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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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One Thousand Kisses
by Marlissa 1997 (address withheld)
***
I drink in the stimulating vision of my young mistress
thus posing in her lingerie for me, her little bumps of
breasts straining against the tight red silk of the
half-chemise, nipples rubbing hard against the soft
fabric, the way her red thong panty jealously guards
the feminine charms of her velvety boyish hips. (Mm,
tg, tv)
***
I drive the long ten miles to the edge of town,
wondering what fun I will have with my little mistress
Lily. I keep her in a cheap apartment on the outskirts
of town, conveniently away from the exclusive executive
subdivision where the missus, kids and dog reside. I
pay the apartment manager there something extra to take
care of her shopping needs, so there's absolutely no
need for my caged dove to have a car or even to leave
her little love nest. Lily waits there for me when I
have time for her, like this afternoon.
What's she wearing? I wonder. There's a quickening in
my blood as I picture her in any number of pretty
things she owns. I may keep Lily on a short leash, but
she's given carte blanche when it comes to ordering
clothing and lingerie. Normally I instruct her
precisely in what she is to wear for my visits, but
every so often I allow her the privilege of choosing
her own wardrobe. This is one of those rare days. I
think of it as a test to see just how far she had
really come since I assumed complete control of her
life.
I suspect I will be pleased with her choices this
afternoon. I better be-- for her sake. Lily has learned
through many hard lessons just what I like to see her
in. The early days were filled with her stubborn
refusals to dress appropriately for me, her lover. She
deliberately didn't wear skirts, wouldn't wear the
pretty lingerie I gave her, rebelled even at the idea
of wearing her panties and bras! Well, that was a long
time and many tears ago. Now Lily wears exactly what a
young lady of twenty-five who happens to be a
businessman's mistress should wear.
She has an Amy Grant CD on, and a love ballad calls
softly from the other side of the locked door. Ah, I
can smell her perfume as I slip the key in the door. I
open it to see my girl waiting for me, trying not to
show just how skittish my presence makes her. Lily
beams at me with what I know is feigned pleasure. To
think she is happy to see me is fanciful in the
extreme. But my little mistress must at least look
happy that I am here -- she is well aware of my
dramatic mood swings. If she gives so much of a hint
that my appearance is distasteful to her, she's likely
to find herself treated to a good old fashioned over
the knee spanking, and that at the very least. So she
smiles, her lips pouting in a coy, ingratiating way.
With cool detachment I inspect my prize and indeed am
pleased with her attire. She rocks nervously from one
small foot to the other, hidden in her red boudoir
mules. Lily has picked out the red silk waist-length
kimono I bought her last month when I was in Tokyo.
Though she has it sashed, it does nothing to hide the
red half-chemise and the matching thong panty, nor does
it hide her long lustrously smooth legs. Her long
auburn hair is tied with a simple red ribbon into a
ponytail, which rests high on her head and cascades
down her shoulders in a fine wash of soft, sweet-
smelling hair. Lily has hypnotically deep green eyes
which are constantly dancing from one object to
another, now looking at me, now her painted nails, now
around her apartment.
The fire red lipstick on her lips is a desirable
contrast to her otherwise unpainted face. She has
little need for make-up; her looks are well-defined and
classic, with high cheekbones, a small straight nose,
and high forehead, giving her face a pleasingly "long"
look so often seen on models. She is more Ivy League
co-ed than call-girl, with a pronounced Waspy look. In
short, Lily is a natural beauty who you might see in a
Land's End catalog. Well, she's not entirely a natural
beauty.
"Hello, darling!" she chirps. I throw her a sardonic
grin as I take my coat off. Instantly she is at my
side.
"Please," she purrs, "let me do that." I shrug and
allow her to take the coat, then my jacket off. With
great care, she takes them and hangs them carefully up.
As she does, I look around the living room/kitchenette
that dominates her small apartment. It could be any
twenty-something single woman's apartment-- furnished
with cheap but comfortable pink painted Pier One wicker
chairs; a coffee table with neatly stacked recent
copies of Glamour, Cosmo, Red Book, and Self; wall-to-
wall deep plush pink carpeting; soothing pastel
wallpaper highlighted with a floral design; a simple
brass floor lamp; framed museum prints.
