The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Post Script

As a female, I took away the willingly offered virginity of my first blood cousin Bethy that day, just once, but, I took her fully, I took her wholly, and I took her completely, both as a thinking girl-come-woman, and, by the time we’d lain exhausted in that tiny space above Shari’s bed, as a fully-fledged submissive female. And in that loving, joining way on all levels did we bond for life in her top bunk, at her request, so she could have the memories to take to sleep with her every night. Our first sexual union on that day while my aunt and uncle, along with Shari’, roamed the island, was beautiful, it was perfect, and, it was spiritual. It also seemed to have lasted forever.

The next day, when, at my uncle’s insistence, Bethy had accompanied my aunt and he to the island, I had taken away Shari’s willingly offered virginity, too, and, in her own bunk, as well. And that first bonding union between Shari’ and I had been beautiful, as well. It was tumultuous, and, it was fiery, as was her way. But, in the end, as human nature willed it so, her thinking girl-come-woman lost and her natural female submissiveness shone through, like the finest of all rare and unique gemstones, and we came together on all levels. And it, too, was wonderful, absolutely wonderful. That sexual union, also, seemed to have lasted forever.

Those two memorable days in our lives happened thirty years ago. I’m fifty years old, now. Shari’ and Bethy are still a little younger than I, as they’ve always been, and are in their late forties. Shaun and Sonya, my two beautiful, healthy children from Bethy, are both married now, and not to a first cousin. They also have glorious, healthy children of their own now. Shaun was born to us in the beginning, the wonderful result of my first loving union with Bethy while in her top bunk and occasionally hitting my head on the ceiling of the forward cabin in my uncle and aunt’s yacht. Sonya was born two years later, under more comfortable circumstances, for me, at any rate.

Damien and Rea are my two beautiful, healthy children born of Shari’ and I. Damien was born first, with Rea following two years later, also. Those two years were very hectic for all of us, but, they were great. Damien was the wonderful gift of my first loving union with Shari’, who finally ended up on top, sweating and groaning while in her own bunk, as well. Shari’s bunk had more headroom than Bethy’s, but she’d still hit her head once, when in the final throes of her first-cock induced, male-enforced orgasm. It was incredible for both of us. Her hands had been tied behind her back the entire time. Damien and Rea are also married, now, and also, not to one of their first cousins. Both have healthy, wonderful children of their own, as well.

All of our children and their children now live on the mainland, although, for many years while they were growing up, they lived with us here on the same beautiful island home where I’d first spanked their mothers, all those years ago. Shari’, Bethy and I still live here in the beautifully strong plantation-style house my uncle and aunt helped us build so many years ago, once we’d told them we didn’t ever want to be separated from each other by going back to the mainland.

My aunt had kicked up a real stink at first, but my uncle had then done what he’d always threatened to do-he spanked the fuck out of her over a period of several days until she finally realised that the three of us really did love each other. She soon got with the program then and turned out to be our best friend, especially when she discovered the girls were pregnant, then when they were giving birth naturally on the island, and then later, when the kids were all growing up on the island.

I had been present at all the births, as we all had, and had cried right along with every one of them, while either Bethy or Shari’ had been screaming blue murder at the time. Each birth had been a hell of an experience, but one that I’d never trade or wished that I hadn’t had.

My uncle and aunt would come by every three months in their yacht and bring us food and supplies, although a few times, when the weather window didn’t allow it, we’d all sail to the nearest outpost in the yacht my uncle helped me build on the island and we’d stock up from there.

My uncle and aunt have now passed on, sadly, and only recently, and, of natural causes. Strangely, they’d died only a year apart. They seemed to love each other more so and be more devoted to one another, as they grew older. They certainly loved visiting us and often stayed for many, many glorious, fun-filled weeks, spending real quality time with the children and us. The kids loved them.

