I used to have a guardian angel who was a French Catholic priest from the 19th century - at least I did according to a fortune-teller I once visited in Blackpool. Being English and brought up a Protestant I figured that this relationship wouldn't last.
It didn't.
Now the only guides I have to steer me through life's many challenges are the two voices in my head. One is positive, the other negative. I call them Mr High and Mr Low.
Mr High is adventurous and bold, and the reason I get anything done at all. Mr Low is reserved and cynical, and the reason I don't achieve as much as I should. So it was just myself – a forty-two year old male – and these two little helpers who eventually took their first faltering steps into the world of domination and submission.
That's Female domination and male submission.
Curious readers may want to know why, at such an advanced stage in my life, I would want to experience this particular realm of sexual activity: that is a difficult question to answer - in fact I'm sorry I urged you to bring it up! However, since you ask, I will give you a brief outline of the developments that brought me to this door.
Even from my earliest recollections I realised that I adored women: young, old; thin, large; short, tall - it made no difference. I loved their breasts, and what an array of breasts there are to enjoy, and I loved their legs and their hips, their feet and thighs, waists and shoulders; and forgive me, but at the same time admire my honesty - I adore their shaven pussies, their hairy pussies, cute little clits, prominent clits, pussy lips, pullable, lickable and suckable pussy lips. And then, and then – ah, those bottoms! All shapes and sizes: tight and round, bouncy and swaying, slim or bulging. And all so spankable. Heaven.
I even developed a method of masturbation that I could engage in at any time, day or night, no matter where I found myself. I realised that the 'traditional' way of masturbating, with the movement of your hand rapidly sliding up and down the shaft of your cock, faster and faster, would not go unnoticed for long in a public place. Consequently, and I am rather proud of this, I invented a new way to masturbate.
Well, it was new to me, and as far as I was aware all my acquaintances stuck to the 'traditional' method of doing 'it'.
My method involved putting my hand in my trouser pocket, feeling my cock through the pocket material, taking hold of the head only, and turning it from side to side, slowly at first, and then changing the tempo accordingly. This movement of the hand, or rather the movement of three fingers and a thumb, was so discreet that nobody had an inkling of what I was doing. Just imagine the difference: rather than my full hand making the lengthwise movements along my shaft, representing a jerking distance of a few inches at least, I replaced it by the turning of my cock's head only, thus eliminating jerky movements altogether. And it worked: I could bring myself off by using this method in almost any environment, be it on a train, at the cinema, or in the park, undetectable except for a slight flushing of my face when I came. Neat don't you think?
SPANKING
As this is a brief overview of my developing perversions, I will skip the years of teenage angst and take us to a relationship I had in my late twenties.
Vera was a strong, sturdy girl – not thin, not fat – and she loved sex. In the sixth or seventh month of our relationship, in the midst of writhing around on my bed, she asked me to spank her, or to be precise, pleaded for me to spank her. Now, despite my fascination with the female bottom, spanking was still only fantasy to me, but here I was, being presented with this lovely plumpish bottom and a delightful woman pleading with me to smack it. I hesitated – okay, it was for about two seconds actually – and then gave the left cheek of her bottom two light slaps. 'Harder than that,' was her response: somehow, it sounded more like a command than a request, and I obliged, administering some fairly sound slaps on each cheek. And then again, and again... and again, just waiting for her request to stop. That request never came, and as I continued to spank her, I felt underneath her for her pussy: she was absolutely dripping wet. I had never experienced a woman so wet, and it was a shock - a bloody delightful shock - and it spurred me on. I increased the strength of the slaps and awaited her request to stop, but still it never came. So I hit her lovely reddening bottom even harder and with more rapid strokes. I thrashed her for what seemed like hours, and finally fucked her from behind, admiring her stunningly red and beaten bottom. Exhausted we both lay back and relaxed on the bed, she hugged me and gave me a heartfelt 'thank you' kiss. She had just experienced one of her fantasies, and unbeknown to her, I. had just experienced one of mine.
