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From alt.sex.stories.tg Tue Jan 7 16:09:57 1997
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~From: tigger@alices.com
~Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.tg
~Subject: Mistress is Pregnant Part 1 (Femdom, cd, FM, bd)
~Date: Mon, 6 Jan 1997 22:56:01 -0500
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Mistress is Pregnant
by Tigger
(c) 1996
Part 1
It was painful to watch as she struggled to lift herself out of
bed. Sighing inwardly, I moved to help her and was rewarded by
the expected angry glare, which I ignored. She didn't even try
to stop me as I supported her back and took the off center weight
of her body in my arms. Once she had gotten her torso upright,
she slid her feet to the floor. She rested a moment, gathering
herself for her next effort, while I sat beside her, still
supporting her. When she moved to stand, I slyly added my
strength to help her move her bulk upright. A near snarl, once
she was standing, told me that I had not been nearly as subtle as
I thought. She knew I had helped, and she hated needing that
help. In that moment, she probably hated me. It was something I
had learned to live with.
Mistress Kyra Byers, the woman I am in love with, was almost
eight months pregnant, and damned ready for that experience to be
over. The fact that she still had to face six more weeks of
impending motherhood, combined with the fact that the doctor
thought she was not yet reached her full girth were responsible
for a lot of her temper. The fact that I was there to witness
her incapacity, and worse, that I was giving her help that she
needed, made it even worse for her. Frankly, since I had moved
in (barged in) with her, she had done her level best to make my
life hell, or rather, to make me leave. I smiled grimly. Not in
this life, lady, I am where I have to be.
She shuffled off to the bathroom, her huge tummy forcing her to
counterbalance with a back arch that compounded her discomfort.
Resignedly, I waited for what I knew would come next.
"... Mark." Her voice from behind the door sounded more than a
little defeated. That was killing me. I walked to the bathroom
door and knocked softly. "Come in, Mark, I know you are waiting.
I can't get up."
I entered the bathroom, to find her struggling futilely on the
fashionable low profile toilet seat, almost in tears. She was
furious with herself for showing her 'weakness' to me. I did not
offer her comfort that I knew would be rejected. I simply put my
arm back around her, helped her to her feet, and then let go once
she had regained her balance. Without doubt, I would pay for
this later.
Once that particular humiliation was complete, she abruptly
dismissed me from her room and set about getting ready to go to
work. Mistress is an executive administrator for one of the
large multinationals that had their home base in the city. She
was training her replacement and would start maternity leave in
about four weeks when that was complete. After the baby was
born, she had to decide if she was going to accept a promotion
that she had been offered, or whether she was going to take a
less demanding job that would give her time for her unexpected
family. That choice did not make her very happy either.
She came down to the dining room where I served her breakfast.
Milk (which she loves), iron fortified hot cereal (which she
loathes), a bagel with light cream cheese (which she tolerates),
and a chilled orange juice, but no coffee (which she craves). I
sat there, drinking my own juice watching her eat, trying not
cringe under her steely glares.
She finished the last bite of the cereal, and washed it down with
her entire glass of juice. She patted her mouth and then got up
to gather her bag and briefcase. "Mark, I will be a little late
tonight. I will want to test you after dinner, so be prepared."
No surprise, there. "But Mistress, we have class tonight after
dinner." She hated Lamaze class most of all. For the life of me,
I couldn't figure out why she hated that so much, but she did
this every Wednesday. And every Wednesday, yours truly got to
make points with his Mistress by reminding her of that happy
fact.
Her face clouded, and she collected herself. "Very well, then we
will delay the test until we get home." She gave me a smirk
reminiscent of her old, mischievously evil self. "You will be
dressed for it, won't you, Mark."
I grinned back at her. "As you say, Mistress." She spun as
quickly as her tummy would permit and left for work. Her parting
shot was her little reminder that "Markie" would be attending
Mistress. Markie is my feminized alter ego. Prior to her
pregnancy, Mistress had been trying to get me 'out' as Markie and
I had fought her every step along the way, even to the point of
using my 'safeword'. Mistress had fought starting the Lamaze
training with a passion that still amazed me. Especially after
her doctor had insisted the training was absolutely mandatory for
such a petite woman. As a last ditch attempt to get her to take
the training, I had bargained Markie's debut against her getting
the training she needed. Mistress wanted Markie out in the world
more than she wanted to avoid Lamaze, so now Markie is Mistress's
very terrified birth coach. So terrified in fact, that I don't
even think about passing anymore - I just do.
What surprised me was that none of the women hardly gave me a
second look. The nurse-midwife in charge was simply too busy to
look too closely, and I guess women in the final stages of
pregnancy aren't really interested in looking for very long at
anything resembling a 'slender' female. The men, on the other
hand, are another story all together. I am constantly under very
close scrutiny at the class, by every male there. Only my whole
hearted concentration on Mistress keeps me from running screaming
into the night. While at class, I keep my voice low, quietly
coaching Mistress, so my voice doesn't give me away. I don't
think that I look unfeminine in the sweater and jeans Mistress
lets me wear (only because the Nurse Midwife said "no skirts".
Mistress's first outfit of a short skirt and heels was
specifically pointed out as inappropriate by the nurse.).
But for all that, I can't shake the awareness of all those males
staring at me, evaluating me, and I can't decide whether it is
because they see me as the only non-pregnant female in the room,
or because my cover is blown. Mistress, naturally, given her
normal disposition and her current mood, is no help at all. She
just gives me a smirk, or an evil grin, pats me on the ass,
pinches my cheeks, and then tells me to ignore them. Yeah,
right, uh huh, sure, Mistress.
How did I come to be in this mess in the first place? Good
question - wish I had a good answer. I first met Mistress about
two years ago, when I worked for the same company as she did
(where she still does work).
She was such a tiny thing, only five feet one inch tall, and not
quite a hundred pounds. Her hair was black and she wears it in a
short, saucy cut that hugs the elegant shape of her head. She
says that she wears it that way because it is easy to maintain.
I think it is sexy as all hell. Her eyes were startling green
against her almond complexion. Then she smiled at me, and I
became an instant believer in 'love-at-first-sight'.
