Pastorale. Amanda. Aidan McGill © 2005

Category: Best Heterosexual Story

I first possessed Amanda on the Winter Solstice - June 21 for us in the Southern Hemisphere. A momentous day. Of course, I didn't know I owned her then, but she explained it to me.

I'm Jack Nichols, and I own a small farm at the base of a range of granite hills in the centre of the state. I'd taught science and agriculture until I was thirty, saved assiduously, come into some money, and used it and my savings to purchase the farm. At 128 hectares or 320 acres, most people thought it was too small and isolated to be viable, which was why I could afford to buy it. I'd sneaked in and taken an option on the place with the owners when I was twenty-five, then bought it when they planned to retire. It never even came on the market. It had been used for grazing and growing lucerne (alfalfa) hay, but I followed a growing trend and put in several hectares of wine grapes, with different varieties ripening over a period of almost two months. I studied viticulture and winemaking. I also put in areas dedicated to apples for cider, pears for perry, and smaller areas of stone fruit dedicated to speciality fruit wines. I added two hectares of mixed olives, some for oil and some for pickling. I had a wine cellar, and I made a decent living from cellar-door sales and tourists, boutique sales and subscriptions.

I was a born-again bachelor. My bitch of a wife had run herself off a bridge, drunk and speeding on her way back from fucking her latest "boyfriend". I knew our marriage was in trouble but I never knew what was going on. Now, instead of a property settlement I got insurance settlements. You can get lucky sometimes. I'd been on the farm five years, I was thirty-five years old, and I was still a free agent - more than a little gun-shy I guess.

I still did some casual teaching around the surrounding districts, and I lectured in Agricultural Science one day a week at the local university. Amanda was in one of my classes there. Eighteen years old, long wheaten-blonde hair, just a little more muscular than fashionable - in other words a real girl. Of course, I didn't even look sideways at the students sexually. It could cost me not just my job, but prison time as well for some of the younger ones - and it was hard to tell the difference.

I'd had the normal run of dropouts, wank-offs and general slackers among my students; but Mandie was different. She wasn't making it, but she could! She'd turned in occasional brilliant work, but she just wasn't handling the needs of university. I'd even gone to the trouble of checking her out, and her record at an all-girl boarding school was brilliant too. Now she needed to do independent study, and she just wasn't hacking it. There are a lot of kids like that, actually. I was nearly one myself. Intelligent, but just a little too immature when they enter a system that demands maturity without teaching it; and the juggernaut rolls over them. If they had taken a job for a couple of years first, they would have aced it. Do it this way and they're dropouts for life. It had taken me a few months to click into a groove that got me through university, and if I'd been a month slower I would probably have failed first year, university and life.

I had another responsibility towards her too. She was a member of the congregation at my church. I wasn't an Elder or anything, but just the same we have to look after our brothers and sisters.

In early May our pastor came to talk to me with Amanda in tow. "Jack", he said, "I hope you can help Amanda. At least advise her. Her world has just about collapsed over the last week, and she needs support."

Well, her parents had been killed in a motor accident. A hyped-up long-haul truck driver had driven over the top of them on Monday night. She'd been orphaned most horribly, and it turned out the insurance agent who handled her parents' affairs had been pocketing money he'd been supposed to be passing on. That could be sorted out - there were fidelity funds and so forth - but it would take a while. Meanwhile she was shattered, penniless, and failing. No fallback position and she was falling.

What could I do? Pastor Paul and his wife put her up for the night, and I spoke to the faculty adviser that afternoon, rousting her out from a tennis game. They would register special circumstances, and she could stay with me. After all, the mechanisms were in place: parents and children did it all the time. We'd just have to be careful about who set and marked exams, but if they knew in advance they could get past that. Actually, it would hardly cost me anything: I grew most of my own food, and her using a spare room wouldn't cost diddley-squat.

A couple of people from church helped, we used my two-horse trailer as a van, and we got her moved in on Monday. Tuesday I had her back to lectures. She was only just holding together, but I'd spoken to a student adviser. I knew she'd do better with an established routine. By Thursday night, I knew it wasn't working. Or rather she wasn't working. She just didn't know how. She'd been winging it on intelligence and ability, and that just isn't enough long-term when you get to University. I told her we'd need to talk on Friday night.

