Auntie Jeanie – Chapter 2: Limits
This is the sequel to Aunt Jeanie.
I had to call her again. After my auntie Jeanie confessed to me last month that she had been living with a Domme for most of her life, I was left in a state of confusion. She was 88 years old and I had never seen her as a sexual being, nor as someone who would not fit into heteronormative society. She had always seemed different but I had linked that to her quirky personality. But now, now I couldn’t stop thinking about the life she had lived, and the wisdom she would be able to share with me. So I had to call her again. “Auntie, it is me, Lisa. Can I come over tomorrow? Have some iced tea in the garden?” -“Of course, dearie. I would love that.”. I sighed. Maybe she would be able to help me clear my thoughts.
I opened the gate to the garden and saw her sit under the big apple tree. The radio on the table, the heels on her feet tapping to the oldies station. She had always loved music and was the only person I knew who still owned a gramophone. A big decanter with iced tea, two glasses waiting to be filled. I walked over to her. She saw me approach and waved her perfectly manicured hand at me. Her beige sunhat only partially covered her long hair. The yellow long dress she was wearing seemed both in fashion and stuck in time. I hugged her and gave her a kiss on her wrinkled cheek.
“Auntie, it is so nice to see you again!”, I said, as I sat down on the white chair next to her. She poured some iced tea into the two glasses, and cleared her throat: “Lisa, darling, how have you been?”. She smiled at me.
“I have been confused, auntie. I never knew what a badass … I mean …. cool person you really were. I am so happy to have you in my life.”
She giggled. “I am happy to be in your life too. But I can see some dark clouds behind those beautiful eyes for yours. What is darkening your mind, dearie?”
“My Domme wants to push my limits and I don’t know if I want that. They are limits for a reason!”, I blurted out. I looked at her. She took a sip from her iced tea, her eyes shining with interest and curiosity.
“What are you afraid of?”
“That it will hurt or not feel good.”
She nodded. She took another sip from her iced tea. “Do you trust her?”
“Yes, but ….”
“What is your one need in the relationship with her, Lisa?”
“To please her.”
She nodded again. “You trust her and you want to please her. And you have a safeword, I assume, dearie?”
“Yes, but ….”
“Let me tell you a story, darling. Do you want to hear a story?”. I closed my lips and looked at her. “Yes.”; I said after a few seconds of needing to swallow all the buts I had lined up in my mind.
“Sophie and I moved to New York in the fall of 1954. We knew that the kind of relationship we had with each other would not be accepted in the small town we were living in. But New York? It seemed like a safer place, a sweeter place, a place where you could disappear in the masses. It was a dirty city, Lisa. We moved to Queens, close to some of Sophie’s cousins. No one asked us why we lived together. Rents were high so people assumed that we were saving money. It was nothing like New York today, darling. We couldn’t hold hands. We couldn’t kiss. And I couldn’t address her the way I wanted to in public. We were seemingly two friends, enjoying the freedoms of the big city.” She took a sip of her iced tea.
“Sexual pleasures were to be contained to the home. I could tell you stories of sewing our own floggers, dying rope, and making restraints out of leather. We had to be creative. We couldn’t just take our phone, click a few buttons and then had a whole assortment of toys in our home the next day. It was fun though. The excitement and pride we felt when the tails of the flogger hit my naked skin. When I was unable to get out of the restraints. Oh, and how much I had to fight to keep my voice down when she tortured me. Walls were thin and we didn’t want to draw any attention to us.” I giggled at the thought of my talkactive aunt having to keep her mouth shut.
“Everything was hush hush. But Mistress, Sophie, she worked at a hair salon. And her colleague was queer. He liked men. Hush hush. And one night we were at someone’s house where men kissed men, women held hands with women. It was such a wonderous sensation, to see everyone free and seemingly natural around each other. But I felt we were different. I was submissive to her. But there, on one of the tables, I saw a magazine. Bizarre Magazine. And in the magazine was a comic. Sweet Gwendoline was the name. I went through the pages like a madwoman. There it was! Women tied down by other women. Punishment and pleasure! I thought I would faint. What we were having was not bad, or different, other people liked similar deviancies!”
“One day, Mistress came home with a printed photograph of a woman in lingerie, tied down to a chair. Her name was Betty Page, and she had the most curious haircut. Mistress decided I should look like her.”
“Betty Page?”, I exclaimed. “I know who that is!”
“Yes yes, her fame has grown. But back then, she was more of a secret hush hush affair. When I had that haircut with the short bangs and the darker color, no one but those who knew about her, would understand. We made a statement without making a statement. And one day, dearie, it happened. We were walking down the street and this young man approached me. He told me that I looked just like Betty Page and without much hesitation asked if I were submissive. I looked at Mistress who talked for me. After some back and forth, it was decided. The next night we were going to meet at our place, and he was going to have his way with me, with her watching. I was in shock. I was not attracted to the male physique and I thought I had made that clear to her.” I looked at her in confusion. She just allowed her Mistress to make that kind of a decision?
“I was furious. But I was reminded of that she was in charge. That my job was to please her. And that I could use the safeword at any point. I got quiet and realized that I didn’t want to use the safeword before play started. I loved that she had that kind of power over my body. I loved that she did as she pleased. And how much she trusted in that I would want to please her.” I nodded.
“So the night came. The gentleman came to our home and we sat down together. She explained to him what exactly was going to happen. I caught up on that for her, he was just a tool to torture me. She didn’t care about his pleasure. She wanted to see my reactions. She led me to the bed. I was on a leash. I had to kneel, and she tied my hands together on my back. He was watching us. Then she teased me. She flogged me. She played with my bosoms and pulled down my panties. There I was now, naked, and hands tied together. She nodded to him and he moved over to the bed. I heard his belt buckle open but I wasn’t allowed to move. She pulled my head down on a pillow and laid down next to me. My behind was up in the air, my legs were apart. Oh Lisa, dearie, I was so frightened, yet so much under her spell. I felt something get inside of me, and move in and out. He was not allowed to touch me, so all I felt was his manhood. Deep, and hard. Tears were running down my face, but I smiled. I smiled at Mistress, whose face was right next to mine. Her hands were stroking my hair. She called me a good girl, her good girl. Then she raised her hand and he stopped. A few minutes later, I heard the door close. Her hands were on my behind now, spanking me, making my bush wet and then giving me the reward she felt I had deserved. I was her good girl, Lisa. And I loved it.” I starred at her in disbelief. She fucked a man? And enjoyed it?
“You enjoyed it, auntie?”, I asked after a minute’s silence. She sipped on her iced tea.
“I enjoyed being a good girl to Mistress, Lisa. The pleasure, any kind of pleasure that was of a sexual nature, was about being a good girl to Mistress. When I saw that I had pleased her, when I saw that I had aroused her, that made me happy. It was in my mind, darling. Do you understand?” I nodded.
“So what you are saying is that I need to understand what gives me pleasure with my Domme?”
“Yes, dearie. And trust yourself in having given trust to the right kind of woman. If she is anything like Mistress, then she knows your limits better than you do, darling.”
We sat in silence. The radio was turned off but the birds’ song kept us company while we were sipping our iced tea, smiling at each other. My auntie Jeanie, the coolest aunt there is.
If you are interested, you can check out the John Willie’s Sweet Gwendoline comics here.