My spanking activities were born. They even took my mind off turning thirty years old, a date I had been dreading since I was about eighteen years old. "Hey, you're thirty years old, and you've still got your own hair and teeth... cool." To be truthful, at eighteen years old I was even dreading reaching twenty-one because I figured that after that age life was all down hill. So it took something special for me to forget the landmark age of thirty, and my introduction to the world of spanking was indeed special and although I continued to meet girls and have ordinary sex, every meaningful relationship I have had since Vera – that is, over the last ten years – has involved some form of spanking activity: you could say it has become something of a prerequisite.
Now here's the point. This is where it gets psychologically deep - too deep for me, if I'm being honest, but I'll try: as I experienced the submission of the female – over my knee or a chair, or on all fours on the floor - and I saw them spanked, sometimes even thrashed and humiliated, and I saw the expressions on their faces, I grew to realise that what I saw in them was a reflection or projection of my own submissive desires. Initially I tried to deny the truth of it, but I couldn't, I wanted to be like them. I wanted to be spanked and humiliated. No matter how I fought against it and tried to pretend it wasn't true. Domination was great, don't get me wrong, but submission, I thought, would be better.
You see, I told you this was deep.
MISTRESS
So it was that one sunny Saturday morning I, along with Mr High and Mr Low, turned up outside the semi-detached home of Mistress Jean.
I can't remember the exact date that Mr High and Mr Low came into my life. It wasn't during my schooldays I know that. Nor was it during my teenage years, they were straightforward days when I could get by with my own thoughts. I probably first noticed them around the time my first marriage broke up. I recall their contradictory advice during that stressful period. 'Never mind, there are plenty more females in this world' was from Mr High, whereas Mr Low offered something like, 'That's it then. You'll never find another girl as good as her.' And they have been there ever since, my constant companions. Sometimes I ignore them and let them chatter and bicker amongst themselves, sometimes I engage them in conversation, not out loud of course, people might form the wrong impression, in fact people might think I was not right in the head. 'And people would be right' Mr Low interjects. 'Coming here like this, getting us into these weird situations, yes, people would be absolutely spot on, you're not right in the bloody head.'
As I pressed the doorbell I had a moment of regret about responding to her newspaper advert asking for a 'weekend sub'. Indeed, I had doubted the wisdom of it since I made the reply, but I had had a couple of telephone conversations with her and she seemed okay. So here I was, destined, for the next two days, to be the slave and at the command of a woman I had never met.
Mr Low expressed his reservations. 'If a Rose West look-a-like opens this door then we're fucking off home right?' I ignored him and waited as I heard the sound of feet clattering down the stairs inside. I held my breath and waited. The door swung open and I was somewhat reassured when a rather pleasant looking lady peered at me. Blonde, about 5ft 4in, with a slim body, and looking pretty much as I'd imagined her from our telephone chats. Also, to my relief, there was no sight of any rubber or leatherwear, just a plain dark blue dress and black slip on shoes, and no stockings.
"I knew you would turn up," was her greeting. "Come in and go through to the front room." She ushered me through and I followed, doubts hammering in my chest. Before I had the chance to settle down she came to stand at my side and whispered in my ear: "From this second onwards you will address me as Mistress and I will address you as slave. And you will do absolutely everything I command." She didn't wait for an answer, but added: " Now strip naked, and when I return you will be down on the floor on all fours."
'So a cup of tea is out of the question then?' observed Mr Low.
POSITION ONE
Mr High and I felt a tingle of anticipation while I knelt awaiting her return. Thankfully she returned dressed in the same attire, looking more like a housewife than a dominatrix. I thought that was much sexier.
She positioned herself at my head. "Put your hands closer together, slave. Put your knees together and bring them up under your belly and lower your bottom. Place your forehead flat on the floor at the point of my shoes." She surveyed my position. " Good. Now remember that is 'Position One'. Whenever you greet me that is the position you adopt, and whenever I say 'Position One' you instantly revert to how you are now. Do you understand?"
