Catherine The Matriarch

Chapter Nine-1

Chapter Nine

Kinky Rites

Honey’s wake-up nudge in the darkness of her bedroom brought me dim recollections of those pre-dawn mornings when my mother would wake me up to start my paper route. Only this time, the duty that called was a dream-come-true: spending an hour or so with Catherine the Great! My pleasure was bittersweet. My guilt over Honey’s hurt feelings would diminish the sheer joy of receiving Mrs. Roman’s undivided attention. In Honey’s eyes, after stealing me fair and square, she didn’t want to share me with another woman. Still, the operative word was “stealing.” Regardless of Honey’s kindness to me, she still took me against my will.

Honey kissed me flush on the mouth. “Go earn some money!” she urged.

We walked together down the hall to the parlor. When I saw Mrs. Roman, her very essence sucked my heart and soul into her bosom. Posturing in her extremely tight black, patent leather gown, she totally possessed me. Her sleeveless dress extended from her ankles to her high collar, and she wore matching black patent, over-the-elbow gloves. When she turned her imperial gaze and imperious eyes on me, I yearned to fall on my face and beg her forgiveness—for giving her another winter day in January instead of the crisp autumn she would have preferred, for failing to abolish “reality” TV shows—for any shortcoming that displeased her, regardless of whether I could control the conditions.

With trembling lips, I began, “You look—”

“Silence!” Mrs. Roman demanded.

Suddenly Honey produced a ball gag and muzzled me in less than five seconds.

Mrs. Roman placed her large tote bag on the floor—the first I had ever seen made of black patent leather—and pulled out a stack of medium-denomination dollar bills wrapped in crisscrossing rubber bands.

Honey took the money from Mrs. Roman and said, “Ride him hard. Get your money’s worth. And thank you.” Then she retreated down the hall.

“Kneel!” Mrs. Roman commanded. “Help me with the hem of my dress.”

Chills ran through me while I went to my knees. Bowing to Catherine the Great always filled me with the sensation that her very proximity can emit jolts of her power through me. I grasped the hem of her dress and pulled, recoiling in alarm from the ripping sound.

“Velcro,” she explained. “It lets me keep a tight, smooth silhouette or create a slit, without the intrusion of a zipper on the surface of my dress.” Once I spread the schism to her thigh, she extended the slit to her lower hip. “Makes it easier to walk. After you, Princess.”

I led the way to the cellar and sought out the largest wall mirror available.

“I’ve trained you well,” she leered. “Kneel.” In the mirror, I saw her reach into her tote bag and pull out her three-foot whip. She let her bag fall. As soon as my knees touched the floor, I heard the crack of her whip, felt its sting, and watched the ecstasy in Mrs. Roman’s face. “You slut!” she screamed, lashing me harder. “First you wimped out. Couldn’t take my heat.” Crack! “Then you volunteered to take Martin’s place when Honey came for him!” Crack! Crack!

I shook my head violently in the negative.

“You’ll get your chance to speak after I whip you into submission.” Crouching, she directed whiplashes across my butt and thighs.

The physical intensity of her punishment and the provocative jostling of her body in her shiny dress engorged my c**k with blood. When I gazed at the demonic beauty of her face, I ejaculated in my pants. The convulsions of my body betrayed my failure to resist gratification.

“You slut!” she screamed. “You aren’t supposed to enjoy this!” She threw her whip down, released the ball gag, and stepped in front of me. Jerking the ball out of my mouth, she asked, “Do you want to give me the ultimate kiss? Or talk?” She pulled her dress above her waist.

Despite wanting to tell her my side of the story, I wanted to please Mrs. Roman more than anything else in the world. When I embraced her hips tenderly and pressed my face into her wonderful delta, her tense body softened.

“Good answer,” she said, patting me on the head. “Maybe I won’t have to kill you after all.” She stepped over my shoulders, one at a time, the way she had straddled me that Friday. When she pressed the back of my head toward the secret nooks she wanted me to visit, and my tongue sought out the special sequence of spots she had taught me, we worked as a team to drive her into delirium. She soon squirmed wildly, and she rubbed her v****a up and down my face. Then she let me lick her c******s until she came, bounteously.

