The Empress Arises

[Editor’s Note: At one time I made a point of collecting every new book about female-led, female-dominated and female-supremacist marriages. These days (I’m happy to note) there seem to be too many such to keep track of, let alone afford and read.

[The Empress Arises appeared in 2011, co-authored by “Ivy Ann and Bobbi Rigger”* and self-published by Lulu. In the text, Ivy Ann is identified as “an important professor of history and women’s studies at a certain University that we won’t name” and “Bobbi” as a “stay-at-home househusband.” Alas, the book seems to have vanished from all online sources, along with the obviously cybernamed co-authors. All I could unearth was a screen-shot of the Lulu product page preserved by the Wayback Machine  (reproduced here). Fortunately, I did manage to squirrel away a few excerpts from the book’s opening chapters, excerpts that provide some provocative details about the female-ascendant couple’s courtship, marriage and domestic lifestyle.

[I will, of course, promptly “unpublish” these copyrighted excerpts upon request from the Riggers or their representatives (I would dearly love to be contacted!). On the other hand, if there is no such request but sufficient interest from blog readers, I may decide to share additional excerpts from The Empress Arises.—Thomas Lavalle]

A Typical Day at the Rigger House

(From The Empress Arises by Ivy Ann and Bobbi Rigger)

From the outside, our marriage would seem pretty conventional. Oh, there are a few things that may excite the interest of our neighbors in the little suburb where we live. For instance, it is Ivy Ann Rigger who goes out to work every morning, and Robert is a stay-at-home househusband. But that’s not nearly as unusual as it once was. In fact, it is getting more common every day. But, on the inside, things are very different.

To explain, let’s walk through a normal day in our lives.

It’s a warm spring Wednesday morning at our house. At five-thirty, Robert (Bobbi) gets up while Ivy stays in bed for a few more minutes snooze. So far, nothing’s unusual about our routine. After all, lots of husbands get up before their wives. But if someone were to peek through the windows, she might be startled to see that Bobbi is wearing only a long, light pajama top without pants. Still, maybe you could explain that by the fact that it is warm at the moment And, actually, if it were the middle of winter, we’d see that Bobbi was more conventionally dressed for the cold. But right now, he gets up and his knees and legs are bare. He slips on a light robe and heads for the kitchen.

There he checks to make sure everything is ready. The coffee is brewing. Breakfast fixings are ready. Ivy likes a single poached egg in the morning and a slice of toast. It’ll be ready when she comes to the table. He made her lunch the night before but now he checks to make certain it is prepared properly. She likes to take a sandwich rather than eat out for her lunches. It gives her more time to work at her desk.

Then Bobbi checks the time. He still has a few minutes. So, he sits down at the kitchen table for a preparatory cup of coffee before the day. It is then that our observer, peeking through the window, might see another odd thing. When he sits, Bobbi pulls the tail of his robe and shirt to one side and places his flesh against the cold plastic of the kitchen chair. Maybe, if our spy had seen The Story of O, it might remind her of the scene when O does the same with her dress. And if our spy was really looking, or had a pair of binoculars, she might notice something really odd. On Bobbi’s left buttock there is a small tattoo. It reads “IAR.”

At ten till six, Bobbi gets busy. He stands and begins boiling the egg. He also pours a cup of coffee and takes it to Ivy Ann where she is just now waking up. He speaks softly, “It’s almost six, Lady mine.” She stirs and slowly sits up in the bed. He gives her the coffee. She takes it and mumbles, “Christ…”

He smiles and heads back to the kitchen. Again, there’s nothing new or unusual here. Lots of husbands bring their wives coffee in the morning. Even very masculine, very commanding ones do. It’s chivalrous. Nor is there anything too odd about what happens next. He sets the table and waits until he hears the shower go on. Then he starts boiling the egg.

When she comes dressed to the table a few minutes later, everything is set. The egg waits for her, as does a glass of fresh orange juice. She sits and he pours her coffee. She thanks him. He stands attentively. She sips the juice and, after a second, nods. He slides into the chair across from her.

Some mornings, when she is still sleepy, they are silent. This morning, though, she is awake and energetic. “We’ll finally be hiring a European specialist today,” she tells him. He smiles and sits quietly, only speaking when she speaks to him, or when he feels that a well-formed question or comment will show he is paying attention. “That’s so interesting...” or “I’m sure you’re right…”

She may also give a few quick instructions for the day. “Remember to put those checks in the bank,” she says. “And the car needs an oil change.” He nods at each instruction. Then she pauses, thinks for a bit and adds, “Oh, and for your special treat, I have some underwear that needs to be hand-washed.”

