Masturbation Monday: The Ojastara Tales: Jack in the Green 2

Bridget leaned back against her plantlike lover, his penis, if that’s what it was, firmly held in her anus. She felt a deep love and affection for him. She knew that was partly because she was influenced by the psychotropic chemicals he exuded from his body, what he called his “pollen”. At the same time he’d been a skilled and considerate lover, and that told her good things about his nature.

Though she had to admit her asshole was a little sore from his vigorous thrusts as they closed on their respective orgasms, she was disappointed when at last, and slowly, he with drew from her.

At last, though, she was no longer taken. He reached for her shoulder and helped her turn so she could look at him. He was an extraordinary being. His skin was dark green bark, his hair was leaves, and although the lines of his body and face were manlike, he was made of living, animate wood. His beard was tightly knotted, flexible twigs.

 She touched his face. He was oddly soft, for a man of wood. He smiled at her. “I do not often court mortal women quite so abruptly. But I wanted you, on sight.”

She grinned at him. “My arse is still sore, you abrupt bastard.”

He looked concerned. “I’d hoped to bring you pleasure. Not pain.”

“You did. Pleasure, I mean. I was teasing you. My arse is sore in a good way. Oh!” She remembered something. “You spanked me! You can’t spank me and pretend you didn’t want to hurt me!”

“I felt you wanting it.” He looked up then, and saw Ojastara looking at the pair of them, smiling benignly. “Cousin, I have never had such a gift. May I keep her?”

Ojastara said, “That’s entirely up to the gift, now. I only introduced you. She is not mine.”

Only a short time ago Bridget would have been hurt, if Ojastara had said she didn’t belong to her. Instead she looked at the Green Man. “Jack, if you’ll have me – often! – I’ll stay with you. I’ll willingly be yours. If you’ll -“

“I cannot be yours, little mortal. I’m an elemental; it isn’t possible. But your life will seem all too brief to me. I promise to keep you and love you as long as you live.”

“Then” Bridget pushed her owner back, onto his back. He was immensely strong, she knew, and he was humouring her, as she might ‘lose’ a wrestling match with a child. The protuberance that had been in her arse was clean, now, and gleaming. She lowered her lips to it. “I wonder how sensitive this is?”

Jack said nothing, but the protuberance oozed sap, and then a sticky substance that tasted faintly of something woody, but nourishing. As she licked and sucked at her strange new lover, his hands fell to the ground, and the fingers seemed to dig deep into the earth. The protuberance grew, and it streamed as she sucked, the fluid viscous and faintly sweet.

He placed a bony, woody knee between her thighs, and she rode it, pleasuring herself as she pleasured him. At last she seemed to be back in that shining, fuzzy cloud, high above the world.

Jack came in her mouth at last, releasing something nutty and faintly sweet. She swallowed, and wondered if she would ever need any other kind of sustenance again.

But his great inflexible hand pressed down on her buttocks, so that she pressed closer, tighter to his knee and thigh, soft bark against sensitive womanly skin. And she made the first high-pitched peep, of the sound that seemed to be her new orgasm noise. There were many more before the need and greed of her cunt at last allowed her to relax and rest. 

When she could look around again she saw that Ojastara and her foxes had gone. But she did not feel abandoned, in this new life. Jack said to her, “You’re my Queen now. Queen of April. Or possibly the May. Usually a goddess takes this role. So you must be a goddess too.” 

“And Queen,” she said, wondering. “Then she looked at him. “‘For the shepherd lads on every side’ll come from far away; And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother; I’m to be Queen o’ the May.'” 

Jack stood, and extended his strange hand. Bridget took it and rose. He said, “You’ve become a goddess. Whatever the season was, you’ve just brought the Spring. That was strong, and good. I’ll have to try very hard to make you immortal. With – pardon, I don’t usually work by human manners – with your consent, of course.” 

Bridget remembered that hers was a goddess’s name. An old one. Perhaps that was more than coincidence. She said, “You may make me immortal, fine sir, if you please.”

