The story so far:

A mysterious young lady made our protagonist an offer he couldn’t refuse, inviting him to her home. As he hesitated in the hallway outside her door, the pre-arranged time arrived and the door slowly and silently swung open, revealing…

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Michelle!

She stood inside a small, dimly lit foyer and gazed deep into my eyes, smiling sweetly, and then she reached for my hand. “Enter, Salix. I’ve been waiting for you.” Michelle’s hand felt like it belonged in mine. She made no effort to break from my grip and I didn’t want to release it. “Drop to one knee, and kiss it, then,” she laughed. I followed her suggestion, kneeling and bringing the back of her hand to my mouth. “Don’t be messy. Brush your lips over my skin and take a few moments to think about how thankful you are for the opportunity.” As my lips touched her flesh, I shivered with a sudden feeling of goose bumps.

Then, I rose to my feet again, still gripping her hand. “What is….” The forefinger of her other hand touched her lips, hushing me. “Here, then; close and bolt the door, then follow me into the Great Room.” While I turned the bolt, Michelle parted a dark curtain and passed into a large, brightly lit room. I set the bolt and followed her through the curtain.

She stood in the center of the larger room and as I entered she quietly said, “stop right there and look at me for a moment.” I looked. She was wearing a thin, filmy white cloak or robe. She was barefoot. She was beautiful – far more gorgeous than I’d ever seen her on her excursions out about town. “Don’t be embarrassed to look me up and down and all over,” the words tripped merrily from her lips. “Are you certain that you want to go through with this?

“What do you mean,” I asked, “It’s a little bit…” Michelle cut in, “It’s a little bit different, and very strange, but do you feel as if you belong here, Salix? Do you have any questions?”

“I belong here!” the words burst from my lips. “I belong here, but it is strange and very wonderful. I have so many questions; I don’t even know where to begin. What…” Michelle cut in again, “For now, my dear, you are allowed only one question. Please choose carefully.”

It didn’t’ take me long, “Ok, what is this all about?” Michelle laughed. “I’m sorry, Salix, but I can’t reveal that yet. Perhaps you have an alternate question? A flush of exasperation flooded over me and she smiled warmly. I felt dumb, dumber than I’d felt in a long time. “Why… why do you call me ‘Salix,” Michelle? You seem to know everything else about me; you must be aware that my name is…” “No, she said sternly, between you and me, your name will be Salix.” My confusion must have shown on my face because she said, “Salix is the genus name for the Willow trees. Very useful in many ways, but particularly valuable to the Wise Women of old, who fashioned useful artifacts from the slender, pliable wands that emerge from these trees when existing vegetation is pruned away and new growth allowed to spring up.” Now I was completely confused.

“Don’t worry about that, Salix, but tell me, and be careful how you answer. If you associate with me, your life is going to be completely different… totally changed. You won’t fit again into normal society (not that you do now) and there will be no going back. I cannot reveal exactly what I have in mind for you, because some of it will depend upon you and I don’t yet know you as well as I intend to. I can guarantee that most of what will transpire between us shall be pleasant, but some of it may cause you consternation, even panic or grief. And as I’ve said, there will be no going back to the old times. You can quite anytime, but if you do that, you’ll regret it forever and with an intensity and sharpness that will totally ruin your life. I don’t want it that way, but that’s how it will be for you. I now offer you a choice: you may turn and depart without one word, or you may kneel before me and repeat the words I will give you.”

I didn’t even think about it; I knelt down on the hardwood floor and looked up into her bright, lovely eyes. “Whatever words you give me, I shall repeat them.”

She smiled with an intensity that melted my heart. “I knew you would say that, Salix, but tradition dictated the offer be made. Very well then, repeat after me…”

“I, Salix…”

“Agree of my own free Will, fueled by my unquenchable Passion…”

“To support and serve Michelle in every way possible…”

“To honor and obey her…”

“To protect and defend her…”

“To cherish her and love her…”

“To heed her counsel and to seek her judgment and advice…”

“To do everything I can to be worthy of her trust…”

“To improve my abilities to be useful to her in her Quest…”

“To hide nothing and reveal everything…”

“To learn her mind and to act wisely, with loyalty and honor on her behalf…”

“To this I agree, of my own free Will; swearing not some oath upon an unknown and unknowable being, but stating it firmly as my own sacred Word; for I am an honorable man.”