The TV and VCR setup face the wicker couch, where Lily
enjoys her favorite movies. She has to rely on movies
for entertainment, since the cable is not hooked up.
But I have been generous in providing her with a
complete library of movies which she enjoys over and
over again. Some of her professed favorites include
Pretty Woman, Sleepless In Seattle, and Working Girl.
There are other tapes and other magazines less
appropriate for the coffee table, but those are kept in
Lily's bedroom until needed.
"Is Missus Slatsky taking care of you, Lily?" Missus
Slatsky is the apartment manager, an ancient Polish
woman who barely comprehends English.
When I first installed Lily here, Missus Slatsky was
alarmed at all of Lily's ramblings, her crying jags and
screaming sessions. Two things assured her that all was
well. First, she was told that Lily had a long history
of mental problems and to ignore any strange things she
might say. Second, the rent check was voluntarily
doubled. These seemed to calm the Polish landlady's
concerns at once. And since then, of course, Lily has
calmed down to a significant degree. So much so that it
has given birth to an idea I've been toying with.
"Oh, yes, Darling! Just fine! I hope she hasn't called
to complain again to you," she bites her lower lip, "I
promise I've been behaving myself."
I nodded, dropping myself into one of the chairs. "Be a
good girl and fix me a drink."
She nods and smiles sweetly. "Scotch and water, My
Love?" I nod and she minces off to the kitchen. I pick
up the book opened flat on the coffee table. "This what
you're reading?"
She returns with the drink, handing it to me. "Oh, yes!
It's just the most super book I've read in a long time.
Thank you so much for giving it to me. I'm learning so
much about," she stops then continues, "you men and how
you think!" She sits down next to me, her kimono rising
up her smooth thighs.
"Women Are from Venus, Men Are from Mars," I read the
title. "Yeah, some of the secretaries said it helped
them understand their boyfriends and husbands better.
So, what are you getting out of it?"
She looks down as she answers, her ponytail flouncing
as she speaks. "Uh, it talks about how men use language
as a weapon to dominate and how we, uh, females try to
use language as a way to please."
I sip my drink. It is mixed perfectly. "Oh really? So
you girls are better at language than we men?"
Lily shook her head. "Oh, no, Darling! I'm just not
explaining it right at all, am I? I'm just repeating
things that I don't really understand-- I'm such an
airhead at times, aren't I? Oh why do you put up with
such a stupid girl?" She snuggles next to me and I
stroke her thigh.
"Maybe because she's about the sexiest little doll in
town." I looked at her purposively. She immediately
assumed a big gushing grin. I continue. "Don't worry
about it. You just keep reading your book about boys
and girls. I'm sure it's helping you understand things
better--even if you can't explain it very well, isn't
it?"
She nods, pressing her face against my arm. I stroke
her thigh again. "Did I tell you about Lyle's old
secretary the last time I visited?"
"Lola?" Lily looked up, her lips parted. She gulps and
shakes her head. "No, Darling, you didn't."
I take another deep sip of Scotch. "I fired her."
Lily's green eyes widen. "Really? Why?"
I smirk. "I got tired of her. I'm surprised Lyle kept
the bimbo around as long as he did. What a slut! She's
pretty loose if you understand my meaning. After Lyle's
accident I took her on as my executive assistant.
'Course, she was desperate for a job. You know, a
single mother with a teenage daughter, lots of debt.
That was how Lyle got her to do anything he wanted--
he'd just threaten to fire her. So she went along with
it. She didn't need much breaking in either."
Lily was listening, trying hard not to display any
emotion. Her deep green eyes stared hard into the pink
plush carpet.
"She was good at giving blow jobs. Seems that what Lyle
used her for, even bought her knee pads-- what a prick
that Lyle was, huh?"
Lily nods solemnly. "Oh, yes Darling! Just awful!"
"Well," I continue after a deep slug of Scotch, "she
was good on her knees, but she gave me a hassle when I
told her I wanted to do her from behind. Lyle never did
her that way, she said. So I fired her. She started to
cry, begged me to keep her on. She said she'd even let
me do her any way I wanted, that she apologized, that
she would be a good secretary." I stopped.
Lily looks up sadly. "So, uh what did you do?"
"Well, I told her it was just too late for apologies.
