row who had tried to heel me out of a ruck some months before in an inter-hospital rugby match. "Don't get drunk." "No." She ran her finger further down my back and between my cheeks. I tensed. "Only one punishment tonight," she reassured me but her finger touching lightly at me told me that it was a gentle threat that I should not ignore. She knew that, despite the way she had aroused me once before, an arousal which had confused me, I did not like anything anal. Margaret did but respected my feelings although she was happy to use them to control me. I felt her hands leave me and the tug on the chain as she walked away. I followed her to the bathroom. I hung her dress on the hook on the back of the door as she took of her knickers and ran them along the chain and indicated I should hold them. She sat to pee and I turned to look away. "Watch me," she said, "I like you to." I turned and she looked at me with her eyebrow lifted and said, "Prude. Shower, I think." I opened the shower door and went to step inside. "Alone." I stood outside the shower, the chain running through the door to my lover. She came out and I towelled her dry. She undid the chain and, removing the scrap of black silk, wrapped the chain around my neck and fastened it to itself. "Mine," she said, kissed me and told me to shower and come to bed. I went into the bedroom. Margaret was sitting in bed reading. She wore a long, maroon silk nightdress and, without looking up, she pulled it up over her legs and pointed to her ring. I clipped the chain to it. "Love me." I knelt between her legs and lowered my face to her. Her lips have always fascinated me. Light hairs, which I keep trimmed, lie around them but they are, themselves, quite smooth and tight together so that her entrance is just a crease. I touched them with my tongue. Let it lie against them, not moving, the only sensations being its touch and my breath. I stayed like that, quite still for seconds, feeling the slight engorgement and swelling of her lips. I let my tongue slip lightly over them now, nudging the ring, letting that work with my tongue. As my tongue moved I let the pressure increase by degrees but always gentle and slow. I softly lapped at her, revelling, all my senses filled with her. I lay down and, with hands under her thighs, eased her legs to bend with her feet on my shoulders. Now she was open to me and I felt my tongue slip between her lips, the wetness and warmth welcoming me. I ran my tongue around in squirming circles, now touching, now leaving her clit. I made my tongue a rod and slipped it in slowly, pushing as far as I could into her. As I did so, all the while I caressed her thighs with my hands. I let my right hand slip to her and slid a finger inside as my tongue ravaged her clitoris more firmly. I made my tongue a curved shape and let it run its whole length along her clit as my finger worked gently inside her in time with my licking. I reached with my left hand to caress her silk covered breast, finding her nipple and rolling it between my fingers as her muscles pressed against my finger and my tongue rocked between her lips. The ultimate gift, I let my tongue slip down, across the sensitive skin behind her pussy and to her bum. I treated it as I had her pussy, touching it gently then caressing it and then, the bit I gave her with all my love, pressing it with my tongue covered with her juices until it let me in. My nose and finger in her pussy and my tongue in her arse, my hand caressing her breast and nipple I loved my lady. I felt her orgasm rise and burst like a firework display, felt her buck and, muffled by her thighs clamped to my head, heard her murmurs of pleasure. She came down slowly and I tried to match my slowing attentions to her to that descent of hers. When she was still I felt her touch my hair. I looked up and she smiled. "Thank you," I said. "You're welcome," she said. She patted the bed next to her. "Kneel here." I crawled up the bed and knelt, but I was, unknowingly, facing the wrong way. "Turn around." Momentarily I worried that I was to be invaded again but turned and knelt. I felt her reach between my legs and cup my scrotum, a sensation I loved. Her finger touched my bum and she said, "You thought……." "It crossed my mind." "Trust me, little one." She reached through and, still cupping my balls, she stroked me, kissing and licking my back. She stopped only to reach for the knickers she had removed earlier. She touched them to the end of my penis, the fabric teasing my balls and thighs. "Now, lover." Afterwards we lay together and held each other, still joined by the chain. "I think Alice is right." "Right?" "I should treat you more harshly." Her laugh was soft and made her body move gently against mine, she could feel me rise against her leg. "No more punishment and no more pleasure tonight, lover." She was wrong of course. What greater pleasure could there be to love such a woman? Margaret Ch. 5 It was my long weekend. When we change over from one shift to another, just occasionally it works out that we get a few days spare and so it was this time, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, all free. On Friday morning I woke up as usual at 7 and started to get out of bed. Margaret, to my surprise was already up and moving around. "Stay," she said. "Thank you." I rolled over and heard the sounds of her showering, drying her hair and coming back into the room to dress. I lay and watched as, to my surprise, having selected her clothes she carried them out of the room to dress. She came back a few minutes later, dressed and looking for her simple jewellery. I was surprised because