Now, we’ve inherited their yacht. We all went to the mainland for the funeral of my aunt, who’d passed on last. We left the yacht we’d built on the island, on the mainland with Damien to look after, so he and all of our children and theirs could use when they had the urge to go sailing or come and see us, which they do as a group, often. It’s really great to see them all again, but I seem to be glad when they go-small doses being the operative word for Bethy and Shari’, as well as for me.

On our first night aboard, after picking up my uncle’s yacht from the marina and getting under way to sea when returning to our beautiful island home, Bethy asked me if we could make love in her old top bunk full of her first wonderful memories with her master, and, exactly as we’d done it then, the very first time she’d lost her virginity. We did. Bethy still calls me, “Sir,” to this very day. When she’d heard Bethy ask me that, Shari’ then asked the same thing. She still calls me, “Master,” too, but mainly when she wants something. Some things never change, I guess.

After making love with both of them on that first night at sea, I ended up sleeping in the forward cabin with them in my old bunk opposite Shari’s, with Bethy smiling down at us both from up top. For some reason, we wanted to pay homage to their parents, my stand-in loving mum and dad and not sleep in their main cabin, just for this voyage. It was a wonderful trip that left the three of us more in love with each other than we’d ever been before, if that was at all possible. We felt it was and it had.

Nevertheless, it turned out to be my absolute pleasure to walk down memory lane with them and oblige them both to their heart’s delight, as well as my own when we made love. It was wonderful, in spite of having to threaten Shari’ with a spanking for wanting to be first. Although she’d first thought of the idea, it had been Bethy who’d asked first and that was the rule.

After Shari’ and Bethy had delivered the second of our children each, I had taken my uncle and aunt’s advice. When they’d both recovered from their last pregnancy and natural delivery on the island and the babies had finished with breast-feeding, Bethy and Shari’ had both gone with their parents to the mainland to have their tubes tied while I held down the fort with all the kids, without them. It was a nightmare, I can tell you. I was glad to have them back, both healthy and well. I hardly wrote a word while they were away and if I had, it would have been a horror story involving a desperately untrained dominant male father, trapped on a desert island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, with four wild and just-as-untrained young children and babies, to whom dominance and submission meant absolutely nothing. It was hell.

As you’ve probably guessed, I write for a living-not that I need to work. You’d never starve on a desert island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, but a man has to do something to entertain himself while not performing the daily or nightly functions of a healthy male living with two even healthier submissive females.

The other advantage of living on a desert island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean is where it is-a fact earlier overlooked by Bethy and Shari’ both whenever they’d pushed my buttons too far. They could run from me, although not very far, but they couldn’t hide. It hadn’t taken me many months to find every favourite hiding place of both of them whenever they were trying their best to avoid a well-deserved spanking. Although Bethy more than occasionally looked for one, even when she hadn’t earned it. And on those times, I would oblige her, but more erotically than firmly; just enough to get her wet and bring the tears to her eyes at the same time.

Shari’, out of the two of them, has received the majority of spankings over the years we’ve been together and she hadn’t wanted any of them. But she’d earned them in full and so had gotten her just reward, often, and, without complaint. They were the rules we’d all agreed to live by on the island as master and willing submissive females, then later, as married women and man.

We got a local preacher from a nearby island to marry us before the first of our children had been born. It was a lovely double ceremony, conducted on the rich, green coconut-paved grassy lawn spreading out from the front of our large island plantation-style house, and which led all the way down to the beach on a soft carpet of emerald green grass. My aunt had cried like a baby while my uncle had been very proud to have given away two daughters on the same day, and, to the same man, his nephew and stand-in son... me. He’d cried, too, at the time, while my eyes had just stung, as usual.

Our time together for the past thirty years as man and wives, master and submissives, and as male and females, as well as doting parents has been wonderful. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Neither would Shari’ or Bethy, I know. Although, I’ve told them each many times, some of them in anger, that they could leave with their parents the next time they called at the island. So far, however, they’ve never left me and you know what? I don’t believe they ever will because they love me, unconditionally. They know I love them the same way, too, just as they knew it when they’d very first realised it on the yacht, so many wonderful years ago.

