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Subject: Repost: TG: The Pregnant Domme (Fdom, CD, fm, romance)
Date: Fri, 4 Apr 1997 20:11:42 -0500
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The Pregnant Domme(ds, cd, Fm, rape, romance)
by Tigger@alices.com
(c) 1994

This is a work of fiction.  It is contains graphic descriptions
sexual interactions between adults and is intended for the
entertainment of individuals who meet the legal criteria for 
being considered adults in their locality and for whom the 
possession of erotica is legal.  If you are not legally adult or
it is illegal for you to read this, please leave.

Archival and reposting of this story is permitted provided no 
fee is charged for access to the archive, provided no changes 
made to the story and provided that this notice be reprinted
with the story.

Reposted as Spam Dilution.  The first 3 characters of my "reply to"
address are random and are intended as a deterrent to the virulent 
email spam I have been recently subjected to.  Please reply to:

tigger@alices.com

The Pregnant Domme


I watched as she struggled to lift herself out of bed.  I moved
to help her and was rewarded by an angry glare, which I ignored. 
She didn't stop me as I supported her back and took the off
center weight of her body in my arms.  Once she was sitting
upright, she slid her feet to the floor on the edge of the bed. 
She rested a moment gathering herself for her next effort.  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 upright, told me that I had not been as
subtle as I thought.  She knew I had helped, and she hated
needing that help.

Mistress Kyra Byers, the woman I love, was almost eight months
pregnant, and damned ready for it to be over.  The fact that she
had to face six more weeks of impending motherhood, combined with
the fact that the doctor thought she was not yet as large as she
would be were responsible for a lot of her temper.  Combine that
with me being there to witness her incapacity, and worse, that I
was giving her help that she needed, made it even more
infuriating for her.  Frankly, since I had moved in (barged in)
with her, she had done her level best to make my life hell, 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 was resigned, even a
little defeated.  It 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
stylish, but unfortunately, very low toilet seat, almost in
tears.  She was furious with herself for what she perceived as
weakness.  Not offering comfort that I knew would be rejected, I
put my arm back around her and helped her to her feet, letting go
once she had regained her balance.  I would probably pay for this
later, too.

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, and for the life of
me, I didn't know why, but she did this every Wednesday.

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 was 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, even to the point of using my
'safeword'.  Mistress had fiercely fought starting the Lamaze
training that her doctor insisted was mandatory for such a petite
woman.  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 gave me a second look.  I guess a
woman in the final stages of pregnancy isn't going to look very
long or hard 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 for me, consisting of a
short skirt and heels, was specifically singled 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, and pats me on the ass,
or pinches my cheeks, then tells me to ignore them.  Yeah, right,
uh huh, sure, Mistress.

I first met Mistress a couple of years ago, when I worked for the
same company as she did (where she still does work).  She is
really a tiny thing, only five feet one inch tall, and not quite
a hundred pounds (when she isn't pregnant).  Her hair is black
and she has always kept 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 are startling green against her almond complexion.  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 very affectionate
together.  We would pet and kiss passionately, but she always
stopped 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, now, to admit that I started keeping an eye on her. 
It wasn't stalking, not in the current sense, 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 billowed up 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 much of it.  
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.  Shiny black lingerie, made of what I now know
to be leather, enhanced and presented, rather than hid her
charms.  Something that looked like my grandfather's razor
strops, but with a wooden handle was in her hand.  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 dominant 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 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 way I had lived for the
last month without her entirely.

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
this with someone else.  In that letter, I acknowledged my guilt
and my lack of trust.  I begged her forgiveness, and I pleaded
for the opportunity to prove my worthiness by serving her in any
manner she deemed appropriate.  I paid the same courier service
she had used to return my ring 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 is the last time I
will 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 chance that if it 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.  In the clear
light of now, what actually happened 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
hurtful, only embarrassing.

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 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 was a full year of such training before
I had the courage to face myself as a true 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 come out.

It was during that training that 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 had 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 lifemate 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 safeword.  Up to that point, my safeword 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 lusted after the
vamp, but outwardly pretended to prefer the lady.

The blow up came when she decided to debut Markie, and I balked.
I was dressed to the nines in a very pretty party dress. 
Mistress herself had tastefully applied my cosmetics so 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 and I finally,
scared out of my wits that I would be cast off, but in too much
of a dither to do otherwise, codeworded her order.  She looked at
me in blank surprise.  I had taken intense corporal sessions,
strict bondage and other equally demanding tests without that
crutch being used.  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.   It was not until much later that it occurred
to me that she was giving me space to recover.  The next day, it
was back to our relationship as usual.   And as Markie
progressed, Mistress Kyra's hints about a debut took the
direction of verbal teasing and humiliation.  I noticed that she
watched very carefully at those times.  I suspect that she would
have had me out the door in a second if she saw the slightest
acceptance, but she never pressured me on it again.

