Gender: Male Age: Secret Location: England
|Introduction: As requested, here is the third part of the story, and although it isn't as long as the others, you'll have to make do, and thay includes you, Tricky, even if you do seem to be my most vocal supporter. I'm not goint to promise a fourth part, but we'll see if any other ideas come my way.|
Settling down with Mistress
As you might expect from a little girl, Claudette threw a tantrum at being uprooted when her ‘father’ took the job at the veterans’ hospital, but that was the only tantrum. Even at her age, she understood just important it was to her ‘dad’ that she became a nurse. We asked what she thought would make the transition easier, and we very were surprised when she said that having a sister might be nice. There were still a number of war orphans in institutions, so within a couple of months of us settling into our new home, Claudette got a little sister. Yvonne was eight, to Claudette’s ten, but unlike Claudette, Yvonne had no memories of her parents. Information on Yvonne was a little sketchy, too. Her father was a soldier killed during the German invasion, and her mother was killed in an accident of some kind. That was really all we knew when we adopted her. At the beginning, she was quiet and shy, but she slowly left her shell behind, and became a typical, loud child, devoted to her big sister. We worried, at first, that Claudette would be jealous of Yvonne, but that was a problem that never occurred. In fact she was as fiercely protective of her little sister as Mistress had been with me. Being orphans gave them at least as much in common as two blood sisters ever had with each other.
As you might expect from a horny, red-blooded young woman like yours truly, I found Mistress’ new uniform to be very sexy; (far more so than her old one, even if it was far less elegant), and many times I insisted on taking her to bed while she wore most of it, (minus her knickers of course!)
Right from the beginning of my servitude to Mistress, nine years earlier, I very rarely used foul language, even in bed, which was usually the only time that Mistress did. My first real attempt was a surprise for Mistress, on a day that she came home from work visibly distressed. Both of our daughters were at school, and would be out of the way for several hours. Even as Mistress walked in the door to the house, I could tell that she was upset. My first thought was that she’d lost a patient, but that had happened before, and hadn’t effected her like that. My second thought was the patient had been a child, because Mistress loved children, and the idea of her being upset at losing one made far more sense than the idea of her being upset at the death of an adult. I was going to need to soothe my Mistress, the way I always had in the past, when she was upset.
After she hung up her coat, I wrapped my arms around my Mistress, grabbed her buttocks and kissed her lips. I told her that I thought she should take a long soak in the tub, and I offered to make her a cup of coffee. I’d take it to her while she soaked. After Mistress went upstairs, I heard the bath running, and headed into the kitchen to prepare Mistress’ cup of coffee. After several minutes, I took Mistress her coffee, and sat on the edge of the bath and listened to her day as she drank the coffee. I discovered that Mistress had been present when a little girl of three had died there. As Mistress began to cry again, I reached down to cup her chin in my hands, and then leaned further down to kiss her. “When you get out of the bath, I’ll help dry your skin and hair Mistress. After that, take me into the bedroom and I’ll make you feel better.”
After a few minutes, Mistress finished her coffee and got out of the bath. As she stood in the bathroom, naked, and covered in water, I dried Mistress’ body. Whilst doing so, I couldn’t resist fondling Mistress’ magnificent body. She put on a dressing gown, grabbed me by my left hand, and asked “What are you going to do, in order to soothe me, my Princess?”
“What I always do Mistress; kiss your lovely red lips, suck your big firm tits, and finger your succulent, sweet cunt!”
Mistress’ eyes widened at my choice of words and asked, “And what are you going to do after that?”
“After that, Mistress, I’m going to grab the big brush handle, put you on your knees, and fuck you in your tight arse, while I continue to finger your cunt and squeeze your tits!” Mistress smiled for the first time that day, released my hand and dropped her dressing gown to the floor. “Why wait to go into the bedroom,” she asked, while leaning against one of the walls, and presenting her bum to me. “Everything you’ll need to mount me is beside the toilet bowl, Princess. The cunt’s here, Mistress; just come and shove your fingers up it as you know I need you to do!”
“I’m to be Mistress?”
“Yes Mistress; I need to be dominated today, like you did before. Just do me a favour, and swear at me a lot more this time!”
I closed the bathroom door I leaned back against it; admiring Mistress’ body. She was thirty three, yet didn’t look a day over twenty five. Her choice of words on her last birthday were, “I’m in my early thirties, yet I’ve got the tits of a woman ten years my junior!” She did, too; early thirties; two years older than me, and her impressive pair of baby-feeders was somewhat firmer than my not quite so impressive pair was!
Leaning against the door, I put my hands onto my hips and told Mistress to put on her uniform. I overruled her objections, in the way I thought that she would want. “I told you to put on the uniform, now, bitch!” Mistress immediately began to get dressed, as I ordered. “Good girl,” I said, as she began putting her clothes on.
After that, I simply watched Mistress dress, the way I had done, so many times in the past. Then, as she stood in the bathroom, fully dressed, I began to give my Mistress what I was so sure she wanted. I walked around her as she simply stood there. “Tasty,” I announced, as I grabbed Mistress’ hips, and turned her to face the empty wall. “Lean against it,” I ordered. Mistress duly obeyed, placing her hands onto the wall, and leaning her entire weight on them. I walked to Mistress’, right side and grabbed her right arm. I gently applied pressure to her arm, and bent it so that she was resting her weight on her entire forearm. Then I did the same with her left arm. In her submissive position, I opened her blouse and eased her breasts out of the bra cups that constrained them. “Nice tits, nursie,” I announced, as I fondled them, feeling Mistress’ nipples harden under my touch. After which I pulled down Mistress’ knickers and demanded that she step out of them.
I knelt down behind my submissive little nurse and lifted her skirt up, revealing her bottom. It was a lovely sight, too! Blowing gently onto Mistress’ bumhole, I commanded her to, “Wiggle your arse for me, nursie.” Watching Mistress wiggle her bum, I asked, “Is this how a nurse gets promoted where you work? Do you do this for the doctors?”
“No Mistress. Of course not, Mistress.”
“Don’t the single doctors like getting your knickers off; putting you on an empty bed, with your arse in the air, and take turns fucking you like the dirty little bitch that all nurses are?”
“The only person I drop my knickers and bend over for is you, Mistress!”
“Yes Mistress; I swear!”
“Good girl,” I whispered, “I should be the only one!”
I stood up and walked to where Mistress had stashed our toys. There, I found the two small toys, the large toy, a tub of Vaseline and a pair of nylons. I picked up one of the nylons and returned to kneeling behind Mistress. “Put your hands behind your back,” I ordered in what I thought was a firm tone of voice.
“But…” she began to protest.
“Now!” I interrupted.
“What am I going to support myself on, Mistress?” my pretty little nurse asked.
“Those fine big tits of your should do as cushions; you're not fat, and they’re big enough,” I said, as I placed a hand between Mistress’ shoulder blades, and began to press the upper part of her body towards the wall. As Mistress’ breasts squashed up against the wall, she placed her hands behind her back, as I commanded, and I again told her that she was a good girl. I fastened the nylon around her wrists and tied it quite tightly. I then pulled the back of her skirt up and told her to keep hold of it. I wished I had a camera, at that moment, because the image was so erotic.
“Alright, nursie, open your legs and shove out your arse,” was my next demand. Mistress obeyed immediately; giving me what I wanted. Following that, I sat down and poked my head between Mistress’ thighs, from the back, to get at her sweet sex, and the taste I was so fond of. Mistress juices were flowing quite freely, and I lapped them up as quickly as I could. Mistress had taught me the art of what she called, “Finger assisted cunt eating,” and she had taught me very well. I worked on Mistress with both hands and my tongue, and stimulated her to orgasm.
Following on from that, I pulled Mistress away from the wall, turned her round and placed my hands on her shoulders. “On your knees, little nurse, it’s your turn to perform.” I pulled my skirt up and yanked my knickers down. “Eat my cunt, nurse, and eat it well!” Mistress shuffled closer, on her knees, and began to lick my sex. She could do little else with her hands behind her back, but she was always good with her tongue.
With her hair wrapped around my hands, Mistress couldn’t move away without tearing her own hair out, so she could do little but perform on me the way I expected. Standing there with my eyes closed, feeling Mistress’ tongue circling my sensitive clitoris, and feeling my orgasm building, I was never in any doubt how I felt about my Mistress; I loved her so much. There was also the thought that she must feel the same way about me, otherwise she wouldn’t have been doing what she was. After my own orgasm washed over me, I released Mistress’ hair, and pulled her to the standing position. After I manoeuvred Mistress back to her old position by the wall, pulled her hips out, and pressed her back up against it, returning the back of Mistress’ skirt into her hands. Reaching for the tub of Vaseline, I massaged a large quantity of it into Mistress’ lovely plump bum. She knew what was coming, or so she thought. I was giving her one idea, while intending to do something else. Beginning with just one, I began to feed my fingers into Mistress’ tight bumhole, and listened to the sounds of pleasure she made as I did so. I managed to get three of them in there, as deep as my last set of knuckles, and I’d never previously achieved more than two fingers knuckle deep. I’m sure that Mistress would forgive me for saying that she was doing a good vocal impression of a porn actress on the receiving end of a big cock, as my fingers thrust in and out of her rectum.
I knew that Mistress was close to orgasm, so I fed three further fingers into her sopping wet sex, and waited. The orgasm did not take long, and was very loud; I don’t think I’d ever heard Mistress squeal quite so loudly before, nor had I felt her body shake so much. Mistress’ legs gave way under her, and if I hadn’t caught her, she may well have collapsed onto the floor and been hurt. I had to catch her, because with her hands tied behind her back, she wouldn’t have been able to stop her fall. I lowered Mistress to the floor, and allowed her to recover from her orgasm, as I looked at her beautiful body, and fondled her rock hard breasts.
After her breathing returned to normal, I grabbed my Mistress by the waistband of her skirt and told to stand up. I opened the bathroom door and stood behind Mistress. I replaced the back of her skirt into her hands, and after picking up the largest of our toys, deliberately ran my right hand around her crotch, inserted my index finger into her sex and said, “Right then, dirty little nurse. That’s the foreplay over with, so it’s time for the main event! I’m going to take you into the bedroom and fuck your juicy little cunt until you can’t see straight. Now, walk, you dirty little cunt!”
Mistress walked to the bedroom and stood beside the bed. I gently pushed her face down onto the bed and rolled her over onto her back. Putting my half of the big toy where I wanted it, I settled down between Mistress’ thighs, and inserted her half of the big toy. Gently squeezing her big breasts and intermittently kissing her lips, I vigorously made love to my Mistress, listening to the soft moans she made.
Mistress had her strange tastes when it came to sex; the strangest of which was her fascination in watching me wet my knickers. The very first time that Mistress asked me to do that, I had to be convinced to grant her the wish. Upon her request, I climbed into our bath, and while not knowing what Mistress had in mind, I trusted her. Mistress tied my legs at ankles and knees, so that I couldn’t get up. My arms were fastened behind my back, and then Mistress opened my blouse and popped my breasts out of my bra cups. Then, as she sat on the side of the bath, squeezing my bare breasts, Mistress supplied me with plenty of white wine, knowing that when I drink any kind of wine, it goes through me quite quickly, and in quantity. I pee quite a bit after I drink wine, and Mistress took advantage of that fact to get what she wanted. I first realised what Mistress had in mind when I really needed to pee, and Mistress wouldn’t untie me, to let me get out of the bath.