We’ve been happy and we’ve been sad, particularly when pets died or drowned or were taken by sharks, or when my uncle and aunt passed away. But overall, we’ve been very happy and content, living and loving the way we have been for the last thirty years.

People reading this story might judge us with all manner of crimes against humanity and they might be right. Who knows? But if it’s all about happiness and loving and being loved, then they’re not right, at all. We’ve harmed no one in living and loving the way we have and we’ve born, bred, raised and educated four wonderful, healthy intelligent children as a result of what some would call an unusual or illegal union. And our children, too, have gone on to have productive personal and professional lives, and then to have wonderful, healthy children of their own.

So, I don’t know whether we should be judged or not. And if we are, well, to be honest, I don’t think Bethy or Shari’ could care less. I know I don’t. Our children have all told us that they are very happy in their relationships and they put it down to the natural dominant and submissive traits that Bethy, Shari’ and I had encouraged in them from the very beginning. Our boys are very dominant males, indeed. I’m very proud of them, as their father and let them know it whenever I can. And our daughters are the finest submissive females I’ve had the pleasure to sire, to love and to know, and finally, to proudly give away to two non-related dominant males at their weddings-besides their mothers, of course.

Writing stories and books had been Bethy’s suggestion, after reading a short story I’d written about the three of us, not long after moving full time onto the island. The move hadn’t happened all at once, either. There had been many trips to the mainland for timber and supplies and all sorts of things that we would have never thought of without the help, advice and guidance of my beloved stand-in parents, Bethy and Shari’s mum and dad.

Anyway, in thirty years, I’ve only had seven sailing-type fiction adventure books published, but they haven’t done too badly. Shari’ is my official editor. Bethy hadn’t wanted the job. There’s not really a lot to spend money on, anyway, on our beautiful island home, except for when the trading ships come. Then we’d lash out and I’d give the girls, or the kids, when they were here, whatever they wanted.

In fact, I’d actually dug out that first story that started my writing career, such as it is, not too long ago and had read it to Bethy and Shari’ one evening after dinner. Bethy had cried while Shari had hugged her, as I’d read it to both of them. I had to admit, I had a tear or two in my eyes as well, and they still fucking sting.

It was then that Bethy had suggested making a book out of that short, little love story, as she called it. Within a few weeks, I had done just that and had enjoyed writing and reliving every word. So had they, for they’d sat over my shoulder and read every page I wrote each night, reminding me of things I’d said or they’d done at the time that I hadn’t remembered. Some of it, I wrote while sitting above or below deck on my uncle and aunt’s yacht and a few chapters while sitting in my favourite place of all, the old, but comfortable park bench on her stern. And we did that every day or night before we went to bed and made love or just cuddled, as we often did.

I followed my uncle’s advice on many occasion to keep the peace and when they fought over whose turn it was to make love, I wouldn’t do it with either of them as a punishment for not keeping the peace, no matter what the reason might be. Bethy’s period has never been regular, which really throws out the girl’s lovemaking schedule with me. Instead, but to keep them both happy and feeling loved until their routine readjusted itself, I’d take them both to my bed and cuddle each one of them all night long, one on either side. The morning, however, was always a different story, but that’s another book waiting to be written, maybe, if I live long enough.

We run several generators here on the island for power and have access to the Internet by way of satellites whenever we want it, which isn’t all that often. It sure did help, however, with the education of the kids. So did the marine band radios.

Anyway, Bethy, who was always more into the perfect concept of dominance and submission than Shari’, had come across Simon’s MC Story site in her Internet surfing and said I shouldn’t publish the full length marketable book as a saleable product, but rather post it on Simon’s site for all to read. Bethy is a real romantic, I have to say, but I love her dearly. She wants everyone in the world to know of our “love story.”

