In the Service of His Penance

My name is Miriam and I live in the heartland of her. We are a society ruled by women. When I was little I was taught that men were animals. Men have no economic or political power in our society. Only women can participate in our assemblies or hold office. Men are mainly breeding animals, much as cattle. We do breed with men. However, love, between men and women, is forbidden. Marriage is reserved solely as a union between women.

But my passion for men falls like the ruins of sanity in cascades of teardrops wept on rainy nights under the stars where unholy mantras of wolf howls dance on eardrums. The space-time fabric of celestial intoxication mates with rainbow nebulae whose galaxies collide with the ferocity of gladiators. My Amazon warrior woman armor is cast aside for neurotic hanky panky with my troubadour man in full regalia of naked strength in the throes of Orphic mysteries for my sun which throbs in the heated crux of gates of Eden leading to my womanly warbling of soprano treble spilled on sheets of Zen satori.

As a child, I am paired with Alana. Once in battle, she saves my life. She pulls me from the burning wreckage of a building. She nurses me and gives me back my life. For that, I am eternally grateful.

But then I meet a young boy named Zach. He is a gangly boy, with a mop of raven black hair, and the cutest dimples. I fall madly in love with him at the age of eighteen. He whispers, "I love you." I laugh. How silly the idea of love between a man and a woman seems to me. But I love him too. I do not speak it out of shame.

Indigo skies permutate into saturated obsidian summoning him to my corporeal parlor on nights in the makeshift bedrooms of the woods where we trip with trepidation merrily to the tune of the magical minstrel galliards from the town square where skirts spin when darkness reigns in the apocalyptic squirrel's nests of eternity but tickling like a feather upon the nexus of my hollow where songs left unsung quietly mulch till new tunes stretch tendrils rising as Opera notes, mad ones, whose pitch wavers in waxing wobbly wonder till time stands still in the moment of ascension.

But at long last, we are discovered. I get pregnant with Zach. Alana notices that my periods have stopped. She sees me kiss Zach while I gather water at the well. Zach will pay the price of the crime, for women are not held accountable in these matters. If not for the kiss I could have professed my relationship with Zach as purely for breeding and he would have been spared. But my brazen affection for a man imperils him.

Here I stand with my sisters. My worst nightmare unfolds. The night waxes lunar madness. Ankh necklaces are laced around our necks. The ancient drumbeat gathers us females around the sacred fire. I am bathed in wet heat.

I know that he has been told this will be a sexual bondage ceremony orchestrated by me. His cock is already at half mast. I tell him, "Zach, this ceremony will stir the Lovelies desire for men."

"Maybe they'll want our hand in marriage instead of just making whoopee in the barn."

"And the roll in the hay will have intrinsic value aside from putting buns in the oven," I say.

I watch as the Dark Guardian stands before him, in her long flowing black robe, with her kinky raven hair falling down her shoulders in waves. She looks like an angel of death. Her eyes seem to glow like coals in the firelight. She is so beautiful, I think, but she is deadly like a poisonous snake. I am aghast as I watch her anoint his body with oil and rub it into his sex.

I look into his smoky eyes and he meets my gaze. I mouth the words, "I love you." He looks at me as though begging for deliverance from his sexual frustration. I know that it is in my power to protect him. We will be spared if I agree to accept exile from my tribe. But I have never known any life apart from my sisters.

I remember tender moments when Alana gently applied ointment to my wounds when she scraped me with her knife. She taught me the most important lesson in life. Always be true to your deepest feelings. Never allow a passing fancy or mood to guide you. But if you feel something deep within your heart and it rings true follow this feeling. It will guide you out of the wilderness into the freedom of truth.

My heart trembles as I watch Zach being led to the cross. I tell him "Mount the cross, Zach. Do it for us. It will all be over before you know it. Bite down on this rubber dog toy to protect your teeth when they clench. Give me a kiss before I thrash you." I shackle his wrists and his ankles.

As I hear the Dark Guardian begin her chant, I stifle sobs deep in my chest. She says, "You were the one defiled by your man. Therefore, you are obliged to mete out his punishment. You see that the only accessory he wears is his belt. You are to undo his belt. There now his leather strap is yours. It has more uses than holding up pants as he'll soon discover." I feel like screaming when she hands me his leather strap. I am repulsed by the thought that this beautiful man, whom I had shared such deep passion with, is about to be whipped by none other than me.

The Dark Guardian screams with cat-like howls. Her eyes glow with the fire of righteous indignation. Her howl sends waves of terror rippling through my body. I feel ripped apart.

I say, "Zach if you keep a stiff upper lip while I chastise you we'll be free to live on the perimeter of our queendom as wife and husband."

"This is worse than when you caught me in a self-inflicted love pose."

