In Priestess of Love I unveiled myself as a Shakti, a mistress of the erotic arts. Unlike the sluts & ball-breakers who rule the globo-matrix, my talents are used under strict command of my man, a masterful lord of life & love. He knew I could render sexual healing to erotically-challenged men in our circle of white kindred, and now I’ll tell you the tale of my first Shakti assignment and its dramatic outcome.
First let me introduce Milord Gawain, a name which is close to his real one. He came & met me at a Trump rally in Philly (my hometown) in 2015, swept me up into the glory of his love & dominion, and abducted me back to his homestead on the West Coast, where I’ve lived with him ever since in our small intentional community called the Kin of Aries.
I already knew how to keep my Shakti-juice under control, so guys wouldn’t think I was inviting any hanky-panky. But after our relationship settled into a well-molded form, Gawain started encouraging me to be a bit flirtatious. Of course it enhances the power and presence of a man to display a sexy woman as his own, and any of her slithery wigglings or sly glances can only arouse the onlookers to jealous slavering. But Gawain gave me leave to pursue the wangus with certain men when he wasn’t around.
It was in provocative conversations like this that I made friends with Carter in 2016. He was a young Alt-Righter and former normie, a well-bred scion of conservative gentry. He was good-looking and in the medium range of yang (masculinity, “testosterone”). He had been in plenty of relationships with women, but he had the same problem as that of his whole generation of males: growing up and coming of age in a culture perverted by feminism. He got imprinted with the harsh reality that any savvy woman had total power over him in all erotic interactions. He knew that she could have him tossed into jail on any whim of her displeasure, or ruin his life with an unproven lie. This left him in cold-cocked fear of sexual assertion. He got aroused fairly easily, but was unable to wang it up and take charge of the action like a real man.
I talked it over with Gawain, and he asked me point blank if I thought I could cure Carter of his fear by having sex with him. I knew it was leading up to this, but I still got a bit hysterical about sleeping with any man but my sweet Lord. But then, as mentioned in Priestess of Love, he fucked me into submission to his will, which was the great healing experiment with Carter.
There followed a scene which must seem very strange to current-year people, so I have to cast back to the past when it was enacted by our Aryan ancestors. Imagine a mighty warlord with his barbarian band on the frosty turf of the steppes. He welcomes a new recruit by showing him a Shakti from his harem, and says: “If you pass muster and slay the enemy, this luscious little bundle will be yours for a night, and maybe more.”
So it was that Gawain sat in our sunny backyard with me by his side, and ’splained the deal to an astonished Carter. He had to use the normie term “sex therapist” to get him to grasp the concept, though the practice is totally defiled & sluttified in the mainstream Matrix. Gawain asked nothing in return except whatever natural gratitude Carter might feel for a positive outcome, which we referred to as wangusheil: sexual healing. This is the erotic form of what the Germans call Seelenheil: salvation, or literally soul healing. “Your body is part of your soul,” said Gawain ~ “you can’t save one without the other”.
We let Carter sleep on it for a night to sort out his feelings, and when he came back next day he was all happy and fired up, the brightest I ever saw him. Gawain was at work, it was still warm & sunny, so we traipsed off into the lush swath of woods on our property. We settled down in our sacred grove, an ancient power-spot that infuses some oomph into anything people do there.
The preliminary chit-chat went on so long that finally I got piqued and said, “Aren’t you ever going to make the first move?”
“It’s against the rules,” said Carter, flat out, just like that.
I thought Oh my God!, but softened my vibe and replied: “You’re not in the Matrix anymore, Neo. Out here we play by the rules of nature.” I swept out my arms to the verdant greenery aswarm with life and said, “All male mammals make the first move in the real world, and white primates usually lead the pack.” But no matter what I said he couldn’t break the grip of the fear of the “fake rape jape”, so I was the one who had to launch us into the wangus.
I was incredulous at how skilled Carter was at pleasuring me in foreplay and oral sex. I thought I knew all my erogenous zones, but he found some in obscure parts of my anatomy that even Gawain never hit on. Not only was he a master at licking the bean, he knew how to plumb all the way down its stalk and fibrillate the very roots of my clitoris. I came three times in such quick succession that my mind lost the thread of my purpose. He was just about to dive in again when I pushed him back and said, “Hey, isn’t it your turn?”
“Would you like to go down on me?” he said.
“Well, I could, but my pussy is so slathered up that she’d really love to get skewered by something more lumbrous than your tongue.”
He froze up and looked scared and sat back on his haunches. “Oh no!” I squealed, “don’t tell me that’s against the rules too?”
He stuttered, “N-n-n-no, not if the woman asks for it like you just did. B-b-b-but…” Looking real sheepish, he said, “I-I-I’ve only done it a couple of times.”
I could hardly believe that a man so evidently talented at sex had actually fucked only twice in his life. We paused the eros and had a long talk.
It turned out that Carter’s expertise at titillating female bodies had come as the standard training of a normie cuck-boy in pathetic submission to the de facto dominatrixes who rule the roost in the Matrix. Most of his partners had been the usual narcissist sluts, and when it came time for “his turn” they might begrudgingly suck him or jerk him off. Some of them just made him fap while watching them writhe around and play with themselves. The two times he got down to genuine screwing were first with a woman who seduced him into it against his own judgement, then one who threatened to accuse him of rape if he didn’t fuck her.
He was filled with mortal terror just telling me this stuff, worried that they still might “metoo” him. My mind boggled at what he was up against. I knew it needed the most drastic kind of cure, and I had an inkling of what it might be. But I decided to consult with Gawain first.