Shari’ agreed, but not without complaint. She’s the one in charge of the money in our house. Bethy and I don’t really care all that much. Still, in the end, Shari’ agreed to post it for free on Simon’s site. It needed tidying up to fit in with the type of story accepted so Bethy chose one of the people who posted his stories there because she liked them, particularly the one called, “A Very Fine Mind.’ She said it was a story about a yacht, which reminded her of our humble, but romantic beginnings. I haven’t read it yet, but Shari’ has. She liked it, too.

Anyway, Bethy contacted the writer and asked him to rewrite our story, but edging the truth with a mind control slant so it would be accepted and read by all for free. When I read the proof he sent back to us, however, the only example I could find of him doing that, or changing anything I’d written was the title he’d chosen for our story. My original title was, “Kissing Cousins,” whereas he’d titled it, “The Male Mind,” and said the story was perfect, just the way it was.

Bethy liked his title better than mine. Shari’ likes the original title because it reminds her of our very wonderful and tender first-cousin kiss, after I’d spanked her bare backside at the rock pool. Myself? I can go either way, but I’m biased, and besides, I don’t really care. I’m just grateful he decided to help and he did correct many of the errors. He’s missed a few, too, but who cares? It’s free, right? Shari’ didn’t spend as much time editing this one as she usually does. She seemed more interested in reminding me of things to put in it, instead, at the time-not things to take out.

I thought about my story and its “male mind” theme, after reading a few from Simon’s MC Story site. At first, after that, I wondered whether it actually fitted in with the majority of the stories there. But almost immediately I decided that it did. If it wasn’t for the power of my male mind I wouldn’t have gotten two pretty girls to do and behave exactly the way I wanted them to and I wouldn’t have spent the last thirty years living out every male fantasy my fertile male imagination could dream up. I guess if that’s not mind control then what is?

The power of the male mind is a real power, I believe. Bethy has told me that whenever I take the control away from her with just a look or a firm or harsh word, she becomes weak in the knees and wets up immediately. Sometimes, even when she’s doing the housework and she thinks of us and her submissive female relationship to me and how strong I am with her, she says that her heart rate increases and her stomach seems full of butterflies.

Shari’ has told me that she’s tried to fight the power of my male mind over hers, but with no success. In the end, she says that she feels there’s no point in being any other way than completely submissive and subservient to me, and, that it feels natural to be that way. She only has to think or imagine me spanking her and her tasty rivers flow freely, she admits. So, I guess the power of the male mind is a real-life power, after all.

I never want them to forget what I do with them when dominating them as I do, as sometimes happens with hypnosis in some of the mc stories. I want them to remember and know always, especially when I look into their eyes and order them to undress completely, anywhere, anytime on the island or the yacht then drop to their knees before me and please me, one after the other.

I can tell you, when I gaze downward and look into the eyes of Bethy or Shari’ gazing back up at me with my cock in their mouth and their eyes dancing wonderfully, I know exactly the type of power and mind control I have over them and what’s more important than that, so do they. It’s a real power trip, I can tell you. I love it and still do.

Yes. I’ve come to the irrefutable belief that the awesome power of the naturally dominant male can control the minds and behaviour of all women, eventually, as well as their behaviour that follows when the submissive female in them responds naturally, unable to help herself, compelled to respond, to obey, to be obedient and submissive and loving and caring.

Dominant male power has worked in real life for me, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week and three hundred and sixty-five days a year for the past thirty years, controlling the minds and behaviours of two feisty, high-spirited females who would be thinking women whenever they could, if they could, and, if I allowed it. But, I don’t. It’s really that simple. I don’t.

I could tell you stories about dominating and controlling their minds in many erotic adventures we’ve had together over the years, like the time I tied Shari’ naked to the main mast of the yacht for being disobedient while we were sailing along. It rained at the time, shortly after doing that to her. When Bethy and I came back up on deck after the shower of rain had passed, Shari’ abused me to high heaven and received a good strapping in front of Bethy, as well as within sight of another yacht full of tourists passing only a few hundred yards away. They’d cheered as they’d watched.

