The Chalet, Part III – Domestic slavery in a mature woman’s world.

How Mental Health Is Like Pulling Weeds

[ Find Part I here – https://stinkies.blog/2020/07/23/the-chalet-domestic-slavery-in-a-mature-womans-world/

Find Part II here – https://stinkies.blog/2020/07/28/the-chalet-part-ii-domestic-slavery-in-a-mature-womans-world/ ]

That night I pulled myself so senseless to the thoughts of Marina. My heart thudded at the memory of her towering over me. I floated, mentally, back up her skirt, letting my senses fill in what my eyes weren’t able to. I became hungry for her, in a way I hadn’t known before. This woman tormented and pleasured my mind, with only the flow of hot ejaculation able to banish her from my mind.

I virtually ran to the chalet the following day. My eyes wild with fatigue and a yearning, my heart turning in my chest.

As with all great expectations, it was abruptly shot from of the sky and left to fall limply to the floor. I was not welcomed by Marinas sloping breasts nor her hot tobacco breath, but a crudely written note taped to the door.

“Weeds in garden need doing, see to it, currently out”

In some form of elliptical orbit, Marina had swung herself tightly round me and launched herself out into space. Or at least that’s what the melodrama in me had declared.

Despondent and ultimately pissed at the way of things. I stomped round the side of the chalet and identified the weeds of my misfortune.

A pair of gardening gloves had been compassionately laid out on the table. It was clear that this ‘garden’ had been long given back to nature. Winding thistles, dandelions and prettier sub-families of weeds were well at home in the rough ankle height grass.

Hours passed. Myself on my hands and knees, covered so aptly with cuts from roses. My shins were green with stains and I had already sweated through my shirt, now drying itself upon the table.

Looking upon my handiwork I saw that I had barely made a dent in this catastrophe of a garden. Perhaps this was some kind of joke. Perhaps this was a way of mocking me and humiliating me. ‘Fuck this’ I thought, I walked over to the table, sat myself down and lit a cigarette.

I didn’t consider myself a smoker, but had occasionally used it as a way of expressing defiance. What made the defiance even more delicious was taking the cigarette from Marina’s box, naughtily perched on the external window sill. I slipped my hands down my underwear and played with my flaccid dick. It was the perfect crime.

I breathed in the acrid smoke with satisfaction, reclined against the ground floor wall, quietly content with myself. I hadn’t yet realized that Marina had returned and was watching me from the double doors.

I choked and spluttered as I caught her eye. Throwing down the cigarette, making no attempt to excuse myself I fell to the floor and got straight back into the weeds. Her presence boomed from her, her gaze sent me shivers.

I heard her come close to me, leaning over, inches from my ear.

That musk had returned. A mix of dated perfume, tobacco and womanhood. Her words breathed into my ear.

“Suddenly, not much the man when a woman arrives”

My face flushed, embarrassed I leaned my head closer to the weeds that now seemed to be watching the unfolding drama with glee. My heart was pounding blood to my head and my dick.

“Why stop pleasuring yourself now?”

And with that, I received an unexpected hand in an unexpected place. She slipped her hands, swiftly and directly down the back of my trousers, curve round the mound of my buttocks and slip straight inside me.

I gasped a breath that could have swallowed the garden hole. My lungs drew in air to maximum capacity and my whole body clenched. No words escaped my lips. I was floating in the moment, my glands throbbing chemistry around my body. I was breathless and full of life all at once.

With her hand pressed inside, I exploded out my appendage. Pounding out lashings of semen, soaking the layers of clothes I had on, my breath still holding. I looked only to the blinding light of the sun.

Only when the seminal flow stopped did I finally relieve the outbreath. Panting on the floor, not wishing to move. I died the small death, right there amongst jealous weeds. Spittle had collected at the corners of my mouth. I was both present and completely absent at once.

She pulled her fingers out from me and left with the sound of footsteps on thick grass.

“Go home” she said “You’re finished”…

[Find out what happens next here… https://stinkies.blog/2020/08/03/the-chalet-part-iv-domestic-slavery-in-a-mature-womans-world/ ]

Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: