Joanna, The Ruthless Maid

Joanna had a lasting presence in my fantasies, when I was younger. Still has.

She was the maid in my grandparent's house where I spent most of my summer holidays.

I remember the great commotion in the neighborhood on the day that my grandmother hired Joanna, as well as I remember thinking of me as the luckiest guy in the world for having her all to myself, while everybody yearned for her and envied me. I also remember stalking her all day long, making up all the possible pretexts to be near her, as I remember her using every excuse to avoid me.

She was a tall and well endowed brunette, in her early thirties when she was hired. It was not so much by her beauty but a few physical attributes that made her an especially attractive woman: she had long shapely legs and large breasts, swelling in the tight blouses she used to wear underneath the apron. That impressive bulge, swaying under her apron, as she walked with firm and resolute steps, went along with me over the years and its memory still nourishes some of my best jack off sessions.

To help composing her haughty personality she kept, in addition, a cold and distant attitude, somewhat overbearing, and rarely showed a friendly behavior. Hardly anything would make her laugh and most of the times she spoke in a grumpy tone. It took me a while to figure out that her hoarse voice teased me thrills and chills. My feelings for her were a combination of fear and attraction. Either way she set off the strongest impression on me, being a constant presence in my dreams, first, in my fantasies, later.

Sometimes I was lucky enough to take a sneak peek and get a glimpse of her bra through the stretched openings between the buttons of her shirt. I guess you could say she unwittingly initiated me into the mind-blowing world of compulsive masturbation, tracing a destination I won't ever be able to escape from.

She once caught me sneaking around her underwear and asked me what the hell I was doing with the bras and panties I stole from her drawer. I was dying of embarrassment while she became silent, looking me in the eye with a harsh expression. After a lot of insistence and intimidation, she forced me to confess in extreme shame that sometimes I touched myself using her lingerie as an enticement. She took a long silent pause and finally warned me that I had to be punished for my daring, asking me if I'd rather be reported to my parents or get my penalty straight from her. I was terrified that my parents would get to know of my weakness and so I thought it would be better to surrender and accept her as a provider of the fated discipline.

While making this decision, although I couldn't imagine it at the time, I was voluntarily undergoing into a deep submission scheme that would last for years, with strong repercussions in my future sexual behavior.

In deep humiliation I waited for my fortune when suddenly I became aware of an odd emotion superseding my shame: the dominating authority of that striking woman aroused me like no other thing ever did. A few minutes later I was longing for my sentence and my excitement was far greater than if there was a prize involved.

And the punishment soon came out. I was told to carry out what I usually did on the sly whenever I could get my hands on her lingerie. But this time I had to do it right in front of her. I was commanded to reproduce before her all the staging and standard procedures of a wanking session, as if I were alone performing my fantasy. By way of further punishment, she ruled that I should use the panties she was wearing, at the time, rather than clean panties from the drawer. Fearfully I waited for her to take them off and the session became a double debut. She stripped off her panties with that teasing elegance that only women know how to perform, making them slide slowly down her legs.

In a harsh tone she ordered me to wrap my penis in her panties and stroke it. "This is how you usually do it, right?" she mocked. "Let me see you do it, little pervert!" she added, keeping a sarcastic tone.

Until now, I had never been blessed with the chance of using panties already donned, hers or anybody's. The novelty of her generous offer made me feel obliged to show my gratitude, begging her to let me use them in a slightly different manner than usual.

She was curious, asking me if it wasn't all about wrapping my dick in her panties and stroke it until orgasm. At least that was what she had always thought wankers must do with stolen panties. I agreed, saying that this was the standard procedure ... when you do it with clean panties. But once she decided to reward me with the panties she was wearing, it would be a sin not to take advantage of this bonus and miss the opportunity of tasting her juices, feel her scent and have a ball while doing it.

I was embarrassing myself and, once again, an unusual joy was coming out of that humiliation, making me unable to explain the reason for this to happen. At the time, I wasn't aware of the grounds for such bliss, it just puzzled me how could I withdraw pleasure from such an uneasy situation. Over the years I learned from practice that it was a kind of sweet surrender, an unrestricted abandonment of my free will before her whim and the exhilaration induced by the prospect of her unpredictable conduct.

By this time, she handed to me the white cotton panties that were hanging from the tips of her fingers. I was almost petrified when I held out my arm to grab that precious prize from her hand, anticipating the bliss of having her in the flesh, right in front of me, witnessing my worship wank and my cum tribute.

I don't really remember the rest of the incident but it all happened very quickly. My intense state of arousal wouldn't let me stretch the session for as long as I wished. Moreover I was, at that time, a premature ejaculator, despite my extreme masturbatory practice. So, it didn't take longer than the necessary time to pull my shorts down and release my cock. I had barely taken the cotton gusset of her panties to my lips and I was already ejaculating, squirming in successive shudders, spreading my semen all over the floor, until the lack of strength in my legs made me kneel before her, helpless, holding the crotch liner of her panties glued to my face. I don't think it was a very inspiring sight but, however, it repeated over and over, ever since, each time more humiliating and each time more worthwhile.

It was the first time I was forced to masturbate for someone in her presence though, technically, you can't say that's what really happened, considering the absence of the doing, itself.

After this one, many more forced masturbation events would come about in my life, most of which in absolutely shameful circumstances. Since then, my biggest thrill lies in being strained to masturbate in front of any woman who is able to drive me into total submission through a skilled humiliation procedure.

Joanna was just the first ... and the best. Ever.