After her breakfast, she rises. It’s time for her to leave. She wants to be in the office at seven-thirty. While she brushes her teeth and makes a few last-minute changes to her hair, he collects her briefcase and stands waiting for her by the door. She appears shortly after that. She looks him up and down.

Then, if it is any day but Wednesday, she walks to him, reaches under his robe and shirt, and gives his penis and testicles a firm squeeze. With her other hand, she reaches up and takes him behind the head. She pulls him down and forward. They kiss passionately. And, if it is any weekday but Wednesday, she releases him, saying, “Have a good day, babe,” and goes out to her car.

Our spy at the window would be a bit startled by this, but she’d be truly amazed if it is Wednesday. On Wednesdays, things are a little different. On Wednesdays, she waits at the door. She taps her foot once. He drops instantly to his knees, leans forward to grovel before her and put his head on the top of her shoe.

They wait for a long moment. Finally, she raises the toe of her shoe. He rolls back up to his knees, but remains kneeling. She pets his head and says, “Good boy.” He stays on the floor, with his eyes down and not looking at her until she leaves.

When he hears her car door close, he stands and begins his day.

Ivy drives to work. She is an important professor of history and women’s studies at a certain University that we won’t name. She is tenure track and on the way up. She also makes a surprisingly large sum of money. That’s not true for most academics. But Ivy is a star in her profession. Thus, she is one of the small, but real group of professors who has a six-figure income. She has also inherited money from her grandmother. Thus, she is the only real breadwinner in the family. Bobbi is very much dependent on her economically and has been for years.

lvy spends the day teaching classes and working on her next book, a path-breaking new study of how upper-middle class women reshaped the luxury cruise industry in the early twentieth century. The role of female consumers during the period is tragically unexplored, and her book will almost certainly be regarded as a classic in the field.

Bobbi likewise has a busy day. As soon as she is out of the house, he quickly fixes himself a light breakfast and then gets to work. First, he washes the dishes and straightens up the kitchen, Then, he hurriedly does any outstanding housework that needs to be done. He likes to get that finished early in the day. He vacuums the front room, makes the bed, puts a load of laundry in the washer, and so on. All of this he does in his pajamas, still without a pair of pants.

Then, the “special treat.” He finds the underwear she mentioned. She has left them in a separate hamper in the bedroom. There are red panties, black panties, and white cotton panties. These he takes to the downstairs laundry sink and carefully, lovingly, washes them by hand.

When he is finished, he checks the time. It is only 10:00! Excellent. At last, he can dress. He slips on
slacks and a shirt and then heads out to take care of his outside chores. He goes to the bank, as he has been instructed, and then visits the franchise oil change and lube job place by the library. A short time later, he does the grocery shopping and returns home. If it were Monday, Tuesday, or Friday, he would then go to work. He is a counter clerk at a little cafe and sandwich shop in the next suburb over, “The Wee Nook.” On those days he pulls a twelve-to-four shift, taking orders and making coffee for the chic suburban matrons of the area. He’s very good at his job, and he’s popular with the customers. For one thing, he’s boyish and handsome, and hid body is in great shape, and the customers frequently put quite respectable tips in the jar on the counter.

His boss, Ms. Lisa Grandview, has tried to promote him to manager three times, but each time he’s demurred. He does not want to be in any position that might give him authority. At first, Ms. Grandview had been quite perplexed, but then Ivy Ann had a chat with her, and everything was settled. “Of course,” Ms. Grandview had said. “It’s so natural.”

But today is Wednesday, so instead he goes to the gym. It is his duty to keep fit and trim for his wife. Three times a week he exercises briskly, and he is constantly on a diet. In fact, today he skips lunch entirely. He mustn’t chunk up, he knows.

Finished, he showers. Now, if our spy had followed him to the gym, and even somehow managed to look into the men’s showers, she would have been amazed again. She’d notice that each of Bobbi’s nipples has been pierced and there is a small golden ring in each of them. As the soap covers his chest he winces in pain, but also feels them grow erect under his fingers. He gives himself a playful tweak on both.

Once done he rushes home. He prepares dinner. She usually allows him to decide on the menu. It is one of his little freedoms. So he turns to it. Tonight it will be something a little more elegant than usual. It is a little tradition they have. They call it “the Wednesday Night Special.” Tonight it will be a small steak that he’s carefully prepared.

