Mistress is Pregnant

From alt.sex.stories.tg Tue Jan 7 16:09:57 1997 Path: fu-berlin.de!news.nacamar.de!news-feed.inet.tele.dk!insync!feed1.news.erols.com!howland.erols.net!news.bbnplanet.com!cam-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!uunet!in1.uu.net!206.55.3.16!usenet ~~Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.tg ~~Organization: House at Pooh Corner ~Lines: 515 Distribution: inet X-Newsreader: MicroPlanet Gravity v1.10.540 ~Xref: fu-berlin.de alt.sex.stories:215851 alt.sex.stories.tg:7581

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!