Game of Art for the Wealthy Matron

It was an established pattern. A contest was held with a considerable cash prize. In those days, poetry was held in high regard. So students, mostly, wrote poetry dedicated to the powerful old matronly figure. These poems were judged.

It was left open as to the relation of the object of the poem and the poet. Some wrote of dedication, virtues and others wrote of love both emotional and physical.

An invitation was sent out to the lucky first place winner. It stated that he must drive to a certain address in an affluent part of town. The direction lead him to the open front doors of an old Edwardian home. It is well lit and he peeks into an extravagantly furnished house.

Large rooms lead to smaller rooms. The doors close behind him making him jump. There are all sort of treasures and cushions in the eastern tradition. Golden scimitars hang in a row.

The last door is very small. He goes through and there, in a dim room, luxuriously spread out, is a completely naked old woman in the middle of cushions and silks. She looks completely comfortable, lying in a relaxed pose. Her body is tastefully covered over by a thin material which clings to her form, showing her bust and a strange body.

To her, this is like a date night with some intelligent great looking guy who is young enough to be her grandson. She got a rush from watching how different boys react to this. She seduces them with scents and smiles. She coaxes them into sex with caresses and light kisses. As a last resort she can withhold the prize money or worse until she has her way with them. This is done playfully, of course.

She knows many of them will always desire someone like her from that day on. Each golden scimitar is one of her successes. They are with other woman but they still remember and dream about that special night.

Then she finds someone special. A beautiful boy with curly hair like her and big wide open eyes. He seemed to feel everything intently. His poem was wonderful. It was filled with lavish praises of her virtues. Without shame, he wrote about his adoration of her and compares her with a certain sacred mother figure from old pagan tradition.

And how he bows down before her not just in a poetic sense but in reality. The poem borders on the sublime act of worship. How he worships her picture every night and how she is more then a mother to him and so on. He keeps himself from any other woman, the poem says. And kisses her picture on the lips. From here it goes on to describe her godly form of both matron and lover. Her holy duality and her large curved body. She wanted to meet this boy. His poetry made her very amorous. He told her he knew the words would turn her on even though they were public. Like a secret message to her. But he didn't know anything about love-making. She wanted to take him away right then and there.

She let him kiss her all over on his special night. Every inch. She showed him how to lick her to orgasm and how to tease her. She loved it and gave him the instructions he craved from her with his big eyes.

She let him stay with her. But he didn't see that much of her. She wanted to keep the feeling for him. He lived in her big house, waiting for her. Always waiting. He was young and very sexual aroused all the time. She showed him how to keep himself full of liquid as she taught him to call it. She wanted him to write more stories or poems in his spare time. She said it made his artistry more erotic and strange the more full he was. He begged her to get him a chastity device and eventually she did.

She was still having the contests, of course. He knew when because preparations would begin a week in advance. This happened only a few times a year. He heard her seduce the new boy.

Strange things began to happen. After a dinner with her, he went to bed and had dreams that were not dreams. He was crawling somewhere. It felt like a tunnel only tall enough to crawl through. He had to scoot along for some reason. He was feeling something like pain as if being hit in a dream whenever he moved in a wrong way or didn't do the right thing. What the voice said was: Turn this way. Come to my voice.

Then the voice talked about normal, daily, things as he crouched and listened without moving, completely blind. He woke up as from a nightmare, alone in the room.

She had him in a tower. She had the only keys. When she rattled them, he was very happy, and they would be together. As she got older, she wanted to be around him more and they spent more time together.

She told people that he was crazy believing himself to be a cat of some sort. She said she did it for philanthropic reasons. She told people about him before displaying him to society. At first, he was only brought out at her special parties with the peculiar people.

She told him to behave as if they were not there. She was firm about staying the same couple when people were around. He thought he was okay with this until she expected him to play their games in front of a dumbstruck maid. Then he understood how humiliating that could be.

She taught him how to turn that shiver of horrible embarrassment to a pleasure sensation that play throughout his body. He was okay with this. He wasn't playing anymore and he loved his goddess that much.

But he felt very naked indeed when people around him clicked glasses and talked about the Ancient Greeks. When in the room, the crazy boy was always the subject of conversation. So-called learned men recited similar experiences they have had or had heard of.

He knew what she wanted from him. He learned during their time together. This changed only slightly. Mostly, he would crawl around on all fours or curl up at her feet, responding to subtle commands from her. Sometimes he got his head down to almost the floor and began to give her ankles little kisses which would delight the old girl endlessly.