I am on my knees before her, my engorged penis shaft gripped tightly in my right hand. I look up at my mistress. She has taken her pleasure, the orgasm ripping through her gorgeous little body, causing her to scream out with the carnal pleasure that her orgasm produces. For my part, somehow managed to hold back my own and now I am to be rewarded in kind. I still find it hard to believe that she did that, sitting astride me, savouring the feeling of my rock hard shaft as it filled her, thrusting down so that transported her to the place that caused the feminine squeal of delight to reverberate around her bedchamber. My mind is in a turmoil. Does this change our relationship for ever? Was it a one off, a never to be repeated aberration, intended as yet another form of torture, in this case a psychological one?
She flexes the black leather crop between her hands, gently stroking my chest with it as she tells me that my performance was everything that she desired, she is completely satiated. I feel a warm glow at the thought that my performance was up to the task. Now she extends a black leather boot towards me. These are the ones that she wears inside the castle, laced to the knee with the unusual built up tapering heels that boost her height so that when we face each other we are almost on the same level.
"Do it then, you have my permission. Allow your seed to anoint my boot. Then you will lick it clean... and I do mean clean!"
I need no second bidding to do as she orders and the seed comes quickly. With it comes the divine feeling is so intense that it is also a deep yet wonderful pain. My cum gushes forth like a torrent. It reminds me of the wild winter waves that we see on many days in this turbulent season, desperate to break upon the pristine sands. It is thick, white milky. The first of it reaches half way up the shaft, the gleaming black leather temporarily defiled by the glutinous semi liquid, now lazily sliding back as those winter waves do. It trickles back down to join my second gush that has fallen on the laced instep.
Mistress Athelnia glances at the result. She is straight faced but has that familiar wicked gleam in her eyes that tells me that she feels a smile inside, even though she does not permit herself one. At least not while I am there to see it.
"Lick it all off, swallow it. It's your mess, clean up my boot boy!"
It is still warm, thick and gooey, this mess that has been produced by my own body. And there is a lot of it. It doesn't taste of much but the consistency is unpleasant to me as it trickles down my throat. I am taking the medicine that my mistress hands out. Gladly accepting her terms for being allowed the relief that it brings. Especially so today after having been allowed to penetrate her hallowed body. The sight of her comes to me again, sitting astride me, the narrow line of auburn hair extending upwards from between her legs, eyes tightly shut, lips pursed as the orgasm rises inside her. I know that this is a moment that will remain in my mind for as long as I shall live.
She picks up the gleaming silver device and toys with it for a few moments before reaching forward and carefully putting it back into place. She locks it, replacing the little silver key in the spot reserved for it on the necklace that lies between her prominent shoulder blades. It symbolises not only her ownership of me but also her ability to control everything that I do. If she but knew it that control now also extends to every thought that enters my head. I am completely in thrall to this woman in every possible way. She totally bewitches me. In my own province that is what they would call her, a witch. She would be hunted down and tried, subjected to all kinds of torture herself. Strapped to the ducking stool and almost drowned, fitted with the branks, the cruel device that prevents the wearer from speaking, either to plead their case or to nag, they would surely break this beautiful woman. I instinctively feel that this is wrong, against the laws of nature.
Schranzenberg law has never accepted the strange crime of witchcraft or any of these perverse laws that discriminate against the female. This is one of the main points of contention between the two cultures. It is at least in part a result of the much smaller part that religious zealotry plays here. Since my ownership by Lady Athelnia we have talked a great deal about such matters. The little room that she uses when she wishes to write is lined with many volumes and she allows, encourages me even, to read them. I find them fascinating, especially in the way that they highlight the differences between the two provinces.
There is one volume in particular that has influenced me. It covers a subject that I had never heard of before, it is called jurisprudence and covers the matters of law and philosophy. I am much taken by this volume which explains much of the thinking that lies behind the divergence of the neighbouring provinces. Since my studies I have come to the conclusion that my new home has laws that make much more sense. What I certainly have come to realise in these last few months is that I would gladly give my life in defence of this wise and beautiful woman who, at great expense, saved me from a life of drudgery in some apple orchard.
The cost of this is that she enjoys using and tormenting me. But this really isn't a cost at all. Those sessions that she enjoys so much down in bowels of her castle in the old stone dungeon that everyone assumes is just abandoned, a symbol of how things used to be in Schranzenberg before torture was removed as a punishment. These sessions that see my body bound and scourged with her whips, even branded with her initials, are desired every bit as much by me as they are enjoyed by her.
My hand instinctively goes to my left buttock. I feel the puckered skin and scar tissue, the shape of the "A" still prominent from the time when, suspended by my ankles like the carcass of an animal my mistress had applied the red hot brand to my flesh. An action that she freely admitted to me later had caused her an orgasm of epic proportions. An admission that brought the response from me that I was more than happy to endure the agony so that she might feel that very special sensation. I had absolutely no doubt that my response was the correct one for that was the occasion when she had first placed her lips against mine and kissed me deeply, no doubt motivated by what she perceived as a selfless act of giving. As I thought back to that moment I realised that this was indeed the catalyst that led us inexorably to what had just occurred.
Several more weeks have passed and the days have begun to lengthen quite noticeably. However the weather seems to lag well behind and the temperature drops lower than ever. The forest that surrounds the town appears magical. Largely composed of pine trees, the branches are laden with freshly fallen snow, the paths and bridleways similarly are thickly coated with the soft, powdery product of what has been a particularly bitter winter. Several of the small lakes that dot the forest have disappeared, their surfaces now just a large, flat area of pristine whiteness.
We are at breakfast, in our usual positions, Lady A at her table, me on my knees at her feet eating from the bowl that she provides for me. A servant brings a missive to her table. A scroll of vellum that has just been delivered by messenger. She reads it in silence, a smile slowly spreads across her face.
