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Subject: {ASSM} <Thm> "Mistress Micah's Visit   (Narrative - MF Cons)  Ray1031
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Mistress Micah's Visits - by Ray1031 (Narrative - MF Cons)
(C) Nov 2001

This is my entry into Hecate's 5th Anniversary Theme Game. I 
will disclose my 'word' at the end of the story (though by 
then you will have guessed. -Ray-


The following story is for adults only. It contains descriptions 
of sex and/or sexual situations. Yes, people get Nekkid and do 
the nasty. If it is illegal for you to read these things, If you 
are not eighteen years old, or if you simply find such stories 
objectionable ... Go elsewhere, please.

The Author gives his permission for reposting of this story to 
100% free sites (that means No charge for access and NO AVS) 
providing that the author's information and copyright information 
are included as posted.


Mistress Micah's Visits - by Ray1031
(C) Nov 2001


The door bell rang as I was pouring the last pot of hot water into 
the tub. Setting the pot aside I placed out a washing cloth, drying 
towel and a bar of our mildest perfumed soap before moving to answer 
the door.

Passing the clock in the foyer I noted that she was precisely on 
time, as always. Twice monthly on the fourteenth and twenty-eighth 
of every month, for almost five years now. 

Opening the door she sashayed into the room, the hems of her dress 
almost, but not quite touching the floor as she moved. In the center 
of the large braided rug, she paused, waiting as I closed and latched 
the door. 

"Mr. Wilson," she said, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Mistress Micah," I replied and nodded to her unspoken question. 
She'd been caught unawares once by an unexpected house guest, and 
had no desire to repeat the incident.

Understanding that there were none present who shouldn't be, she 
removed her spring cape and under shawl handing them to me.. As 
usual, she was wearing only her whalebone from the waist up. Her 
large breasts were visible, supported from below by the corset. 
Reaching beneath her waistband she removed the tie cords holding 
her skirt in place and freed it, the skirt and bustle falling away 
as one. (The bustle was simply a rag stuffed sachet sewn to the 
inside of the skirt itself.) She was now wearing only her whalebone 
and pantaloons.

Leading her into the hallway, I placed the clothing onto a side 
table before proceeding to the kitchen. The woman followed me 
neither of us speaking to the other. Seeing the steaming tub in 
the rooms center she smiled and bent to unbutton her shoes and 
release the ties on her pantaloons. In moments she was clothed 
only in her stays. Her firm high ass and slightly rounded lower 
belly fully in view. The hair on her legs, under her arms and 
surrounding her nethers trimmed so closely as to be practically 
invisible against her ebon skin. 

Filling a bucket with water and placing it on a sideboard I stood 
by and watched as she cleaned all of her exposed parts. She asked 
not for privacy as she knew she'd receive none for this. I'd 
allowed her privacy only once, and she'd tried to do without the 
cleaning. She'd been caught and had never been trusted alone for 
this again. She'd also never tried skipping it again, even though 
(like so many in our time) she was afraid over cleaning would lead 
to illnesses.

Once cleaned and dried she moved to a chair and raised one leg 
waiting. Taking the leavings pot from the stove, I took a small 
amount on two fingers and smeared it in liberally, preparing her. 
Looking into her eyes I raised an eyebrow as I returned my fingers 
to the pot.

"Is that really going to be needed Mr. Wilson?" she asked.

"I know not. But would you rather be not prepared for it if it is?"

She turned and bent to grasp the chairs seat as I prepared her 
other entry. Once done, she followed as I led her to the Master 
bedroom and opened the door. 

"Mistress Micah is here, Admiral," I announced following her into 
the room. 

"Good. Good. That will be all Wilson."

"Very good Admiral. Your bath is prepared in the kitchen when you 
are done, sir." I stayed for an extra moment to lay back the bed 
clothing as the Admiral appeared from his study wearing house robe 
and slippers.

Having returned to the kitchen, I sat at my desk to make the correct 
journal entries and prepare Mistress Micah's pay pouch. I tried not 
to listen to the noises coming from the speaker tubes next to my 
stool. Due to the Admiral's advancing senility they were left open at 
all times now so this was difficult to do. 