And to be honest, I wanted to get rid of any reminder
of Lyle anyway. And that she may as well forget about
trying to get any kind of job in town that I didn't
want her to have-- that I would make calls and keep her
from getting work. That put her over the edge. 'But
what will I do?' she was crying. I told her if she was
a good girl, I'd talk to my friend about getting her a
waitress job at the Harem Room, under one condition."
Lily gasps. "The strip club? But she's almost forty!"
"Yeah. Well, so she cried and finally agreed. What did
I want from her, she asked. Then I pulled her up, threw
her across the desk and did her from behind. After I
was done, I threw her out. And now she's swinging her
ass at the Harem Room." I chuckle as I recall what my
friend the manager told me. "Seems she has to work real
hard for her tips because she only gets minimum wage.
She's gotten real good at earning those extra dollars
under the table. My pal said she found out her kid
needed braces and she's begging him to let her lap
dance. He's trying her out himself first, he said."
Lily looked away sullenly. I held her small chin in my
hand. "Guess Lyle's old girlfriend is really used
merchandise, isn't she?" She didn't answer, but I saw
her lips purse in powerless ire. I let it drop.
"Anyway, at least Lyle's wife is doing fine. Heard she
got married."
Lily fixes her eyes on mine. "What!?!" Then remembering
herself, her tone softens. "Uh, I mean, goodness, who
did Janet marry?"
"That attorney who lived next door."
Again, Lily's voice rises uncharacteristically. "Ken
Gage? That phony? She married Ken Gage?"
Again, I take her chin in the palm of my hand. "You
keep your voice nice and sweet missy! And yes, she did.
Turned out she was having an affair with him for years
and when Lyle had his tragic accident, she married him.
They left town with the big insurance check she got for
Lyle's accident. I know they got what I got for the
policy I put on Lyle shortly before the accident
occurred-- a cool million."
Lily's face burns bright, her cheeks flared red in
impotence. She kept her pouty mouth shut, unwilling to
further enrage me.
"I don't think you ever knew that I had a policy on
Lyle. But that was the money that I've used for all
your treatments. Why, Lily-- you're the million dollar
girl!"
A tear dropped from her hard emerald eye, but she
remained silent. I brushed it from her cheek. "There,
there, Doll. No tears on that pretty face. I want to
see a smile."
I can tell my bombshell has devastated her.
Nevertheless, she looks up and forces her plump lips
into a cheerful smile.
"Good girl," I respond. "Let's take this off now, shall
we?" I unloosen her kimono belt and draw it off her
pale shoulders. She shivers as I caress her bare
shoulder through the red half chemise. The half-top
rises high on her trim, flat tummy and over her small
but pert pair of breasts. I finger the spaghetti strap
of my mistress' chemise.
"Very sexy. Victoria's Secret?" Her breathing is harder
and I watch her petite chest rise and fall with
fascination. I savor her nervousness with selfish
abandon.
"Uh, no, darling. Playtime Designs." Her smile is
thinner, her voice more brittle. You'd have thought
after a whole year, Lily would be more relaxed with my
hands on her lithe, taut body! I let my hand drop to
her lap, and my fingers tug gently at the thong panty
waistband.
"Very hot. Stand up, Lily girl. I want to get the whole
effect."
Lily obeys, rising in her high-heeled mules and facing
me with a wistful, concerned gaze. With invisible grace
she spreads her legs ever so slightly. One palm
sinuously rubs up her thigh, till it finds rest on her
hip, while the other remains still by her side. Her
head is held high, though her eyes are on the carpet.
She hates being scrutinized this way, like a mannequin,
but I love it.
I drink in the stimulating vision of my young mistress
thus posing in her lingerie for me, her little bumps of
breasts straining against the tight red silk of the
half-chemise, nipples rubbing hard against the soft
fabric, the way her red thong panty jealously guards
the feminine charms of her velvety boyish hips.
"Turn around."
She spins like a top, pirouetting to display her
backside. It is so erotically appealing, such a tender
and inviting prize of plump, rounded flesh. I want to
rip her dainty red thong off and use her at once, so
excited am I by my young mistress! But I refrain. The
afternoon is long. I merely pat her briskly and pull
her into my lap.
As she sits squirming in my lap, I let my hand slope
over her thigh and cup the small bulge in the red
thong. "And how is Lyle today, Lily?" I ask cruelly.
"Okay, I guess dear. Only sometime he hurts so much,"
Lily pouts. I squeeze the bulge and she blushes.
"And why is that Lily?" I press.
Her sad green eyes look at mine, seeking some mercy.
"Sometimes he gets hard and the chastity belt cuts into
him. It really, really hurts, Darling!"
I shrug. "Guess you shouldn't think naughty thoughts.
Then Lyle wouldn't get so excited, now would he?
Besides, the only thoughts that should get you hot and
bothered are thoughts about me. And those kind soft
girl thoughts wouldn't get Lyle horny would they?"
She nods, giving up the subject as easily as I brought
it up. "No, Honey. They wouldn't. I'll try hard to keep
thinking about you and not to think those other
thoughts. But after I've learned My Lesson, then it can
get hard again, can't it My Darling Dearest Lover? And
maybe Lyle can come back again?" Her eyes are pleading
now, frantic to hold onto this thought.
I pat the bulge and smile. It is the first time she has
whined about being a girl since I walked in the door.
She has been getting better every day about refraining
from asking the perennial Question. Though naturally it
spills out. She can't help it. The fact of it is that
my Lily doesn't really like being a girl for me, not
matter how much she proclaims her feelings for me.
"Oh, maybe." I give her this small hope. It doesn't do
any harm and gives her something to hold onto.
Naturally she won't be returning to her former
masculine self. She is too delicious a mistress. My
hand is creeping up her chest now, exploring underneath
her chemise. "Any change in your bra size, pet?"
She sighs. "No Darling Dearest. Still 32 A's. I know
how disappointed you are in me." She watches me twiddle
her hard nipples with a sulky sour expression. She
hates having breasts, hates that I point out how tiny
her bosom is, hates how every day her measurement is
still the same unacceptably small size.
"Hmmm," I ponder, "perhaps you'll have to see Dr.
Villanueva for some help in that area."
She squirms. She can't help it. Lily equates the good
Doctor with every kind of physical agony it is possible
to conjure up. It was Villanueva who helped me
transform Lyle, my young, promising, overly-ambitious
protégé into Lily, the delightful feminine toy I now
hold in my lap. "Darling," she begins cautiously, "is
that really necessary? I thought you said last time
that you were getting to like my boobs?" She thrusts
her chest out ever so teasingly.
Lily isn't exactly telling the truth -- what I did say
was that I was getting used to her little knockers. But
I have spoken to Villanueva about her boobies already
and it seems quite hopeless. The hormones have done
what they could and implants are the only option. Which
would be fine, except that when Dr. Villanueva
conducted the radical surgery that turned the 5' 9" 155
pound Lyle into the 5" 4" 115 pound woman that is now
Lily, he did such a complete job that any alterations
now will jeopardize Lily's health.
Her reduced frame simply couldn't carry the increased
weight of more eye-catching breasts -- even B cups!
Villanueva tells me it is a problem many flat-chested
women have discovered with implants in the last decade.
Though often the increase is minimal at best, the
adding strain can wreak havoc on the back and neck
muscles. So Lily, though she doesn't know it, is
permanently stuck with her pointy, perky girlish boobs.
Because just as you can't increase the strain on the
subject's body, you can't just change it back either.
Ironic, isn't it? I allow her to hold onto the slim
hope that she may someday be allowed to be a male again
-- if she learns all her "girlie lessons" to my
satisfaction. But if I ever did turn her back, she
wouldn't survive the transition! The metamorphosis --
including metabolism modification, feminized body
chemistry, artificial female hormone generation, the
surgery that increased the body fat around her hips and
bust, the shortening of her calves to better accept
high heels, the miniaturization of her feet and hands,
the collagen that gives those lips their pouty lift,
all of it is now impossible to turn back. But she isn't
yet ready to accept that fact yet. So I continue with
the charade that it is still possible for her to become
a 'him" again. It comforts her when I am out of
patience with her or particularly harsh. Someday I will
tell her though, I suppose.
She grins blissfully as I tweak her nipples. I don't
bring up the doctor again. "Oh, Darling! I am trying to
get all those bad boy thoughts right out of my head!
How lucky I am to be such a girl now!
I'm sooo very happy now, I can't believe I was ever a
boy, even for a
single minute!" She bent down and addressed her remarks
to the small bulge tightly packed into the locked
chastity belt she wears underneath her thong. "Oh, how
I hate that awful thing!" She looks up at me, all
sweetness and hot, breathy promises.
"Darling, I'm trying so hard to be the perfect woman
for you! All I want to do is make you happy! I miss you
all day and I'm so lonely when you're away from me! I
promise, I'm trying to be such a good girl for my man."
The little minx rubs her hot cheeks against mine. "Your
Lily wants you to forget all about that naughty boy
Lyle!" Her lips part and she takes my hand in hers,
kissing it dutifully. "I'm going to prove to you that
I'm just what you want me to be-- your precious
princess, who loves you with all her heart!" She takes
my finger in her mouth now, letting her tongue worship
the digit as I pump it in and out.
"I'm your man, am I?" I ask snidely.
She stops sucking on my finger, looks up and gives me a
"dirty girl" leer I know she's been working on all
morning. My feminized beauty nods and slips off my lap
and to her knees. I watch as she gingerly unbuckles my
belt, unzips my fly, all the while licking her moist
lips. My cock springs out, staring back at her at rigid
attention. Lily looks up to read my mood.
"Lily, you little whore!" I chide playfully.
She gives me a dainty shrug. "You're my man though. So
it's alright, isn't it My Love?" And taking my silence
as permission, she opens her mouth and takes my man
meat within her sweet mouth. As she takes the head deep
down her throat, Lily's cheeks hollow out, suctioning
every drop of the cum now spurting in her mouth. I let
her do the work as always, watching the red lips
greedily draw in every raw strand of my milky jism from
my cock. In a minute it is over. With ladylike care,
Lily draws the flat of her hand gingerly over her lips,
wiping off the residue of my cum.
She is so much better now than she was only a few
months ago. When I first introduced her to the art of
oral worship, she was prudish in the extreme. A few
spankings were required to convince Lily that yes, she
would learn to become an accomplished and pleasing
cocksucker for me. Gradually she accepted the necessity
of learning to do it, then doing it to my satisfaction.
Many tears were shed because of Lily's refusing to deep
throat, then swallow, then swallowing whole. And they
were not my tears that were being shed either. But now
Lily is thoroughly proficient at her new skill.
She performs her new duty at least as well as the
actresses in the hardcore porno movies she must watch.
Porno movie watching is Lily's "homework" -- she has
dozens and dozens to learn from. Depending on which
area she needs "work in" I will pick a tape for her to
watch. Favorites include "Mouth Whore," "Lingerie
Slut," "Backdoor Bimbo," and "The Master's Pet Bitch"--
my favorites naturally.
Speaking down to the kneeling girl, I compliment her.
"You are learning your Lesson well, baby. You are
making a better mistress every day. Get up..."
Lily rises, still grinning at my praise. She has missed
a drop of my spunk on her lower lip and it gleams in
the glow of the afternoon light. I cup her chin and she
realizes the goo she has missed. With kittenish zeal,
she extends her tongue and draws it into her mouth, all
the while looking at me with her glinty emerald eyes.
"Let's go into the bedroom, Lily." I pat her butt,
which she wriggles for me and off she goes, prancing
into the bedroom. I follow, enjoying the enticing sight
of her exaggerated hip swivels. Very nice. In the
bedroom, she first unbuttons my shirt and carefully
hangs in the closet. Next she kneels and takes my
shoes, socks then pants off. As she pulls off my boxer
shorts, there is an intensity in her face as she looks
at the hard black mass of my pubic hair. It is moments
such as this, undeniably face to face with the object
of her humiliation and servitude, that Lily my mistress
must think of her former life as my young protégé Lyle.
Such a promising young executive he was -- full of vast
ideas and plans for the furtherance of my commercial
empire. He was so like me -- ambitious, self- absorbed,
without a trace of pity or regard for others. His
ruthlessness was matched only by his brilliance. He
must have thought he was bound for success when I asked
him to join me on that fateful business trip, the one
on which he "died."
How could he know that what I was interested in was a
mistress, not a loyal aide? And how could he know that
the very attributes that made him a merciless
businessman could be so easily turned inside out to
transform him into this simpering, sexy playmate?
The bed is turned down and I slip into it. Lily follows
me. She watches me with the eye of a trained observer.
The thoughts go through her mind-- what will I want
first? How will I use her? How can she accommodate me?
Will she displease me and find herself punished? The
riding crop is on the nightstand, a silent and ever-
present reminder of my willingness to "correct" her
wayward performance. I stroke Lily's thighs and she
responds with girlish abandon, her arms on my bare
chest, her soft cheek rubbing against me in rising
heat.
All an act. Too bad they don't give out Academy Awards
for being a sex slave. Lily would win one for sure. I
know she really hates it to her core, hates my hands on
her, and hates this role I insist she play for me. She
thinks that her life is to play the role of fawning
sexpot. What she will soon realize is that her role is
her life. I tell her to assume the position and with a
lazy smile, she rises on her fours, places her cheek on
the pastel sheet and flips her ripe red thonged bottom
up into the air obediently. The dreamy expression on
her face anticipates a deep and hard penetration.
Like cocksucking, Lily has learned to be used like a
woman through many hard and severe lessons. She
detested being penetrated at all when first put through
that experience. She would buck helplessly, screaming
in her bonds as I used her from behind. As in all the
other changes she has endured, she accepted the act in
degrees. She stopped struggling, then sullenly began to
take an unwilling part. By then I had disposed of the
bonds -- my dove had been convinced of the
incontrovertible fate that awaited her. Then she
discovered I could be kind if she were more cooperative
and she assumed a pliability, allowing her supple body
to be used by me without too much trouble. Within a few
months, she was beginning to recognize her ability to
please me afforded her supreme opportunities and I
noticed her devouring articles in her many women's
magazines about the female orgasm. It wasn't long
before she was actively faking orgasms to impress me
with her femininity.
Kneeling behind her, I yank the thong down. She spreads
her legs wide-- as she had been taught-- and braces
herself. My cock is erect now, a missile aimed at her
nether-hole. I drive it inward with vigor, grunting as
I invade the dainty space with all my might. Lily gasps
as my masculinity conquers and occupies her plucked and
feminized portal, bucks as I plunge in and out of
between her girlish hips. Lily's "Girl Lessons" are
proceeding well, so much so that in recent weeks her
"orgasms" have become better and better simulated-- so
well in fact that at times she acts just like a twenty-
five year old woman in the throes of sexual bliss.
I feel the internal pressure building up within me and
I prepare to explode in my dainty partner. Lily senses
with her growing feminine intuition that I am ready.
She has learned from her reading that it must be
perfect-- for me, not her. She must "cum" when I do.
Her moans and whimpers quicken, my love victim
beginning her own ascent to feigned satisfaction. At
last she has achieved a certain counterfeit grace in
mimicking the ultimate moment of female bliss and as I
plunge into her from behind, we both merge -- master
and slave. Lily is a "moaner" and her sighs are music
to me, the soft moans from which I take pleasure.
I withdraw and she slumps forward, a sulky frown on her
face as she feels the cock which has filled her leave
her so empty. I lay on my back and she presses her face
to my chest. She knows it is her place to want to
"cuddle" after lovemaking, so she dutifully rubs her
body, slick with perspiration, against mine. I gently
press her head, which is pressed against my chest, down
to my lap.
She opens her mouth to protest, but clamps her full
lips closed. She knows what I desire and must obey. Her
loose straight auburn hair falls over my limp member as
she forces herself to clean it with her tongue, my
palms guiding her mouth over the spots where I wish to
feel her velvet ministrations.
As she services me, I reach casually to the nightstand
where her diary resides. I can feel myself grow thick
and heavy down below as I flip through the scented
pages, scanning for the more recent entries. Lily must
keep a full account of each and every one of our sexual
escapades -- a little chore that I feel reinforces her
identity as a nubile young mistress. I smile as I read
of my visit just a few days ago.
"My beau has just left and I am already so lonely! I
press the pillow just to smell him! This time was so
special, so exciting! He called from work, saying he
was passing by the apartment and had time for a
"quickie" between meetings. I hurried to get ready and
when he arrived I met him at the door on my knees,
ready to give him a great big kiss where I know he
wants it! I had his zipper down and was ready to get to
work when Missus Slatsky passed by! What a sight she
saw-- me tricked out just like a call-girl in my sexy
black lace panties, bra, garters and fishnet stockings
on my knees ready to give my lover a blowjob!
My beau just laughed. "Good day Missus Slatsky!" he
said and shut the door. We both laughed-- how funny!
