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Chapter
7
The kitchen setting
might have caused Charles Dickens to expand on his "It was the best
of times, it was the worst of times." It was also, perhaps, the
kinkiest of times.
My two very attractive
Mistresses were seated at the table in the breakfast nook chatting
happily. Although both young women exuded supreme confidence, I
couldn't tell at a glance they were identical twins.
Linda was wearing her
usual baseball cap and paint-speckled oversized shirt, with those
sexy shorts under her shirt. She kept wiggling her toes in the sneakers
she wore while sporting a mischievous grin.
Kim looked dressed for
a 'power' lunch on Wall Street in New York, with flawless makeup
and her beautiful hair pinned up. She was dressed in a fitted green
suit the color of her eyes. She wore a white, whisper-soft pure
silk chiffon blouse under her waist-length double-breasted :-) jacket.
The intentionally slim 19" mini skirt drew one's eyes to her luscious
legs dressed in the sheerest nylon, and down to her 3-1/2" pumps.
I stood at the counter
with a head of lettuce and some celery, chives, shrimp, oil and
vinegar, preparing a shrimp salad for my dommes. I hobbled over
to the refrigerator for a lemon.
My feet were killing
me! I no longer needed physical restraint; the sneakers I just took
off were so damned tight. I hoped that Linda didn't do permanent
damage to my feet. The chains that held me now were all in my mind;
every so often I'd look over at the strong women who presently ruled
my life. I adored them.
The girls were dressed
differently, but I wasn't. Wasn't dressed, that is. I was stark
naked, my plump penis wagging happily as I moved slowly across the
floor.
Was it only a few days
ago that I had absolutely no idea how exciting and how natural it
seemed to be serving women? I don't know how I was going to explain
this to my wife. Margo loved me and cared for me for eighteen good
years of marriage. I loved her dearly, but until this week I didn't
understand what it -- the fact that she was Female -- really meant
to me. I knew our life together wouldn't be the same. My mind wandered
and I pleasantly thought about the consequences.
Linda's voice punctured
my daydream. "Hey, asshole, get your pecker over here and bring
some food. I'm hungry." I moved to the table as fast as I could.
Kim suggested, "Why,
sweetness, you look so uncomfortable. Wouldn't you like me to help
you slip into something soft and feminine?"
I stood before the two
women, bewildered. How could I make them both happy? My mind couldn't
solve this perplexing problem, but my penis didn't care. It started
to twitch.
Mistress Kimberly noticed
first and gave a little cry of delight. "Look at that, sister dear.
See, it is always best to deal with boys gently, to coax them to
that state where they will give you everything you want from them,
all the time."
"Bullshit! Train them
right, and you don't have to be nice to them. I don't give a fuck
what Tom thinks of me. I'm going to treat him any way I want, and
he's going to like it. With some boys, the more of a bitch you are,
the bigger their hard-ons get. As long as they get it off, they
don't care what they let you do to them." As if to demonstrate,
Linda grabbed my penis and pulled me closer. Then she started to
slap my organ. Not very hard; I think she was toying with me. At
any rate, my erection blossomed.
It felt so embarrassing
to be there but talked about in the third person as if I were a
pet or an inanimate object.
I was in an erotic daze
for the rest of lunch. I remember bringing them their food and beverages,
and realizing that the more I served them the better I learned to
anticipate their needs. I felt proud at my progress and could see
that eventually they would have me trained so well that, if they
chose, neither of my owners would have to give me any instruction.
The other thing that
surprised me completely was that my penis remained semi-hard all
through lunch, even though when the women were eating they totally
ignored me and my stiffness. At least in that setting, I didn't
feel an overpowering need to jerk off. Which was just as well because
that would have meant punishment and if Ms. Worthington and Mistress
ever put their heads together to devise a torture that they both
agreed on, I... well, it was a frightening thought.
As she finished her
lunch, Mistress noticed my continuing hardness and pointed it out
to Ms. Worthington. "Linda, look. I think our little boy is learning.
After all, what good is a cock if it isn't hard all the time?" They
both giggled.
I removed the dishes
and silverware and began to wash up. As I did, it was so wonderful
to listen to the girl talk. Somehow, I felt like one of them.
Shortly I finished cleaning
up. "Kimmie, I gotta get back to work. Remember, I want him trained
to *paint*, right?"
"You bet, sis. I promise."
Ms. Worthington left
the kitchen and Mistress beckoned me to follow her into the bedroom.
-=o=-
"Tina dear, you prepared
a very nice lunch. You like to take care of Mistress' needs, don't
you darling?"
The more she spun her
feminine web, and the more she wrapped me in her feminine garments,
the more sincere my responses became. "Oh, yes, Mistress. Mistress,
you are so beautiful."
"Of course I am, sweetness.
Do you like my new outfit? It's wool gabardine. What do you think
of green?" Her little-girl voice and the coy, shy smile Mistress
gave me could not conceal her raw power and confidence. I felt it
wash over me; I was in awe of her.