"Didn't you ever get spanked by your mother?"

"Jeez, you want me to let you spank me? I'm very sensitive to pain. I can't even get a hickey from you without groaning. This is ten times worse."

"You look like Jesus on the cross. The pain will be great my love. But bear it for our freedom. Here, I'll start with a hand spanking on your luscious buns. How do you feel when I slap your ass?"

"I am floating in a sea of pleasure, warm and deep."

"I'll whack you harder then. You do have a blushing bottom now. Now here goes an avalanche of hand kisses such as you've never endured. But you will endure it for us, my love."

He says, "Miriam, keep up the pace my love, for slavery sits on a pinnacle of rock and no birds sing."

The queen blindfolds Zach and summons her lady in waiting whose jaded smile reflects the sordid nature of her service to the queen on this her twenty-first orbit of the sun. I consider how tragic that the coquette is old enough to imbibe liquor but forbidden to as a court lady. Yet more to her liking, her lips are about to wrap around Zach's bottleneck. The simultaneous pleasure and pain are the queen's ounce of mercy. The beauty kneels before my lover man and uses her rosebud lips to bring him into his fullness as the crime is perpetrated. Zach smiles under her tender tongue.

The queen decrees how I must reaffirm my loyalty to the coven. "My lovely young lass, you must show Zach that you are taken. In so doing I want you to kiss your spouse Alana for Zach to see." She takes his blindfold off and I move close enough to feel Alana's breath on my face. I kiss her with my tongue in our hummingbird sharing of nectar. Zach's eyes glaze while being fellated. Alana squeezes my pimento in her olive press mouth.

Soon Zach quakes like a mystic. The fury of my jealousy fastens onto the folded belt. The leather in my hand is guided by the desire to make his bottom cheeks as red as those on the face of the blushing courtesan. I say, "Relax your butt my darling, it will go easier that way. Just focus on her cocoon being spun around your silkworm."

With the swiftness of lightning, I burn into the soft flesh of his rear with the belt. The sting of the lick makes his hips roll evasively. My strap singes his bottom with a pink carnation tint as it cracks into him in endless swishes. The sound echoes, reverberating across my ears. His buttocks quiver with apparent delight as my leather marks him as my property. His soreness is revealed by his ouches. My belt cracks harder and harder. He makes love to the damsel's face petals with his thrusting hips telling me that his pain is exceeded only by the pleasure of the belle's spring tulips tour until the crash of his own belt recedes into my hand's soft caresses.

I say, "My queen, you have compelled me to do this, though every fiber of my being is repulsed by it."

Zach gets my belt makeover on his tushie. My crack of leather on his skin reverberates through the air. His muffled moans signify pain blossoming into pleasure. A crimson blush spreads across his ivory skin. My proclamation is made. "The belt whipping is over! Only my hand will be employed in the service of his penance."

The soubrette's role is to smoke his cigar while I pray to the Goddess. "Why Athena must I do this to Zach? I want to love him. Don't make me into a cruel dominatrix. That's not who I want to be."

With my right hand, I reach behind him and brush his buttocks with feather soft strokes. I feel him begin to quiver like a fawn. He must sense the contrast between my gentleness and harshness which fascinates him. I love pat and begin kneading his bottom to relax his public modesty.

The court lady kisses the moist tip of his penis while swirling her tongue around his royal crown. He rises to the occasion. She girdles his prick in her rosebud lips and enfolds the tip in soft tropical wetness. She hefts his delicate family jewels in her palm and clasps them while rolling them tenderly with her velvety fingertips.

With her warm wet tongue, she follows a sinuous path up his rising prominence. She gently teases the sensitive underside of his cock-crest. With her roseate lips, she clutches his dew dropped tip in a sultry sea silk cocoon.

He stays hard for us like our knight on a night of bliss. By keeping him erect, we prolong his sentence of exile from being carried out. She plays ring around the rosy with her lips on his maypole. Her tongue taps him like a toe shoe in a ballet. She enlists a licorice lick of her tongue and a Tromboner slide with her hand. Her Frenchie teases the screwball out of that gspot beneath the crown just right. Simultaneously she fingers his dice like a high stakes roller.

I feel fiery tongues of heat run down his sex hungry body. The sun of his bottom glows with sacred heat. I gaze upon the milky gluteus galaxy of his posterior with eyes aflame. With a finger I stroke his tush cleft 'till he is as still as a butterfly sunning on a leaf.

My voice commands, "Stay still." I soothe him by probing his orifice, one of the seven openings of the body through which the sacred energies merge with the cosmic flow.

With my priestess' hands, I turn his derriere into the heat of summer. I see the blush of his bottom beatified by the tender torrent of my palms. I plant star clusters deep into his celestial cheeks where his pleasure echoes in moans. I sow solar seeds to ignite deep in his posterior where bliss finds its voice in his breath chant.

