Sweet and Sour Shades of Sandra

I've been so caught up I've not even realized it is now raining. Heavily.

She lifts up my head again, lets the azure blue eyes look into mine, makes the vibes caress me.

"Well, aren't you lucky I'm not religious? Nor I ain't sadistic neither." Despite myself I can't help but laugh. Weakly.

"That's better." She walks behind me, takes the pillows out from under me then effortlessly takes my Y fronts all the way off, slowly easing my knees together again. I feel her hands run ever so lightly run over my newly corrugated arse.

"I'd call that a bloody good group, scarce a flyer in thirty shots!" As though she was looking over a target after winning a sudden death shoot-off in a rifle match. Did I really take thirty?

"Oh yes, twenty four to get you broken to where I wanted you, and six more to drive the point home, but then you always was a strong willed little bastard. Now get up and lie fully face down on the bed, while I get something to set this to rights."

Takes an effort to do what she's asked but I do it despite saw edged stabs of fiery pain shooting from my battered behind. "Get on with it Sookrums, and stop feeling sorry for yourself. Like another thirty? I'm sure the Tigress wouldn't mind!" Meaning her cane. Yet the words are delivered with encouragement wrapped in in a kind of comradely amusement. That, along with a peal of laughter and a shake of her golden locks as she puts the pillows back in the closet, makes me feel as if she's levitated me onto the bed. She leaves by the door to the right of the bed, giving me a tear blurred glimpse of her bedroom before the door shuts.

The something turns out to be an ointment she's made herself, a blend of cold cream and home grown herbs that's been kept cold. It works well, takes the burn right out. She massages it in vigourously, ignoring my protests and tears except to observe once, jokingly, that I've got a fine cut of rump she's sure she could sell at some vile price per pound. At least I hope she's joking, never quite know with Sandra.

It's a long and expert butt massage, muscle manipulation such as would arouse a Carolingian Era corpse. It also arouses a certain part of me which Sandra pointedly ignores, simply telling me to get dressed when she's finished the massage, adding, "Don't fret about going home, you can stay here tonight, and I can run you home in the morning, your Mum's okay with that. Be better if you did; it's not that she doesn't love you any more, it's just she don't LIKE you very much right now. Besides which, we can close the ritual," she adds mysteriously.

She sits on the sofa at the end of the bed while I get dressed, chuckling like a drain every time I wince. "You'll get used to that, it'll only last a fortnight or two. Good reminder I should think. Now, go and wash your face, then let's go into the living room." We go back the long way round, no one save herself goes into her bedroom. Ever.

Once in the living room, she installs me in another long lounge after arranging some cushions carefully for me to sit on. Bookshelves line the walls, some of the books in them being on quite weird and wonderful subjects. Witchcraft and ritual magic being not the least of these, and there are several Herbals, a couple of which look to be very old.

She's off to the kitchen, left rear of the living room while I desultorily watch the TV in the opposite corner which she's turned on in passing. Not that there's much on telly and I'm getting a little bored when Sandra comes back with a big glass of some light gold liquid which she coaxes me to drink after shutting off the idiot box. Silver service Sandra, who'd ever have thought it?

It's still and sweet with just a tiny hint of bitterness I can't identify. She ensures I drink every drop of it, telling me it's hard to make, but it's great for aches and pains. That, it certainly is. Suddenly I break out in a fit of giggles as it kicks in. "That's a side effect of this little brew," I hear her saying. "Enjoy it, that's all of it you're getting!" She sets the glass down carefully on a small table left of the sofa, then sits down beside me, undoing just enough of her blouse to expose her cleavage as she does.

The hug this time is fantastic, exquisite. She very gently turns my head away from her shoulder, pushes my face down into her mammary vale, then uses her hands to circle my back as she's done earlier on, all the while crooning something falling between a lullaby and a chant. I don't understand a syllable of it, indeed I get the feeling I'm not meant to, but that doesn't matter, the blissful pain free feeling is such I want it to go on forever. It's not sexual, even given where my face is, it's being where preachers mean when they drivel on about heaven. Except that none of their prattling pious piddle comes close to describing this.

Sandra gently breaks off the hug, but as my face comes clear of her, flashes me an earthy, laughing look after kissing my eyes and forehead. "Enjoy the view? You've wanted to do that for years, haven't you, you randy little beast? Think I didn't know?" I blush, but I notice she doesn't button up her blouse again, just lets her right hand rest ever so lightly on and wander up and down my thighs.

"Seriously, that closes the ritual. However, since you're staying the night, how about some dinner and then, how about a very practical lesson on friendly fornication?"

She senses what I'm thinking, knows I'm confused. First she lacerates my arse and now she wants me in a biblical sense? Her hands stroke my face as she speaks, making warm vibes eye contact, dropping her voice soothingly as though explaining to a scared child.

"The caning was a favour I did for your mother Calvin, a bit of business if you will. Business having been concluded, I am proposing a little pleasure. What do you say?"

I blush and squirm while she patiently awaits an answer. Eventually, despite my confusion, I manage to stammer out, "Is the Pope a Catholic?"