Friday was my University day, so I did the lectures, and got another look at how she was approaching things. Still not right. We went home and she prepared a meal - just marvellous. Grilled steaks and baby boiled potatoes with mint sauce, garden salad, fruit tray with cheese and nuts as dessert. Great. If I'd wanted a housekeeper she'd have sure passed one of the tests. However, what I really wanted was a student who'd pass.

I talked to her about my perceptions, and she agreed with me. After all - it wasn't that she was stupid - just immature and inexperienced. She was also near desperate because she knew she was failing, but she just didn't know what to do about it. OK, she knew that she needed to study, and she knew that she wasn't doing it right. In fact, she knew that she'd proved she couldn't do it - on her own - at this stage in her life. That's a horrible helpless feeling. Remember; I'd been there? You know what needs doing, you know how to do it, but somehow you're helpless to do what you know is needed.

Talking it over with her, we went back to when she had been studying effectively. It had been an authoritarian managed environment. Her boarding school had run her life, and managed her resources effectively. Again, talking it over, she agreed that it would at least give her a chance if I ran her study for a while. She didn't need her whole life managed, I thought. The little things she could handle. However, she agreed she needed her study managed.

We arranged it that way. We went to an old-fashioned family homework environment. She and I would sit at the dining-room table. I'd do whatever I needed to do - bookwork or marking or preparation or web-surfing on a laptop PC or even just reading a novel or magazine; she'd do her "homework". At this stage of her life she needed the emotional support of someone physically "being there" for her as well. Worked too - her abilities were focused, and over the next month she was catching up on her academic work. She just squeaked through her end-of-semester exams, but that was better than she'd been going to do.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I kept her at it through the end-of-semester vacation, back-filling what she'd missed earlier in the year. Working solidly through days without lectures, she picked it up. Mid-winter was a Tuesday, and I declared an extended weekend free as a reward for her diligence. Friday through Tuesday all off.

She lounged around Friday, happy enough to be off the hook for a while, but at a bit of a loose end. By Saturday she was getting antsy, so I suggested taking the horses out for a ride in one of the nearby State Forests. She declined - the last of her period, she said, but it would be right on Sunday.

Sunday morning we had church, of course. She asked my opinion on outfits, then wore a simple outfit with white lacy blouse, black velvet skirt and jacket, deep maroon ribbon tie and a hair ribbon to match, and long black leather boots. Most of her contemporaries were on vacation, so she hung around me all morning, nagging about our ride, and took my arm as we left, laughing up at me, eager and happy. The afternoon was good - a bit short, but that was OK - I gathered she was still spotting just a bit.

Monday I had to feed the stock. We both wore jeans and flannelette shirts and quilted jackets. We had a simple enjoyable time pitching hay, we got straw all over us, and we needed showers when we got home. I offered to arm-wrestle for first chance at the shower, but she just laughed. I had ten minutes, she said, then she'd be in whether I was done or not. She did it too. I was out, with a towel round my waist, when she barged in, did fake admiration of my muscles, running her fingers over my pecs, kissed my chest, and started stripping off. I retired in confusion.

Tuesday was the Winter Solstice, and the last day of my self-declared holiday. The weather was cold and windy, wet and sleety, with snow falling on the surrounding peaks. I didn't have any special farm work I absolutely had to do, and I was happy about that. The most I intended to do all day was get another barrow-load of firewood from the woodshed, and of course check the boundary fences. No matter what, you've got to check the fences. Ride the bounds, as it were.

As it happened, I second-guessed myself, and moved some sheep to a forested paddock. I had a bad feel about the weather, and I wanted to get them in better shelter. That done, I brought in the wood and then settled in front of the fire. Mandie settled down on a sheepskin rug on the floor beside me with a book, and started reading again.

Lunch. We did nuked ham off the bone and bread rolls with poached eggs, and I did some gluwein.