She told me what she wanted me to do, and I didn’t want to do it. After all, I was almost thirty years old, and women my age do not wet their knickers. I had no alternative, of course; in the long run I was going to have to obey Mistress, or my bladder would burst. Smart woman that she was, Mistress knew all of this, and she cheated; she began to tickle me, knowing what happened when I laughed with a full bladder. “Come on Princess, let the piss out,” Mistress encourage me. After a few seconds, the first trickle exited my bladder and began to soak into the material of my knickers. After another couple of trickles, Mistress noticed the expanding damp patch on my skirt and began to tickle more vigorously. I knew I couldn’t resist Mistress’ attentions much longer, and allowed my bladder to empty itself into my knickers, and soak into them, and into my skirt. It felt particularly humiliating to be lying in a puddle of my own pee, yet it was also surprisingly erotic for a reason I couldn’t explain, even to myself. Mistress placed a hand straight up my wet skirt and into my knickers, despite the fact that both were soaked in my pee. After the hour or more Mistress spent playing with my nipples, they were erect and aching, and my sex was definitely wet, and easily able to accommodate three of Mistress’ fingers. Mistress eased her fingers up, and alternated attentions between my nipples. After my first orgasm, Mistress told me the reason behind what we had done. “That was what I wanted to do to you in your cell, the day we met, but we both know how impossible it was, back then. I wanted to yank down your piss soaked knickers and finger your gash then, but I had to hide my lust for your body, and hope I could get at it later. You’re such a good sport, giving me what I wanted. Now then Princess, a clean skirt and knickers, and more wine for you.”
“Yes, Mistress, although obviously you’ll have to change me.”
“Obviously,” Mistress laughed.
That night in the bath, I wet a total of four pairs of knickers and four skirts. After I wet the last set, Mistress climbed into the bath with me, and she peed on my blouse, to ‘add to the effect.’ Mistress had been holding it in for quite a while, and released a considerable quantity of pee on me. When it was all over, Mistress made love to me on the bathroom floor, and I didn’t even object to still wearing my soaked blouse and the last pair of knickers and skirt, also soaked, while Mistress rode me on the floor after she spanked me and told me how naughty a girl I had been.
My main trouble was that as I observed my adopted children grow and mature, the more I wanted to have one of my own, and to feel that child growing inside me. Of course, that simply wasn’t possible in my current social situation, so I was going to have to convince Mistress to allow me to have what I wanted, which she often did when I asked at the right time. The question of course, is, ‘what is the right time to ask my Mistress if she’ll give me her permission to commit adultery, especially with a man?’ How did I ask her for permission to let that man make me pregnant, and, of course who, out of the men I knew, would I ask to father that child?
It took several weeks before I encountered the set of circumstances I thought would be suitable. On a night when I had been particularly submissive to Mistress, with my wrists still tied to the headboard of our bed, and we lay on the top of the bed, sated by our lovemaking, I dropped the bombshell! The funny thing, in hindsight, was that Mistress didn’t seem surprised in the slightest by my request to be permitted a baby.
She reached a hand between my legs, rubbed the natural lubrication around my sex, and asked, “You want to let a man put his cock in here Princess?”
“Not really Mistress,” I replied, “but I want a baby, so I suppose I’ll have to let some man do that to me. I would rather not, but there is no other way.”
“I suppose I’ve been expecting this question for a while now. I was beginning to worry that I didn’t know you as well as I thought I did. Even while I was scheming to get into your knickers before the heat of your body had dried them, I wondered if you’d have this instinct in you. If I hadn’t gotten into your knickers more than ten years ago, I suspect that you’d have ended up married a long time ago, and had your husband’s babies long before now. I didn’t expect that I’d be able to keep you for very long; probably no later than the end of the war, even though at the time, I figured that we were going to win it.
I loved you on first sight, despite the situation, never mind the mess you were in, and up until then, I never dreamed it possible that I could. When you arrived at my workplace, I knew instinctively that you were the woman for me, and therefore I knew that I had to save you, in order to have you for my own. The fact that you saved me, three years later, told me that you felt the same way. I never deserved you; I always knew that, but at the time we first…” Mistress’ voice just faded away at that point.
“Never deserved me, Mistress?” I asked, in a puzzled voice, because I didn’t understand what she meant. Mistress had always been kind to me, for as long as we’d been together. She had treated me no differently to the way my father had treated my mother; providing everything for me, giving me presents, paying me considerable attention, and giving me sexual pleasure. That was why I loved her, and intended to stay with her until death separated us.
“No, never! Despite the fact that I never raised a hand to you, what I did to you at the beginning of our relationship was little better than what my men wanted to do to you in your cell. You didn’t offer me your virginity because you wanted me to take it from you. I took it from you by means of blackmail, after scaring you out of your wits, because you knew the alternative to giving me what I asked for. You gave me all of what I wanted, out of fear of what would happen to you if you didn’t. It was the best thing you could do, for yourself. Instinctively, I knew that what I was doing was as much for your benefit as for mine, perhaps more; you almost certainly wouldn’t have survived the alternative, but that thought didn’t ease my conscience as much as I had hoped it would.