When I had done with her, I took her below, tied her hands behind her back, which she liked because it made her feel vulnerable and utterly helpless, then made love to her. She was sopping wet between the legs when I finally laid her down on her bunk then entered her swiftly and fully, and it wasn’t from the rain shower. Shari’s never abused me since, well, not while we were sailing, at any rate.

Bethy came unstuck well and truly against the power of my dominant male mind some years ago. She’d been running from me to avoid a well-earned punishment and had actually out-ran me. I’d just gotten over a bout of the flu, at the time, and hadn’t a large amount of energy to give proper chase to her. Laughing wildly as she kept herself about a hundred yards ahead of me throughout the chase, she’d almost sprinted up the side of a steep grassy incline and climbed a tall palm tree, thinking she’d been so far ahead that I hadn’t seen her movements.

It had been late afternoon when the chase had begun and was almost dark when she’d foolishly treed herself, like a trapped animal or a wildcat. Anyway, I’d walked casually up to the wide, thick trunk of the tree and looked up at her clinging onto the very top of the long, thick palm branches, trying to hide in amongst them and cover her body with them.

I yelled up at her that I knew she was there and informed her of the new size of her upcoming punishment. Then I parked myself at the base of the tree, knowing she wasn’t deaf and that she then knew that her punishment had quadrupled for making me run when not quite recovered from my illness. I had been very angry with her, at the time, and she’d known it.

I’d stayed awake all night long, waiting for her to come down. As much as Bethy liked pain and being punished, she had been really frightened of me all night long for the first time, and, with good reason, she had known that. She didn’t come down. Just as the morning rays of dawn streaked the Pacific horizon, I’d heard a soft scraping sound above my head. I’d pretended to be asleep when the sound ceased quite closely above me.

When I’d heard her grunt softly, I knew that she’d leapt. But by the time she’d landed on the soft grass on all fours like a wild animal, a few yards from where I sat, I’d already sprung out quickly, launching myself at her like a silent missile in the semi-darkness of the early morning and pounced on her back, just as her head spun around to see if she’d woken me.

She’d nearly died of fright on the spot. But that was nothing to what had come her way, immediately thereafter. I’d ripped the clothes from her body and tied her hands tightly behind her back with her own tank top then whupped her ass harshly, showing her no mercy at all. As I said, I had been very angry with her at the time. Then I’d flipped her over like a beached dolphin and slapped her breasts and her pussy senseless. I’d rolled her back onto her hands and knees then and whupped her bright red backside some more, until finally, she’d collapsed onto her belly on the cold, dewy morning grass.

Then I’d reached under her hips and lifted her ass high while pushing her shoulders hard down into the damp grass and fucked her furiously like a bitch in heat on her elbows and knees. I was so angry with her, I hadn’t been able to cum for a long time. She had, though, several times. Bethy had always gone off like a cracker from a mixture of clitoral stimulation, pain, and the powerful element of being utterly dominated and controlled.

Shari’, however, always needed actual penetration to finally blow the lid of her sexual tensions, but when she did, the domination and helplessness of being punished and then fucked solidly while her hands were tied behind her back, always sent her climax to new heights. They were loud ones, too. I gag her sometimes because it takes away her power to scream for the help she knows won’t be coming to her on our beautiful hide-a-way home in the Pacific.

When I’d finished with Bethy, she’d been exhausted and looked it. I hadn’t felt much differently. But I’d made her climb naked, back up the tall palm tree and to her stay there all day until I gave her permission to come down again. I also told her that I’d be standing guard and, that if she came down before I said she could, for whatever reason, I’d do exactly the same thing again to her that I just had-a cruel stripping, a painfully harsh spanking, followed by a ruthless and mercilessly long fuck from behind, until she dropped to her belly again, well-punished, well-fucked and exhausted.