Carter lived in a different part of the country, and was staying at a nearby bed & breakfast. He was so gentrified that he kind of looked askance at our intentional community, even though the big main homestead has plenty of bedrooms, and the couples & singles are as private in their intimate lives as might be traditionally expected. Well, with some exceptions, but it’s not time for me to tell you about it yet.
Anyway, when Carter came back the next day he was welcomed into the common room by Elise, and chatted for awhile with her and her husband Spike. They’re a middle-aged couple, and their 8-year-old son Sluggo was cavorting about and interjecting into the conversation. Spike is a real yangster, and Sluggo inherited the whole load plus his mom’s high IQ, so we have great expectations for him. At one point he popped in and said, “Aunt Flo’s waitin’ for ya out back, Carter.”
Gawain was there too, so here were the three of us gathered again. Carter saw that I looked sad, so he got worried, and then alas, Gawain confirmed his worst fears. As we agreed in advance, I had told Gawain everything that happened with Carter ~ and now Gawain very gently but conclusively told him that the experiment had to end, that he honestly felt I wouldn’t be able to help him. Carter was shocked and speechless, and I started crying. I sobbed, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Carter! I failed, and I feel so bad!”
In spite of his own distress he reacted in sympathy for me and said, “No, no, Flo, you didn’t fail! It’s all my fault!” That shifted us into a heartfelt talk, with Gawain trying to lift us above blame & guilt, and manfully taking responsibility for the whole thing. It ended with a brotherly handshake between the two men, and then Carter gave me a last warm hug. He tried to kiss me too, but I turned my head and it landed on my cheek. It was just heartbreaking, and I had to grip myself firmly to not cry again.
Carter had come in a cab from the B&B, and now Spike offered to drive him back. As they were going out the door, Carter was wondering how soon he could get a flight reservation. I heaved a deep sigh, and wondered if I’d ever see him again.
Life goes on, and the next day I was busy at one of my trad occupations, gathering wild berries in a field that was a healthy walk from the homestead. I was usually helped by a couple of the kids as part of their homeschooling, but today they had a different assignment. I was all sweet inside from the sunny plush scene, the scent of the flowers, the song of the birds & bugs ~ and when I stumbled upon a big kootch of huckleberries I started singing myself. Then I heard a sound of bushes getting pushed aside. I turned slowly around expecting to see a deer, but gasped in surprise because there stood Carter!
“Oh my God!” I said, “what are you doing here? I thought… I mean….”
He stared at me for a moment looking shy and scared, then said, “Oh Flo, I just couldn’t give it up! I had to come back. I… I… O God forgive me!”
“Forgive you for what?”
He had been walking towards me, and suddenly the look in his eyes changed. He sprinted the last few paces and jumped on me, pulled me down onto the grass, and started groping me.
I shrieked, and struggled to fend him off. I was wearing a peasant dress, and he pulled down the bodice so my bare boobs flopped out. He kissed them & sucked them & bit them while wrestling my arms away. “This is crazy!” I shrieked ~ “stop it, Carter, get off me! Get hold of yourself!”
For a second he froze up. It was a moment of truth, and in spite of my position I was in full empathic awareness of what was happening inside him. He was now actually doing the horrible thing he had feared the most: he was raping me! Would the fearful grip of the imprint make him stop? He shuddered convulsively and started in on me again, and now it was the Devil’s own rage in his eyes. He was furious at women for having cucked him and castrated him, and now he was unleashing it all on me!
I screamed, but for some reason not at the top of my voice ~ there was probably no one in earshot anyway. He pulled up the skirt of my dress and did a little double-take when he saw that I wasn’t wearing any panties. I was wondering if he was actually aroused by all this, and my thought was answered the next instant as he pulled down his pants and his cock sprang out in full erection. I gasped, then met his eyes ~ he had an incredibly diabolic look of exultation and fury. Then he swooped down on me and stuck it in.
The only other man who ever fucked me that hard was Gawain, and the pounding primal stimulation quickly overrode my resistance. I was swept into immense pleasure, but it was charged with the vengeful hate that Carter was pumping into me. I was a seething stewpot of conflicting energies, terrified of getting torn apart. But my tantric imprints took over as Carter approached climax: I got into sync with the pulse of his thrusts, and it all concatenated in an incredible mutual orgasm. And that whole bristling gob of nasty black plasma blew right out the top of my head and was gone!
My arms were now clasped around Carter as we settled back down to earth. I felt wonderful, and I knew he did too because we were empathically conjoined into one organism. But suddenly the bond was breached ~ he came back to conscious awareness and tensed up. He rose onto his knees and looked around fearfully, realizing what he had done and preparing to run off.
I grabbed his hand and said, “Don’t be afraid, Carter ~ everything’s OK. This is your wangus-heil!” He looked confused. With a big grin I explained: “We tricked you, we set you up. We wanted you to do this!”
He was like “Whaaat?!?” Then he slapped his head and said, “Oooh, that’s why Spike… that explains….”
“That was the trickiest part ~ we didn’t know if Spike could talk you into it.”
“That fucker!” said Carter, but laughed before he could really get mad. “When he laid out the idea I thought it was totally nuts, but he swore he could fix it up afterwards with Gawain, and if Gawain gave it his ex-post-facto blessing, then you would become reconciled to… to having been raped!”
I bubbled over in laughter too and said, “Spike is Irish, y’know, and he once took a trip to Ireland and kissed the Blarney Stone.”
“Well, he sure has the gift of gab! When I got sucked into the scheme, he told me you’d be alone in this field today, and gave me detailed directions ~ and I still didn’t get suspicious!”
We were now sitting up and holding hands. I said, “It’s a lovely day for a rape, isn’t it?” Then I kissed him and said: “Thank you for a perfect first date!”