She is not classically beautiful, but she is striking, and on the
rare occasions when that wonderful smile emerges, the world stops
around her just to look at her.
I wanted to date her back then, but she did not date co-workers.
We did become friends, and I learned to like her as well as want
her. Later, when I left the firm to start my own business, I
asked her out again. That time she accepted. We dated for
several months and I began to get very serious about her. To my
intense delight and encouragement, we were grew very affectionate
together. We would pet and kiss passionately, but she would
always stop us before we made love, much to my frustration.
That I had been carrying an engagement ring in my pocket for
weeks, just waiting for the slightest indication she was ready
for us to go further, only made each smiling, good night kiss at
her door harder to take.
I am ashamed to admit that I started keeping an eye on her. It
wasn't stalking, not in the current legal sense of the term, but
I was following her, and watching her home. I started to see a
pattern of men visiting her at odd hours on weekends and on
nights that we did not have a date. They'd come in, stay for an
hour or two, then leave alone. Jealousy festered inside me, as I
reached an obvious conclusion.
This went on for over a week, dating one night, watching her
house the next as she would open her door to a man, who would
then leave a couple of hours later.
Then, I exploded.
I won't bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that as
one of her visitors was leaving, I barged into her house, ranting
and raving - the proto-typical outraged male. One reason I won't
bore you with such details is that I don't remember many of them.
I pray each night that I did not threaten or try to harm Kyra,
but I do know that she felt threatened. She retaliated
physically. Not expecting it from her, I did not guard against
it. She dropped me with one, well placed kick to the groin, and
the world went dark.
When I awoke, my groin was on fire, but I could not move to
relieve or attempt to ease the pain. My hands were restrained
behind me and beneath me as I lay upon my back against a hard
surface. I could not move my feet, either. A weight settled on
my chest and made breathing difficult. I opened my eyes. The
weight was Kyra, but it was a Kyra I had never seen before. When
I had forced my way in she had been swathed in a thick, velvety,
floor length robe. Now, black lingerie, made of what I later
learned was fine leather, enhanced and presented rather than hid
her charms. Something that looked like my grandfather's razor
strop, but with a wooden handle, hung loosely from a strap around
her wrist. It was then that I realized that she was nude below
the waist.
The stiff strap poked under my chin to lift my eyes to hers
before I could get more than a fleeting look. "I am
disappointed, Mark, disappointed and hurt. I thought you were
different, that we might be building something together, and you
come roaring in here like some possessive, arrogant Lord of the
Manor."
"You're disappointed? You're hurt?" Every word was punctuated
in pain. "I've been faithful to you, I wanted to marry you.
Every night you aren't with me you entertain men here."
"We have been busy, haven't we?" She scowled down at me. "Well,
you would have had to learn before I could have accepted you
anyway." Her words were strange, without meaning to me. Learn?
Learn what? She continued without giving me a chance to speak
"Since you have screwed up so badly, I will at least give you the
explanation you seem to want more than you wanted me." It was
then that I first learned of Mistress Kyra, Domina. Dominant all
her life, Kyra had put herself through school by working in one
of the better schools of dominance in the San Francisco Bay Area,
and now continued as a practicing professional dominant mostly as
a lark, a sideline, a means of relieving the tension of her high
powered position at work, and because she liked it. The men were
her slaves, submissives, bottoms - words I had never heard used
in such context before. Men who gave her gifts and money for the
opportunity to serve her. I was dumbfounded.
"We were so close, Mark, but you couldn't wait, couldn't trust
me, couldn't even confide in me." She stood and released the
shackles that held my feet. With her weight gone, I could sit up
and saw that the shackles were attached to the legs of the living
room couch. "Come on, stand up, it is time for you to get out of
here." I stood, still favoring my testicles. Surprisingly
strong hands gripped me from behind and shoved me to the door.
Something grated in the vicinity of what ever held me and I was
pushed out the door. "The key is in the lock of the cuffs, Mark.
Those cuffs have enough play in them for you to free yourself.
Leave, and do not come back. Do not even contact me again. We
are through." The door slammed behind me, punctuated by the
audible clicks of two dead bolts shooting home.
As she said, I was able to free myself, but not without major
contortions. My temper was still running high. I pulled the
ring out of my pocket, and threw the designer jewel box through
her front window, then stomped off to my car and left.
The next day, a package arrived by special courier. In it was my
ring and a note.
"I do not accept gifts from boys who have proven themselves to be
unworthy.
Mistress Kyra"
It should have been all over. She had betrayed me. Only it
wasn't. The next three weeks were hell. She scared me, she
really did. I knew nothing about such things as she had told me
and when I went to the local adult bookstore to check out the
magazines and such on D/S, I was even more frightened of her.
But I still wanted her. And in the end, I knew that I still
loved her.
The turning point came when I realized that some of the ads in
those magazines were from submissives who were appealing for a
dominant. I already knew her, knew her address. I still wanted
to be with her. I hoped she still wanted me with her, but she
was the wronged party. I had to make restitution. I had to show
her that I recognized her true worth.
In truth, I did not view myself as a submissive like those men in
the magazine. But if such a submission to her was the way to get
Kyra back in my life, then that is what I would do. Life as her
submissive could not be worse than the life I'd without her for
the last month.
I went to a specialty shop and bought a special, antique style
writing parchment, complete with a satin ribbon to roll it in. I
wrote a letter on that heavy parchment in my very best
penmanship. I considered paying a professional calligrapher, but
decided against it. This was more personal, more 'me-to-her',
than that would be. Besides, I did not think I could face
sharing what I planned to do with someone else, particularly a
stranger. In the letter, I acknowledged my guilt and my lack of
trust. I begged her forgiveness, and I begged the opportunity to
prove my worthiness by serving her in any manner she deemed
appropriate. I paid the same courier service to deliver the
letter on Wednesday, and then waited by the phone for the next
forty eight hours. I was almost in despair when the phone rang
at nine PM, Friday night.
Her tone was sharp and clipped in my ear, but she sounded like an
angel from heaven promising me one last chance at salvation. "I
have received your request and I am inclined to test your
resolve. If you please me, I may decide to permit you to
continue in my service as one of my slaves. I will not give you
the chance to hurt me again as you did before. The test I have
in mind is demanding and will require you to attend me for the
weekend. You may need to plan on taking time off from work next
week to recover. Be on my doorstep tomorrow morning at eight
o'clock sharp. If you are not there, this will truly be the last
time I will ever speak to you." The phone connection broke and I
was left listening to the buzz of a dial tone, only then
realizing that I had not said a single word.
And then I was really scared to death. One of the books I had
read told the story of a man who made such a restitution to his
lover and had been laid up for a week. Could she do that to me?
Memories of the pain in my balls and that wicked strap told me
that she was fully capable of it. Would she do it? I did not
know, but I would have to take that chance if that was what it
took to be with her again.
I was on her doorstep as ordered and was led into her house where
she had me strip and then took my clothes away. As I now know
from literally painful experience, what actually happened in the
course of that weekend was comparatively gentle. Mistress knew
how ill prepared I was for entry into that facet of her life.
Looking back, I am sure that the real test was the commitment to
show up at all and then to stay until released in the face of the
ominous nature of her "invitation". I spent the weekend nude,
scurrying about her house doing various menial and humiliating
tasks. Of course, my performance never met her exacting
standards. I was spanked repeatedly, but it was always by hand,
hairbrush or by paddle. (a very gentle paddle I was later to
learn). My bottom stung, to be sure, but it was not really
harmful. Embarrassing as all hell, but not harmful.
At the end of the weekend, she released me and gave me back my
clothes. She told me that I had earned a place in her stable and
that if I worked very hard and pleased her greatly, I might have
a chance of something more. I left her that night feeling that I
had done something important, although I could not put into words
what that something really was.
After that, I became like the men I had watched. One night a
week and at least one full day every weekend, I would attend
Mistress in her home. It took a full year of such training
before I had the courage to face myself in the mirror and admit
that I was really a sexually submissive male. I am not
submissive at all in other facets of my life. I am a demanding,
but fair boss, I'm an aggressive player on the tennis courts and
on the links, and I am becoming proficient at the martial arts.
It is only with Mistress Kyra, that such feelings, such needs
demand and find expression.
During that first year of training I discovered just how gentle
that first weekend had been. I met the strap, and did not like
it very much - like not at all. Sitting was difficult that week.
I experienced bondage positions that made me painfully aware of
new and unique muscle groups on the days following those
sessions. As ordered, though, I worked very hard to prove myself
to Mistress, and slowly, over time, I felt that she was again
coming to think of me as more than a member of her stable.
Perhaps not yet as the future mate I still longed to be, a mate
who would be submissive to her, to be sure, but still someone to
be with her, to be there for her. I continued to work to that
goal.
Our only disagreement was Markie. After that first year, the
first indication that Mistress was starting to value me again was
that she gave me a safe word. Up to that point, my safe word was
to ask to leave. During the second year, Mistress discovered the
female in my soul and worked diligently to bring her out to play.
My medium height (for a male) and my slender build, made me ideal
(so Mistress delighted in telling me) for cross dressing. She
trained me in cosmetics, in color coordination, in mannerisms and
in voice inflection. She drilled me relentlessly on how to walk,
how to sit, how to flirt. I was trained to play the vamp and the
lady. She liked the vamp. My cautious soul also lusted after
the vamp, but I pretended to prefer the lady.
The blow up came when she decided to debut Markie publicly.
I balked.
I was dressed to the nines in a new, very pretty party dress and
Mistress herself had applied my cosmetics. I looked far better
than I ever had before. Secretly, I was thrilled by how I
looked, but once she told me what was planned, I panicked.
Never mind that she promised that the nightclub would be dark,
that it was out of town, that she would get us a private table or
that we would not socialize among the patrons, I simply could not
face the potential of discovery. She pressed until I safe worded
her order. Even though I was scared out of my wits that I would
be cast off, I was in too much of a dither to do otherwise.
She looked at me in blank surprise. I had taken intense corporal
sessions, strict bondage and other equally demanding and
humiliating tests without that using that escape route. She
finally sat down and looked at me for the longest time, studying
me.
"Very well, Mark." That brought me upright. She never called me
Mark while I was dressed. "You aren't ready for this. Please
go change into your clothes. We are done for today."
I thought I was being sent away for good. I opened my mouth to
plead, but she kept on speaking. "Come back tomorrow and we will
continue your training." Then, she left me and went to her room,
locking the door audibly behind her. It was not until much
later that it occurred to me that she was giving me space to
recover. The next day, our relationship picked up as usual.
As Markie progressed, Mistress Kyra's hints about a debut took
the direction of verbal teasing and humiliation. I noticed that
she watched my non-verbal responses very carefully at those
times. I suspect that she would have had me out the door in a
split second if she saw the slightest acceptance on my part, but
she never pressured me on it again.
Then came the night about 10 months ago, when we were in her play
room and I was bound on my back on a low bench. It was an
incredibly playful session. Mistress was in one of her teasing
moods and was thoroughly enjoying the game of driving me insane.
She kept me on the edge of orgasm until I thought my heart would
burst. I guess I was not the only one affected by her game
though, because the next thing I knew, she had taken me into her
hot, wet depths. I thought, no, I *knew* I was in Paradise. In
all our time together, the closest I gotten to making love with
Mistress was the oral worship which she loved and which she had
insisted I become superb at providing for her. All of my orgasms
had been by hand - mine or hers, but usually mine so she could
watch.
The incredible heat, the velvety steel grip drove me wild. The
bench creaked in response to my straining. I fought for control,
fought to prolong the joy of being one with Kyra.
She came, and the world went mad. I was lost and out of control,
spurting jet after jet into her as she literally milked me in her
orgasm.
Mistress passed out and fell against me, my cock still softening
deep inside her. She came to slowly, then sat up and looked at
me quizzically, as if wondering how that had happened. She got
off me and, after releasing me, sent me home, very confused.
I was not just confused, I was flabbergasted when a call came
later in the week on my answering machine. "This is Kyra. You
are released from my service. Do not contact me or bother me
again. This is good bye."
I had sat there, staring at the machine, playing and replaying
the message, wondering what I had done. I went to her house, but
she would not even answer the door. I went to her office, but
she went to the ladies room and then had security escort me out.
I was inconsolable. I did not know what I had done or what I
could do.
I started watching her again, trying to learn anything I could
about what had gone wrong. The first thing I realized was that
no other men came to see her anymore. In fact, no one visited
her anymore. It was very curious. Then, about a month after my
dismissal, she left home immediately after arriving from work. I
followed her and saw that she went to a Doctor's office.
Concerned, I waited for her to come out.
When she did, she was moving like a zombie. She seemed confused,
in shock. Whatever was wrong, she was in no condition to drive.
I met her at her car and took her arm to lead her to my car. It
is a measure of just how far out of it she was that she let me
lead her off so docilely. I drove her home, and settled her onto
her bed. I brought her some soup and tea, and watched while she
ate it. I was leaving the room when she started to cry. "Kyra,
what is it?' I dropped the tray and moved to her side. "What is
it? You are sick? What did the doctor say?" Now, I truly
understood fear. Everything else was pale in comparison to the
soul numbing terror of losing her.
She looked up at me, tears overflowing her eyes, and started
giggling uncontrollably. "No, Mark, I am not sick, I am pregnant
- and I don't even know who the father is...." She broke into
sobs again. I gave what comfort I could, just holding her.
Finally she fell into a fitful sleep. I spent the night sitting
next to her bed, watching over her.
The next day, she tried to throw me out, make me leave. I may be
sexually submissive, but I am strong willed (read that
"pigheadedly stubborn") about important things - like Kyra.
Despite her best efforts to run me off, She finally had to accept
me living there and taking care of her. In what I thought was a
face saving maneuver, she insisted on continuing my interrupted
training for as long as I stayed on with her. In reality, she
did everything she could to run me off. Her 'play' became much
more intense, and yes, much more painful, but I stuck it out.
Finally, she figured out she would have to really injure me to
make me leave, and abandoned the heavy pain strategy. Over the
next few weeks, she did her level best to humiliate me into
turning on her and leaving. That didn't work either. Like I
said - stubborn, but she did try valiantly.
One particular stunt sticks in my mind. I made the typically
male mistake of commiserating with her by saying "I know how you
feel." Not smart, particularly when dealing with a woman who was
not particularly happy with me and who has some very unusual and
specialized connections.
Three weeks later I found myself in a rubber body suit that
included breasts, and one thing more. A fill connection.
Mistress hooked me up to her garden hose and turned on the water.
A rubber cavity in the vicinity of my lower abdomen started to
fill and in no time, I was preceded by about 25 pounds of water
that pulled me off balance and put a tremendous strain on my back
and shoulders. The addition of a maternity dress and Markie
looked for all the world to be about ten months pregnant.
I spent that entire day waddling about the house trying to
accomplish my daily chores Mistress, trying to stand and sit
without killing myself, and continually rubbing at the small of
my back. The absolute killer was when she insisted that I scrub
and wax the kitchen floor (by hand!). My back muscles still
quiver at the memory of supporting that ungainly weight on my
knees and one hand while trying to handle the scrub brush.
Before finally emptying the water balloon and releasing me to go
to bed, Kyra had looked me squarely in the eye and said, "NOW,
you know PART of what I feel." After that, I got to be
"pregnant" at least one day a week, although she never filled the
suit quite that much again. I got her point, though, and made it
my point never to be quite so placating again.
Part 2
The phone rang as I was putting the finishing touches on Markie's
subtle makeup for the night's class. I answered it and it was
Mistress calling from her car phone. She was running late and I
was to meet her at the curb. This was a new trick. I would have
go outside and wait for her, because she would not go if I wasn't
there waiting to shame her into going.
Another chance for Markie to be out in the real world. Damn, but
she was good at pushing my buttons, but she needed me now. And I
needed to be with her. It was that simple. Leaving her would
have been the ultimate proof of my unworthiness as a man, in the
best sense of that word. Taking care of her was all that
mattered.
She met me at the curb, and pulled away before I even had my seat
belt fastened. Driving was becoming difficult for her because
with her tummy so large, she had to sit back from the wheel.
With her diminutive size, she was beginning to have trouble
reaching the peddles and seeing over the windshield. Soon, I
would have to chauffeur her around and that would really tick her
off. Great.
"We will stop at Tony's for a bite to eat after class, Markie."
I saw her watching me out of the corner of her eye, waiting for
me to balk at this preemptive extension of Markie's domain.
I realized, to my surprise, that it did not bother me anymore. I
pulled down the mirror on the visor and realized that I would
pass. Mistress had taught me well. I smiled and said "Whatever
you want, Mistress, so long as you follow Doctor's orders." The
car gave a funny shimmy as she gaped at my acquiescence. I just
smiled and enjoyed the rare feeling of having surprised Kyra.
Class and dinner went fine. Mistress was starting to work harder
at her exercises and so the training session had gone off very
well. Dinner was punctuated by a return of my teasing,
mischievous Mistress-love as Kyra tried to get to me about being
out in a public setting in full drag, and how would it look for
such an upstanding young businessman if she were to give me away?
I gave her enough reaction to keep the game going, but by now, I
trusted her enough to know she would not truly hurt me. She'd
sting me a good one, but she would never do me lasting harm.
"Time to go, Markie. You and I have a date with a paddle." She
reminded me of the promised session. I groaned, but rose to help
her stand and then follow her out to her car. We never made it.
A large shadow appeared from behind her car and Mistress stopped
cold. The shadow moved into the light of one of the street lamps
and I recognized the man as one of the junior VP's at the place
where Mistress worked. I recognized something else. Mistress
had gone rigid with shock. Shock and something more.
"I have been looking for you, Kyra, ever since I got back to the
States today." he said. "You and I have business to complete
and then you are going to withdraw yourself from consideration
for that senior vice presidency."
