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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!