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From: rgt@well.com (Estragon)
Subject: Estragon revised: "Travels With Aunt Paula," IV/6 (femdom)




"Travels With Aunt Paula," IV/6  (femdom)


(For adults only
Copyright 1996, 1997 Estragon Productions)



"I gave you pain. Do you appreciate
the miracle? To make it up out of
thin air, deep, free-fall space, the
gifted, driven atoms of remonstrance?"




That was then. 

In the course of four years, Cal learned extraordinary things about the
desires of women - not those confided in the bedroom (for Paula always
distinguished between the needs of a boy and those of an adult of either
sex, and Cal had never seen either his beautiful aunt or any other female
naked), but every other sort besides. All those mood-driven fancies and
kinked velleities - the very things that most people attribute en masse to
feminine inscrutability: for the small boy Cal each little whim of woman
or girl became important evidence in his mental dossier concerning the
eternal feminine. Nothing a human female might wish could ever appear
frivolous to him. Cal's intelligence, bright to begin with, and burnished
at those marathon symposia Aunt Paula called lessons, grew especially
insightful where its object was a girl or woman's heart. Cal knew her will
a moment before she uttered it. His mind glimpsed the scenario of his
obedience. In the seconds before the sweet, high voice spoke its wishes,
Cal would already hear it within. When her words finally came, it was as
though his own dear wish was being granted.

Yet Cal led a boy's life too. His enslavement to the weaker sex was
impossible to conceal, yet he didn't seem to most boys a weak sister. He
was odd, maybe a bit unreliable, prey to spells of brooding and of sudden
distaste for the very games he'd only just proposed, but he had a talent
for boyish play that normally over-rode these reservations. His male
friends grew accustomed to his rationed life. They understood that the
female sex exerted an inexorable hold over Cal. Something frightening to
see, but secretly enviable as well. They came to accept the
inconsiderateness of women and girls where Cal's time was concerned. As
when, visiting Cal at home, they were sent packing by his pretty aunt -
yes, very pretty, you had to give her that - because it was time for some
"lesson."

"You learning piano or something, Cal?"

"Not piano exactly."

"Okay...."

As when a pair of giggling teenage princesses dropped by to announce that
they were just too logy to run down to the drug-store and pick up a box of
tampons.

"You get to carry our TAMPONS, Cal."

"Which will go inside us, Cal. And you get to carry them."

Sometimes his friends even connived a little at Cal's humiliation - as
when he was peremptorily summoned behind some shrubbery and commanded to
drop his pants and kneel merely because a "new girl" hadn't believed the
things she'd heard. When the shameful recess ended, Cal's friends politely
resumed their play as though they'd noticed nothing.

Of course, being boys, Cal's friends were inconsistent. Circumspect one
day, jeering the next. If a detail of fearless schoolgirls strode up in
the middle of a particularly engrossing game and announced like the ballsy
little cunts they were that Cal was done playing for the day, being needed
"at home," his friends might voice their exasperation as they watched the
willing captive march away - might call out taunts to his manhood.
"Pussy-whipped. Quim-queered." But they'd laugh admiringly when he called
back, "Ballsy cunts? Shows what you know." To one another they expressed
the opinion that if Cal was enjoying the touch of girlish hands, even if
he paid for the pleasure with that freaky deference of his, then this
warranted a certain regard for their friend. Even from themselves, their
envy grew to be a poorly kept secret. 


And now the ten-year-old, sensitive, seasoned servant, stood naked and
attentive before his aunt on lesson-day.

"I like being kept busy, Aunt Paula," he said. "I mean, by you and all the
ladies and girls...."

"I know that, Cal. Of course," Aunt Paula said. "But tell me something,
sweetheart. When you undress in front of the girls and ladies and maybe
kneel down and tell them you're their slave and let them do whatever they
like to you - well, don't you sometimes still get the temptation to say
no, just to disobey? I mean, we both know that there's something
rebellious inside a boy, that every boy and man feels it sometimes, no
matter how much the rest of him loves to serve ladies. If there weren't
that bad-boy in all of you, we women wouldn't need these elaborate methods
to keep you tractable.  Don't be afraid to admit it, Cal. We've spoken of
it before, remember. It's what males are: we might not recognize you if
you didn't have it, and then where would you be?"

"Oh, auntie, I swear I wouldn't ever disobey you, no matter what I felt. I
swear it." Cal dropped to his knees though Paula hadn't asked him to.