I thought about the rest of the day. "Would you like to go out for dinner?" I asked.

"You haven't taken me out for dinner before", she said.

"No, and I may not ever, unless I get an answer soon."

"Yes," she said.

I thought about what I'd seen in the local paper, and made a telephone call. One of the local pubs was running a "Yule feast" for the winter solstice, and it turned out they still had vacancies, so I booked us two places. This looked like a night I wouldn't want to drive - too much ice on the road, too much anti-freeze in the bloodstream, so I also booked us a cab in and a tentative, time-to-be-confirmed, return trip as well.

"OK", I said. "Dress optional. It's a 'Yule feast' at the Caledonian. Fixed menu, but this show has a reputation for good food well prepared, and entertainment as well."

"So," she said, "what do you want me to wear? Dress optional or not, frostbit nips is probably not a good look."

"Not sure. I'd like us to dress up a little. Let's look at the options. Special but informal is what I'm thinking."

She ran through what she had, including some of her mother's stuff. She was "somewhat informal" about showing the clothes. A lot of running around in a robe, or even just in her knickers. What I settled on (my decision - she was deferring) was an embroidered midnight-blue velvet dress with a deep heart-shaped neckline. It didn't entirely free her breasts but it did for sure show her cleavage: bra not possible there. The hemline draped near to the floor, but was slashed at one side. Hippies sixties stuff. Teamed with a shawl she could wear outdoors, and those long leather boots. She was a knockout.

We went in, in the taxi. I wore cream-coloured moleskins and a maroon corduroy shirt, RM Williams riding boots and a calfskin jacket. Country or sixties, or maybe both; but anyway it worked for me. Surprisingly, it complemented her retro-hippie outfit quite well.

* * * * * * * * * * *

We enjoyed our "Yule Feast". Dry sherry with soup to start. Freshwater crayfish with asparagus and rice as an entree, with a dry white Chardonnay. Main course of three roasts, with a light red Merlot wine. Baked ham, which was reminiscent of lunch but so good we didn't regret it. Roast goose, which you couldn't eat every day - very rich and smooth. Roast beef, basted with the ham and goose drippings. Potatoes and pumpkin and sweet potato and carrots and green beans. Caramelised onion gravy. Dessert was plum pudding with custard and hard brandy sauce, accompanied by dry champagne. We finished with muscat and port with the after-dinner cheese and nuts.

A guitarist and a fiddle player provided live music. Accomplished vocalists as well, they rang the changes from country and bluegrass to folk to jazz, blues and classical. They surprised me when they asked Amanda to do a bracket of Celtic songs. I'd known from church that she could sing well, but they knew her from their home town.

We had casual conversation between courses. That dress Amanda wore added unexpected interest to the evening for me as well. With the deep décolletage and no bra you could see quite a slice of her upper and inner breasts. What I hadn't counted on was that if she leaned forward and turned towards me, as she did while we chatted, it was quite possible to see a nipple or two as well. She caught me looking, realised what was happening, blushed, then just grinned and shrugged. "Nothing I can do about it now", she said. "I'll just make sure no-one else gets an eyeful. Purely private showing."

We finished just before 10pm, and called the taxi. Whoops! They couldn't get us home - the police had closed the road due to snow and ice. I braced the pub, and they could put us up for the night. They only had one room left, though, and that with only a queen bed. Interesting! I looked at her and she said, "We'll take it. We don't really have a choice."

We checked the room, which was freezing. We turned the heater and electric blankets on, and left the room to warm up while we went back to the bar. I ordered a cognac, and she had another port. We had a little high table to ourselves, and we perched on stools with the table between us, her back to the room. She was silent, introspective. I gave her some time, and eventually she smiled to herself and looked up at me. I reached out and touched her hand. "It doesn't mean we'll be having sex," I said. "Even if we'd have a hard time convincing them otherwise at church, we can just sleep".

She reached across the little table and took my hands, one in each of hers. She looked into my eyes for several seconds, then deliberately leant towards me, letting her bodice gape so her magnificent breasts were exposed to me. She drew one of my hands to her body, shielding her actions from the room behind her. She drew those knuckles into her neckline, caressing her nipple with them. "Jack," she said. "It most certainly DOES mean we'll be having sex. I'm determined on that".

She sat up a little, her dress no longer gaping, but kept the back of my fingers clasped to her breast.

"Jack," she said, "you saved my life."

"Ing?" I said intelligently.

"No, seriously. You don't know how close to the edge I was. My life was crumbling clod by clod, and I couldn't do anything about it. Then my entire family was just wiped off the slate, and I didn't have a second chance any longer. No life, and everything I'd built my life on gone for nothing. All it would have taken would have been one bottle of pills. There are pills you can buy over the counter that would do the job. I wasn't even limited to one pharmacy, and I could back it up with vodka."

"Then," she continued, "Pastor Paul asked you to step in. You walked into my life, and you gave it direction. You took over enough to get me started in the right direction, but I knew I was doing it. 'Round 'em up, head 'em out', you said once. You gave me direction, you let me regain self-respect and a measure of confidence, you supported me through the bad time, and you celebrated with me when things went right. I've passed exams I would have failed; I've got the background to pass others down the track I might have failed. If I've started to lose direction again, you've got me back on track. I don't have confidence I can do it on my own, but I do know for total sure that I can do it with you."

"What you've done," she said "is assume a Chinese burden. You've taken me on, and you may not, in total honesty, be able to let go without wrecking me. I'm sorry, but I was a total mess, and without you I could well be again. With your backup I'm a success."

"However," she continued, "it needn't be all bad for you. 'Do not bind the mouths of the kine that tread the corn', and like that. You've taken over my life. Now I'm giving myself to you - wholeheartedly. I love you. Can't help it. Just do. Helpless. I love you, and whatever you want from me I'll be happy to do. God, I love you so much. If you take me, I'll be happy. If you don't, I'll wait eagerly in the hope that you do. The only thing that would crush me absolutely would be certain knowledge that I was totally without hope of your favour. Sorry - saying that might seem manipulative, but it's the absolute truth, and I owe you the truth."

"Now," she went on, "we find ourselves here, confined by circumstances. I have an appointment with the Student Health Service this week. I'm going to go on the pill. Of course, I thought I had maybe six weeks longer before the decision would be made. Instead, the decision has been made for me - right now. Call it Fate. Maybe it's even the will of God. Whatever, I'm going to be sleeping naked in your bed tonight, and at a time of month when we can have sex without reservation. We don't need protection. I'm a virgin. I trust you: I don't think you've done much sexually since your wife died. Or for a while before that, if I understand what you were telling me. For the next few days I can't get pregnant. It all adds up, Jack. The time is now. What we do tonight is commitment-free - safe sex. All we have to do is fuck, and we will. I'm so happy. Again, my life has been taken over. My decision has been made for me. What I want to do is happening."

I let her keep the hand she was clasping to her nipple, but I reached out with the other, gently stroking her cheek and then her hair.

"Mandie", I said, "there's no necessity for you to do this. Lord knows I want you - I've fantasised about it enough - but I didn't do what I did to get into your pants."

"Jack", she said, "necessity isn't the word. NEED is the word. I need you. I need you to fuck me. I want you in me now. You haven't manipulated me to this point. Fate has. Now I find I'm happy about my need for you. Not about the way it happened, but about the way it is. Jack, take me to bed now."

"Mandie, if this is truly what you want, then we'll do it. However, the other stuff is something we need to talk about when we haven't been drinking. We'll just put that on the back burner, OK?"

"Whatever you say, Jack. Bed now, Jack. Take me!"

* * * * * * * * * * *

Well, you can't argue with an imperative like that, can you?

We retired to our room. When we were in, she kicked the door closed. "Darling," she said, "You'll have to lead me here. I AM a virgin, and I know very little about sex in a practical sense. One thing though: you don't need to worry too much about hurting me. I decided when I was eleven to ride a bucking horse to a standstill. Well, it was either that or get thrown and maybe stamped to death. Afterwards I couldn't walk straight for a week, and the doctor said my first sexual experience was unlikely to be the trauma many girls face." Then she removed my jacket, and slowly unbuttoned my shirt and slipped it off my shoulders and down my arms. She repeated her trick of stroking then kissing my pectorals, then sucked my nipples.