Well, you know Bethy. She’d come down four more times before the sun had set that day and each time I did the same thing. Each time, I’d made her climb naked, back up the palm tree, she’d gone less and less further up than she had been the time before. The last time I’d made her get back up, I’d had to whup her very red ass to get her going up. Then, when she finally came down again for the last time, I’d waited for her to reach the bottom of the thick trunk and just tied her to it, belly first, then spanked her and fucked her hard and fast up against it, like a trapped animal. She’d screamed out her final orgasm so loudly and long with the last of her energy, like a wailing she-wolf, almost as if she were dying.

When I’d finished and untied her from the tree, Bethy had collapsed to the ground like a lifeless sack of grain, all floppy and limp, with her legs lying well apart. It was an incredibly sensual sight for a male to see and had then been a good thirty minutes, maybe more, before I could even get her up on her hands and knees, let alone up on her feet to go home. Another promised and then seriously threatened whupping and fucking, however, finally did the trick.

By the time we’d gotten home, Shari’ had been worried sick. Bethy and I had been as hungry as two wild horses and had eaten ravenously and silently of the two meals each that Shari’ had been told to prepare for us as soon as I’d laid eyes on her while towing her savaged and ravaged sister behind me on a long rope leash, completely naked. After I’d finally bathed her and tucked her in for the night, Bethy had slept for a full twenty-four hours and, she’s never run from me since.

Anyway, that’s it, I guess. There are lots of other stories where the power of my male mind has won out over their thinking woman’s and submissive female’s minds, but this particular story has to stop now. We’re still here on our beautiful tropical island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, still living and still loving and having fun. I don’t think any of us have ever really grown up and I don’t believe we really want to. Actually, I think we’re all still the same age we were when we first came to the island all those years ago. I always feel young and so do the girls. I’ve asked them.

And once, every year, as an anniversary present, I take each one of them to the rock pool in the centre of the island, as I had on the very first time we’d visited it. And there, I tie Shari’ to a palm tree and whup her ass good with my old belt. Then I tightly bind her hands behind her back and lay her down on the leafy forest floor and we make mad, passionate love together. It’s always beautiful, filled with so many happy memories from our humble beginnings as a cousin couple. She says she hates the spanking and loves it at the same time, but she also says it’s the only punishment she looks forward to receiving every year without fail.

Bethy refuses to be spanked on our anniversary visit to the pool in any other way than half-naked and on her hands and knees, like a dog, just as she was on that very first time. She says it brings back the powerful feelings of utter helplessness and submissiveness, which was how she’d felt that day-just like a feral bitch in heat on all fours before her master.

After I spank her with my bare hand, I take her, hard and fast, hotly and furiously, and, in the way she likes to be taken most often-from behind, mounted and stuffed like the feral bitch in heat she feels she is on that day of all special days. It’s always wonderful and always better than it was the first time. Our anniversary is the most celebrated day of the year to us and we love and look forward to its arrival many weeks in advance.

If you’re ever passing by, please drop in and say hi. We have a safe harbour and your boat will do just fine in the wildest of Pacific blows and always come up smiling. We’ll treat you as one of the family. That’s the only thing we really miss, I guess, living out here in our large green oceanic park and wonderland, if we miss anything, which isn’t all that much-we love to get company.

Bethy and Shari’ really love entertaining guests. Yachting people and families from all over the world are always dropping in and staying for a few days or a few weeks. Our beautiful island home has become a sort of hideaway for many of them while they get over their old troubles or get on with their new life. They’re always welcome, anyway, and so are you. Remember that.

I like to talk to the men, too, or males, rather. Although now, I suppose I’d have nothing to talk about anymore. I usually tell this story to any men visitors we had while the girls entertained their wives and kids. I think the girls have always told the same story, too. I wonder what we’ll do now? Tell them to read it on the Internet, I suppose-on Simon’s MC Story site.