"That's very sweet, darling. Of course I know what a good boy you are. But
it's not because I doubt you that I'm asking these things. I just want you
to give me the most honest and thoughtful answers you can." Cal made a
heartfelt promise that he would.  "There's nothing to be afraid of," Aunt
Paula said. "Aunt Paula isn't scolding you, darling....Except, Cal, that
you should do nothing you're not commanded to do. Not even kneel. So up
you go."

Cal climbed back onto his feet. Even this most gentle rebuke had turned
his cheeks red. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said as though he had just coined
the phrase himself.

"It was for the best, Cal, in a way," Aunt Paula said. "I mean, it kind of
proves my point. Obeying before you're asked - when you think about it,
that's kind of cocky, isn't it? You're a good boy, a wonderful,
respectful, obedient boy who truly worships ladies. But a boy you remain -
and we want you to, Cal, we want you to, don't misunderstand. We want a
little mutiny now and then because otherwise we have nothing in you to
train, nothing wild to conquer and turn back against you, over and over
again, if necessary. Isn't that the most humiliating thing of all for a
boy: to see how he changes sides and fights against himself? I'm sure - I
almost hope, Cal - that every single time you obey Aunt Paula's golden
rule, some part of you is saying, 'No, this time I won't. I'll just keep
my clothes on. They're just females, what can they do about it?'"

Aunt Paula's speculation scared Cal. He was eager to protest. There was
something in it. "It's true, darling, isn't it?" Aunt Paula said. "Be
honest." Cal nodded and said, "But...."

"I know, sweetheart, I know. You may think it for a few seconds, but you'd
never do it. It's just that thought is what it's about, Cal. It's what you
give when you submit your body. It's why you have your body at all. To
express your thought."

"Well, sometimes, auntie, I have the thought maybe that it's unfair, you
know, that I take off my clothes and girls never do and I never get to
see. I mean, I know that's the way it's supposed to be and most of the
time I don't think about what girls have hidden or anything like that. I
just think about what I'm supposed to...about what ladies and girls DON'T
have. But maybe sometimes, you know...."

"I do know, Cal. Don't be afraid. I do know very well. And Aunt Paula
wants you to be honest and always tell her when you have such thoughts.
But tell me this, sweetheart: when you do have them - and I know it's only
once in a while, I know it's hardly ever - but when you do have them, what
do you suppose stops you from giving in. I mean, why do you go ahead and
undress anyway?"

"I guess I don't want you or the ladies to be mad."

"But you know I love you, Cal. Do you think anything could make me stop
loving you and stop taking care of you? Even if you weren't as good a boy
as you are? How mad do you really think Aunt Paula could get?"

"Not very, I guess, auntie. I don't know then...."

"Can I tell you what I think?"

"Tell me, auntie."

"I think that something else - I mean something that isn't just fear that
we'll be mad - something about us ladies makes you feel you have to obey
us. I mean, just as you have a part that wants to hide, you have another
part that wants...well, let's be frank about it, Cal...that wants to throw
off your clothes and fall down helpless at our feet. The part we were
speaking of, weren't we? That secretly wants to feel the hurt down in
those delicate ballies of yours. That knows it deserves the hurt. What do
you think of this theory, Cal?"

"It sounds good to me, auntie. True, I mean. That is, it sounds true. I
mean, yes, it IS true."

"Thanks for making that clear, Cal. But the question I have for you now
is, what is that thing that makes you so helpless with us? If you really
know that my theory is true, you should be able to answer this."

"But I don't know how to say it, auntie. I mean, when I look at you - the
way you are right now, all beautiful and...you know... Œat your feminine
bestı - or when I look at other ladies or girls when they're pretty and
their hair is nice and they have pretty clothes on, then...I don't know,
Aunt Paula, I can't say what it is...I just feel so weak, you know? I just
feel, like, I don't know, like I owe it to you to take my clothes off and
kneel and be your slave. I guess I can't explain it...."

"But you are explaining it, darling. You're saying that our beauty makes
you do it, makes you HAVE to do it. Aren't you saying that?"

"I think I am, auntie."

"And it's a good answer, my darling. A smart answer from my wonderful,
smart boy. Beauty, my darling. You boys and men...you have your wagging
penises and your delicate, hurtable testicles...and we girls and
women...we have our beauty. Starting with the greatest beauty of all: the
hard, empty place where, if we were men, we'd have those dangling organs
too....Oh, Cal, don't be insulted, darling. Today's a day for honest talk.
Today you learn why boys are made so easy to hurt and why...oh, Cal, this
part I wish I didn't have to say...why sometimes they have to be shown
just how easy."

"If I have to be, auntie, then I want to be." Cal spoke with sudden ardor,
puffing out his chest bravely. As though Paula's mere utterance of the
word "beauty" had set loose some great surge of desire long restrained. It
was a word of deep adulthood, not like Cal's boyish word "pretty."
"Beauty" had in it all the implications of man's surrender and thralldom,
anguish and self-sacrifice, that were for Cal the obscure but real truth
of sex. As always, Aunt Paula already knew.

"You showed me your testicles before, Cal, and pointed out how delicate
they are. Any little girl, didn't we say, can make them ache with a flick
of the wrist. And you know about girls' wrists...and even ladies'. They're
so slender, Cal. So weak, you'd imagine. But so wonderfully beautiful to
look at. A girl's slender wrist, Cal, can cause you more grief than any
man's muscles. She can hurt your poor little balls with it, but long
before that she's already planted an ache in your heart. Her beauty is the
ache. The first hurt a woman ever causes a man. Do you understand, Cal?"

"The words are hard, auntie, but I think I do understand. Because it's all
inside me, auntie....How badly I want to kneel to you now....May I?"

"I'd rather you didn't, Cal. You'll see why. I know, my darling, what's
happening to you. That's why I'm saying the things I'm saying. Try hard to
understand." 

Cal said that he intended to. Paula said, "The reason you can understand
these difficult things is that women's beauty is an ache you were born
with, Cal. You sense the truth of what I'm saying from within, even if you
can't put it into words. Beauty is a peculiar male ache. Women are free of
it. We have our needs and wishes, yes, but nothing like this. Only a man
hurts from the beauty of what he desires. It's your doom, your slavery.
It's at the heart of everything you'll ever be. Sometimes men imagine they
can ease the pain. 'If I can just stare,' they tell themselves, 'with
nobody to scold me, then I'll be soothed. If I can touch, examine, press,
kiss, taste...," the 'if's' go on, Cal,...'then the ache of beauty will go
away.' It never will, Cal -  even though, like all men, you'll try these
things yourself one day. One day a woman will give you the privilege, and
you'll try. You'll go searching for her beauty. You'll think, 'It's in her
eyes,' and you'll study them, and she'll toss her head and you'll be alone
again. Or in her breasts, and you'll touch them and find out nothing
except that you ache all the more. And sooner or later you'll make the
stupidest mistake of all, as all men do: you'll imagine that it's deep
inside her, beckoning at the end of her secret passageway. A sweet smell
will lure you there, a scent so haunting you'll confuse it for the cause
of your ache - and for the cure. The beautiful woman who permits you to
follow it will also be laughing at you as you try. Afterwards, when you've
clearly failed and the ache is no softer than before...afterwards, if that
woman is strong, and if she loves you enough, she'll transform her
laughter into something more generous, Cal. She will humble you in her own
special way. She'll hurt you, Cal - the day has come, I'm afraid, to tell
you this - out of love she will hurt you. I beg you, my darling, never
fight her. There's a thing she knows and wants to teach you. She knows
that the ache of beauty truly longs for one thing, and that thing isn't
relief. This ache at the center of your male life, Cal...it longs to be
made worse."

The zeal of Paula's words persuaded Cal that he understood them all,
though this was hardly possible. What he did  understand was that Aunt
Paula was embarking on a new lesson, and what he comprehended of it
frightened him and made him eager at the same time. He desired a
consummation he couldn't name. A greater intimacy than that he knew. Paula
was his aunt, and for a heady moment or two he wished this wasn't so. Why?
Something might happen then, he vaguely thought, something that shouldn't
happen between nephew and  aunt. Yet, whatever this something was, he
wanted it to happen with the most beautiful woman he knew...and that was
indeed Aunt Paula. Look at her now in her short black dress. Her legs, her
stockings and heels, her bright red lips. She was the absolute center of
all beauty. It was wonderful that a woman could choose to wear purely
feminine things, things incomprehensible to a male body, that she could
color her lips and darken her eyes, that she could know herself born to be
beautiful. Cal felt that she in particular, this magnificent aunt of his,
was his sweet, eternal ache. His head spun, his knees were ready to give.
His penis grew fiercely stiff.

Paula was speaking. "Attention, Cal. Not just your penis, thank you.
Listen, please. This is a hard day for Aunt Paula, a day she's been
dreading for a long time."

"But why, auntie? You've been teaching me beautiful, true things today."

"I know that, darling. But words are not enough...."

"That's good, Aunt Paula. I'm glad they're not. I want to show you...I
don't know...what a good learner I am..., and how much I love you,
auntie."