Well if this was amateur, I didn't think I'd be able to survive her when she was experienced. She pushed me to the bed, and carefully removed my boots and socks, cradling each foot in turn across her lap. Obviously a girl with forethought if not experience. "Wait there," she said.

Mandie stepped away from me, then with her back to me she started raising her dress, glancing back over her shoulder at me. First her long black leather boots were revealed then black lace panties. No stockings. Her back half bared, she looked back at me again over her shoulder. No bra. I panted at her; she giggled. Then she stripped the dress the rest of the way over her head and turned towards me, legs spread shoulder-width. Broad shoulders. Arms raised and spread. Standing glorious in just the black boots and panties. She smiled and moistened her lips. I grinned and licked my lips. She stuck out her tongue at me.

Then she quarter-turned, right side to me, and leaned down, glorious breasts hanging. Not enormous breasts. I checked later and she was just a 34C, but she carried them well on a solid muscular frame. She leant down, slowly sliding the zipper of her right boot all the way down to the ankle. Then she turned back to me, giving me the front view, and repeated the process with her left boot.

Perching on the edge of a chair, she slid each boot off. I was about creaming the moleskins by now. She stood and leant over, touching toes, sliding the panties down her legs as she went, then stepped out of them, leaving a puddle of black lace and rayon on the floor.

Then she strutted towards me, gloriously naked. Strong muscular frame, glorious figure, blonde hair wherever it counted, proud and sensuous but not arrogant. Giving, not demanding. She knelt, undid my belt then my zipper, and coaxed my trousers and underpants downwards. I raised my hips and she stripped them off, leaving me naked. Then she leant forward, kissing my erect and throbbing penis.

"God, stop!" I quavered. I buried my hands in her hair and pushed her head back a few inches. "If this is a power play, you've won. I'm on a hair-trigger. Another five seconds would have me shooting the next six months' worth; then where would we be? I've GOT to slow the pace."

I sat up and said, "Come. Sit beside me." She did, and I turned to kiss her. "Darling, that was the most incredible thing I've ever seen. It's the most erotic thing I could ever have... No, I could never have imagined it."

"Now," I went on "You stay there and just let me have control for a while. Sit! Stay!" She poked her tongue out at me again and I swooped, engulfing it in my mouth. We kissed deeply. Then more deeply. I stroked her back as I embraced her. She moaned into my mouth. Eventually I broke away and began kissing down her jaw-line, her throat, down to and across her breasts until I engulfed one nipple as I palmed the other. She gasped, then hummed.

As I worked her breasts I moved the other hand downwards, stroking her navel, the dome of her muscular stomach, the hollows of her hips, the creases of her groin, then down to her thighs. I worked her outer thighs, then inner. She groaned and her legs parted. I rubbed closer to her centre and she groaned again, opening wider to my ministrations. I spread her further yet, then trailed the backs of my knuckles along the outsides of her labia. She gasped. I moved back down, then up again, this time parting her outer lips with the back of a finger. She moaned. Down, and up again, moving higher and passing my finger across her clitoris. Down and up, down and up, delving deeper each time. She was spread wide now, her knees at waist level. I turned my hand over, beginning to penetrate her with one finger as I thumbed her clit, still working her breasts with my mouth and the other hand. She was gasping, moaning. Abruptly it changed. She started panting. "Oh, Jack. Jack. I... You... God, I love it. Keep..." She stiffened, moaned, the moisture bathing her increased suddenly. Her back stiffened, arching her pelvis off the bed, and she shuddered for seconds.