He was big, this man, taller and much heavier than me, so he
towered over my diminutive Mistress. The attempt at physical
intimidation cause something to snap in Kyra. Vivid color came
back to her face. "You bastard, you complete, unmitigated son of
a bitch," each epithet was punctuated by a slap in the big man's
face. "You may get away with what you did to me, but I will
never step aside for a slime like you." Fury was etched in her
every feature, her breasts were heaving above her rotund tummy.
I had never seen a more beautiful woman in my life.
Then he made a nearly fatal mistake. He struck Kyra with the
back of his hand, knocking her down to the pavement.
My world went black for uncounted heartbeats, but the next thing
I knew, Mistress was slapping ME in the face, while two strong
men from the restaurant held me forcibly away from the limp body
of the man who had hit Kyra. From what I gathered after the
fact, Sensei was not going to be pleased with me, because I had
evidently gone berserk and demolished the man. "I'm okay, let me
go." I said to the two men holding me. Mistress nodded and the
men obeyed. I walked over to the shuddering hulk on the ground.
I grabbed his tie and pulled his face to mine. Bleary eyes
opened to mine. "If you EVER so much as breathe in her vicinity
again, there won't be enough of you to bury. Do you understand?"
There was no response, or maybe, I did not want to see it if he
made one. I shook him viciously by his necktie. "I said, Do...
You...Understand?" Each word was an explosion. This time, he
nodded, and I dropped him back to the pavement.
"Hey," one of the bystanders said, "you're a guy!"
Slowly I stood erect over my victim's carcass and then turned
toward the man who appeared to be ready to make a spectacle of
me. I cocked an eyebrow at him and then looked back down where
the other man lay on the ground. "So?"
Mistress interposed herself at this point. "He is my bodyguard.
The other man has been stalking me, which is not against the law
in this state. My guard disguised himself as a woman to try and
smoke him out for me." She turned to me, "I would like to go
home now, Mark." I nodded and helped her into the passenger seat
of her car. Ten minutes later, a very pissed off Mistress found
herself in the Emergency Room of the nearest hospital.
While I waited for her to be examined, one of the older nurses
brought me coffee and sat next to me in the waiting room. "We're
pretty sure she is okay. Just a bump and a bruise or two, but we
are waiting for the OB to finish with her before we send her
home."
Relieved, I nodded my thanks and was happy that I had taken time
to repair my make up after they had taken Mistress away. I'd
already had enough dealing with people seeing through me for one
night, but alas.... "You really are very good, you know. So
subtle that you don't call attention to yourself, feminine enough
to pass the second or third look. I assume she trains you?" I
gave her my best blank, confused look. She only laughed.
"Sonny, I've been training boys to be girls for twenty five
years, and you slipped just a little when you first brought her
in." This time, my look was real. I had no mirror, but if the
heat in my cheeks was any indication, I was blushing fire engine
red. "You were carrying her, silly. Most women would not have
the confidence in their upper body strength to try that. Most
women would have gotten us to send out some orderlies." She
smiled and patted my hand. "Not to worry, I'm the only one who
noticed. Well, back to work. She should be out in a few
minutes." She grinned at me. "And she is not happy."
I sighed. So what else was new. Come to think of it, Mistress
was probably getting some of her own back for bringing her here.
She probably sent the nurse out to me just to embarrass me to
tears. I relaxed a bit and smiled. She couldn't be too bad off
if her mind was working like that, and strangely, the little game
did not bother me as much as it would earlier in Markie's career.
I strongly suspected Mistress knew the woman. Her own words
about training boys had the ring of truth. So it was reasonable
to believe they knew each other and that my little secret was as
safe with Kyra's friend as I knew it was with Mistress.
She got to me, all right - nearly scared the panties off me and
embarrassed me to my red polished toes, but it was not still
bothering me. Mistress was taking care of me, even as she tested
me, and that was comforting. She was mad as hell at me, but she
still had not hurt me, not really.
For all that, the drive home was not fun. Mistress did not look
at me the entire ride, just sat and stared stonily down the road.
I let her in the house and she stalked off to her den. I went to
the play room and brought her paddles to her in the den. She was
sitting in front of the gas fire place staring at the dancing
flames in the still dark room. She heard me enter and looked up
at the paddles in my arms. "Put them away, Markie. The doctor
said no vigorous exercise for the next forty eight hours, and
Jean told me that meant no games."
I set the paddles down, and settled beside her chair. "Jean, I
take it, Mistress, is the lady you sent out to test me?" Her
head snapped around and her eyes and mouth made "O"s in surprise.
Bingo. I grinned at her, and for the first time in my
experience, Mistress blushed.
I changed the subject. "Are you really okay? Is there anything
I should be doing?" She shook her head.
"I just need to go to bed and get some rest." I stood and helped
her out of her chair, and then turned down her bed while she got
ready for bed in the bathroom. A squeal of surprise indicated
that she had found my surprise. I had installed a special toilet
seat designed for wheelchair patients. The seat had a six inch
riser on it so she could get up off it by herself. I hovered by
the door to her room, leaving when I heard her bathroom door
shutting.
eeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-
nnnnooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!
The piercing scream brought me out of a sound sleep. I was on my
feet before my mind was fully awake, moving toward Mistress's
room. She was wide awake and shaking when I tore into her room
at a run, "Kyra! What is the matter?" I was kneeling beside
her bed.
Her words came out in pants "Dream," she inhaled "A very bad
dream. The rape, all over again."
My head shot up. "Rape?" The pitch of my voice going falsetto
in disbelief. "Someone raped you?" Cold, rational rage washed
over me. Someone had raped her. Someone was going to die. My
voice became a whisper as I strove to maintain control. "Who
raped you, Kyra?" Not giving her a chance to stop me, I moved to
bed and pulled her against me, holding her to me.
Her eyes were large, pupils dilated in shock. I don't think she
would have told me if the shock didn't still hold her in its
sway. The story came out in fits and starts. The man who had
confronted her tonight, had raped her before leaving on an
overseas assignment. When she threatened her with the cops, he
had produced evidence of her dominatrix sideline which he would
give to the press and the police if she pressed charges. It was
doubtful, he said, if you could be charged with raping a whore.