Even as you fell asleep in my bed, that very first night, despite knowing what I had saved you from, I felt guilty for what I had done to you; guilty for what I had to do, to get what I wanted. Many years ago you asked me if I’d have done any different if the situations were reversed. If we’d been in London, and you were the one in the uniform, the answer is ‘no,’ I would not have done anything that you didn’t.
I’ve had a guilty conscience for more than a decade, which was only compounded when you saved my arse in Paris, so willingly, despite what I had done to you. I expected that you’d have made me work for it, but you didn’t. I might have felt better about those first six months of freedom if I’d had to earn that freedom, somehow; perhaps if you’d made me beg for it! My salvation was too easy, considering the amount of evil things I’d done; the amount of people that I’d hurt. I guess I can finally make it up to you now, my Princess, regardless of how I feel about your idea.
I won’t like the idea of you bedding a man, but if you’ll follow my guidelines, the child that you’d like so much, can easily be yours. I will insist on you not fucking its father in our bed, and will also insist on approving your choice of father, but aside from that, do what you will. Be discrete and don’t rub my nose in it. Oh, and one finally guideline; if you get a dose of the pox I will be very unhappy with you!”
“Now all I have to do is pick a man, and find the courage to ask for what I want. Then I have to hope that he’ll accept.”
“That’s not likely to be a problem,” Mistress laughed and pushed a finger beyond the entrance to my sex. “You’re young and pretty, and you have nice tits. Offer yourself to a young, single man, and you shouldn’t have much trouble getting his cock right where you want it putting.”
“Where to find a suitable man?” I mused outloud.
“I can think of at least one teenage boy who’ll have you anytime you offer him this fabulous body! He’s had a crush on you for years, and he turned eighteen a few months ago. Would you accept him as father to your baby?”
There was one local boy who I had watched grow towards manhood, and he’d never been able to hide his crush on me. I hadn’t realised that he’d reached adulthood. His name was Gerard and I figured he would do fine as father material, and due to his crush on me, would give me what I wanted, assuming I could find the courage to ask him for it. He was a good choice for many reasons; included amongst them were his innocence; he should still be a virgin and therefore couldn’t pox me. Being the shy sort, even if he boasted to all and sundry about the fact that he’d given one of the local lesbians a bun in the oven and claimed that the child growing in my belly was his, it was unlikely that anyone would believe him.
“Yes Mistress,” I replied. “He’ll do just fine, if you think he’ll be willing.”
“If you have to question that, then perhaps you don’t know as much as you think you do. He thinks that you’re the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and judging by the bulge in his trousers when he thought you weren’t looking, he wants to fuck you. He’s a man after all; offer him a fuck, and he’ll be in a rush to get your knickers off the moment you take him somewhere private! Remember, anywhere you like; on your back on the living room floor, on your knees over the arm of the chair, on your belly over the kitchen table, but not on our bed. ”
“Maybe so, Mistress, but I don’t know how to please a man in the way I know how to please you.”
“It’s far easier with a man, Princess, than it ever was with me. You don’t have to do anything to please him. Just lie there and think of your belly being full, and he’ll do the rest.” I know that it sounds silly to you, now, but I had little idea of the concept of lovemaking with men. Despite being more than thirty years old, I’d never even seen a naked man in the flesh, before. I’d seen pictures, of course, and read more than a few dirty books, but all of what I knew came from those books. “Mistress?”
“Will you untie my hands now, please?”
“No, Princess; I’m not quite finished with you yet! Due to the conversation turning me on, I’m going to have ride you again.”