Flopping into a nearby chair, she asked, “Why did you leave me?”

“I didn’t. Suki took me to your place while you and Martin were out Saturday. She said you told her to consecrate me for your arrival. After she bound and gagged me, she sold me to Honey and slipped me a roofie.”

“Are you sure it was a roofie?”

“She said it was, and it knocked me out cold. Why do you ask? And why did you just whip me? You told me you were through giving me whip treats.”

“That was for my pleasure, not yours. And I was just curious about the roofie.” Mrs. Roman visibly shifted gears. “Suki was gone when Martin and I got back yesterday,” she recalled. “Then he disappeared this morning. When I catch them—” She paused, looked at me, and asked, “Are you happy here?”

I crawled over and rested my cheek in her lap. “I miss you.” Reaching down to touch one of my aching thighs, I felt a rip in my pants and something wet. I pulled my hand back up and saw blood on my fingers. “If you want me to bleed for you, I will.”

She stroked my cheek. “Normally, I hate violence. It’s addictive. But I was angry, and whipping you released my anger. I thought you deserted me for Honey. How’s she treating you?”

“She’s been so nice I feel guilty about wanting you so much. But she made me promise to pay her geometrically increasing amounts of money each time I have s*x with her.”

“You fool! She’ll take you for all you’re worth before the week is out.”

I raised my head and looked into her glorious black-brown eyes. “How? The first time was fifty dollars, the second, one hundred, and the third, one hundred and fifty. Then two hundred.”

“Remember your high school math?” Mrs. Roman chided me. “You just described an arithmetic progression. Here’s the geometric progression you agreed to with Honey: fifty, one hundred, two hundred, four hundred, eight hundred—the sixth time you have s*x with her will cost you—let’s see— sixteen hundred dollars, just for that one time. And the total amount for all six times put together would be three thousand one hundred.”

“Oh, god.”

“Goddess,” she corrected me again. “We’ll bail you out.” She stood up.

I rose to my feet, too, glancing down only an inch or so to face her eye-to-eye. Even her height made her look sexier. “What do you mean, ‘we’?”

Her cold smile would have terrorized me if she were scheming against me. Instead, she vowed, “When I catch Martin, I’ll extort enough money from him to buy your freedom.”

“What about Suki?”

“I need to talk to her. She can keep her money. Professional courtesy. Same with Honey.”

“That’s not fair!”

Now she directed her cold wrath toward me. “Don’t talk about fair! For centuries, men have exploited women. Now it’s time for women to rule. If I take you for my wife, you will obey me implicitly and explicitly.”

“You mean I still have a chance? If you’ll still have me, I’ll be yours forever!”

“Give me one good reason why I should take you as my wife.”

“My dear Goddess, I’ll give you three reasons. One, I love and worship you more than anyone else ever will. Two, you deserve all of my money to add to your riches. Three, you fulfill my purpose in life. I always feel stimulated when I profit from banking deals, but I always wanted more from life. You are the ‘more’ I’ve been looking for. I get a tremendous s****l rush at the idea of piling up tons of money, and then laying it at your feet as a tribute to your magnificence.”

She took me in her arms and kissed me passionately. “We’ll consummate the marriage tonight! Go ask Honey to come here. And ask her if she has a wedding gown.”

I hurried upstairs and found Honey soaking in the first-story bathtub. “Mrs. Roman would like to see you.”

“Is she through already?” Honey stepped out of the tub and wrapped a bathrobe around herself. Except for a few sags here and there, she looked terrific.

“She wants to talk to you. And she said to ask you if you have a wedding gown.”

Honey looked sharply at me. “Yes, I have one, but I don’t want you to use it.”

She strode three paces toward her bedroom before I realized she was angry. “No, it isn’t for me,” I said, catching up with her. Reflecting on the situation, I realized, “Yeah, it is for me.”