Masturbation Monday: The Ojastara Tales – Jack in the Green 1

Bridget waited on her hands and knees, her bottom arched up, proffered and offered. Behind her she heard the door of the cottage open, and a male sigh of pleasured surprise.

Seconds later, she felt hard hands on her shoulders, pushing her down so her face and breasts pressed against the grass. A voice that seemed deep but oddly constricted, said, presumably to Ojastara, not to her, “This is a thoughtful gift, Vetter.”

Bridget thought. “Vetter” meant “cousin” in some languages, and probably meant it once in English, before French influences entered the language. Could Ojastara somehow be a relative of this being? But she forgot questions of philology, because the voice addressed her. “You are very beautiful, little human. My mortal morsel.” She felt his thighs, hard as teak, pressing at her softer thighs and buttocks, and something, also hard, pressed protuberantly against her asshole.

She thought about that hardness entering her without lubrication, and whimpered. But the end of that protuberance began to flow, and it entered her, somehow exuding its own slippery gel. She looked down, for the first time, at the hands and forearms that pressed her down. They were solid, without fat, and the striations were neither muscles nor veins. They were a dark green colour. What, she thought, on earth am I fucking?

The voice said, “It’s late to name myself. But your invitation was too strong, little one. I am the Green Man. I’ve been on this world far longer than humans, but I welcomed you when you arrived. Recently, I mean about four hundred years ago, which is a long time ago for you, and yesterday for me, they gave me a name: Jack in the Green. You may call me Jack.”

“Well, you are welcome to fuck me, Jack. Though you’re like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Or… felt.”

“I’m sorry about that, a little. When I saw you I desired you. And when I’m in a state of desire, I exude … Well, think of it as like pollen. But I exude desire, and you feel it too. So you desire me very much, but you didn’t exactly choose to desire me. I think. Anyway, we want each other, and I’m afraid I’ll have to leave pollen ethics to human thinkers. Jacks in the Green don’t have philosophy. We don’t have politics, either. That’s for you beautiful mortals.”

And he began to move, deliciously, in her ass, taking care not to to hurt. Bridget knew, in a far-away part of her mind, that the pleasure she felt was also partly derived from the chemicals he released. But it was such intense pleasure, and she began to rock back on him, so that she was fucking him, and doing so hard and fast.

Then he held her, one hand on her shoulders, and took control again, fucking her very slowly. Bridget’s world seemed to shimmer, as if their mutual pleasure was somehow visible, like a shining cloud surrounding them both. She turned her head and bit that hard forearm. There was a very faint print from her teeth, and he grunted, not in pain. He reached one hand back and smacked her bottom, six times. His hand was utterly hard, but he was careful not to hurt her, or not much. Then he stopped her spanking and began to fuck her a little harder, a little deeper.

Bridget gasped. she was being taken on a high, hormonal path, as if she was flying, with his hard tube in her ass. She gasped in air, as she could feel her climax build, relentless. Usually she came noisily, guttural or a scream, but deafening for her poor lover. But she could only squeak. Her orgasm came in sharp jabs of pleasure, over and over, possibly for four hundred years, or a day.

At last she stopped, and relaxed against him. She felt immensely happy and fond. She hoped he would let her up, in a while, so she could see his face.  


The Ojastara Tales: Asking nicely in a Scots accent 3

When Bridget had come Ojastara kissed her cunt fondly, then slipped her hands out of her bonds with surprising ease. She took the flogger from Bridget’s surprised hand. “We’re going for a walk,” she said.

“Where? Why?”

“I don’t think I’ll let you speak any more, Bridget. If you speak before I ask you to, you’ll feel this flogger. Hard, girl. It’s not always a toy.”

Bridget’s eyes widened. Wisely, she remained silent, but followed Ojastara through the forest. After a time Ojastara told her to stop, and take off her Domme costume. Bridget obeyed, and watch as Ojastara stowed her outfit, the tight black pants and the halter-top, and stowed it in a tree. Bridget wasn’t sure if she’d ever see those clothes again.