The cute teenage boy with a considerable crush on me, agreed to plant a bun in my oven, and as Mistress predicted, could barely wait to get my knickers off, the first time we had sex. All I had to do was lie down on our couch, with my bum on the arm, and my legs sticking over, and let my borrowed man do all the work. The experience was initially pretty poor, because my borrowed man had little idea of what to do to satisfy a woman, although I decided that I would be able to teach him a little. I’d been wondering for many weeks how it would feel to have my borrowed man pumping my belly full of his semen. The books had given me a description of the experience, but the reality felt so much better! I agreed with Mistress that I would give myself to him once a day, for the week before my period, stopping when my period started, or when it was supposed to start. Mistress wished me luck in becoming pregnant very quickly, because she didn’t like sharing me with anyone. As it was, we had sex far more often than once a day; I think the record was five times; on the agreed days, and I never told Mistress about my disobedience. She’d have understood, though, or at least I would like to think that after she spanked me, she would have been able to forgive me. The one thing I didn’t do, though, was take him into our bedroom, although I would have liked to have let him make love to me on our bed. That was one of Mistress’ guidelines that I couldn’t violate. My main trouble with my pregnancy plan was that unlike Mistress, I enjoyed having sex with my borrowed man; I found the experience to be pleasurable; especially that sensation unique to having sex with a man, and a sensation that Mistress could never give me. I wondered how I might replicate that warm sensation at will.
As it was, it took three months for me to conceive, and I now have a flesh and blood son, to carry on Mistress’ assumed family name. My own had already been assured with the births of my three nephews, so I wasn’t overly concerned with giving my son my own name. I was quite willing to give Mistress’ fictional family name to my son.
Who am I going to borrow to give me my second child? And how am I going to convince Mistress to allow me that child?
When I realised I was pregnant, I was over the moon, and Mistress’ attitude seemed to change almost immediately. I’d realised that she wasn’t happy with my situation, but once she recognised the fact that I had a bun in the oven, her attitude seemed to change. The realisation hit us both on the same morning, when I was puking my guts up for the third morning in a row. As I knelt down in front of the toilet bowl, my insides heaving, Mistress knelt behind me and put her arms around my waist. “I guess that congratulations are in order, Princess. We both know what this situation means, don’t we?”
“Yes Mistress; it means that I don’t need to be unfaithful any more.”
Mistress chuckled. “That wasn’t quite what I meant, but there is that, too. What I meant was that in nine months you’re going to be attending a little person, twenty four hours a day. You’ll be up at all hours of the night when it cries, needing feeding, changing shitty nappies whenever necessary, and generally not getting much sleep. The funny thing is that I feel jealous of you for that, and I don’t understand why! I should be telling you that you have my sympathy.”
“You know how it is Mistress, you’re a woman, and you should have maternal instincts like mine.”
“I didn’t imagine I ever would, though. I’ve never had any reason to want children, but now that I see you showing all the symptoms of having one up the spout, I’m having second thoughts. Of course, I’m working, so I won’t have the opportunity.”
Over the following few months, as I watched my belly distend, and watched more and more of my wardrobe become unwearable, I began to feel bloated and undesirable. Of course, Mistress encouraged me to think otherwise, by her attitude towards my pregnant body. As big and fat as I felt, Mistress paid me many compliments on my beauty and the way my breasts were growing. Mistress also encouraged me to consider using my baby-feeders for the intended purpose, and I decided that I would. I liked the idea of my baby drawing his or her food from inside my own body.
Up until the third trimester, Mistress and I made love every day, and even after that, Mistress continued to give me pleasure with her skilled tongue, all the way until I went into labour. I had no idea of how unpleasant childbirth could be. Still, when I was lying in my hospital bed, with my son in my arms and one of my breasts in his mouth as he suckled from it, I was happier than I’d ever been. I had no real idea of how much trouble child-rearing was, but I was soon to learn just how many problems I was going to encounter. I spent a week in maternity, and Mistress got a temporary transfer so that she could spend time with me whenever things were quiet.
Still, a year on from that point, I’m a contented mother, with a child, and a partner, and my life is as full as I could ever hope. Mistress and I named the child after his father, to thank him, for the unacknowledged part he played in the boy’s conception, although we probably shouldn’t have. Mistress was every bit the proud father, despite the obvious fact that the child wasn’t hers. From being pissed-off that I wanted a child by a man, her attitude changed so much, so fast, that I began to think that she’d have no problem in my wanting another child.
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