The days rushed past all too quickly. Each day Aunty Caroline and I would play in her dungeon – unless she had a full diary of slaves – and I would, of course, be the submissive. Aunty Caroline was always in charge, it was her style.

In the bedroom we were equal opportunity lovers, although it was mainly Aunty Caroline on top. The only times I got to practice my domination techniques was when the 45-year-old magazine publisher, Theresa, visited for her whipping and water sports sessions. Luckily for me, she visited twice more after our sensationally raunchy triple domme session with the photographer, Melissa.

On the final night of my stay, as Aunty Caroline and I lay in each others arms, relaxing after a particularly exhausting romp in her bed, she kissed me and asked: “Well Sam, do you think you’ve learned anything about human sexuality during your stay?”

I laughed and kissed her back eagerly. She may have been, at 38, a “former” Penthouse Pet, but she was still hugely attractive.

“Aunt Caroline, I’ve learnt enough to fill a book,” I told her, words which were prescient, although at the time I was unaware of that fact.

The next day, she drove me to the airport, kissed me tenderly on the mouth and whispered “Good studying” before she wheeled her lovely little Lotus sports car out of the station car park. I think I detected a glint of a tear in her eye.

Back at university the next day, Penny Potts, the 36-year-old lecturer who had once remarked that I had an “eminently spankable bum”, or words to that effect, lectured on “La Vice Anglais, or the English predilection for flogging”, and an extremely well argued lecture, it was.

As I was leaving the lecture theatre Ms Potts caught my eye and motioned me over. “My dear Sam,” she smiled, “so nice to see you again, and how was your holiday?”

I looked at the full-breasted, tall brunette with the dark brown eyes. Whether it because of my initiation into Lesbian love with my aunt I don’t know, but Ms Potts seemed somehow more attractive to me now.

“It was very, very exciting,” I told her, which was a complete understatment, if ever there was one.

Ms Potts glanced at her watch. “It’s 1.30,” she said, “and this was my only lecture today. Let’s find a quiet corner in the Horse and Hounds and you can tell me all about it over a ploughman’s lunch – my shout!”

I nodded keenly, noticing that Ms Potts large breasts were partially revealed in a crisp white blouse, due to the fact that the top three buttons were undone. Her hips were sheathed in a gleaming black leather mini. Yes, she was starting to grow on me, was Ms Potts.

Somehow we found an empty booth in a far corner of the H and H, and Ms Potts brought over two foaming pints of draught Guinness. “The ploughman’s are on their way,” she smiled, balçova escort setting one big Guinness in front of me.

“Cheers,” she said, “here’s to a very successful semester,” as she chugged on her Guinness. “Now, tell me all about your break.”

“Well, I stayed with my aunt, in Brighton,” I began.

“Oh, I just love Brighton, it’s such a nice seaside town,” said Ms Potts.

Then I decided to jolt Ms Potts out of her comfort zone. “My aunt’s a former Penthouse Pet, she’s got a smashing figure for a 38-year-old and she operates as a high-class dominatrix,” I informed my lecturer, watching her jaw drop ever so slightly.

“Fascinating,” Ms Potts murmured, and I know she was secretly extremely interested.

“Not only that, but she specialises in female slaves,” I added, then shutting up as the pub waitress plonked down two hearty plates of ploughman’s lunch in front of us.

When the waitress had left, I rushed on: “And aunty has a lovely time, flogging them, making them drink her urine. She even let me take part in some of her sessions with one of her most devout masochists.”

Ms Potts was hooked. “Water sports?”

I nodded. “They’re great. I’ve even drunk my aunty’s piss and it’s quite an interesting taste. You should try it – oh, sorry, Ms Potts, you probably already have!”

Ms Potts’ face was getting redder, and she shook her head violently. “No, no, Sam, I’ve never played golden showers, or whatever, although I’ve heard of them, of course.”

I revelled in shocking her even further. Sex lecturer or not, she was drinking down every word.

“Oh, they’re great,” I enthused. “Every time aunty and I had a shower we’d piss over each others breasts, rub them against each other, then lick them. You should try it, it’s great fun!”

Ms Potts almost gaped, but controlled herself. “Now, Sam, I’m no prude but your aunt – your mother’s sister, your father’s?”

“Aunty Caroline is mummy’s sister,” I informed her.

“But – but that’s incest!” Ms Potts insisted.

I laughed. “Oh, Ms Potts, don’t be so fucking prudish,” I said, using the “f” word deliberately. “It’s not like we’re going to have babies and produce gibbering idiots. There’s no harm in it, it’s not like I’m fucking my brother or daddy.

“I’ve had the best sex ever with my aunty, she’s so sensual.”

Ms Potts gathered her composure, but I could see she was brimful with questions.

“And did your aunty, er, did she, er, did she dominate you?”

I broke off a chunk of bread and placed some cheese and gherkins in it and enjoyed a mouthful.

“Of course she did, silly,” I laughed. “She’s a dominatrix.”

“And which did you prefer?” asked Ms Potts, hardly touching her meal.