A smart lash, with the flogger’s thongs wrapped across her bottom, soon made her forget it. Naked, she followed the woman who was now her Mistress.

At last they came to a clearing, and a wall, within which was a small cottage.Ojastara called, but didn’t knock. She shouted, loudly, “Jack! Jack! I bring a gift!”

She glanced at Bridget. “Hands and knees, girl. Drop!”

Bridget began to understand just who and what the ‘gift’ must be.

Then the flogger lashed down again, and she cried out in pain. Properly used, it was anything but a toy. “Not like that, girl. Your ass facing the door. Knees apart. Arch your back, little one.”

Bridget obeyed, feeling like a cat making herself available to a tom. The lashes struck her bottom again, but gently. She took it as approval. Ojastara said, “Good girl. Now we wait.” 

The Ojastara Tales: Asking nicely in a Scots accent 2

Ojastara knelt, her hands cuffed together over her head and suspended from a hook in the ceiling. Her knees were well part, the skin of her cunt inner thighs ablaze from the steady, insistent and insinuating lashes of Bridget’s flogger. 

Then Bridget increased the intensity, aiming the floggers lashes only at her soft, sensitive cunt. Ojastara closed her eyes,amnd her mouth hung open. She made no sound. Bridget increased the forces of the lashes, and Ojastara at last moaned, as though she was immersing her body into a warm bath. Then her brows arched, pleading, and she said, again, “Yeeees. Please. Please.” 

Bridget smiled. She leaned down and kissed Ojastara’s forehead, and pressed the handle of the flogger against her cunt. Ojastara seemed to collapse, her whole weight hanging from her wrists while she pressed forward and pushed herself against that hard, leather cylinder. 

At last Ojastara cried out like a cat being fucked, a high animal sound that was both need and satisfaction. It built and suddenly reached up to a higher pitch. There were years in Ojastara’s eyes, spilling, running down her face.

At last she breathed, “Oh yeah. Thank you, Bridget.”

“I think I’d like you to call me ‘Miss Bridget’.”

“Thank you, Miss Bridget.”

“Good girl. Not that you’re a girl, any more than, I don’t know, Eris was. You’re a trickster goddess. There aren’t many of you.”

Ojastara smiled. “That’s nice, Miss Bridget. But I’m not a goddess. Or a trickster.” 

“Just what a trickster goddess would say. But I have better uses for your lying tongue, Tara. Come forward a bit, still on your knees.”

Ojastara, who was still in charge there, and they both knew it, made an interrogative noise. Bridget sighed. “My cunt likes that sound. I think I want you forced to lean back a little, while you get me off.” 

So Ojastara crawled forward until her body hung back, from her uplifted, bound, wrists. Bridget stepped forward, thighs parted, and pressed Ojastara’s face into her cunt. She closed her eyes and sighed, as she felt her tongue in soft, wet, sensitive skin. And she let the flogger’s lashes rest against Ojastara’s back.

The Ojastara Tales: Asking nicely, in a Scottish accent 1

The flogger was reaching between her shoulders, and Ojastara, her arms outstretched and her wrists tied to pillars of either side of her. Her bonds were not uncomfortable, but she couldn’t slump and relax, the way she wanted. 

Bridget was applying the flogger almost lazily, letting its weight drive the impact as she swung it down on Ojastara’s back. Ojastara sighed. A happy sigh; this was good pain, and it was almost comfortable. Then there was movement within her, and her eyes widened suddenly.

Bridget had introduced a dildo into her cunt before the flogging started. Now it was as if it had suddenly woken up. “Remote control,” Ojastara thought.The stimulation was gently insistent, and exceptionally pleasant.

Then Bridget stepped in front of her. She was a tiny girl, with hair the colour of a fire engine. She wore satin black shorts, cut high, and a tiny black leather bra, and little black high heeled shoes. Apart from her hair, she was pale white, speckled with freckles. She smiled at Ojastara. “Oh, I am enjoying myself! It’s a pity you don’t colour much. But you have the yummiest skin.” 

