He was begging her for release, his cock hard in the air between them. A small quantity of what the Germans called “yearning droplets” caught the light at the top of his penis. Ojastara leaned forward again, so her breasts touched his chect and his cock rutted against her stomach. She undid the leather round his wrist and thumbs, freeing his hands. Taking his left hand in hers, she held it to her mouth and spat copiously.

Then she sat back upright on his thighs, picking up the riding crop again and looking down at him fiercely. “If you want to come, little Landgrave, you can. Use your left hand. I’ll watch you.”

He stared up at her, desperation in his eyes. “Please…”

She flicked his cock warningly with the crop. “You know, I think you’d come if I just whipped this little cock. Would you like…”

He wouldn’t, it seemed. He reached for his penis, left-handed, and began to stroke. He gasped at the contact, and his stomach muscles tightened. He let out a great gust of breath, closed his eyes, and the circle of his thumb and forefinger stroked his cock at almost frantic speed.

Ojastara smacked his chest with the crop again. “Open your eyes! Don’t you dare close them again!” So he stared into her eyes as his body rose from the bed, his weight resting on his shoulder and ankles.

He said, “Mistress…” And he came, gasping as fluid spurted, in two streams, the first reaching nearly as high as her eyes, the second perhaps half that distance. None of it touched her. His head fell back.

Ojastara arose. The Landgrave looked up at her. His voice hardened, even as his cock softened. “An interesting moment of lust, to be sure. But you are staying with me.”

She looked at the riding crop in her hand, and then smiled at him. “No, Landgrave. I have taught you some things about yourself. I think you need to take the time to digest that knowledge. But I’ve done my part.”

And she walked away. The Landgrave scrambled to his feet, then stopped suddenly. Ojastara’s foxes had appeared at the pavilion’s door. All had drawn back their lips to expose sharp teeth. Foxes are smaller than wolves, but the Landgrave knew that a pack would have no trouble dispatching and then disposing of a human. He froze.

Ojastara left, but the foxes waited, still watching over the Landgrave. They were silent, teeth gleaming. 

Ojastara took the strip of leather she kept round her left wrist and climbed the bed to straddle the Landgrave. Leaning down she kissed him, her thighs closing on his cock to distract him, and wrapped the thin leather strip round his thumbs, then his wrists. He grimaced when he realized that his hands really were trapped, but the touch of Ojastara’s inner thigh made him focus on other concerns.

He looked up at her, something both urgent and haunted in his eyes. “Please…”

Ojastara struck his left nipple, hard, with the tassle of the crop, and he forgot whatever it was that he was about to beg. She struck his right nipple twice, unfairly hard, and then sat herself on his thighs, looking down at him. He writhed, cock rigid in the air, but he could not shake her.

She smiled down at him, his expression drawn with need, and spread her thighs to press her cunt against his right thigh, soft wet fruit against hard muscle. A sweet tension built and grew within her, steadily gaining in power as she pressed herself hard against his thigh. She rode him slowly up, then down, pleasuring herself while he begged for relief. At last she said, as if angry, “You are becoming importunate!” She struck him twice, using the shaft of the crop against his chest. Then, when he was aware of the pain, and that he was marked with two raised red welts, she struck him twice more, without hurry.

“Be good,” she said. “Be silent.” Her mouth quirked. “Behave.”

He stared up at her, barely believing what was happening to him, or within him. “Ah… Yes.” Then he said, “Mistress.”

“Good boy.” Ojastara rode him, harder, faster, and then closed with him so that his cock was pressed between his belly and her ribcage. The pressure on her cunt, and her own exertions, were reaching her, and she felt that she was glowing. Eventually she let her tension go, and she groaned, and gushed against his leg, gurgling in pleasure.

She said, “Ahhh… Sweet.” Then she raised herself from his chest so that his cock prodded, untouched, into the air. 

He looked at her, desperate. “Mistress. Please…”

Ojastara followed the Landgrave into what turned out to be a pleasant pavilion, with a small fountain, many-coloured drapes and tapestries, some erotic in nature while others showed hunting scenes. A mosaic on the floor showed a human woman atop a unicorn. The unicorn lay on its back and the woman rode its phallus, riding crop in her right hand, showing every sign of enjoyment.

There were couches, love seats that swung from a frame, and indeed, as the Landgrave had promised, a bed. The Landgrave gestured at the bed. “Get on the bed. I want you on all fours, hands and knees. Your ass up. The position you assume to receive discipline and give pleasure.”

Ojastara turned to look at him. “But I’m sure you command this every time. And the women who are your subjects obey you. But I am not your subject, or anyone’s.”

She saw him looking angry at that, and she continued, “And you are generously offering to do all the work, while I am merely passive. There are pleasures in being passive. I enjoyed them while you spanked me. But here we are: no one is watching. Why not experience that pleasure for yourself?”

She stepped towards him, stroked his testes again and then made a ring of her thumb and forefinger, and ran it up his cock.

In response to her touch it went from semi-hard to full attention. She said, “Good cock,” as you might speak to a child, or a dog, and stroked at it more while he gasped.