she knew that watching her dress was something I regarded as one of the great privileges of my life. It was almost as good, sometimes better, than watching her undress. "Is something wrong?" "Go back to sleep." "Margaret." "I said, go back to sleep." Shortly after, I heard the front door of her flat slam. Her flat. I couldn't sleep, of course. I lay there in the empty flat and thought abut her. This was so unusual. I tried to think back over recent days. In retrospect she had seemed….what? Remote, somehow was the best I could come up with. * I went out to walk alone beside the sea. It was a cold day and I could feel my skin glowing as the wind whipped over the sand and pushed against me. I thought life was perfect. I loved my job, despite Sister Bennet, the demonic Alice. Every time I thought of her, I sang the extract of the song, "Alice, Alice who the …. etc." I knew that, after the party, she and Margaret had met, once I understood, for coffee. They liked each other and, to be honest, Alice had been easier on me than before. I continued to submit to Margaret and I loved her; loved her to distraction. I sat by the shore and smoked an illicit cigarette, a wicked deceit which was strictly forbidden. I explained to a seagull that it was rebellion and laughed at the thought. I walked back to my car with a strangely heavy heart and slowly drove home, back to her flat. Her flat, why was there a curious resonance in that phrase. There was no message from her on the answering machine. I got out the ingredients for dinner and started to prepare a Chicken Provencale for her return. By 7 I was concerned. Normally if she was going to be this late she would have phoned. A bottle of white wine was open in the 'fridge for our Friday evening aperitif, a regular pleasantry on days when I was home in time. I called her mobile but only got her voice mail. I took a glass of wine and sat, rather morosely, listening to Carly Simon sing My Romance - a favourite of mine. At 8 I called her mobile again.. No answer. I called her office. No answer. I was worried. At 8.15 the door opened and she came into the hallway. I almost ran to meet her and stopped dead. She looked at me, and I could tell she was drunk. I had never seen her drunk before. She was unruly, absolutely different from her normal demeanour when arriving home. Her pupils were dilated; I could almost smell the drink. "Margaret?" "I'm tired." With that she threw her coat on the floor and staggered, yes, staggered into the bedroom. She collapsed on the bed and within minutes was snoring gently. I made sure she was safe, eased off her clothes, as far as I could, and covered her and then went to finish cooking and save the meal for another night. One question raged in my head; "What the fuck is going on?" About 11 Margaret came into the sitting room. By this time she was sober and it was me who was nearly drunk.. I'd taken Whisky, a rarity these days and was slumped in front of the tv watching something. Margaret was in a dressing gown, her eyes puffy and her hair dishevelled. I looked at. "Are you going to tell me?" "Yes." "Who is it?" "What." "I know." "Know what?" "Just tell me. Who is it?" She nodded and walked through to the kitchen and came back with a glass of wine. "You've had enough." "It's someone I used to know." I sat, stunned. "He was wonderful. I was everything to him and he was mine. I lost him." She sounded so sad. Despite myself, I felt sorry for her. "Who?" "She turned on me, eyes blazing. "You." "What are you talking about?" "Just listen. When we first met you gave yourself to me." I started to speak but she gave me a look that warned me not to. "We grew into our relationship together. We explored your submission together. We found ourselves in each other. Why did you stop?" "Stop. What do…" "You stopped. You don't seem to want to go any further. Your like a middle aged man, settled and comfortable." "I am settled and comfortable." "I'm not." She said this quietly and her eyes filled. Then she shouted. "I am bloody well not." I went to stand, to go to her but again, her eyes stopped me. "You don't give any more. You don't give yourself to me." "I do. I bloody well do - all of me." It then descended into "Yes I do, no you don't" row between two people with too much booze in them. At some point she hurled her glass at me and ran off back to bed. I took the whisky as my lover and slept with her in the cold of the early morning, uncomfortable in the chair. * I awoke to see her walking past me to the kitchen. I rubbed my eyes and followed her into the kitchen where she was making coffee. "I was with Alice." "What?" "I told her. She let me get drunk and cry. I talked to her." I couldn't believe it. Bennet. What the hell was happening here. Margaret poured coffee and handed me a cup, absently. "What did you tell her?" "I told her that you had given up. That you made no effort to develop. That instead of the glorious submission you gave me 7 months ago you have settled into what is, for you, comfortable. I told her I wanted to grow and explore. I do." "What do you want, for Christ's sake?" She looked at me a long time and heart pounded. "I want…… more." "What does that mean?" "I want more. That's it. A static relationship is no good to me. I want you to submit more and more." "How can I?" "Do you want to?" I didn't know what it meant. "Can we go for a walk?" "Yes." On the cliff, cold and wrapped in sweaters and gloves, we sat on a bench and looked out over the sea. My ears stung. "What does it mean, Margaret?" She hesitated a long, long time. "I want to share you." My heart stopped. I went for a walk along the cliff, leaving