I feel so alive, secure, and filled. He breathes to the rhythm of my hands. The firm slap of my hand against his soft bottom reverberates throughout the ceremonial plaza. The smack of my hand upon his receptively pushed out bottom sets his fever pitch. Each stroke is a blood red rose which incites him to pump his hips into a frenzy. My fingers cascade down his spine to his sacrum. I baptize his bottom in a mosaic of my handprints. When his moans deepen, I pause. I hold his buns in a tender clasp.

The damsel says, "God your penis feels hard as granite. There should be a replica carved into a mountain. It's that majestic!"

"You two have made me into a monument."

I say, "We need to carve a wooden copy of your dick for me to get off with when I'm off on the battlefield."

"God my tiny suns are igniting. They are about to explode! They are shrinking into me."

Suddenly I whack his bottom sending him into cries of hysteria as though the cells of his body are crying out for joy. Meteors are freed from the bondage of his balls.

His star seeds burst like pollen to be savored like honeysuckle nectar upon the courtesan's

psychedelic tongue. She lifts her face and gazes up at him with a wicked grin. Her lips glisten with his nectar in the torchlight.

"Enough! The price has been paid. There will be no more whipping" I say.

I know that if I choose, he will be spared banishment. But I don't know if we can survive outside of the village. I have heard horror stories about what happens to young women who stray outside of our territory. Hostile male ruled tribes surround us. Though I have heard tell of a place far across the mountains where men and women live as equals and even marry. But the journey there would be perilous.

I could blackball our romance into a star crossed love affair gone south. With lightning speed, a scream rips from my vocal cords. But another voice speaks from my heart. I feel my lips open and my voice comes softly, "Where he goes so shall I."

She says, "Do not take lightly what you are saying. You know what this means."

I stand firmly and my trembling fades away. I say, "I know what will happen to us."

She replies, "Is it worth it, for a man?"

"I have feelings I have never known with anyone else for him. I need him. I can't explain why."

She says, "Do you need him more than Alana, your family, and your sisters?"

I say, "More than anything. I love him." That is the first time I have spoken those words out loud.

She turns to her attendants and says, "Just to spill the beans he was in no risk. This was a test to see how passionate a woman could be with a man. We aren't hairy brutes like those menfolk. So go in peace my sister and enjoy the pleasures of the male physique. Oh, and you needn't fear exile. It is about time we femmes let our sisters tie the knot with guys. It was in the works already. You two just sealed the deal." Zach is untied from the post by the attendants.

They lead him to me and I lead him to his tent. There I lay him on a blanket to apply aloe to soothe the shock he must be feeling in his derriere. I begin to reach toward him to apply the lotion. He resists with his buttocks tight as a runner's before stretching. "Your ass whipping must have felt like a betrayal by the female gender."

He says, "The fear in my flesh will subside."

I say, "Darling, I have to do this. The sooner you learn to trust women the better it will sink in." He nods and responds by relaxing his tush. He whimpers as I tenderly apply the cream to his hot bottom. When I am finished; I kiss him and whisper, "I love you."

He knows what price I was willing to pay for his deliverance. He looks up at me with a furrowed brow and says, "I won't let you do this. Though our marriage is legal your sisters will shun you. It is too great a price for you to pay. Go back to Alana."

I caress his forehead lightly and gently push the locks of hair from his eyes. I say, "Nothing you can say will change my decision. I made it freely. It is my choice." We both know that as a man he has no power to challenge my decision. I pull a cover over him and say, "My decision is final. But don't you go worrying about me becoming a social outcast. Believe me, this thing will snowball. There are hoards of women who dreamed of the day when they could marry men. Shucks, we started a revolution which was already in the making. You know the queen wanted me to use a cat of nine tails whip. You know the kind they flogged Jesus with. It has metal in the tails. I'd never have followed through with that. I'm not a psycho."

He looks at me with his soft green eyes that speak to me with deep tenderness. His eye gleam makes him look so vulnerable. I tell him, "Now go to sleep." As he looks up at me I see deep gratitude in his face. His look communicates to me that deep in his soul he loves me more than his own life. In his eyes, I see the future.

"You know, there was an elegance to your buns. I would like to immortalize your red clover hills on canvas. But it would take considerable hand smacks to keep your red behind from fading to ivory before the painting is finished. I'm sure you would be agreeable to such a spanking if there was a strong fuck on your way compliments of my musculature. So long as the scene was solely for the portrait and never to be revisited. For a piquant touch, I'll first coat your buns in olive oil to make them glisten like honey-dipped McIntosh Reds."

"We'll call it a study of an autumn blaze on sculpted brawn," he acquiesces.