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Chapter
9
Some time later, Kim
stirred. She removed a clean pair of panties from her small suitcase,
retrieved her bra, blouse, half-slip, skirt and makeup kit and headed
for the bathroom.
I lay in bed cocooned
in my female trappings. From the ribbon on my neck to the tips of
my heels I was enveloped in intimate feminine apparel. Strangely,
I didn't feel aroused but I did feel totally comfortable. I decided
that if, at times, I had had doubts about the wisdom of submitting
to Mistress Kimberly's training -- if I were uncertain about where
it would lead -- it was likely that she really *did* know what was
best for me. That thought dwelt in my mind as I listened to Kim
in the bathroom. I resolved I would try as hard as I could to follow
her direction at all times.
Kim came out of the
bathroom dressed to perfection. Her blouse and skirt looked as if
they had been taken from the dry cleaning wrap just moments before.
She had not a hair out of place. She was flawless. Except for a
slight flush to her cheeks (which made her look even more adorable)
and perhaps the relaxed aura about her.
One might never guess
what she had been doing just 20 minutes earlier or, for that matter,
the play that for over an hour prior had let up to the intense,
rather short burst of activity.
She walked to the bed
and smiled sweetly as she looked down at me. Then she frowned as
she noticed the gluey, gooey briefs and said, "Tina, dear, we really
must deal with your sticky panties. Please go to the bathroom and
clean up. Mistress will find a clean pair of panties for you to
wear."
I moved towards the
bathroom taking the little steps that seemed the only way to travel.
As I moved, I had to agree with her; my panties felt like a real
mess. I removed my panties, but I didn't take off my other dainties;
Mistress had not said I could do that. I ran warm water over a washcloth
and cleaned myself up, rinsing the cloth a few times. Then I dried
myself with a towel and, on impulse, I took Mistress' puff from
the Oscar de la Renta box on the counter and powdered the feminine
scent all over the area I had cleaned. Perhaps I overdid it just
a little. With a towel, I smacked the excess powder off the tops
of my nylons and the front of my body.
When I returned to the
bedroom, Mistress was packing her suit jacket into her small suitcase,
which she closed and put a tray of some sort on top of it. She said
to me, "I am sorry, dear, I seem to have run out of clean
panties. Even the darling pink ones you wore this morning have a
stain on them, and that would never do. Tell me, what kind of panties
does Mrs. Greer wear?"
I froze at the mention
of Margo's name. Somehow, in the almost nonstop erotic fervor that
I had found myself in during the last couple of days, I had not
thought of my wonderful wife very often. A feeling of guilt and
fear washed over me.
My expression must have
given me away. "I believe I know what you're thinking, dear, and
it's all right. After all, hasn't Mrs. Greer said to you several
times in recent months that she felt you weren't being attentive
to her needs? And don't you fudge on your share of the domestic
chores -- the housekeeping and food shopping?"
I was astonished. "How...
how did you know that? I stammered.
"I really don't want
to go into it, sweetness," Mistress replied. "You may discuss it
with Linda if you like. But right now I want you to tell me how
you feel about something from the time we met until now. Do you
think you are developing a better appreciation of the essential
truth that in order to be truly happy the male must serve the female,
that he must put her needs first? Are you developing a better understanding
of that?"
Kim was going where
no girl had gone before, at least with me. I admit, I had my fantasies
about living in a female dominated world, but that's exactly what
it was, fantasy. Did she really believe this, or was all this for
my benefit? She sure knew that I liked serving her and her sister.
I was beginning to reconsider my relationship with Margo. If I could
only figure out a way to tell her.
I wanted to serve these
special women, but did I want to serve all women? My reason was
clouded by Kim's dominance. She had the power to control my thought.
"The purpose of man is to serve woman," I thought. Did I believe
that? -- did she? At the moment I honestly didn't know.
She brightened. "Well
then, sweetness, we really must get on with your feminine appreciation
training. I want you to open the drawer of panties in that dresser
and pick something that will match your pretty outfit."
I was sidetracked by
the immediate thought that, yes, there was one pair... And somehow,
probably because of my total enchantment with the power of Mistress
Kimberly's femininity, I never did get back to whatever it was that
was bothering me.
I opened my wife's panty
drawer. She had a fairly broad selection due, in part, to the fact
that I was in the habit of buying her the pretty unmentionables
for her birthday and for Christmas but I made sure I gave her other
gifts also because, well, I didn't want her to think I was a panty
freak or anything. There was so much I wanted to tell Margo now!
I found them. The nylon
briefs were white with a cute ruffle trim all around each opening,
but also they had a little green ribbon with bow at the front of
the waist and one on either side of the panties at each leg opening.
They would match. Besides the color coordination I believed Mistress
would like, I thought the ribbons provided a nice addition to the
nylon and lace I was wearing.
I turned to Mistress
proudly with what I had found and was about to put them on, but
she stopped me.