The Landgrave trembled, overcome with sensation, and she pushed him slowly back towards the bed. When his calf muscles backed against the bed she blew suddenly, while also pressing her hand against his bollocks, and he toppled, onto his back, his erect penis now the highest part of his body.

Ojastara took the riding crop from his hand.  

Ojastara crossed the threshold were the Landgrave apparently waited for her. There had been guards, but they made polite gestures, ushering her in. They intended to make it more difficult for her to leave, she knew. But that was a problem to be considered, lightly, later.

She walked through many carpeted and veiled chambers until, in a small room at the rear of his palace, she found the man who must be the Landgrave. He was in bed, while his subjects worked. But when she arrived he rose from his bed, naked, and walked towards her. She stood her ground, neither retreating nor advancing. “Welcome,” he said. He made to embrace her and she backed away. 

The Landgrave said, “Please, beautiful lady. I know that you pleasured one of my subjects, but took no pleasure for yourself. Unless you include the pleasure of crushing his balls with your skull. Which would at best have been a pleasure of another kind. I offer you pleasure of the kind you had given him. Nothing more than that, and no less.”

Ojastara frowned. “I came here immediately after dispatching your guard. How could you be aware of that incident?”

“This is a fairy-tale kingdom, though I am only a Landgrave for one district. But fairy tale technology applies throughout. I watched you in a mirror. You might call it a magic mirror.” He was smiling. He did not believe in magic mirrors, or expect her too.

“Or a mirror that can reflect scenes at which it is not temporally present, but where it has been before. Light rays travel in space and time. I may not call it magic at all, that that light reached your mirror, and therefore you. But you’re right. I gave that man sexual pleasure, and then unconsciousness. I took no pleasure for myself. Therefore, as his employer, you owe me.” By now she was smiling. This argument was playful, silly even. But silliness often turned her on.

The Landgrave said, “Well, I’d disrobe, but I seem to be unclothed already. Would you like to come to bed?” 

Ojastara, also naked, watched the muscles of his buttocks and thighs as he climbed onto his bed. He turned onto his back, leaning on cushions, and tapped a cushion beside him. Sao Ojastara stepped forward, climbing along the bed on her hands and knees, like a predator; like a fox. She smiled at his penis, which was already more than Hal;f erect, and licked the underside of the head.   

She said, “I suppose I do.”

The landgrave moved suddenly, forcefully, and pushed her mouth off his cock, and her body down, face down, to his bed. His right hand smacked her bottom, six times, hard, while Ojastara squirmed and pretended, with becoming hypocrisy, not to be enjoying herself. The fingers of his right hand pushed lower, and touched her soft lips. Ojastara said, as though it meant a great deal, “Oh!”

Ojastara spent the night in the swamp. The swamp was affectionate but, by four in the morning, a little colder than was strictly comfortable. 

In the morning, when the sun had warmed and woken it, she let the swamp feel her gratitude and affection, but told it she had to go. The swamp was reluctant for a few seconds, and Ojastara worried momentarily that it intended to hold her by force. But it relented and she sensed it returning her affection. A section of the mud beneath her swelled and then carried her, bouyant, back to the point where she’d stepped in.

The foxes – those miscreants who had fought over and shredded her dress – were waiting for her. Ojastara considered picking up a stick to beat them off, but the alpha female whined and then licked her hand, so she knew she had nothing to fear. 

She resumed her walk, naked, the foxes forming a guard of honour behind her. At last she came to a wall. It was brick and stucco, and higher than she could climb. Ojastara pursed her lips (one of the foxes swooned at this sight and had to be re-awakened by its mother), and decided to follow the wall until she found a collapsed section or an entrance.  

The wall seemed to be ancient, but it also turned out to be well maintained. There was no tree that she could climb and drop down to the other side, no ivy to clamber up, and no gaps. At last she came to a gate. A young man stepped out as she approached, with a longbow and arrows. He said, “Welcome, naked lady, to Waldenbereich.” 

Ojastara said, “The name means as little to me as if I were a tree. Or swamp. But thank you for your welcome. May I pass through your gate?” 

The young man smiled contemptuously. “You now have the right to do as you’re told, no more than that. Step forward, please, with your hands together behind your back. I can’t add you to my family, but it will do me no harm to give the Landgraf a gift.”

One of the foxes growled, and the young man nocked an arrow to his bow. “If you don’t want your pet to die, tell it to relax.” 

Ojastara signalled to the fox to stay back. She stepped forward, unafraid, with her hands behind her back as ordered. Swiftly, skilfully, the young man tied her hands, and used a spare bowstring to make a slip-knotted leash on her neck.

He tugged, wordlessly, and she followed. Befhind her, foxes growled.

Some time after two in the morning, when I was blissfully sleeping it off, my cock feeling well-used and slightly sore, in a good way, from all the hard work I’d done, beating, eating and fucking Ojastara, I felt a hand shaking my shoulder.

Usually I wake up quickly, and pretend I was awake all the time. But this time I really needed the sleep, and I was reluctant to re-enter the waking world. But Ojastara pushed my shoulder again, and said, “More? Once more?” 