“Well, being tied up and flogged, especially on my karşıyaka escort pussy, was very exciting, Ms Potts,” I told her. “But there’s something about taking charge, as Aunty Caroline puts it. “Although being a slave does have its rewards.

“Imagine yourself, spreadeagled and tied down on a rubber sheet on a bed, helpless, your domina standing over you. She’s holding a cruel little riding crop. What’s she going to do first? Whip your pussy? Your breasts?

“Or is she going to caress them with her tongue, instead? Or perhaps both – a crack across an erect nipple, then a lovely teasing little lick from her tongue. Or on your snatch? A stinging blow, then the delights of oral adoration. Oh, wouldn’t it be exciting, Ms Potts?”

She didn’t answer, instead diving into her ploughman’s lunch and gulping down a helping of bread, cheese and pickled onions.

“And then,” I said, after a quick quaff of Guinness, “you are freed, but your dominatrix climbs onto the bed and you notice she’s wearing a lovely little black thong, it’s shiny against her lush pussy.

“She settles back and orders you to bring her to climax using your tongue – but only on the material. You start to work, the material is sopping wet, but it smells so good, so raunchy, so fucking tasty, Ms Potts.

“And then.” And I paused.

Ms Potts leapt into the silence: “Yes, Sam, yes – and then?”

She was almost fucking panting!

“And then she announces that she’s bursting for a pee, she really has to get up and go to the toilet.” And I paused again.

“Yes, Sam, and what do I say?” begged Ms Potts, her meal again totally forgotten.

“You say ‘Oh please, mistress, please, don’t go, don’t leave me’. And your domina says ‘But you don’t understand, Ms Potts, I have to go wee wee’.

“And you say, ‘Stay, please, mistress, I’ll drink your wee wee’.”

Ms Potts took a swig of the remnants of her Guinness and grabbed my glass. “I’m in need of another – I’ll hear the rest in a minute, I have to have a break, but I need – I must – hear what happens next.”

And the leather-skirted lecturer quickly walked to the bar and I couldn’t help noticing the way the skirt shimmered against her bouncing buttocks. Hmmmn, I thought, an eminently spankable bum!

Ms Potts returned with our drinks. “Right,” she said, “I’ve begged you – er, my mistress, I mean – to stay so I can drink her urine. Then what?”

I smiled. “You are staring at the gusset of her knickers. Then you notice a dark stain appearing. It gets a little bit bigger, then a little flow of yellow liquid emerges from the shiny satin.

“Then the flow becomes a stream and it’s spraying from the panties. You open your mouth and drink. Nectar!”

Ms Potts took a great big swallow of her stout and sat çeşme escort back with a sigh. “And after that,” she said, “the dominatrix pulls off her panties, places them over my face and makes me lick her to orgasm! Yes! Yes!”

And the lovely lady pumped her fist in the air twice, just like Tiger Woods after sinking a particularly important putt.

I took another gulp of Guinness and smiled: “That’s it, Ms Potts, I think you’re getting the picture.”

Then I leaned forward. Time to proceed to the crux of the matter, I thought. “How about it, Ms Potts?”

She looked at me, suddenly cool, calm and collected.

“Your place, or mine?”

* * * *

EPILOGUE:

Well, that all happened a few months ago. Ms Potts – I call her Penny now, she calls me “Mistress Sam” – suggested that for my thesis I write a dissertation entitled “To dominate or to submit?” and sub-titled “Dominatrix or slave?”

I got a masters degree in sexuality, thanks to her help, and, of course, the experience I had gained during my holiday with Aunty Caroline.

After appearing in Theresa’s magazine as a trainee dominatrix, the magazine was inundated with inquiries about me, where could I be contacted and so on. It seemed like a good idea to go into the domination business.

I’m now established a few doors down from Aunty Caroline as “the Brighton Belle”, which some people find amusing as it was the name of a famous express train to the south coast. I tend to dominate – pardon the pun – the younger end of the female submissive market, while Aunty Caroline attracts the more mature woman.

I’m assisted in my extremely lucrative venture by Penny Potts, who resigned from the university to become my live-in lover and takes all the bookings and vets clients.

Every now and again, Penny enjoys a session of submission with me and Aunty Caroline. Sometimes we have a double domme, double slave session, involving Caroline and I, with Theresa and Penny. They can become somewhat steamy, but we always end up in the spa, kissing and hugging and drinking far too much Krug!

I have recently had a book published, “Domination or Submission: the choice for the modern woman”. It’s illustrated with pictures taken by Melissa showing me being “mean” to my lovely lady, Penny.

It’s doing very well, thanks to some extremely enthusiastic reviews. The Times, of London, called it “a superbly researched, intensely intelligent catalogue of options open to today’s independent woman”.

The Guardian ended its review with: “Thank God there are some women around today who aren’t prepared to just lie back and think of England!”

The tabloid Sun summed it up in three words: “Phew, whatta scorcha!”

It has just made the New York Times best-seller list, which I’m told is an indication of making it big in the United States. I’d tell you what the newspaper whose motto is “All the news that’s fit to print” said, but I can’t understand a word of it.

So, thanks to my holiday with Aunty Caroline, everything’s going swimmingly.

And I’m definitely in charge!

THE END