"Come here, dear," she
said, and I walked over to her, to the bed, beginning by now to
feel a little self-conscious without my panties on. It had seemed
natural before. That wasn't the only feeling that was changing;
whether it was because I was rummaging through my wife's drawer
of panties or because Mistress was such a vision of loveliness,
I don't know; whatever the reason, my penis was growing again.
Mistress grew it to
full staff with just a few strokes and then she kissed it! I had
seen fresh lipstick pressed to a Valentine's Day card which clearly
showed the imprint of my wife's lips, but the mark of Mistress'
lips was now there clearly on my cock.
"There," she said, "Now
everyone will know you are spoken for." Well, there were only the
two of us in the room, so I didn't understand who "everyone" could
be. But then Mistress had sprung so many surprises on me already
I began to wonder if she had some surprise which would involve "everyone".
I forgot my wondering
real fast. She began to play with me, no she was tying me... It
was the other strips of ribbon, the narrower ones that had been
on the bed all this time. I had forgotten about them.
Kim started looping
the ribbon around the base of my cock. Although I could see what
she was doing, I could never duplicate her intricate movements.
All I knew is that I wound up with a loop of ribbon around the top
of my balls, separating them from my penis. Another loop went in
front of and behind my balls criss-crossing underneath. My balls
stood out as clearly as those outside a pawn shop. She finished
the whole thing off with a beautiful bow on top.
Mistress stood back
a little to admire her handiwork. "How sweet! In fact, captivating
would be a good word, don't you think?" she giggled.
I wasn't sure if this
was funny or not until Mistress explained, "Dear, this will prevent
any accidents. You may not touch the ribbons without Mistress' permission.
And you won't be able to come unless the ribbons are removed. Isn't
that just wonderful? Put on your panties, dear."
"Yes, Mistress." I didn't
know if I was ecstatic as she was, but I'd promised myself I'd try
as hard as I could to do everything she asked of me and, after all,
she did know what was best. As I stepped into my new panties and
pulled them up my legs there was that thrill again as the nylon
of my panties pressed the nylon of my stockings. I brought them
down to my ankles once more and up again to try to satisfy my appetite
for this strange, wonderful new feeling.
Meanwhile, Mistress
sat down in my chair and was looking at the reflection of her lips
in a compact mirror as she freshened her lipstick.
"Tina, dear, come and
let me have a look at you." I minced towards the chair, as I thought
she expected me to move.
As I stood before her
it was clear that her eyes were focused on my crotch, on my rock-hard
penis straining inside its silken prison. I felt embarrassed that
the length of my baby doll barely reached the top of my panties;
I had this helpless feeling. But it appeared that Mistress liked
it just the way it was. I asked her if I might try to find a waltz-length
nightie because I thought I would feel less exposed. She laughed
and said that perhaps, in the future, she might permit something
a little longer.
"We must get on with
your training, dear. It is important that you demonstrate respect
for Mistress at all times. Any time Mistress enters a room, any
time you speak to Mistress, you are expected to curtsy. When you
are wearing ladies' slacks we will handle things a little differently,
but today we will practice with your skirt."
"But this is a nightie,
Mistress."
"You didn't curtsy,
did you, sweetness? I know it's a little shorter than your skirts
will be but I want you to grasp the hem on each side and pull them
out just a little as you lower your head, bring one leg back and
bend your knees slightly."
Mistress had me practice
curtsying for the next half hour. I learned the difference between
a normal curtsy and a more formal one, which was far more difficult
in terms of how low to the rug I had to get. I fell over twice before
I eventually got the hang of it. She laughed. I think my heels were
the problem, but she wouldn't let me take them off. She said there
was no point in learning to curtsy without heels if I was going
to be wearing them all the time. These references suggesting that
my dressing up might be more than an occasional thing bothered me
until I remembered my promise to do everything she told me. And
besides, she looked so absolutely lovely.
Technically, the ribbons
worked. That is, my engorged penis stayed rock-hard through all
of the curtsying. Mistress remarked on that several times and clearly
she was delighted. In a way, I felt safe and secure tied up the
way she'd done it. But it took so much of my willpower to fight
the periodic waves of total frustration that I began to feel exhausted.
I didn't think I could stand much longer.
Mistress noticed my
distress and told me to kneel before her. She was so perceptive,
and so good to me.
As I gazed up into her
beautiful green eyes (forcing myself to ignore the delectable viewing
options over all the rest of her body but not, unfortunately, the
soft insides of her thighs as her legs were crossed) she told me
I was now ready for my first painting lesson.
At last! I knew Ms.
Worthington did not think much of my painting skills and now Mistress
was going to train me how to do it properly.
"Sweetness, as you are
a beginner Mistress wants you to focus first on paint removal skills
and then, especially, on accuracy. And Mistress knows that if you
start small and get it right, then you will be better prepared for
the larger jobs later on.
Well, what Mistress
said seemed to make sense. I waited, expectantly.
"Please crawl over to
my suitcase and get the materials I have placed on top." I was grateful
Mistress allowed me to crawl because I really didn't feel I could
stand on my heels without more rest.
When I got to her suitcase,
I was astonished. But I found that when I was on my knees it was
actually easier to curtsy than when standing up. Because my knees
were already bent as much as they reasonably could be. I curtsied.
"But Mistress, this is nail polish remover and nail polish and a
set of little styrofoam thingies and cotton balls. And the brush
is so small I don't see how this training could help me paint better.
I mean, real painting."
"Are you questioning
Mistress, darling?"
I thought about Mistress'
question for only a few nanoseconds. I curtsied. "No, Mistress."
I crawled back to Mistress
with my tray of materials (have you ever tried to crawl on both
knees but with only one hand, because the other is holding a tray?)
and positioned myself at her feet. I followed her directions and
removed her pumps. Then I moved respectfully back a few feet as
she stood and removed her skirt and slip.
When she sat in my armchair
once more I crawled to her. She was so nice to allow me to unfasten
the garter tabs from the top of her stockings and carefully remove
the nylons from her luscious legs.
"Darling, the pink polish
went very nicely with the outfit I had on this morning, but it doesn't
match my green suit very well does it? That's why you have the fire-engine
red. Like my lipstick." She pursed her lips and kissed the air.
She looked so beautiful. I wanted so much for her to wrap those
wonderful lips around my cock and nurse at it, restrictive ribbons
or not.
But she was all business.
As she taught me what to do she explained that she wanted not only
the perfect color for her outfit and her hair, but also she shared
with me that some college professor had made an error in judgment
and did not understand that she was a straight 'A' student. Later,
at class she intended to help him understand his mistake, and for
that, she wanted perfect nails and she would accept nothing less
than perfection from me. If I was good at my new job and if I continued
as well with my training as I had so far on my first day (was it
really only the first day with Mistress?), I might be allowed to
do her nails every day.
I learned the proper
technique for removing polish. I learned that the styrofoam thingies
were separators for her pretty toes. I had two false starts with
the fresh polish when I accidentally brushed a little on her delicate
skin. She made me remove it all and start over. I think my mistakes
were because when I opened the bottle of nail polish, the aroma
(unlike the smell of the remover) captivated my senses. That probably
contributed to my carelessness. But I felt so lucky that I was at
her feet serving her need. I really began to understand that serving
woman was a privilege for me. I knew my place. I belonged at her
feet. And in what seemed no time at all I had finished each of her
delicate toes and felt so proud of myself. I screwed the top back
on the bottle of nail polish.
"Now, darling, here
is where you must take extreme care not to get *any* polish on my
freshly painted toes. Take off my panties and be very careful as
you slide them off my feet."
Mistress' directive
startled me, but I got right to the task as she raised her hips
slightly. I slid her panties over her curvaceous hips, down her
long shapely legs and I was extremely careful as I took her glistening
toes through the leg openings and waistband of her briefs, and didn't
get a single particle of polish on anything.
Mistress' next directive
didn't startle me. In fact she didn't have to say anything; I was
learning. She just smiled and spread her beautiful legs. Again,
I got right to the task.
Kissing, lapping, flicking
my tongue and suckling on Mistress' wonderful pussy, with her soft
thighs squeezing my ears, with her female scent and juices, is an
indescribable wonder. I know that my body is not within hers, I
know I am kneeling on the floor. But somehow it feels as if all
of me is inside her. I feel so loving of her and at the same time
feel so safe and protected by her. This time it was a little different.
Although I felt completely buried in and surrounded by the inviting
warmth, also I could tell by the insistent pressure of her thighs
that she had her legs raised straight out, nothing supporting them.
Of course. This would be because Mistress had no intention of getting
the slightest smudge on her freshly painted toenails. Mistress was
such a fabulous woman. Mistress tensed, then screamed, her thighs
squashing my head. Oxygen deprivation caused me to feel dizzy, disoriented
in that enveloping whirlpool. It was wonderful.
Mistress had me give
the same detailed attention to her long fingernails as she had had
me give her toenails, and it seemed that I was finished in no time.
Then she had me put her materials back on their tray and place them
on the counter in the bathroom. Finally, after the time I had spent
on my knees, I was able to stand again reasonably well.
By this time, Mistress'
toenails had dried and she had me put her stockings back on, her
panties, her half slip, her skirt and her pumps. I was quite good
at dressing her and Mistress said that I should expect those talents
to be put to use on a regular basis. I was not quite sure what she
meant but I was proud that by this time I was beginning to be of
real value to her.
But, also by this time,
the frustration connected with my unrelieved hard-on was just unbelievable.
If I had managed somehow to control myself for Mistress and delay
my own personal gratification for the proper time as determined
by her, the tight ribbons refused to allow me to go soft. I was
trapped.
"Please, Mistress,"
I begged. "Please take my ribbons off. I can't take it any more."
Mistress looked genuinely
concerned. Her compassion for my problem was obvious. And she really
looked sad as she said, "But I can't, sweetness, my nails are still
wet."
She thought for just
a moment, then
"LINDA!"
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