Ojastara nodded. Just then, with the vibe in her cunt slowly becoming more insistent, she couldn’t gather her thoughts enough to form a sentence. She watched, helpless, as Bridget raised the flogger again, and delivered two slashing strokes to her breasts, left to right and then right to left.

One of the lashes caught at Ojastara’s dark plum-coloured nipple, causing an instant’s fiercer sting among the long, warm thud of the flogger’s path. Ojastara felt it like a kiss, or a kiss-and-bite, and she sighed, pleasured. The flogger lashed her breasts long and hard, with only occasional sharper sensations. 

The strokes came shorter and faster as Bridget worked her way down Ojastara’s body. The flogger swept across her thighs from left to right and back again, for a long, long, hypnotically long time. “Tara,” she said at last (no one but Bridget ever called her ‘Tara’), “I’d love to whip your cunt. Long and – mostly – slow, till you come. That all right by you?”

The flogging stopped, suspended, waiting on Ojastara’s word. Bridget bit her lip, supplicant though she held the whip, waiting. 

Ojastara smiled. “That’s you. You ask me nicely, in your Scots accent. I don’t think I could refuse you anything, little Bridget. “I mean, yes. Yes, please.”

“Oh, thank you. You’re so sweet, Tara.” And the flogger dropped, to lash upwards at Ojastara’s warm, dark, wet and tender lips.


The Ojastara Tales: The Landgrave 4

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. 

The Ojastara Tales: The Landgrave 4

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…”

The Ojastara Tales: The Landgrave 3

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.  

Masturbation Monday: The Ojastara Tales: Ojastara and the Landgrave 1

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!”




The Ojastara Tales: Tale the Second, Part 2

Ojastara, hands tied behind her back, leash around her neck, followed her young captor. He was wearing a brown t-shirt, with German words on it. The forest equivalent of a Hi-Vis jacket. His shorts were small, and tight.

She watched him walking ahead of her, her leash in one hand. Ojastara wasn’t worried by her captivity, or concerned that he was, perhaps, not a good man. He wasn’t, but she liked watching him walk. A nice ass and good legs went a long way, in her mind.

So after a time she she risked stopping, and pulling back on the leash, The movement tightening the bowstring round her neck, but it also made him turn. He smiled, not nicely. Such a lot of contempt for such a young man, thought Ojastara. He said, “Did you trip?” 

Ostajara fell forward, as if she’d tripped. The movement brought her knees between his feet, her head against his crotch. She said, “No, not really, but I beg you: not the Landgraf! Couldn’t you look after me?” She stared at the bulge of his cock.

He stared down at her head. She let her shoulders slump, which displayed her breasts as she guessed he would want: weighty, not proud. He considered her and at last said, “And how would you like to be looked after?” 

She looked up at him, without leaning forward yet, so he could consider her breasts fully. “I think a woman is happiest serving a man’s pleasure, don’t you? So you have… with you” – she looked at his shorts – “a means to my happiness.” She opened her mouth, then, and made an O of her lips.

The young man looked at her, ideas and possibilities finally dawning on his face.

“Ah. Well, the Landgraf is more… complicated in his pleasures than I am. But if it’s hard cock you want, I am your man.” 

Ojastara leaned forward. “Then I could care for your cock. Though I’ll need my hands.” 

He slapped her, hard. “You think I was born yesterday, cow? You can suck my cock. Doesn’t need hands. Not even yours.”

The was a low, vulpine growl when the sound of that slap filled the clearing. Ojastara shook her head then, and the foxes subsided. The young man hadn’t noticed the foxes following them, and so her headshake meant nothing to him. She looked at him, as if imploring, and he pushed his shorts down, and his cock sprang free. 

Ojastara lowered her head and kissed the tip, and then, sucking him so he could not think, took him into her mouth.