Then came the night about eight 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 I was in Paradise.  In all our time
together, the closest I got to making love with Mistress was the
oral worship which she loved and which she demanded I become
superb at.  All of my orgasms had been by hand - mine or hers,
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
in her pussy.  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 answer phone.  "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 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 with tear filled 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
submissive, but I am also strong willed about important things -
like Kyra.   She finally accepted me living there to take care of
her in return for my servitude.  In reality, she did everything
she could to run me off.  Everything got more intense, and yes,
more painful, but I stuck it out.  After she figured out she
would have to really injure me to make me leave, she resigned
herself to making me merely miserable and did her level best to
humiliate me into turning on her and leaving.  That didn't work
either, but I have to give her an A for effort.

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 really happy with me to begin with and one 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. 
The rubber at my lower abdomen started to fill and in no time, I
was preceded by about 30 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 the daily tasks Mistress had assigned me, 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 the kitchen floor be scrubbed and waxed (by hand!).  My back
still quivers in the memory of supporting that off balance 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 after that, although she never
filled the suit that much again.  I got her point, though, and
made it my point never to be quite so placating again.

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 new.  I would have to
wait, because she would not go if I wasn't there.  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
she had to sit so far from the wheel.  With her diminutive size,
she had trouble reaching the peddles and seeing over the
windshield.  Soon, I would have to chauffeur her around and that
ticked her off, too.  "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 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 that session went 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
lights and I recognized the man as one of the junior executives
at the place where Mistress worked.  I recognized something else. 
Mistress was almost catatonic from emotional overload.

"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 the vice presidency."

He was big, this man, taller and much heavier than me, so he
towered over my diminutive Mistress.  But Kyra is a strong person
and she shook off the shock and 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 mistake.  He struck Mistress, knocking her down. 
His error was nearly fatal, because 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?" 
He nodded, and I dropped him back to the pavement.

"Hey,"  one of the bystanders said, "you're a guy!"

Slowly I 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
to 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."  I had repaired my make up after they had taken Mistress
away.  I'd 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.  They
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 wasn't too bad off if
her mind was working like that, and strangely, the little game
did not bother me as much as I had thought it would.  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
Mistress'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 to me.  She was mad as hell at me, but she still
had not hurt me, not really.

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 got her paddles and brought them 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 had
snapped around to me and her eyes and mouth made "O"s in
surprise.  Bingo.  I grinned at her, and for the first time I
since I met her, 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 toilet seat
with a six inch riser on it, designed for wheelchair patients so
she could get up 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 him 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.

The incident had rocked her.  Petite, she had always dominated
men who wished to be dominated.  She had never thought about her
own physical safety before, and this had forcibly reminded her
that vastly superior brute force and viciousness could overwhelm
the most dominant personality.  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 herself
cuddled in my arms.  Later, I took her to her OB for a final
checkup, and then brought her back home.  She stayed in her den,
staring at the fire, and fighting demons alone.

I watched 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 objections.  She 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 safe harbor in which 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 to get
the things I would need to pull this off.

The phone rang just as I finished laying the trail.  Her
secretary had called 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 was gone before lunch.  I
cursed under my breath, wanting to dismember him and knowing he
was beyond my reach.  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 left
all the 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 back with my one remaining 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 in some manner made to
do so.  The closest I had come to that was the negotiation that
had led to Markie, birth coach.  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 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 I had ever worn before.  In fact, I had been
forced to raid Mistress's make up kit to get the right shade.

Mistress scanned my bound form in absolute amazement, her eyes
suddenly scanning 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 months, 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. 
"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 to be as female as you possibly can, 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 have thought of 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 worshipped 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 puss. 
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 string-
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 each time.  It is as close to multiple orgasm as I
have ever come, but it sure wasn't close enough.

Finally, Mistress calmed.  I felt her tummy resting on my lower
abdomen, her hands leaning against my chest to support her
weight.  My rampant cock was still fully sheathed in her now
relaxed pussy.  I could hear and feel 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 - Mistress 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.  Such a gift
warranted another type of first time, 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 slipped into 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, unlike the other times my butt had been warmed
recently, 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.  She grinned every time she saw the red creep up
out the white of my outfit.

That night, Markie slept in Mistress's bed, although we really
did not sleep all that much.

A month later, I was with Mistress in the birthing room at our
local hospital.  And I was there as Mark, at Mistress'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'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 any
bastard 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, loving Mistress."

That was eight weeks ago.  Mistress 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 have a good life.  Mistress called from the
Doctor's to say she now had the all clear, and one other thing.

Markie had better be waiting for her in our room when she
finished settling Nikki for the night.  Mark or Markie, hell,
either of us or both of us, we can't wait!