"Oh I'm sure he thinks he is. But whether he is or no, I'll take that for a 'yes'." To my still stunned mullet look, she explains, reverting to logical lecturer Sandra for a moment, Sandra the ever practical, "Firstly, you've wanted to fuck me since ever you first got barred up, and don't you dare deny it, secondly, now you've come of age, I'm not averse to the idea, thirdly I happen to be between lovers at the moment, fourthly, although I own a collection of dildos such as was never seen in Ancient Babylon, I still like fresh meat when I can get it, bashful virgin meat especially, and fifthly, it'll save me a bit of money buying you a birthday present!"

I'll need dinner, I'm so bloody hungry now I'd eat a plague carrying dead rat, fur and all. All the same I twitch in sheer slavering anticipation.

"Patience, patience, as the old spinster said when she tried it out on herself with an overripe banana!" Sandra laughs. "Oh here!" She stands up, reaches into some secret space in the bookshelf above the TV and tosses me a magazine of such pornographic boldness it keeps me enthralled all the while she's attending to dinner, until I hear, "Put that bloody stickbook away, come here, sit down, and pin your ears back".

When I'm sitting at her kitchen table, a bowl of a most delicious casserole in front of me, she leans over from her side, "Just get one thing straight, just because we shall soon be swapping spit and a few other bodily fluids, DOES NOT US LOVERS MAKE, get me? The last thing I want is you hanging around me like a lovesick puppy, OK?"

"Sure". Serious wisdom bit over.

"Good, now eat. That brew also induces appetite".

What else does the flamin' stuff do, I wonder. Silly question.

Answered when we go back into the spare room. We start off sitting on the turned back bed, kissing. Long, slow, exploring kisses. Then piece by piece, we remove our clothes. Each time one piece comes off, she pauses to explain all the bits and bobs as she puts it.

When my Tee shirt comes off, she fondles my pecs and washboard abs, licking, kissing and nibbling every front bit while her hands and fingers wander all over my back. "Leave your jeans on for now."

She shows me how to take off her bra as she gives me another full kiss, moves on to show just how to kiss and fondle her tits, "Always keep an eye on the nipples, when a woman's nipples go hard, that's a sign you're doing it right." The way hers are, she'll have one or other of my eyes out if she's not careful.

She stands up, slowly sliding her pants down, making me wait for every inch. Steps out of them and eases hers bikinis down, revealing that she's shaved herself like a French tart, laughing lustily at my goggle eyes.

Then she's lying on the bed, knees drawn up, her bottom resting on a pillow, my head between her legs, with her explaining just where she wants my tongue and my lips, how to keep The Little Man in the Boat happy and all that gubbins. I know I've got that right when her crutch slams into my face and she sinks back with a long drawn out contented sigh.

"Aye-eee, you just gave me an orgasm. I don't know whether that's beginner's luck or what, so stand up so I can take your jeans and undies off. Slowly."

Which she does, slowly-so-I-can-see-what-I'm-getting-Sandra. Makes me turn around as I discard jeans and undies. "Very nice stripes the Tigress leaves, doesn't she?" Nuzzles each one. "Nice tight runner's arse!" Hands ever so softly cupping it, fingers tenderly tracing a particularly vicious welt. "Bet you felt THAT!" Before I can reply, "Turn around now."

After an eminently satisfying Introduction to Fellatio she smacks and squeezes both my arse cheeks, making me yelp.

She grins, "You'll find your poor old aching arse will really make your bells ring later on. And mine. Now, I think we've covered Foreplay, so that only leaves Mounting, Penetration, Thrusting, and Climax, doesn't it?"

What should be an orderly progress disintegrates into a rough and tumble series of rolls in the hay, so to speak, and as Sandra's beautiful legs fly up into the air beside my hips and she and I explode into the violent thrusts of a simultaneous cataclysmic climax, each thrust helps spell out another side of Sandra, now blazing brilliant blue out of her eyes.

HOT WILD WICKED WANTON WITCH

Those words too are etched forever in my mind ...

That was the last time I ever saw the inside of Sandra's house, let alone her bed. As promised, she drove me back to my Mum's house early in the morning, having fed me very well first. Breakfast I mean, for, as she said, I wasn't entitled to a bloody eyeopener, was I? What'd I think I was, married or something? We got out of the car, stood facing each other on the footpath. Nice clean washed out blue jeans sky after storm day.

She slipped a beautiful, solid silver amulet into my right jeans pocket. "It brings luck in life and with the ladies", she said with a lewd wink, giving me a quick kiss on the forehead and spinning me around. Her left hand pointed to the house, her right hand gave my bottom a playful spank, and she said, "G'wan now, git!" And I got. Probably just as well I stayed got too, would've have taken a fearfully fit football team and its coach to keep it up to her.

I saw her again on odd occasions, until she grew old (disgracefully too, I'll warrant), but never by so much as a flutter of her eyelids did she indicate any of this had ever happened. If the truth be known I'd not believe it happened either, if it weren't for the tiger's head talisman I'm now turning over in my hands. Did it bring me luck, either way? Of course not! Do I, a University Science Professor, believe in magic? Do YOU?