"So what'll it be today, Your Lordship? Will you be wanting your 
pipes played, or do you wish to get right to the ships docking?"

I was unable to hear the Admiral's mumbled reply. At 60, the Admiral 
was yet a fine figure of a man. Standing straight and proud with no 
paunch and most of his teeth and hair yet intake. I'd been his Aide 
for the last ten years of his naval career. When his wife took ill 
and he returned home to first nurse and then bury her, I'd come along. 
First, since we were both yet active officers, as a Naval assignment 
at the Admiral's request. Then, upon his wife's death and his 
subsequent retirement, I stayed on as his personal aide and sole 
servant. 

After the death of their mother, his two sons refused to have further 
dealings with him. 

"Oh, Admiral. Still a fine looking officer you are. Let me prepare 
your mast for sailing . . . "

He'd owned a fine larger house in Boston at the time. Realizing that 
we could not afford the upkeep, even with both our stipends from the 
navy, and that the memories attached to the house were becoming bad 
for his health, I began suggesting a move. It took half a year, but 
finally I managed it. The house was soon sold and we moved here, 
outside Annapolis, to Hasting House on Hanford.

"Oh, Yes Admiral. I thank you for cleaning the mast before I arrived. 
Makes it all so much easier this way. Would you like to plump my 
pillows for me? . . . 

The house was much more modest than the Admiral's old Boston home, 
but was yet large enough for a man of his status, with room for 
meetings and entertainment. More importantly, I'd acquired it for 
less than half the selling price of the old place, and it was in my 
name (though I doubt the Admiral knew that). 

"You be ready for berthing your ship?"

"Mumble."

"Hands and knees it's to be? Aye, Aye Sir. How is this for you?"

After a year here, with the Admiral's mood steadily declining, I 
had arranged for him to teach some smaller classes at the Academy. 
This helped some, but was not enough. Then I arranged for Mistress 
Micah to make here first visit. The Admiral was his old self again 
for months after. Marching at full stride once again. 

"That be the wrong slip there Admiral. Are you sure you want to 
berth in that passage? . . . "Okay then. Have it your way, but I 
shant be playing your pipes after this. Not until my next visit."

After a couple of months, the Admiral's moods began to change again 
so I again requested Mistress Micah's services and it had quickly 
become first a monthly, then a twice monthly occurrence.

"Gently there Admiral. Hold her to port speed until the waters 
become more navigable. That's got it. Soon you will be up to full 
sail with nary a shoal in sight . . . Yes, that has it. Maintain 
your course sir and prepare your cannon for the broadside."

It would be over soon. The Admiral's mumbles were becoming even 
less intelligible as his breathing became ragged. In the last 
year, the old man had become more addled, his memory and actions 
becoming more and more befuddled as time passed. But he never 
forgot these visits, and the one time Mistress Micah had failed 
to appear I'd quickly arranged for another in her place. He'd 
been impossible to deal with until after the next scheduled visit. 

"That's it Admiral, full speed ahead and ram that torpedo!!!"

It was nearing the end now and I steeled myself for what I knew 
was to come. It had first happened just over a year ago, and 
grated on my nerves even then. Now it happened with every visit. 
If it weren't for the Admiral's needs, I'd end these visits . . . 
simply to rid myself of this aggravation. 

"Are you ready, Admiral? The target's in sight . . . Your cannon 
are all primed and ready . . . prepare for the broadsides . . . "

Then it happened, as it always did now, on every visit. I could 
visualize the scene, her on all fours on the bed, and he standing 
beside it and behind her, his fore-mast buried to the hilt between 
her soft cheeks. Suddenly his spine was stiffening, he was 
standing taller and rising up on his toes. At the very moment of 
release, he'd grasp her arse and pull it to himself, his muscles 
would all lock up rigid; he'd throw back his head and at the top 
of his lungs yell "FIRE!!!". It would echo throughout the house 
and had even drawn complaints from the neighbors.

God I hated that fucking word!!




NOTE:  In case you hadn't guessed, the word assigned to me was 
"fire". I actually started four different stories and kept running 
into impassable roadblocks - ending it's inspiration - before 
finally settling on this approach. <g> 

-Ray-

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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