"But do you understand what I've been saying, Cal? Do you understand what
you must do now...now that you're big...." Paula gestured toward her
nephew's genitals. His erection, she reflected, had not flagged in many
minutes. "...What you must now do to show your love."

"I do understand, auntie. You don't think so, my darling auntie, but I
understand better than you think."

Cal's ardor surprised Paula. She felt that he must understand, and that he
must be eager too. "You see, then, darling, that stripping naked and
kneeling and running errands and all - these are wonderful proofs of love
and humility in a young boy? But...it's like Alice, Cal, remember? Keep
running if you want to stay in place. Now that you're bigger, you have to
do more just to demonstrate that you are as enslaved as ever."

"I'll do it, auntie. I want to."

Paula's voice caught. "But, you see, darling....Oh, help me, God. Why did
you have to be born a boy, Cal?.... Don't you see that Aunt Paula is
talking about...forgive me, Cal...I don't make the rules...Aunt Paula is
talking about...having to...to hurt you, you know."

"I knew you meant that, auntie," Cal said in a small voice. "But the
things you've been saying....You're so beautiful, auntie....Don't be mad
at me for speaking to you like that....I know I'm just a boy...."

"A big boy, Cal. Of course I'm not mad. Aunt Paula wanted to make herself
as beautiful as possible today...to make it easier for you, darling....
The things I've been saying...tell me."

"I think I do understand them, auntie. About beauty and the ache it makes
me feel...your beauty does, auntie...other ladies' too, but yours
especially...and all I want is to be allowed to look at you, and then I'm
not afraid." Cal was trembling in fact, afraid of the hurt he was
welcoming, and full of desire for it.

"Oh, my sweet little boy, you're trembling. You are my sweet, wonderful,
trembling, frightened angel, and I love you deeply. I wish I could just
cradle you like a child again, Cal. I can't. You could say I'm not
allowed. But we are going to go through it together. I promise, I swear,
to explain everything to you as we go. And, no matter what it feels like,
don't let yourself forget that every single thing I do to you will come
from love, not anger. I won't lose control, I won't be carried away. I'll
be slow with you and careful."

"Will I cry, auntie? Will it be okay if I do?"

"Yes, my darling, it will be okay. Of course it will. And - oh, it makes
me so sorry, so sorry I have to do this - if only you weren't a boy, Cal,
if only I were teaching a girl how fragile boys are instead of having to
teach that lesson to you - and, yes, I won't lie to you, you may cry. And
maybe Aunt Paula will cry with you."

"Why, auntie? Why would you cry?"

"Because you will be showing me such love, my darling. And because the
nephew I adore will be in pain."

"But I will have to be, won't I, auntie?"

"Yes, Cal, Iıve thought about it for a long time and I know it has to be.
But it will make me sad all the same."

"But you're a lady, Aunt Paula, and ladies shouldn't have sympathy with
men." Cal felt courage, calling himself a man.

"Shouldn't, sweet boy, and can't. Not if sympathy means knowing what's in
your heart as I...as I...do the things I must to you. But pity's a
different thing. It's my sorrow, Cal, that we can't sympathize, that we
must be what we are, a woman, a boy. Pity is what I return to you for your
humility, what every woman returns to every man. Oh, Cal, my pity for you
IS my love."

"It's so strange, auntie. Love makes us want and not want something at the
same time."

"Love is unfathomable. Do you understand that word? It means, too deep to
measure, too deep to know. Come closer, Cal. I want to give you something
and then, when I do, I want you to tell me what you think of my gift." Cal
nodded, puzzled. He felt suddenly shy. He became aware of his erection and
wondered how long it had been there. All at once Paula, moving her arm in
a wide arc, gave his penis a single stupefying slap. "Auntie!" The boy
cried out his pained surprise. Then he recognized the crazy fact: this
blow that made his eyes water and his penis smart, this was Aunt Paula's
"gift."

He knew what to say. Not merely to please the woman, but because it was
the truth in his heart. "Thank you, auntie. It was a beautiful gift." Cal
believed that his confirmed erection would prove his sincerity. Paula had
certainly caused him pain, but it was a kind of pain that stirred rather
than dampened his ardor. A kind of pain? No, sensation itself didn't
decide it. Meaning did. It was the kind of pain a woman dispenses in order
to enable a man to make an offering of his love. The throbbing in Cal's
penis - what was it but the glowing ache of a woman's beauty ignited for
its bearer's sake into gallantry and courage? It was a gift indeed.    

"Show Aunt Paula your testicles now," the most beautiful of women said. 


end of part four

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