That’s what I agreed to, kneeling on the floor before her; and I repeated it all, line by line, with nary a stammer or tongue-slip. My spirit burned with a sacred intensity as the words passed my lips and I felt renewed and reborn. When it was over, we kept silence and she smiled down upon me for a long time, then offered me her hand and brought me to my feet. Then Michelle kissed my lips, chastely, but fervently, and pressed her body briefly against mine.

“Very well done, Salix,” she beamed. I’m happier than you can imagine. I wish we could go out someplace and celebrate. However, your training must begin immediately. I want you to open the top drawer over there and take out the package you’ll find on top. Michelle pointed to an oak lowboy, set against the long wall of the room. Over this chest hung a large, elaborately framed painting – the portrait of a very old, yet still quite beautiful woman. This painting held what appeared to be a position of honor, placed as it was in the center of the wall. I found myself unable to open the drawer, because I couldn’t keep from staring in wonder at the large, mysterious-looking portrait. The woman had to be in her seventies; her eyes were centered in a network of fine crow’s foot lines and her brow was wrinkled. Yet her demeanor was overbearing in a way that appeared both haughty and generous. What remained of her once youthful beauty was still sufficient to entrance most men, I surmised, and the overall feeling produced by looking at her countenance was to want to spend as much time as possible with her, absorbing the great wisdom that seemed to emanate from her aura. For a very long minute, I stood there, looking up, with one hand on the drawer-pull. Finally, Michelle coughed and I looked away. “Who is she?” I queried.

Michelle gave me an odd look, “ I see you are quite taken with the portrait of our esteemed Patron, Mystress Tina Mosupre. “But what is she?” I replied, “Do you mean she’s our Patron Saint?” “Not exactly,” grinned Michelle, “but close enough for now. You’ll learn more about Her later. Now open that drawer, retrieve the package and tell me what it contains.”

I pulled the drawer open and lifted out a folded shopping bag. Inside the bag I found a T-shirt and a pair of men’s exercise shorts. “Gym clothes!” I exclaimed.

“I want you to change in the bathroom down the hall,” said Michelle, pointing to a doorway at the far end of the long wall. “Just fold up your clothing and keep it in the cabinet there, then put on the exercise suit and meet me back here in five minutes.” I nodded, walking slowly toward the door, some ten feet away. I halted as I reached it. Along the short wall there, to the right of the doorway, stood an odd-looking piece of bench-like furniture, with metal rings, wide leather straps, and some other accoutrements I could not recognize. There was something ominous about this piece and I stopped and looked over my shoulder at Michelle. She had moved to the opposite end of the room and was perched regally upon what appeared to be a sort of high, narrow throne, with wide-angled legs and a padded kneeling bench at its front. “You’d better hurry, or you’ll be late.” She shouted good-naturedly. I’ll see you back here in four minutes!” She continued looking at me with mirth. For the first time I took in the contents and make up of the room. It was a large residential room, probably originally a living room, about 14 x 20 feet. On one long wall stood the lowboy dresser and the portrait, on the opposite wall were some odd looking benches and fixtures. The shorter walls were as described. Each contained a door, one to the entry foyer and one to the hallway. Centered on the entry-end wall was Michelle’s odd throne seat; and centered on the rear wall, right of the hallway door stood the sinister looking bench-thing. I shuddered, but it was too late to change my mind about my situation, which I now believed was going to become very strange indeed.

I hurried down the hall and into the bathroom, where I removed my clothing and shoes, placing them into a low cabinet, built into the wall. After donning the gym-suit (I was a little worried that it lacked a jock-strap), I took a leak, washed my hands, then headed back toward Michelle, back to the large room she’d called the Great Room.

Michelle had changed too; I found her standing in the center of the room, wearing a black leotard. At her feet were two thick rubber exercise mats, each about three feet by six. The long edges of the mats were pushed together, making a rubber pad about six feet square.

“You are going to learn several exercises,” Michelle informed me, ”several different sets of exercises, actually, but for now we will begin with some Chinese martial arts warm-ups which also tone and protect the body and frame. Just do as I do and stop doing anything that starts to hurt. These won’t take long.”