So I groaned and finally sat up. “Now I can see why that guy broke a riding crop on your arse. You are getting a dozen, hard, before you go to work. That’s a promise.”

“Excellent! I can’t see my marks. But I like to feel they’re there.”

Ojastara didn’t just mean that she couldn’t see her own arse without a mirror. I’d discovered that evening that you could raise welts on her bottom, and admire those, but her skin didn’t change colour under my hand, or my belt or any other implement. She wasn’t black in the American sense, where even a faint coffee tan is called “black”. She was simply black like coal is black.

I smacked her left breast, quite hard. “Glad to be of service. What do you want?” 

“Fuck me again, Master? Please?” 

I thought about it.”I’d like to, little one. But there’s no way I’m going to get a hard-on again until morning. Real morning. This is the middle of the night. And my recovery time.”

“Please, Master?”

A master’s job is to make his slavegirl happy, and keep her in that state. So I smacked her right breast. She was a big-breasted woman, and the sway was a gorgeous sight. I made a note to do that again, and then fuck her between her breasts, when I was horny again. Then I slapped her face. (I have some internal resistance to doing that, but with Ojastara I knew it would be right.) “All right. On your back. Sitting up a bit.”

So she made a pile of pillows and leaned back on them. “Like this, Master? Are you going to lick me?”

“You woke me. You’re doing all the work. You’re to stroke yourself until you’re ready to come. And you’re going to stay there, on the edge. But you’re not allowed to come until I tell you.”

“Yes, Master. Of course. But what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to tell you a story. While you wank. You’ve got fifteen seconds to come, after I’ve said the works, The End. If it takes you longer, then you weren’t edging.”

“Fifteen seconds!” She managed to sound outraged. I was the unfairest, meanest Master of them all.

“Fifteen seconds. I won’t let you after fifteen seconds, and I’ll find a way to really punish you. Understand?”

“Master!”

Ojastara had already begun obeying, thighs wide, fingers buried, working fast. I smiled at her, though she didn’t notice. “That’s a good girl. Now, once upon a time…”

[End of prologue.] 

I was in a relationship with Ojastara, a Tamil woman. We’d met at work, where I was policy consultant for the State Government and she was a lawyer working on a complicated land deal. Part of her job was helping me not screw up the legal niceties, because the issues were more specialised than I was used to.

I told her a story about how a couple of years ago the then Minister had insisted we discriminate against people who’d just been released from prison. It was wrong and outside of that organisation’s establishing Act. There was nothing there about adding to the punishment of people who’d served their sentence. It was socially unhealthy, it was illegal and it would hurt vulnerable people.

I knew the Minister only wanted it because a local shock jock was running a radio campaign to stir up his audience.

She thought I’d fight it on the constitutional issue, that it’s not a possible use of that government agency. But that would only make him mad at me and I couldn’t afford that. So I wrote the Minister a paper showing that  he could do that but if he did he’d have to apply the same policy to other groups, unless he changed the legislation. I knew he wouldn’t want to do either of those things.

So he sent back my advice and and I came up with another solution that would give him what the shock-jock wanted but be unpopular with everybody else. By then three weeks had passed and the shock-jock had got bored and moved on to something else. So my third paper went to the Minister’s office and never emerged again. As I’d planned. 

I meant it as a parable about how government works differently from law. She thought it was funny. So we had a drink in the pub across the road, after work.

Her name, as I mentioned, was Ojastara. She’d been in Australia since she was three, so she wasn’t culturally Tamil, or not much. I asked her if she liked M.I.A. (I do), but she said she liked Celtic music.

The main thing about Ojastara that was different from any other Australian girl was that she had the darkest skin I’d ever seen, at least on someone I’d actually met.

After a while I realised she had the darkest skin of anyone I’d wanted, very particularly and personally, to fuck.

That second category is smaller, but it’s more important to me, of course. She was so black her skin glowed, almost with a trace of blue-black like Superman’s hair. I thought it was beautiful. She was beautiful.

She had an apartment not so far away. She mentioned that after our second glass of wine, when it was clear that we were getting on well. So I put my arm round her while we walked to her place. After a block’s worth of silence she said, “It’s a pity you’re such a rule-breaker. Because I’m a girl who likes strict rules.”

I didn’t immediately realise that was meant as a hint to out herself in case I was sensitive to clues like that. I missed it it the moment, but I  whacked her bum anyway, not very hard, “Well, I’m the rule-breaker. I never said you could break rules. Especially not mine.”

She dodged, but not until after my hand had connected. She laughed at me. “Oh? What sort sort of rules would you want? And do you really think you could hold me to them? I’m a very stroppy lawyer.”

So I stopped, and held her for the first time and kissed her. She had such a sweet face. I said, “Politics beats law, every time.”

She nodded. We’d recognised each other. A policy-maker was going to beat a lawyer, and then fuck her. She said, “But lawyers, we’re famous for not taking any bullshit.”

So I smiled, held her against me, smacked her bottom again, but really quite hard this time, and kissed her.

And that’s this story’s first episode. Tune in again on Wednesday!