Mistress squeaked when my muscles contracted at that word.
After that, she had dismissed her stable because she no longer
felt capable of dealing with a scene. The only things she did
after that were the scenes she pulled on me to try and get me to
leave. A month after the rape, she discovered she was pregnant.
I let her talk, feeling helpless as all hell, until finally,
exhausted, she fell asleep again. Not wanting her to wake up
alone again, I reached over to turn off the alarm, and settled in
for the night.
She did not go to work the next day. I did get a very strange
look from her when she woke up to find me in her bed, and her in
my arms. Later, I took her to her personal OB for a final
checkup, and then brought her back home. She stayed in her den,
staring at the fire, and fighting demons alone.
In the silence, I watched over her and did some thinking of my
own. None of the sessions she had put me through since trying to
dismiss me had been sexual or sexy. They had been tough, strict,
demanding, even painful, as she had tried to make me leave. She
had not even gotten off in any of them, and that was a sharp
departure from my previous experience with her. Mistress ALWAYS
got hers. And to my knowledge, she had not had an orgasm since
our lovemaking those many months ago. In my male ignorance, I
thought her pregnancy had reduced her pleasure in sex. Now, I
suspected differently.
The question was, how was I going to deal with what I thought was
going on. Until that sonuvabitch had showed up, Mistress had
been more like her old self, wicked, teasing, laughing at me and
the world. Was it Markie that had made the break through?
Markie going out into the world? I had some more thinking that
needed doing.
Mistress went to work the next day over my strenuous objections.
She simply was not going to give that bastard the power to
deprive her of her work. I admired her resolve as much as I
inwardly railed at her leaving the sanctuary where I could pamper
and protect her. In the end, though, it gave me an idea of what
might be help Mistress regain her full powers. A quick call to
her doctor (who thought I was the father), and another to her
secretary, and I was ready to put my plan into action. I went to
my room and then to the playroom to get the things I would need
to pull this off.
The phone rang just as I finished laying the trail. It was Kyra's
secretary calling to tell me Mistress had just left work, and
also to wish me good luck. What had Mistress told her? On
another issue, when questioned, she told me that the man who had
raped Mistress was leaving the company immediately. Some type of
financial misconduct, she said, but he had been gone before
lunch. I cursed under my breath, wanting to dismember him and
knowing he was beyond my reach for now. I thanked her and hung
up. Just enough time for my final preparations.
I heard the front door open and shut through the open hallway
door. "Mark? ... Maaaarkkk?" my name came out in two syllables.
"Whatever in the world....?" The questioning note in her voice
meant she had found the first of my trail markers. I had every
lacy, sexy piece of bright, colorful lingerie that Mistress had
bought for Markie to form a trail for her to follow to me.
Confident now that she would find me, I put the chain with the
key around my neck and reached up with my free hand to lock that
wrist into the cuff I had placed there. I was now bound hand and
foot, spread eagled on the leather bench in our playroom. The
bench, about four feet long and a little more than a foot wide,
only stood a couple of feet high off the floor. My feet were
cuffed to the bottom of each of one set of legs, and my hands
were cuffed behind me to the legs on the other end of the bench.
My head hung partially off the end of the bench. "Markieeee?"
Mistress voice was questioning and incredulous, not believing the
evidence of the trail. As she approached the door, my filmy
pengoir hung from the edge of the door.
Taking a deep breath and mumbling a prayer that this would work,
I answered her. "In here, Mistress."
The lights I had left off snapped on. If I live to be a hundred,
I will never forget the look of absolute disbelief on Kyra's face
when she first saw me there on the bench. I knew I made quite a
sight.
I had never dressed for her without being ordered to do so. The
closest I had come to that was the negotiation that had led to
Markie, birth coach to Mistress Kyra. Now, I had done so,
without any coercion, and I had pulled out all the stops.
I was dressed in virgin's white - a white shortie nightgown,
white frilly panties, white garter belt and silky white
stockings. My feet were shod in the white, very tall high heeled
shoes that Mistress had bought for me (that I still had not
learned to walk correctly in, but I wasn't walking now). My
makeup was still subtle, but brighter than I normally wore when
we went to class. Careful attention (and four face washings) had
given me color I would not have had without the magic of
cosmetics. A touch of green and blue highlighted my eyes and my
mouth was a much brighter red than my normal shade. In fact, I
had been forced to raid Kyra's make up kit to get the right
shade.
Mistress scanned my bound form in absolute amazement, her eyes
suddenly slewing back to lock onto the reason for my hasty search
through her things. Poking through the split crotch of the
panties was my cock, and wrapped around the base and around my
balls was a bright red satin ribbon that I had tied (again
multiple times) into a bright red bow. I had tied it tightly
enough for the ribbon to act like a cockring, preventing John
Thomas from losing any erection that I hoped this little
interlude might bring about.
Her hands fell to the tray table near the head of the where I had
put her favorite toys, including her paddle, her strap, and
assorted toys for teasing my nipples and ass. She finally looked
me in the eyes, confusion still coloring her face. "Mark, I..I
mean, Markie, I don't understand. What is the meaning of this?
You hate dress up, or at least, you try and make me think you do.
And I didn't direct you to prepare a session. I don't understand
this at all." she repeated.
I started the speech I had been rehearsing all day. "Mistress, I
love you, in every sense of that word, and with everything that
is me and is in me. For the past few years, I have submitted to
you, not because I wanted to, but because it seemed to be the
only way to be near you. I accepted some time ago, that with you
at least, I am truly a submissive, but I never shared that
revelation with you because you were not sharing that much of
yourself with me. Then you made love to me, and I was ready to
make that final submission to you, but you dismissed me before I
could. I have submitted to you these past few months to stay
close because you needed me. I couldn't understand what was
going on, what I had done to make you try and send me away, but I
couldn't let you, so I took everything you dished out.