I eased off, stroking gently outside her labia. She'd be very sensitive now - almost painfully so. I trailed my mouth back up to hers, kissing her deeply again. She relaxed, then shortly began to respond with increased passion. I trailed my kisses downwards again, to her breasts, her nipples, then yet again downwards, following the path my hand had taken earlier, until I was raining light gentle kisses on her inner thighs, her engorged outer lips. I took her labia into my lips, one at a time, trailing up and down their length, then speared my tongue into her depths and dragged it upwards, trailing across her engorged and now exposed clitoris. She jumped, and I moved downwards and then back up, circling her clit this time, closely but avoiding the centre. She shuddered. I circled her clit once more, then dragged my tongue across it, so lightly, barely touching, as I penetrated her vagina with my finger.

She jerked and shuddered. So close. I worked her clit more vigorously as I worked two fingers into her now, hooking them up and forwards, massaging the flesh at my fingertips. She screamed. Jerked, shuddered, screamed again. Jerked and shuddered some more, volume and amplitude slowly decreasing. Her sounds degenerated into incoherent but highly vocal gasps and moans. After about five minutes she was relatively quiet, so I performed introductions. "Amanda, meet G-spot. G-spot, meet... oh, I see, you've already become acquainted."

She beat weakly on my shoulders. "Bastard, bastard, bastard," she said, "but oh so good at it. I had no idea."

"I'm glad it worked", I told her. "It varies a lot, and I was working on theory rather than knowledge. In some women it's so insignificant they never find out about it. In your case we appear to have hit the jackpot. This is a GOOD THING."

"Oh, my, yes!" she breathed.

"All right", I said. "I'm glad we've got that out of the way - twice - because that may be all you get tonight. I'm sorry, dear, but you got me worked up to a frenzy pitch and I still haven't gone off the boil. I'm still on a hair-trigger here, and when I penetrate you I'm not likely to last more than a few seconds. There are things we could do to take the edge off later, but this time I'm so turned on that when I come I won't be able to get it up again for hours. What I need to do is take you to the very edge, then take you. All I can pray is that you'll be able to follow me over the precipice."

It might have been a disaster. It nearly was. I worked her up again - cunnilingus, G-spot, nipples - the whole nine yards. Then I worked into her. So wet, so hot, but still so tight. In and out, gaining an inch at a time, but urgently because we knew I couldn't last. There was a tight spot at her entrance - the remnants of her hymen. It wasn't as bad as a full technical virgin, but she felt it. I was on what would have been about the third-last stroke, when I got caught up for a second there, and then jerked through and all the way in.

She gasped, sobbed, tears leaked, and it might have been a disaster - but it wasn't. I think it may be imprinted in our genes. It released something atavistic in us. I heard her pain, saw her tears, and I gushed into her. I couldn't help myself. Involuntary reaction. I never thought anyone's pain would turn me on, but this was beyond my conscious control. She felt the pain, felt my abrupt lurch into her, felt my hot semen gush. Her eyes leaked tears, and her lips locked to mine. A deep passionate kiss beyond the conscious control of either of us.

Then she broke our lip-lock. "Oh, darling," she said, "I didn't think... I never knew I could still... Oh, I am yours, and you have me. I didn't think I could still give myself to you this way. I'm so ha-ha-happy." She totally broke down in tears, and I tenderly kissed her eyelids, her cheeks; and rocked her tenderly.

You know what? I didn't go down. Happy tears are an extreme aphrodisiac, and I was still locked in an extremely tight and hot pussy. It was even better lubricated than it had been, thanks to my contribution. Slick and greasy and slightly sticky. Every little movement still gave me physical excitement. I may not have been able to get it up again for hours, but that wasn't a problem yet, since it wouldn't go down. Rocking back and forth, then thrusting gently, she came again, and then again; and the second time, almost a half-hour later, she managed to pull me with her and I found blessed relief at last.

We woke and did it again about 3am. Different this time: slow and gentle simple embrace and penetration, slow and gentle rocking, and then she stiffened and pulsed against me as I flowed into her.

* * * * * * * * * * *

When I woke in the morning, she was leaning on her elbow, looking down at me. She smiled - a wide-open heart-melting happy smile. "Good morning, Master", she said.

"Ing?" I said intelligently. I do that a bit. I'm not the brightest spark in the candelabra, particularly when I've just woken. Most particularly when I've just woken to be blasted by a stellar-nova smile like that.