She was right; it didn’t take long to learn the series of twisty Asian exercises, even with her explanations, it couldn’t have taken more than 15 minutes to work through the entire series of nine movements. “Good,” said Michelle in a happy voice, when we’d finished. “Now do them again, alone, to see what you’ve learned. I was heartened to see that without coaching, I was able to remember and recreate all but one of the movements. They were easy to perform; very natural feeling, and one flowed logically into the next. “These nine movements are great Treasures,” Michelle told me. At your youthful age they may not seem to do much for you, but you must do them at least once every day, preferably soon after rising in the morning. If you practice them every day, though you grow old, your body will never become tired, sore, or stooped… and your mind, of course, will remain in equally good shape. Anytime you feel the need, you may practice them two or more times each day.

I was feeling pretty frisky, though I couldn’t tell whether it was caused by the exercises or from being, finally, in the relaxed presence of this beautiful pixie of a girl. I reached out and put my hand upon her arm. Michelle froze, and then shot me a serious look.

“Before we go any further, I want to show you something very important.” She gave me another serious look, as she moved to the center of the padding, where she stood with hands on hips. “I want you to attempt to lay your hands on me and wrestle me to the ground,” she said. I was horrified. “I’m not really into…” Michelle cut me off, “Just do as I say; I want you to learn something. You needn’t be brutal, but give it your best shot. Put me on the ground as if you mean to rape me. Come on now!”

Half-heartedly, I approached Michelle and tried to grab her by the shoulders. I quickly found myself on the floor. Indeed, I landed with such a thud that despite the rubber padding beneath my bones, I was thankful that I’d performed the Chinese warm-ups. I climbed back onto my feet.

“Try that again,” Michelle commanded, “but put a little more spirit into it this time. Knowing that she could defend herself, I indeed made my next attempt my best shot. Again, before I could tell what happened, I was picking myself up off the floor.

“Continue, Sir Knight,” laughed Michelle. I know that you would never try to use force upon me, but I want you to be perfectly convinced that you can’t inadvertently injure me if our play ever becomes rough. If you really, really try to best me – if you convince me you are giving it all you have – who knows; you even may “get lucky” a little later in the evening.”

That was all it took to convince me. I attacked Michelle over and over again, in dead earnest. Each time, I hit the floor so fast that I could never notice what she was doing to me. Finally, I stopped, exhausted and sweating. Michelle wasn’t even breathing hard; not a hair was out of place; and she showed no evidence of sweat. “Ok, little one; that’s it,” she said. I must have given her a funny look because she said, “I don’t mean to embarrass you; ‘little one’ is a term of endearment. I am already very fond of you and; I will never do anything to cause you harm or demean you.” Then she added a qualifier. “If you behave yourself, that is! Now I want you to go back to the bathroom, where you will place the gym clothes into the hamper, then take a nice shower. Take your time and be sure to use the toilet if you need to. Then return to this room, dressed only in one of the large white towels you’ll find on the towel rack. Wear the towel around your waist. You’ve worked hard; I think you deserve a little reward.” Michelle grinned wickedly, causing me to become mildly alarmed and suddenly hard, beneath the sweat-laden workout shorts. Embarrassed, I turned and scurried off to the bathroom.

Soon I was relaxing in a warm shower, scrubbing myself with scented soap. My erection would not subside, which caused me some embarrassment; I was excited by the idea that Michelle might see it, but I was also filled with a nameless dread that she would be offended by it or that it would not impress her in some way. Finally, I urinated into the shower and moved the water handle to ‘cold,’ dousing my body with a chilly spray that quickly shrank all visible signs of my ardour. Wasting no time, I dried myself and wrapped a fresh white towel about my waist. Then I padded off for the Great Room.

I emerged from the hallway to find that, as I’d feared, Michelle was standing beside the odd contraption near the doorway. She had again changed her garb and now sported very high heels, an extremely short skirt, and a skimpy halter-top. All black! “Come, Salix, and sit upon the Mercy Seat! I call it the Mercy Seat because after I have you fastened in, you will be completely at my mercy.” For a brief moment, Michelle’s smile resembled a smirk, then she made a straight face and said, “In with you, then,” and as I climbed up onto the bench-thing, she guided and pushed me into place with such economy of motion that the towel around my hips remained in perfectly in place, shielding my modesty, such as it was.

Michelle fastened me into the seat in a comfortable position; part reclining, partly supported by my hands, which were secured within light leather cuffs. “Take some deep breaths, Salix, and be sure you can breath all the way to the top of your lungs.” I was pleasantly surprised by how secure and comfortable I felt secured into Michelle’s bench, while still feeling somewhat alarmed at my lack of ability to free myself should things take an unpleasant tack. My legs, though not secured were very far apart and although my private parts were well covered by the towel, I could see that if the towel were removed, I’d be in an open and embarrassing position, indeed.

Michelle ran her fingers through the hair on my chest causing a sudden ‘tent’ to appear in the white towel over my hips. “Well, little one, this is what we’ve both been waiting for. I see you are properly excited. What do you think happens next?”


To be continued. Next: “The Education of Salix"

The Tantra of Femdom Sex Magick

by Magister Lewdi

This is the story of a girl named Michelle, who has changed my life in more ways than I can probably ever relate in mere words, but I need to try, because she's asked me to explain everything to you in my own words.

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Two years ago this April, at the ripe old age of nineteen, I was living in a Northern Ohio University town, working for a pool installation company, trying to save money to go back to school, and wondering whether I would ever be able to make anything out of my life.

My job didn't pay enough to encourage much hope of earning a degree in the near future and, looking back, I wasn't enthusiastic about one anyway; mostly I just wanted a doorway into a better life. I didn't indulge in drugs and I drank beer rarely, and only on weekends. I had no real friends and nothing around town interested me much. I stayed home most evenings, surfing the Internet. The only vice I had was a mild addiction to Internet porn, which kept my gonads drained and pretty much eliminated any hope of finding a real girlfriend -- not just because of semen deficiencey, but also because I wasn't at all outgoing or bold; and after all those hours of staring at photos of pretty young ladies in the most depraved poses imaginable, on the rare occasions when I had chance to interact with a flesh and blood woman of my own age, I usually blushed and stammered and couldn't meet her eyes directly. Something about the combination of pornography addiction and the politically correct pretensions of the society around me made me feel like I was filthy and vile for even wanting to look at a real girl. Until I met Michell, that is.

I led my lonely life not even feeling lonely, because I hardly felt at all. I wasn't unhappy, life was just bland and meaningless. From what I saw of the wealthy people for whom my employer installed swimming pools, life didn't offer much even if someone did make it and manage to hold down a good job with a wife and children, cars and boats. So I didn't feel very bad even though I had no prospects, was stuck in a lousy job, and I had never even kissed a real girl, let alone fondled a hot, stiff-nippled breast or felt a woman's fingers unzipping my fly to free and capture my bulging manhood. Life was a lot like being encased in thickly smeared layer of semi-transparent gray clay. Then I met Michelle!

I really can't remember the first time I saw her because the first time I really noticed her I realized I'd seen her around before, maybe for a long time, but I had never given her much attention. She didn't wear much makeup, dressed modestly, and really wasn't much to look at, at least not to see her on the street. She wore her blond hair in a short, rather boyish cut, and her face was mildly cute, but nothing like the kissers of the gorgeous models I was accustomed to staring at each evening when I quickly pumped the fluid from my briefly erect penis.

Her body wasn't overly shapely; she'd never make it as an Internet chick. At least not from what I could see of her through her bulky clothing. Her breasts were there, but they were smallish. Her bottom seemed a bit larger than normal for her size, and it was nicely round, but I had always been a breast fan (breasts had turned me on and awakened my childish sexual desire, even before I knew there was anything else on a woman to get excited about).

It was her eyes that captured me. They were sharp and lively and glowed with a hint of wicked enthusiasm and maybe something more. The first time I noticed her it was on the busy shopping street at several blocks from my third-floor apartment. It was just before dark and I was exiting a small grocery store as she walked in past me. Our eyes met and she smiled in a bold, self-assured way that made it impossibe for me to feel dirty or look away. I think I even grinned at her, but we passed so quickly I don't really remember. I'll never forget that image of her, though. It seemed to sear into my soul, goofy as that may sound.

Over the following weeks, I noticed her over and over. It almost seemed that she was seeking me out, so often did our paths coincidentally cross in the crowded streets and walks of what was the busiest part of town. She always smiled and looked into my eyes, and as we continued to meet, apparently by chance, she began to give me a knowing look -- very chaste and non-sexual, yet with a hint of something I couldn't quite name. It almost seemd that she was sizing me up in a way that reminded me a little bit of a lab technician and her white rat. That gave me a shivery feeling the first time I thought of it.