"Now, I think I have an inkling of what is going on, what has
prompted your withdrawal, why you will not even let me worship
you orally anymore. That bastard took more than your body, and
in some way that I cannot fully understand because such an
outrage has never happened to me." I groped for the words, found
some and hoped that they would be the right ones.
"It is almost as if, you no longer found yourself worthy because
you allowed yourself to be raped. Well, that is bullshit,
Mistress!" My voice took on a hard, commanding tone that put her
back up, and lift her head in an angry, haughty pose. Good.
Just how I wanted her. "Well, I find you worthy, Mistress. I
love you, and I submit to you because it is right and good and
that is the way of it.
"This," and I lifted my head to scan my bound body in emphasis,
"is my statement of commitment to you. I come to you, dressed,
as a bride comes to her wedding night. I am yours, Mistress,
more than I was ever my own. I love you." I faltered, spent
from the emotion of the moment.
Mistress only continued to stare at me levelly. Frankly, it
became damned disconcerting to watch her quietly watching me,
saying nothing. I resisted the urge to squirm. Finally, she
moved, her hand sliding down my chest and stomach to grip my cock
gently in her hand. "And this, Markie? What am I to make of
this, hmmmmm?" Her voice was soft, cajoling, while her hand
gently massaged me to full erection.
I grinned at her. "Well, Mistress, you have taken care of any
real virginity I had. I put that there as a surrogate hymen, for
you to take as it pleases you, Mistress."
She just stood there, idly fondling me, getting me harder, with
the strangest look on her face. Now I was squirming, and not
from embarrassment! A flush crept up her face, and she licked
her lips. Then, I saw her eyes drop to her protuberant belly,
then frown. Her hand left my cock and took the key from my neck,
reaching for the restraints on my wrist. That was NOT what I
wanted out of this.
"Mistress, what are you doing?" my tone almost pleading. I
shook my hands to stop her from being able to fit the key to the
lock.
She gave me a sad smile, then kissed my cheek. "This is
wonderful, Mark, you have made me very proud, but I can't do
anything with you, not looking like this." Her hand fell to her
belly.
"No!" I was yelling, half in frustration, half in anticipation of
not finishing what I had started. The shock of me yelling at her
brought her up short. I calmed my voice. "I do not know why you
seem to think you can't. I checked. The doctor said you are
still okay for lovemaking for another week at least, as long as
you are comfortable. And you are gorgeous, Mistress. I can't
imagine you being more feminine than you are right now." It is
hard to leer like a horny, dirty old man when you've made your
face up as femininely as you can make it, but I did try. It made
Mistress laugh. I sighed. "And if it really bothers you, being
naked with me right now, I took care of that, too. Look on the
table." She did and picked up what I had left out for this, a
satin sleeping blindfold, also white.
"You really do want to do this?" She sounded as if she could not
believe her own words.
"Oh, god, yes, Mistress. I love you and it has been killing me
not to be able to give you pleasure."
A smile I had not seen in almost eight months was the last thing
I saw before the blindfold was fitted to my face. Darn it! I
figured she would use the blindfold, but had hoped she would not.
My ears worked at trying to find her in the room, locating a
quiet rustling sound, and then a snapping sound followed by a
sigh of relief. Two muffled thuds followed that I was fairly
sure were her shoes dropping to the floor.
Because I wore perfume myself, I could not catch her scent. Then
a light, feathery finger stroke from knee to groin almost lifted
me off the bench. Another finger stroked the other leg the same
way, then vanished from my senses. I was harder than ever, the
satin keeping me firmly erect. A soft chuckle registered and I
tried to place where she was, but could not. A row of hard
points grazed a path from my navel to my breastbone, - her
fingernails? Must be, I thought and if felt like she was
dragging them over the satiny fabric of my nightie, so that must
mean she was behind me. My head lolled back from the intensity
of the feeling those fingers were causing me. Never in a hundred
years would I thought such teasing of my breasts and nipples as
erotic. My toes nearly curled in the hard leather of the shoes I
wore.
With my head hanging unsupported, off the bench, I felt something
tickle my nose. It was so light, so subtle, that I almost missed
it. I tried to lift my head to search it out, but my forehead
hit and bounced back from firm, warm flesh. Legs? The tickling
returned, and this time with the spicy, half forgotten scent of
the Mistress aroused. Yet again, the feeling left and I was
alone.
I heard the scrape of something being slid on the floor to some
point directly behind my lolling head. The sound of metal moving
on metal, of something spinning harmonically behind my head. Was
that the adjustable stool? I heard a sigh of relief, the sound
of the scraping again, and then the sweet essence of Kyra was
with me again. I tried to move, but was stopped this time by
strong, gentle hands gripping the sides of my face.
I was pulled firmly against the softly haired hot core of her
vulva. She was hot, wet, silent. Eagerly, I began kissing at
the skin and flesh I could see only with my mouth and tongue. I
was completely disoriented from being upside down. Normally, I
knelt in front of Mistress so that I was head up to her. In this
position, her clitoris was beneath my chin, everything was
backwards and I could not see to adjust.
I used my mouth and tongue to "learn" her all over again. I
tasted, savored, explored and titillated. I slowly sank my
tongue into her, feeling involuntary little spasms trying to hold
me, drinking deep of her essential self. I kept moving around,
trying to search out all the little buttons I used to find so
effortlessly. When I found her clitoris, I then avoided further
direct contact with it, trying to drive her higher. Instead, I
licked, kissed and worshiped my way all around it, sliding away
as best I could when Mistress would shift her weight slightly to
force more direct contact with her clit. She would have to break
silence for me to do anything more before I was ready. This had
been building for eight months, and I wanted it to be worth the
wait.
Mistress was trying to hide her full arousal from me, working to
be quiet, stoic, but I knew her too well and she was too wound
up. I could feel her breathing change, felt the quivers of her
lower body as she strained not to give away her excitement.
Finally, she gave up all together, moaning quietly and rolling
herself slowly against my face.
I was just about to move in for the final attack, when she left
me again, my tongue pointed and hanging out of my mouth in the
open air. I felt a tug at my hip and the bow holding my panties
together came free, and cool air flooded my overheated groin. I
felt the hem of my nightie lifted. Satin settled on my face,
touching my nose and lips. Mistress had flipped my nightie up
over my face.