When everything is ready, he dresses in something nice. Sometimes, when they are being formal, it is a suit. Sometimes she prefers a costume. He has several. Her favorite is The Delivery Boy. Tonight, though, he has been told to go almost nude. He will wear a tight, spandex swimsuit and nothing else. He squeezes into them, his testicles and penis becoming a tight bulge beneath the cloth.

She arrives home. He hurries to the door to meet her. When she is in, he drops once more to the floor and touches her shoe. “Up,” she says, slightly impatiently. He is quick to rise. “God,” she says, “I’m tired. Long day.”

He takes her things and follows her to the front room. She sits in the big chair and he brings her a drink. Then he puts on music and sits attentively on the sofa. She tells him about her day. “We have this really awful graduate student. He is older, and he has the fantastic idea that I should treat him with respect.” He listens and is very careful to murmur soft agreements.

When she is ready for dinner, he serves her. If she is pleased with him, she nods, and he sits and eats. “Very good,” she says finally. Then he pours her a glass of wine and she goes to the bedroom. He quickly takes care of the dishes. He already has an erection. It pushes painfully into the cloth of the spandex suit.

He waits until he hears her ring the bell beside her bed. He quickly enters the bedroom. She is standing at the end of the room. She wears black panties and an open cup corset, and on her feet arc stilettos. “Down,” she commands.

Once more he sinks to the ground. He places his forehead on the carpet.

“Crawl,” she commands. He slowly makes his way across the room, keeping his face to the floor. He
reaches her feet. He kisses them.

“Who am I?” she demands.

He raises his lips from her toe. “You are my empress.”

“And?”

“My mistress and my master.”

“Forever?”

“Forever, my Lady.”

She allows him to rise to his knees. “Use your teeth,” she says.

Tenderly, keeping his hands at his sides, he uses his teeth and lips to pull her black panties down her thighs. He is very, very careful.

His tongue darts into her vagina. He touches her clit once, then pulls away. He begins again, this time at the base of her vagina and moves slowly up its long length. Once more he comes to the clit. He stimulates it with long, lingering licks.

“Good boy,” she pats his head. “Now,” she sits on the bed, “come here.”

At her direction, he climbs into the bed and lies on his back. She quickly ties his hands to the bedposts with short lengths of blue cloth. Once he is helpless, she climbs atop him and leans down to his face. Her breasts are above him. “Pleasure me,” she commands.

Sometimes straining against the bonds, he lifts his head up to her nipples. His tongue touches them and licks desperately. “That’s a good boy,” she says. “Keep at it.”

She lowers herself down into his face. His lips and mouth close on first one nipple and then the other. Left, right, left, right!

She rears up again, scoots backwards on his body until she is sitting on his groin. She reaches forward and takes his small, man’s nipples between her fingers. “Your turn,” she says. With a gasp, he feels her fingers close on his nipples. There is a burst of pain as she touches the gold rings that pass through them. He whimpers. But it is pleasure rather than pain. He feels his nipples grow almost as hard as hers.

She shifts back further still. She is now astride his legs. She reaches forward and takes his penis in one hand and his testicles in the other. She holds them, not so hard that it hurts, but firmly enough that he knows she could hurt him if she wishes.

“Who am I?” she asks again.

“My lady and master,” he replies.

“And what have you promised to do?”

“To love, honor and obey you.”

“Excellent.”

And then she repositions herself. She feeds his penis into her vagina. “Stay still!” she warns him. He obeys.

For a moment, they are still. Then, slowly, slowly, she rolls herself forward, taking him deeper and deeper within her. She rolls back, crushing his testicles with her buttocks. She rolls forward, and then she moves to first one side and then the other.

He moans.

“Still!” she commands again. He stays still, utterly passive.

Then she moves faster. And faster! She rolls forward and back! She moves from side to side! He moans in helpless delight!

Suddenly she rears her head back and roars! She has her orgasm! She is dominant and triumphant! She
is his master! And her body explodes with the pleasure! And with conquest! Then she tenses her vagina one last time. He feels her crush his manhood deep within her. And he comes! He feels himself explode upward into her! His mind vanishes in a great flash of pleasure! He is hers! He is utterly hers!

He is mindless. She rolls off him.

In time, she releases him. They sleep together in each other’s arms.

* “Bobbi” Rigger was evidently regarded by Dr. Ivy Ann as her “wife.” The actual title page reads: The Empress Arises: A Guide to the Female Dominant Marriage for Her and for Him by Dr. Ivy Ann Rigger with Mrs. Ivy Ann Riger (nee Robert Smith)

(End of post. First published on m blog in July 2019. More excerpts to come.)