After around two months, our fleeting encounters had begun to take a central part in my life, yet I'd never spoken to her and didn't intend to, not knowing what to say and being very shy, though I don't like to admit it. I began to realize that I valued her low-key input into my life more than almost anything, though I didn't fantasize about her or have any sexual feelings toward her -- at least not that I was aware of. I was, however, looking at a lot less online porn. Internet girls just seemed very "flat," given a point of real interest in my life, even a non-sexual one. This odd young lady had become my "Center of Gravity," and I didn't even know her... and knew nothing about her. Not even her name!

One night, just after dark, there was a gentle rapping on my door and when I opened it, there she stood, dressed in long coat -- it was still early April, with chilly evenings. Her eyes sparkled and she said, "Hello, salix, for that is what I mean to call you, my name is Michelle, and I want you to become my own." That's exactly what she said and I didn't understand what she was talking about, so I stammered out something (or nothing), and just stood there looking into her eyes with a dumb look on my face, at least I felt dumb. She chuckled and went on, "Forgive me please; it's got to be done this way, according to tradition. Now I must tell you more precisely and leave you with 24 hours to think it over, so listen and try to remember what you are about to hear."

"I want you to be my own... no, not a boyfriend, something more like a pet, but a very human pet, of course -- and maybe something else, if things work out. I want you to place yourself willingly into my care and keeping and pledge to follow my instructions and training without question. Actually, you may ask questions, but only at times when that's allowed. If you are willing to agree to all this, you will benefit in ways you can not even imagine. If you forsake me, your life will go on as it is now, only it will grow more drab and lonely as the years go by."

Then she looked at me with a studious and sly look and said in a low voice,"you're a virgin, aren't you? Never been with a real girl, I mean?" I blushed and stammered out some bold words that trailed off into nothing. "No need to answer, silly," she said in a mock-stern voice, "you can't hide the truth from me. And I want you to keep your hands off yourself until you meet me tomorrow evening at this place on this card." She shoved a card toward me, which I accepted and pocketed without comment.

"Think this offer over carefully and deeply, but know that if you refuse now, I won't give you another chance. You come to my place tomorrow at exactly this time and be prepared to do exactly as I instruct. And whatever you do, keep your hands off your wiener, because if you abuse yourself between now and then, you will never be able to hide the fact from me and I'll withdraw my offer and send you away. So think it over. OK?"

Then, she stepped back and dropped her gaze toward my crotch. As if by some magic ray, I was suddenly erect and throbbing and an aching empty feeling filled the pit of my stomach. I knew that if it was the last thing I ever managed to do, I had to accept her offer, whatever it might hold.. I also knew -- don't ask me how -- that she was totally naked beneath her greatcoat. "I'll expect you tomorrow evening then, salix?" the words slipped from her mouth, cool and precisely matter-of-fact. Then she turned and was gone. Michelle!

I also knew that if I masturbated that evening, I'd never hide it from her. Her brief glance at my nether region lit a fire that refused to burn out, my erection throbbed all night, and weeped from its single eye. All the demons of hell conspired to move hands into reach and encircle my burning organ with nimble, stroking, quickly draining digits. Or so it seemed! I got no sleep that night, as I lay in bed, the brief interlude of Michelle's visit playing over and over again in my mind.

The next morning, tired and worn out, I called into work, sick. We didn't have paid sick days and the boss always sounded like he thought you were cheating him when you called in sick. "There's got to be a better way to live," I thought, as I collapsed back into bed and into a sound sleep. I woke up about six that evening, wakening from a vivid and distrubing dream, though the details vanished from my mind within minutes after I opened my eyes. Was Michelle a dream too, I wondered? I groped the nightstand for her card, clutching it between sweaty fingers and moving it toward my face. "Michelle," it said, followed by an address on a street about a mile away. A quick glance at the clock told me I needed to get moving. After a quick shower and shave I stood in front of my closed, picking through clothes? What should I wear to this event? I was lost, so I pulled on a polo shirt and covered my nakedness with black slacks, then I grabbed my wallet and scurried out the door. I caught a quick bit to eat on the street, and in no time at all, I stood before Michelle's door. Dare I knock? My brain was suddenly flooded with all sorts of reasons why I shouldn't knock. So I didn't knock. It didn't make any difference. The pre-appointed time arrived as the bells on University hill chimed the hour and slowly, the door swung open, revealing... Michelle.

[To be continued - next: "In the Mercy Seat"]