Honey turned on the lights around her vanity mirror. “I’ll give you the wedding dress.” She applied lipstick in two strokes across her upper lip. “But if you wear it,” she paused to press her lips together, “I’ll never let you go.”

“Aw, come on. Mrs. Roman just wants to—”

“She wants to make you her bride,” Honey said. She started to apply mascara but put the brush down. Her hand was shaking. “She covets you. You’re her virgin.”

“You know better than that!”

She stood up and whirled around, glaring at me. “Has anyone ever reamed your ass?”

“Well, of course not!”

“Suki wanted to. Know why she didn’t?”

“Too much trouble to clean the dildo?”

“Don’t get smart with me!” She grabbed my shoulders so tightly that her fingernails cut into me. “Suki knew Mrs. Roman would be furious.”

“Look, I’m not thrilled about having Mrs. Roman nail me in the butt. But if she’s so determined, you said to please the customer.”

“Don’t you understand?” Honey’s eyes flashed. “She doesn’t just want a physical thrill. In her mind, sodomizing you will consummate your marriage. She’ll consider you hers. And I’ve already told you you’re mine.”

“Why don’t I just play her game? She’s already paid you? We can sort out the ownership later.”

“Suit yourself.” She stormed over to the bedroom closet, slid the panel aside, and walked in. She snatched a white gown off a rack of fantasy outfits. She cried when she flung the gown at me. “I was saving that. To let you wear the night I set you free—and I banged you.”

“Sorry. Uh, Mrs. Roman said she wants to see you.”

Honey pushed me toward the bedroom door. “Tell her she can see me after she takes you, you b***h!” With one final shove, I was out the door, and she slammed it in my face.

My dilemma was crystal clear at that moment: I could not appease both Mrs. Roman and Honey, and displeasing either woman would bring dire consequences for me.

Nevertheless, I had no doubt about which course I would take.

When I returned to the cellar, Mrs. Roman had changed into a sleek red latex catsuit. I couldn’t tell where her sleeves ended and her matching red latex gloves began. Her large, black dildo and harness stood out sharply against the rest of her outfit. “Where’s Honey?”

“She said she’d rather talk to you after you pop my cherry.”

She glared at me. “Don’t be crude!” Then she grinned, “But you’ve got the idea. Put on your wedding gown, darling.”

I stripped quickly. Struggling into the wedding gown was difficult. “It’s too tight,” I said.

“I never thought I’d hear a man say that!” she teased. Leading me before a large mirror, she commanded, rather gently, “Bow down to me. Turn your head so you can watch the proceedings in the mirror.” I obeyed her on both counts. “Inasmuch as you have been consecrated twice—once by Suki, for the wrong person, and once here tonight under the tutelage of my cleansing whip—we are ready to exchange our wedding vows.”

“I’m not prepared.”

“Follow my lead.” She caught the irony in her remark and said with a smug grin, “That should go without saying. But, in this case, I shall ask you if you will submit to me as your goddess, and I expect you to affirm each question. Then you will ask me if I will accept you as my wife. Ready?”

“I’ll try.”

“Francis Gurley Prince...”

“Please! Not my middle name!”

“Don’t interrupt. Francis Gurley Prince, do you submit yourself to me, confessing me as your only Goddess, to worship, cherish, love, fear, and obey?”

“I do!”

“Will you forfeit your heart, your mind, your soul, your will, and all of your earthly possessions to me, including your life?”

“I will.”

In something like a stage whisper, she informed me, “My middle name is Sasha.”

“Catherine Sasha Petrov Romanov”—I glimpsed up to catch her smile at the original Russian names—”Goddess of my life, do you take me as your lawfully wedded wife, to dominate, abuse, and humiliate?”

“I do!”

“Will you exploit me in any way that gratifies you, accept whatever humble gifts I can give you, take whatever else you want, and demand more from me?”

“I will! I, Catherine Sasha Petrov Romanov, your proclaimed Goddess, do take you, Francis Gurley Prince, to be my wife, to please me in any way that I see fit. By the powers vested in us by our symbiotic neuroses, I pronounce us Goddess and Wife. I may now defile the bride!”

