Pooja Memsahib . . . JI!!

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Pooja Memsahib . . . JI!!

23
Aug,2020

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Oh, Madam Ji!

How I wish . . . ah, but let me retrack a little!

This afternoon  as I was finishing up my workout with some sprints, I twisted my ankle – BAD.

How you ask?

Well, some moron saw fit to dig a hole in long grassed fields. IT just so happened that yours truly was running there and while this sort of thing would been a nasty injury a few years ago, these are FITNESS years as well (and servitude years always! ?) for yours truly.

Excess weight once caused my ankle to bloat like a ballon a few years ago without doing anything at all for it.

And this time, as I heard the CRUNCH of tendons being pushed to the max, and screamed out loud in pain, I knew deep down I’d be alright if I did a few stretches etc on it.

Well, the ankle is not back to normal right now, but it’s far, far better about 30 minutes or so after I sprained it.

But that isn’t the reason I’m writing to you about it (before you ask!).

Napoleon Hill once famously said the following.

Every adversity, every misfortune, every ill occurrence (I am paraphrasing, but the meaning holds regardless) carried within it the seed of an equivalent or greater benefit. Mind you, not the FLOWER of full blown success but the seed from which said flower may be said to germinate.

And this hang true as I squatted in the park on my haunches, Asian style, as I talk about so often!

The lovely lady I wrote about this morning (doesn’t the Universe bring us truly what we really desire without fail, as I’ve been writing about!!!) Madam Pooja was lying on a park bench, hands on head, exhausted, one beautiful foos outstretched, calf visible in a lovely BLUE sari!

God, she looked gorgeous!

And I wanted nothing more to start to do what I said this morning.

Press her legs, and offer her air conditioning. Offer her a nice bed.

Offer her my services, without any catch! No femdom (not of the sort you’d think) or whatever.

No cuck stories.

Just press her legs for hours as she relaxes, perhaps her back, shoulders too.

As she lay there comfortably with legs spread, sari hiked . . .

Press her thighs. Press her waist. Press her back!

Anything she wants, and of course, hand her and BEG to hand her control of my bank account!

PooJa Madam Ji, paye lagu, you deserve it, truly so!

(Oh, and I’m wanting to her to whack me in the balls HARD with the end of a broom. Ball torture isn’t one of my things, but with Pooja Madam Ji, she deserves to do that to me, and more!).

Goddess, thank you so much!

Last, but not least was the sprained ankle worth it? Would I want it again?

Yes to the first – – perhaps in some regards!

No to the second – – again, in some regards!

Pooja Memsahib, paye lagu. I cannto say it enough!

Best

Mike Watson

PS – If stories like this enthrall you’ll love our tales of Indian femdom!

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