‘PAYBACK TIME’
© Mesmerr
4
Anna Frankl was a strong-minded woman. She loved being that way. She felt strong and she felt powerful. Her whole life had been just one big power-control trip. She believed she had inherited the mental, emotional and physical strength she knew she had from her parents and grandparents.
They had all been pure Aryan German. Her grandfather had been an officer in the SS during the war and her father had been a German intelligence officer with the government, before he had immigrated to America with their family when Anna had been only five years old.
Anna’s mother and grandmother had been strong-minded women, too, especially her mother.
Yet, she had not been as strong as her father. Anna’s father had been her role model, throughout all of her life. She was attracted to strength, in men and women both; admired it, revelled in its power, over the person using it and the people who could be controlled and influenced with it.
Anna had purposely studied for and sought out the job with the newspaper, after leaving college. She had always wanted to live her life as a journalist. It meant power, to her. Through her articles, she could wield her own opinions and judgements, like a whip, and cause others to be influenced, as to ‘their’ opinions. And in that way, she saw herself as having even more personal power than she actually really did.
At forty years of age, she had never married because she had never really met any man who had been stronger than she, except for her father. She had simply never met a man who had been able to measure up to him. She had been seeing one, but he was an American.
She did not like Americans, partly because of the war and partly because she saw them as weak-minded and spineless. If she ever did marry, Anna was determined to marry a German of pure nationality and nature.
So, whenever the opportunity arose to stick it to any of Americans, she did, in spades, through her newspaper articles, which were always scathingly brutal, merciless and personal, in her attacks on them and their families.
The idea that Hitler had about the German Aryan race being pure and kept pure had always appealed to her sense of nationalistic pride, but where she lived, she did not have the opportunity to meet many from the mother country.
Through the Internet, she corresponded with many, but had yet to find the perfect German man for her. In the meantime, she put up with her American lover who eased the loneliness, only.
She dominated him totally with her personal strength. In her once, sometimes, twice a week visits, she would tie him up and whip or flog him all over his muscular body.
Then she would rope him to the bed where she would squat her powerfully sensual thighs and centre over his face and drip her control-trip arousal onto his face and into his open mouth while slowly reaching behind herself to firmly stroke him, just to torture him sexually, for hours on end, without giving him any pleasure, until the very last moment.
Even then, it was really for her own ends that she finally released him, each time, to his bondage-induced orgasmic pleasure, as she finally lowered her sopping junction down onto his hungry waiting mouth, teeth and tongue while brutally and extremely rapidly stroking his rampant length, up and down in a sexual frenzy, until he exploded.
Then she would grind herself hard down onto and over his face, to her own always violent sexual completion; hating him and all weak men, as she bucked and thrashed atop him, sometimes, almost suffocating him.
But Anna simply didn’t care. He was only a man, and a weak American one, at that, and therefore, was disposable. There were plenty of others. To him, she was his absolute Mistress Anna. To her, he was her obedient slave and her pleasure toy, and that was exactly where she kept him; bound, helpless, collared and securely leashed at her black, jackbooted feet.
Typical of most pure German women, Anna was of large frame; not fat or big, just Amazonian-looking. She went to a lot of strenuous trouble with her gym activities to keep that tall muscular figure of hers, trim and taught.
And each Sunday, in the right weather, she would do her best to keep it tanned, as well; going to the very secluded beach for three or four hours on those days while she read a book and sunbathed nude as her skin browned to her own idea of perfection while she lay reclined and half-reading, half-snoozing in the warm-to-hot baking sun.
Through her body’s perfect and sensual appearance then, she used her own natural power, without mercy, over others, through only looking about thirty years old, instead of forty. Anna was also very beautiful and she knew that, too. The highlights of Anna’s year were always her father’s visits, each summer.
Her mother had died some ten years earlier. With only each other for close family company, they would go out and share their father-daughter bonding in restaurants and theatres, not saying a lot, then return to her apartment where he would sleep overnight and leave the next morning. Anna loved him fiercely, both as her father and as a man, a ‘real’ man.
Even at sixty-four years of age, her father only looked half that. Her inner sense of pride whenever they went out in public for any reason always swelled, as they walked along; her arm linked in his or his arm draped casually over her shoulders. Just being in her father’s strong personal presence always caused her to feel proud, damp, and aroused, although she would never dream of telling him of her body’s internal behavioural response.
At times, she had sometimes caught him looking at her strangely, but he would always look away when realising she had noticed. Anna had wanted to ease his loneliness many times and would have, without a second thought, if he had asked.
But he never had. If he had, Anna knew her strong and controlling demeanour and personality would immediately change to one of total and utter submissiveness and obedience, such was her awe and admiration for her father’s raw male physical and strength of emotional essence. She knew she would willingly become to her father as her own toy had become to her—a willing slave, in every literal and physical sense of the word. But he had never asked. Anna had always yearned for him to, but he never had.