“May I take off this gown?”

“No, I don’t care about your discomfort. I was terrified on my wedding night. All that mattered was pleasing the groom. Now it’s my turn. Bend over at the waist and hold the arms of this chair,” she demanded.

“Like this?” I faced the mirror.

“No!” She turned me slightly to the right so that I could watch her enter me. “If you don’t know the drill by now,” she crooned in the most turned-on voice I’ve ever heard, “I suppose I’ll have to drill you.”

Without further ado, Catherine the Great rammed me home. The dildo felt even larger than it looked, and it hurt my anus severely. I spread my legs more to ease Mrs. Roman’s ingress, but the pain seared through me. And her failure to use any kind of lubricant increased the friction. I tried to focus on the sound of her heavy breathing and watch her wild strokes to divert my attention from what was happening to my ass. But the intense agony persisted. Stroke, stroke-stroke, the rhythm picked up. Extended heavy breathing accompanied her sublime facial expression. She writhed wildly, screamed, and collapsed on me with a “God, that was good!”

I wanted to yell, Get that thing out of my ass! But I didn’t trust myself to speak after her wild ride. Mrs. Roman giggled at my futility, and I remained quiet. “My darling wife wants me to pull out,” she cooed, and then barked: “Not now!” Gathering her strength from some mysterious, untapped reservoir, she started humping me again!

Shamefully, I confess that her pressure on my prostate stimulated my c**k to tumescence. I had to avert my eyes from the mirror. The graceful motions of Mrs. Roman’s lean, curvy body and the extreme pleasure on her face would cause me to ejaculate instantly if I continued watching her. She paused. “Lift up your gown.”

I held the hem above my waist and bent over again to take the lesson she was administering to me.

She resumed driving into me, reached around me and under my dress, and began jerking me off. The slick feel of her latex gloves and her sensitive, knowing touch excited me so much I almost came immediately. Unable to postpone my delight any longer, I shot c*m into the part of the wedding gown draping over my arms.

Mrs. Roman, however, continued to drill into my ass with her dildo. “Stand still and don’t move,” she demanded, reminiscent of Suki’s remarks—and the traditional male dialogue in the bedroom. I clamped my sphincter muscle on the dildo as tightly as I could and let her position her c******s and aim her lower torso to gain optimum contact with the internal “p***s”, which I felt sure the dildo featured. Although Mrs. Roman had begun screwing me partially to exert her dominance, she now shifted to pleasure and brought herself to her second orgasm.

And still she left the dildo crammed snugly up my butt. Breathing heavily, she said, “I want to hump you one more time and make absolutely sure you don’t enjoy it one bit.” After a pause to catch her breath, she started thrusting into me again. Although I thought I had desensitized myself to the pain, it increased. Again, as I had done with Suki, I concentrated on her orgasm, faked a few moans, and thereby hastened her climax.

After her third orgasm, Mrs. Roman wrapped her arms around me and pulled up on my chest to press my back against her chest—still leaving her dildo inside me. “Darling, you were better than I expected. And almost as good as I deserve.” She pulled out so sharply I almost expected to hear a popping sound. “Now,” she said, “you’re mine, and I can enjoy you at my whim. Let’s celebrate.” Reaching into her large tote—I began to consider it her bag of magic tricks—she pulled out a bottle of champagne and two glasses. She gave me the glasses to hold while she popped the cork and filled the glasses. Some of the bubbly ran over the edges of the glasses, but Mrs. Roman’s perfectionism limited spillage to a minimum.

After she carefully placed the bottle on the floor, we toasted each other and gulped down our glasses in one swallow each. Then we sipped another glass, savoring the moment, sitting on the edge of the bed with our thighs barely, but significantly, touching. It was the happiest moment of my life. Others would surpass it in ecstasy, but that’s another matter. Then, I foolishly left the moment to glimpse into the near future.

“Honey will not take this well,” I said.

“I know.” She gave me a confident wink. “Let’s go talk to her.”