She stood in front of
me in her form-fitting green suit. The color of her eyes. The waist-length
jacket (which did nothing to hide the inviting curve of her breasts),
her tiny waist, the very short skirt which drew attention to the
seductive swell of her hips, her nylons and the sensuous legs they
covered, her knock-me-down-and-fuck-me pumps: the woman was drop-dead
gorgeous. There were these conflicting thoughts running through
my head. How she could project this aura of sweet innocence and
at the same time control me to the core of my being, the mark I
supposed of an experienced dominatrix, just baffled me.
I couldn't match her
outfit. I had nothing on. It was so embarrassing.
"Darling, that unsightly
body hair will have to come off." She took two bottles of Nair from
her suitcase and as she handed them to me she pursed her lips in
delightful innocence and kissed the air next to my cheek. Also,
she began to fondle my hardness and I knew there was nothing, not
one single thing, I would not do for this exquisite creature.
Getting rid of all my
hair, however, was ridiculous. It wasn't just a matter of manly
pride; what would I tell Margo? I made up my mind quickly. I would
please Mistress. I could always avoid having sex with my wife until
the hair grew back. There was no common sense to my decision: several
weeks of self-imposed celibacy with my wife for a few moments of
pleasure with Kim. At the moment Kim dominated all my will. I didn't
care about the consequences.
"Into the shower with
you, sweetness."
"Yes, Mistress." As
instructed, I stood below the shower nozzle spreading the thick
gooey cream all over my body from my neck down. Mistress did not
let me turn on the water for 15 minutes. The cream was so irritating
to my skin; my erection wilted. Did women have to put up with this
torture all the time?
When she allowed me
to shower, it was such a relief. As my body hair piled up at the
drain, part of me felt self-conscious, silly even. I felt even more
naked and exposed. Another part of me was thrilled at the attention
I was getting from Mistress.
During my shower Mistress
left the bathroom but by the time I had finished she had returned
with a very large fluffy pink towel and a box that she put on the
counter. She had removed her jacket, blouse, skirt and, I guess,
the slip that I was sure she had had on underneath. "Dry yourself
off, darling."
As I finished drying
she ran her fingers lightly all over my body. It felt so different
without my hair; I was truly naked. She was next to me in a very
frilly and inviting sea-green color-coordinated lingerie set, high
heels and a perfume scent that was just devastating. I wanted to
bury my head between her soft breasts and never come out. Once again
my cock was defying the laws of gravity. She had barely touched
my maleness and still, the woman was driving me stark raving mad.
I begged. "Please, Mistress,
I need you so much. I'll do anything, but please, please help me."
"Tina dear, now I want
you to listen to me very, very carefully." Her speech slowed, she
spoke each word very distinctly and her voice was oh, so soft. I
hung on to every syllable. I was riveted on every nuance. It had
been eighteen years since I had heard those very words, "I want
you to listen to me very, very carefully," and the earlier speaker
was the drill sergeant my first week at boot camp. At that time
I was scared to death. This time I felt a combination of anxiety,
frustration and arousal. I was totally bewildered, so completely
under her control.
Quietly, and in her
ultra-feminine voice she said, very v-e-r-y slowly, "Sweetness,
I have told you that you *are* going to learn to control your immature
urges. You *will* control yourself. You will find it easier as your
training progresses but I will not have you acting this way, and
if necessary I will think up a punishment for you that you will
not like. Do you understand what Mistress is telling you?"
"Yes, Mistress." My
tears welled up. I could see my watery eyes in the mirror.
Mistress gave me the
nicest, lingering kiss on my cheek. "Why darling, I'm so glad you
understand. This is going to be so much fun! Isn't it wonderful?"
She was so good to me.
And she took a large powder puff out of a circular box on the counter
that said Oscar de la Renta on it and she dusted me all over with
a powder that seemed to have the same scent as her perfume. She
gave extra attention to my engorged prick with her puff.
"You look so pretty,
darling!" she exclaimed. "This is so delightful! You are just so
sweet and so very feminine. Tina, dear, let's pretend that you're
Mommy's little girl. Wouldn't you like that?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"No, darling. 'Yes,
Mommy.'"
"Yes, Mommy."
"That's my little girl.
Do you know it's a good thing you're my darling little girl because
Mommy is getting all wet and excited. Isn't that wonderful? But
Mommies mustn't play with their little girls. So I'll just have
to try to restrain myself. That's sooo sad darling, don't you think?"
"Yes, Mommy." In spite
of my own overwhelming sexual urges, I found myself responding to
Kim's wishes, not because I thought playing along would make her
love me. I no longer played along because the game was fun (Indeed
it was still that!). I wasn't playing at all and this was not a
game. I was responding to Kim's desires because it pleased Kim.
And pleasing Kim became something exceptionally important to me.
I started to feel dizzy.
Maybe I was hyperventilating. Mistress, Mommy -- whatever -- put
her arm around my waist, held my hand and helped me as I staggered
into the bedroom. She sat me down on the bed. I sat there for some
time; eventually the stars -- little pinpoints of light that seemed
to be floating across the backs of my eyeballs, and in the room
all around me -- began to fade.
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