Then he pointed to his wristwatch and reminded me why
he was here. Of course I got back to work. Then when he
said so, I stood up. He took me in the kitchen, bending
me over the table..."
I scanned to the bottom of the page and saw her sticky
red kiss mark with the number "124" penned in small
numbers. Lily keeps a strict accounting of the times I
use her for my pleasure -- it is absolutely crucial she
does so. The number symbolizes the count toward freedom
-- her "quota" if you will. The rules are strict. She
can only count anal penetration -- oral doesn't count.
Thank goodness or she'd already be up much higher that
she is. She can't wait till she reaches 1,000. That's
the magic number, you see. When she reaches 1,000, I
have told her that I will free her -- that I will turn
her back into a male and return her to "the world" with
a small bit of money and the chance to leave this life
as my submissive mistress.
Why would I make such a promise? You have to understand
the ambition and efficiency of my former assistant and
protégé. Lyle was a driven personality, absolutely
fixed on the objective at hand. Give him a goal and he
wouldn't stop till he achieved it. It was an element of
his personality that I wanted to retain in his new role
as my mistress -- one I knew would lead him to become
the perfect sexpot afternoon plaything. Thus I gave
Lily her quota -- she would need to service me like a
woman 1,000 times and if she did this I would release
her from her gender. In doing so, I knew she would need
to work as hard as she could to becoming the sex-toy of
my fantasies.
One thousand.
And so she did. Unwilling at first. I am not a strong
man, but I am not weak either. I found it fairly easy
to punish my frail pretty girl when and however I liked
whenever I felt she wasn't "trying" hard enough. The
crop scares her and she fears the thick black belt I
keep in the nightstand.
But for the most part, an over-the-knee, panties-down-
now! spanking is sufficient to lead her back to the
light. And so my Lily began to act her role in earnest.
Now she plays the part so well-- the coy "good girl"
who I force to be a "bad girl" in bed-- that I know she
will never regain her male identity again. The
swaggering young executive is gone forever. I know
this. She does not.
One thousand.
As my kitten licks me clean, I once again consider my
plan to turn her into my secretary. She won't be an
assistant, like all these young college women demand.
Oh no-- Lily will be an old-fashioned secretary, one
that will do all the menial, common things that
powerful men such as myself shouldn't bother with --
fetching my coffee, picking up gifts for my wife,
sewing on the odd loose shirt button, and so on. Sort
of like a maid at the office. I probably won't even
have her type or file -- I'll have other girls do that
and keep Lily concentrated on my personal needs, if you
get my meaning.
One thousand.
And like an old-fashioned secretary, she'll dress and
act the part. She'll prance through the halls in tight
revealing miniskirts, sheer blouses, lots of make-up,
big hair-- the works. Lily has learned to strut with
the best of them and I'm sure she'll give the passersby
in the hallways quite a show in her high heels and long
legs. I won't be shy about giving her pats on the fanny
in front of my employees and treating her like a kewpie
doll. She'll hate it inside-- the former hotshot being
condescended to and groped. But she'll smile like a
spoiled kid on the outside.
One thousand.
And behind closed doors, well -- use your imagination.
There is only one reason for having a sexy, young
single woman as your very own personal secretary. And
unlike wives and career gals, good little secretaries
don't DARE to talk back or disobey. That's what I've
planned for Lily for months and months. And, believe it
or not, she'll be thrilled at the prospect of becoming
my hot, horny secretary. It just gives her even more
opportunities to reach her magic number.
One thousand.
But what will happen when she reaches that final
number, right after the thousandth time she has offered
up her tight, rounded pantied backside to my needs?
Will she rise from her submission, triumphant in the
expectation I will free her? Or will she realize then
that she is unable to escape her conditioning, that she
NEEDS to be treated like the slut she has become? What
will I do as she yanks up her panties? Merely pull them
down again, begin to fuck the bitch for the 1,001 time
and begin the next millennium of her life of rape? I
just can't wait.
Lily raises her head, her tongue now sliding eagerly
over the stretch of my "foot-long" giving me her best
Julia Roberts "I'm hot for you!" leer. I command her to
get on her fours and the feminized executive scampers
to obey. So efficient, so erotic my mistress is. She
shall earn two little entries in her diary today.
THE END
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 64