Skin brushed against the outside of both of my stocking sheathed
legs simultaneously and then my cock was gripped in a hot, strong
hand.
Then, in one smooth move, I was completely inside her hot woman's
sheath. Helpless in the maelstrom of sensations, helpless in my
self imposed bondage, I was aware only of the silken steel grip
on my cock. I let out a groan of sheer pleasure and frustration.
I felt her round belly "roll" up my torso, as she leaned onto me.
My nose was pinched tightly. Knowing what was coming, I opened
my mouth to accept whatever she would offer. A cloth mask filled
my mouth, sucking the moisture from my tongue. Something spring-like
hung outside my mouth as I closed my lips over her gag. She
had used my own panties.
Suddenly I felt her go rigid and felt her insides squeezing at my
cock. High pitched squeals of pleasure and release came from
above my head, and I smiled inwardly. Then the muscle
contractions signaling my own imminent release started, only to
be choked off by the satin ribbon. I bucked in frustration,
trying to loose the ring and loose my load, but to no avail. My
sharp movement set Mistress off again, and her movements pulled
my trigger again. All in all, Mistress climaxed four times, and
I tried to answer her each time. It is as close to multiple
orgasms as I have ever come, but it sure wasn't close enough.
Finally, Mistress calmed. I felt her tummy resting on my lower
abdomen, my rampant cock still sheathed in her now relaxed pussy.
I could hear and feel the her ragged breathing slow as she
regathered herself. She lifted herself off me and the change of
temperature on my slick, wet cock was shocking, but only for a
moment as a new heat enveloped my cock. Hard sharp points grazed
my length while something very agile teased at the sensitive
underseam. I felt her soft hand tease at my blotted balls, and
then it hit me. My eyes went wide beneath the satin mask - Kyra
was sucking my cock!! I fought for control, trying to make this
last, to stretch it out, to savor this first time experience to
its fullest, but I was too close. The spasmodic motion of my
cock in her mouth heralded to both of us another attempt to
climax. She practically inhaled me, and every muscle in my body
contracted and released. Again, the surging pressure started,
trying to expel sperm through the barrier of the cock ringed
ribbon.
Only this time, Mistress pulled the tie of the ribbon just as the
full surge of climax hit, freeing me from its tight constriction,
and I pumped my soul into her mouth with the semen. I screamed
through the panty gag, wanting to reaffirm my devotion to this
woman, finally falling back as the force of the orgasm subsided.
Her mouth left me. The strings of the panties were pulled,
jerking the gag from my mouth, to be immediately replaced by
Mistress's lips and tongue, kissing me deeply. My sperm was
still in her mouth, and she fed it to me with her quick tongue.
The taste was salty, but not unpleasant, and I would have
challenged worse things for Mistress to kiss me like that!
We held each other's mouths for the longest time. It was a
commitment, a bonding. I was hers, and I also knew, she was
mine. Not in the same way, certainly, but just as completely,
just as deeply.
She broke the kiss, and I heard her giggle. Then she spoke for
the first time since entering the room. "I took you in my mouth
in tribute to your symbolic deflowering, Markie, and I fed you
your own cum so that we would share that experience, together and
fully. You have pleased me today, luv. Here, let me give you
something to wash down that cum." Her nipple filled my mouth.
It was bigger, harder, more rubbery than I remembered. Gently, I
suckled her, and I heard her groan in pleasure, so I sucked
harder. Something sweet trickled into my mouth. Shocked I
dropped my head back, staring into my blindfold, my mouth open.
"What's the matter, Markie? Don't you like Mistress milk?" I
answered that question by action, finding her again and suckling
happily.
Mistress had slipped her robe on when she finally freed me and
removed the blindfold. I spent the rest of the evening as
Markie, learning to move more gracefully in those damned heels.
I earned a few swats for awkwardness, but the wonderful wicked
grin was back, so even those were welcome. I did not get my
panties back, though. I spent the evening bare bottomed, with
the ribbon tied loosely around my cock. I blushed every time I
saw Mistress staring at it.
That night, Markie slept in Mistress's bed.
A month later, I was with Mistress in the birthing room at our
local hospital. And I was there as Mark, at Kyra's insistence.
I was going to be the father of record for Kyra's child, and she
wanted me there as a father, not as Mistress Kyra's submissive.
I looked at my engagement and wedding rings on the shelf in the
birthing room. Mistress had asked me to marry her and given me a
diamond ring. I was so proud and honored, I am surprised my
shirt fit.
Mistress did great. Our daughter was born after a fairly long
labor. I still wince when I think of how much she hurt during
those hours, but she just kept on trooping along, comforting me,
for god's sake.
When I held young Nichole, for the first time, it did not matter
whose child she was biologically, she was mine and god help the
sorry son of a bitch who ever tried to hurt her. I was counting
fingers and toes, when a small mark caught my eye. It was just
above her little bottom on the small of her back and it was
shaped like a butterfly. I gaped at it, in absolute amazement.
Kyra saw my look and became concerned. "Mark, what is it? Is
something wrong? Tell me!"
Wordlessly, I showed her the birthmark on her child. Then I
handed her the babe, and, turning my back to her, pulled up my
shirt to show her the matching birthmark on me. Kyra's eyes went
wide, and she looked from me to the baby and then back to me.
"That means that she's ..." She couldn't finish the statement,
so I did.
"It means she is really and truly ours, Mistress-darlin'."
That was eight weeks ago. Kyra got the promotion at work, and I
have moved my business into her den, so that I can be home with
Nichole. We have a day lady who sees to the house and watches
Nikki when I have to closet myself or go out to entertain
clients, but we both enjoy serving the needs of a ten pound mini-
domme. We have a wonderful life together.
And it looks like its about to get even better. Mistress Kyra
just called from the Doctor's to say she now had the all clear to
... ummm... resume marital relations.
And one other thing.
Markie had better be waiting for her in the playroom when Kyra
has finished settling Nikki for the night. Mark or Markie, hell,
either of us or both of us, we can't wait!