"I figured it out," she said. "I've given myself to you. You're running my life. Whatever you tell me to do, I'll do. Whatever you want of me, you can have. That means I'm your slave. That means you're my master. I'm happy with that."

"I decline nomination," I told her. "I don't want a slave. Too much responsibility. I'm happy to have a girlfriend or a lover. Particularly if it's you, lover. I'm happy to help you get direction in your life. I'm not happy with running someone else's life one hundred percent. Heck, I can barely handle my own."

"That's all right," she said. "You can feel like that. In fact, if you were the sort of person who wanted a slave, you wouldn't have this particular slave. If I imagined I was faced with a whips and chains and bondage scene I wouldn't do this. However, you are who you are; and because of who and what you are I've given myself to you. You can accept me or reject me. If you reject me I'll be back where I was before you took over my life. I really didn't like that place. I think that place was Hell. If you accept me I'll be right here. I like right here with my Master."

"Look," she went on, "different people have different abilities. I'm intelligent, but I've about proved I'm not capable of doing a good job running my own life right now. You've proved you can do a good job of running my life. When you do I get maximum benefit from the abilities I do have. You won't have to micro-manage my life if you don't want to. I can do a fair job if you're there setting policy and giving direction and oversight. Maybe one day I'll grow up. Maybe one day I'll be capable of running my own life properly. However, that day isn't now. I told you; I need you. You're stuck with me. Run my life and take whatever you want as reward, and I'll say 'Thank you, Master'. I have to tell you though that this slave isn't totally subservient. You seemed to enjoy having me last night. I certainly enjoyed being had by you. Repeatedly. If you don't take an adequate reward in future for what you've done in my life I'm likely to trip you and then make sure that we both get what you've got coming."

* * * * * * * * * * *

So that's how I got my slave, and she started running my life. And vise versa, of course. That was the point of it all, wasn't it?

Six weeks later, she took a Saturday off to go down to Sydney shopping. Left early, caught a bus then train, came back late evening. She'd bought jewellery, she showed me. Pierced ears, earrings with elliptical gold pendants. Inset garnets and engraving. She dragged out a major magnifying glass and let me look at the engraving. It read "This slave is willingly and joyfully the personal property of Jack Nichols."

Later that evening, as we made love, I found it wasn't just her ears that had been pierced. There was a third pendant. She'd had her left outer labium pierced, and she proudly wore my mark there as well.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Six months later we married. She insisted on the old form of words, of course. She promised to "love, honour and obey". She always did, too. The reading was from Ephesians 5 & 6 - the bit about wives submitting to their husbands and husbands loving their wives even unto death, but then also the bit about slaves obeying their earthly masters and masters respecting their slaves.

I treated her as an equal, and always sought her advice, but when I made a decision she always went along with it. Sometimes we might have been better if she'd fought me a little more. I'm not all knowing or perfectly wise. Although in retrospect maybe she was. I've seen a lot of marriages, and ours has been the best.

She bore my children. I had to insist she wait, but she timed it so our firstborn came just after her degree final exams, and she nursed him as she studied for her post-graduate diploma of education. She followed with three daughters then we called it quits. She taught part-time, as I was doing, and we traded-off baby-care for a decade.

* * * * * * * * * * *

We've had good lives, all in all. We celebrated our fiftieth wedding anniversary last year. She was dying then, though; and she's dead now. We raised our children, and they raised theirs. We've even held our great-granddaughter.

A terrible liver cancer took her. Spread like wildfire. Went from nothing to all through her in weeks. I've been living with a prostate cancer for nearly a decade, but I'm reaching the end of that road now too. So the light of my life is gone now - two hours ago.

It's almost dawn, and I'll watch the new day dawn as I take the route I saved her from over fifty years ago. Now it's time.

I love you.

* * * * * * * * * * *

All material is copyright of the author, © 2004-2005 Aidan McGill, and may not be reproduced in any form without prior written permission. Individuals are hereby granted permission to use one copy for private reading, not-for-distribution and not-for-profit.

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