At any rate, drop by and we’ll find something to talk about, I’m sure. In the meantime, I hope you’ve enjoyed our story about first cousins. I hope we haven’t offended anyone. We didn’t mean to. We just wanted you to know how happy we are and have been for the last thirty years, married to each other, living and loving each other as first cousins in the way we have been-as friends and partners, as a dominant male and submissive females, and always, as loving and devoted husband and wives.

Happy and safe sailing,

Billy D.

Catch you on the waves,

Shari’ D

It’s not the size of your boat that counts, but the motion of the ocean beneath you,

Bethy D.

======================================================== ‘Go to your room and take your dress and underwear down then wait for me, Bethy, on your hands and knees. That wasn’t very respectful to our readers at all, was it?’

‘What? Why? Err, no, Sir. Sorry.’

‘Not one more word now, Bethy, remember? Or your punishment will double, and so on. Off you go. I’ll be along, after I tuck Shari’ in.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘What are you chuckling about, Shari’?’

‘Bethy. Heheheheh. Even after all these years, she still can’t help herself, can she? Always in trouble.’

‘You can go to your room, too, Shari’, and take down your slacks and panties. Get the chord, too. I’ll tie you to the wall post, this time, I think. That wasn’t very respectful of your sister and my wife, was it?’

‘But she—!’

‘Not one more word, Shari’, remember? Or your punishment will double and so on. Off you go. I’ll be along to tie you and spank you, as soon as I pass on both your and Bethy’s apologies to anyone who’s nice enough to be reading our story.’

‘But, Master? That’s not fair! I was only say—!’

‘That’s ten now, Shari’—five good ones on each cheek. Get out the anniversary belt, too, now, while you’re at it. Want to try your luck for twenty before sleep, with just one more word or resentful look?’

.............. .............. ..............

‘Good. Off you go now and wait. Remember, underwear off.’

............ ............ ............

Anyway, I’m sorry about that. I guess I’m used to them. They don’t mean anything, though. Please don’t judge them too harshly. Usually, they’re goo—...

‘I’M FIRST!’

‘THAT’S TWENTY, BETH! WANT TO TRY FOR FORTY?’

I think I told you in the story that Bethy sometimes went out of her way to look for a punishment when she was in the mood? I thought I noticed that familiar gleam in her eye. It’s the same gleam I didn’t notice on that day when we first visited the rock pool together, the gleam that would have told me she was about to push every male mind button I had until I whupped her ass good, just as she’d wanted me to do from the minute she first set foot upon the golden sand that morning.

She has since told me that if I had let her collect any more stupid shells from the beach, she was going to push all of my buttons, one by one, right there on the beach with her mum and dad in sight. That’s how much she wanted her first spanking. Amazing girl, my Bethy, my cousin, my lovely wife, isn’t she?

Anyway, look like she’s in the same mood now. Well, so am I. I always am, for either of them. Seems like Shari’s using her head for once. She always manages to surprise me. Well, she can lie there now, knowing Bethy’s getting more whacks than she is. That should make her happy and she can laugh silently to herself, for once. It’s usually the other way round. She must be getting smarter in her old ag-...

‘HA! HA! HA! SERVES YOU RIGHT!’

‘FORTY, EVEN, SHARI’! STUPID GIRL! AND WITHOUT A BLINK! WANT TO TRY FOR EIGHTY BEFORE DAWN?’

Stupid girl. She always was a stupid, stupid girl. Heheheh. But, I love her dearly and forever, right there with her wonderful, cheeky devil of a sister, my younger, first blood cousin, Bethy. Anyway, I’ll have to go now. Seems I’ve got two unplanned jobs I’ve got to take care of before turning in for the night. A Master’s jobs are never done, I can tell you. Just when you think you’re going to have an early night, there’s always something else to keep you from the pillow. The girls can check over this last page in the morning, probably standing up while they do. The power of the male mind over them both... it just never ends.