her on the bench. I knew who she meant. Bennet, fucking Bennet. Margaret had once told me that she had never been afraid of her sexuality, nothing to fear, she ad said. I realised what she meant now. I walked back to her. "I need to think." "Then do." "Tell me - have you, with Bennett?" "Alice? Yes." "Right." She went back by car and I walked the seven miles. It took me two hours and I was cold and resolute when I got back. I had no key and rang the bell. She let me in. She turned away and walked back into the flat. I followed and went to the shelf. It was dusk and I was cold. More whisky, but I needed courage for this. "Yes, please," I said. She turned to look at me. I raised my glass sardonically and she wept. * That night we lay in bed and she held me. She knew I didn't like Bennett and so she knew I was doing this because the alternative was worse. She just held me and stroked my hair, occasionally murmuring "little one." * I didn't know what to expect the next day when Bennett came round for lunch. I'd cooked Margaret's favourite, lamb with rosemary, onion sauce and crisp roast potatoes. When she arrived I answered the door and took her coat. She smiled at me and said, "surprise!" I hung her coat and, I suspect sullenly, offered her a drink. "Got any Gin? It's so cold" I poured her a gin and got Margaret a red wine and had one myself. "Margaret, don't you think you should leave me alone with him for a while?" Margaret nodded and went to the bedroom and shut the door. "Now look. I know you don't like this. I've already arranged to change shifts so we don't work together, that would be quite wrong. It's what Margaret wants and it's what I want. Do you understand?" "No." "Look, you ass. Margaret and I are lovers. No, no, not for long," in answer to the unasked question. "But we are. She loves you to distraction but she likes lesbian sex. We're bi. Bi women need women. You have to come to terms with it. Part of her love for me," she stressed that last word, "is to share you. You never got it did you?" I looked at her. "I want you too, have done for ages. There, I've said it." "You loathe me." "I never showed you favouritism. I couldn't. Give it time……. little one…give it time." She went to the bedroom and opened the door. "I think lunch is ready." We ate. It felt like a visit from a less than favourite aunt. Margaret was soft and gentle, her fingers occasionally brushing mine. I was out of it, mind completely overloaded. After lunch, Margaret turned to Alice and said, "Take him. Take him to my bedroom and …. well, take him." Alice stared at her, so did I. "Go with Alice. Call her sister. Do as she says." I nodded and stood. Alice stood and led the way." * "Undress." I did and stood looking at the floor. She came and stood close in front of me and just held my penis softly as she kissed me. My erection grew in her hand and she kissed me harder. "You are not being unfaithful. Don't worry." She sucked my tongue and stroked me. She stood back and walked behind me. I could hear as her clothes were undone and removed. She walked around in front of me. She was wearing stockings and her heeled shoes and her body was fantastic. She cupped her breasts. "What do you think?" "Oh, Sister, this is so hard." "So's that," she smiled. I couldn't help smiling too. "You're beautiful," I said. "Not bad for an old one," she admitted and took my hand. She led me to the bed and pushed me gently so I knew to lie on it. She took my penis in her hand and straddled me, holding it at her entrance and slowly lowered herself onto it until she was halfway down it. I could feel her muscles tighten around me. "You will cum when I tell you, understand?" Now. This was a bone (no pun intended, however good it may be) of contention between me and Margaret. She had always tried to control my cumming but it was not always successful. Of course she punished me but she wanted it, really wanted that control. "Margaret says you've given up trying for her. Well, you'd better not give up trying for me." I heard inside my head the words she had spoken to Margaret as we had left her party that time, "You should be harsher with him." I shivered and she felt it. "Exactly!" She leaned forward and let her nipple rest on my mouth. I kissed it and suckled it as she rose and fell on me. She sat up, grinding down on me the turned so her back was to me and slid down on me again. She reached between our legs and caressed my balls. It started. It seemed like it was erupting from my kidneys. "Not yet, little one," she said as she rolled my balls so tenderly. She didn't stop and I couldn't. I said, "Marg….Sister, it's impossible." "No it's not," she said kindly and squeezed my balls. I yelled. That worked but I lost my erection, immediately. She turned. "There you are," she said smiling. "You can do it." "You did it. Christ." "Yes, but next time, you will." She went to Margaret's drawer and took out her black, silk scarves. How did she know they were there? She moved around the bed, still In her heels, and tied me to the corners of the bed. She sat down and stroked my chest, her short, neat nails running across my nipples. She leant down and kissed me. She moved down and took me in her mouth. I hardened again. "Please Sister." But she was relentless, working me wonderfully until I was almost there and she stopped. She stood and walked to the door, opened it and went out. A few minutes later she returned with Margaret, holding her hand. "Oh dear," she said as she saw that I had cum on my stomach and she turned and kissed Margaret. "Now, my love, he will learn." "Yes." Bennett led Margaret to me. "Look." Margaret looked.