The Painter's Daughters

                         Copyright 1995
                     by mule@tpe.com (Mule)
                               and
                 farnorth@alaska.net (Farnorth)

                            Chapter 7

The kitchen setting might have caused Charles Dickens to expand
on his "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." It
was also, perhaps, the kinkiest of times.

My two very attractive Mistresses were seated at the table in the
breakfast nook chatting happily. Although both young women exuded
supreme confidence, I couldn't tell at a glance they were
identical twins.

Linda was wearing her usual baseball cap and paint-speckled
oversized shirt, with those sexy shorts under her shirt. She kept
wiggling her toes in the sneakers she wore while sporting a
mischievous grin.

Kim looked dressed for a 'power' lunch on Wall Street in New
York, with flawless makeup and her beautiful hair pinned up. She
was dressed in a fitted green suit the color of her eyes. She
wore a white, whisper-soft pure silk chiffon blouse under her
waist-length double-breasted :-) jacket. The intentionally slim
19" mini skirt drew one's eyes to her luscious legs dressed in
the sheerest nylon, and down to her 3-1/2" pumps.

I stood at the counter with a head of lettuce and some celery,
chives, shrimp, oil and vinegar, preparing a shrimp salad for my
dommes. I hobbled over to the refrigerator for a lemon.

My feet were killing me! I no longer needed physical restraint;
the sneakers I just took off were so damned tight. I hoped that
Linda didn't do permanent damage to my feet. The chains that held
me now were all in my mind; every so often I'd look over at the
strong women who presently ruled my life. I adored them.

The girls were dressed differently, but I wasn't. Wasn't dressed,
that is. I was stark naked, my plump penis wagging happily as I
moved slowly across the floor.

Was it only a few days ago that I had absolutely no idea how
exciting and how natural it seemed to be serving women? I don't
know how I was going to explain this to my wife. Margo loved me
and cared for me for eighteen good years of marriage. I loved her
dearly, but until this week I didn't understand what it -- the
fact that she was Female -- really meant to me. I knew our life
together wouldn't be the same. My mind wandered and I pleasantly
thought about the consequences.

Linda's voice punctured my daydream. "Hey, asshole, get your
pecker over here and bring some food. I'm hungry." I moved to the
table as fast as I could.

Kim suggested, "Why, sweetness, you look so uncomfortable.
Wouldn't you like me to help you slip into something soft and
feminine?"

I stood before the two women, bewildered. How could I make them
both happy? My mind couldn't solve this perplexing problem, but
my penis didn't care. It started to twitch.

Mistress Kimberly noticed first and gave a little cry of delight.
"Look at that, sister dear. See, it is always best to deal with
boys gently, to coax them to that state where they will give you
everything you want from them, all the time."

"Bullshit! Train them right, and you don't have to be nice to
them. I don't give a fuck what Tom thinks of me. I'm going to
treat him any way I want, and he's going to like it. With some
boys, the more of a bitch you are, the bigger their hard-ons get.
As long as they get it off, they don't care what they let you do
to them." As if to demonstrate, Linda grabbed my penis and pulled
me closer. Then she started to slap my organ. Not very hard; I
think she was toying with me. At any rate, my erection blossomed.

It felt so embarrassing to be there but talked about in the third
person as if I were a pet or an inanimate object.

I was in an erotic daze for the rest of lunch. I remember
bringing them their food and beverages, and realizing that the
more I served them the better I learned to anticipate their
needs. I felt proud at my progress and could see that eventually
they would have me trained so well that, if they chose, neither
of my owners would have to give me any instruction.

The other thing that surprised me completely was that my penis
remained semi-hard all through lunch, even though when the women
were eating they totally ignored me and my stiffness. At least in
that setting, I didn't feel an overpowering need to jerk off.
Which was just as well because that would have meant punishment
and if Ms. Worthington and Mistress ever put their heads together
to devise a torture that they both agreed on, I... well, it was a
frightening thought.

As she finished her lunch, Mistress noticed my continuing
hardness and pointed it out to Ms. Worthington. "Linda, look. I
think our little boy is learning. After all, what good is a cock
if it isn't hard all the time?" They both giggled.

I removed the dishes and silverware and began to wash up. As I
did, it was so wonderful to listen to the girl talk. Somehow, I
felt like one of them.

Shortly I finished cleaning up. "Kimmie, I gotta get back to
work. Remember, I want him trained to *paint*, right?"

"You bet, sis. I promise."

Ms. Worthington left the kitchen and Mistress beckoned me to
follow her into the bedroom.

                              -=o=-

"Tina dear, you prepared a very nice lunch. You like to take care
of Mistress' needs, don't you darling?"

The more she spun her feminine web, and the more she wrapped me
in her feminine garments, the more sincere my responses became.
"Oh, yes, Mistress. Mistress, you are so beautiful."

"Of course I am, sweetness. Do you like my new outfit? It's wool
gabardine. What do you think of green?" Her little-girl voice and
the coy, shy smile Mistress gave me could not conceal her raw
power and confidence. I felt it wash over me; I was in awe of
her.

She stood in front of me in her form-fitting green suit. The
color of her eyes. The waist-length jacket (which did nothing to
hide the inviting curve of her breasts), her tiny waist, the very
short skirt which drew attention to the seductive swell of her
hips, her nylons and the sensuous legs they covered, her
knock-me-down-and-fuck-me pumps: the woman was drop-dead
gorgeous. There were these conflicting thoughts running through
my head. How she could project this aura of sweet innocence and
at the same time control me to the core of my being, the mark I
supposed of an experienced dominatrix, just baffled me.

I couldn't match her outfit. I had nothing on. It was so
embarrassing.

"Darling, that unsightly body hair will have to come off." She
took two bottles of Nair from her suitcase and as she handed them
to me she pursed her lips in delightful innocence and kissed the
air next to my cheek. Also, she began to fondle my hardness and I
knew there was nothing, not one single thing, I would not do for
this exquisite creature.

Getting rid of all my hair, however, was ridiculous. It wasn't
just a matter of manly pride; what would I tell Margo? I made up
my mind quickly. I would please Mistress. I could always avoid
having sex with my wife until the hair grew back. There was no
common sense to my decision: several weeks of self-imposed
celibacy with my wife for a few moments of pleasure with Kim. At
the moment Kim dominated all my will. I didn't care about the
consequences.

"Into the shower with you, sweetness."

"Yes, Mistress." As instructed, I stood below the shower nozzle
spreading the thick gooey cream all over my body from my neck
down. Mistress did not let me turn on the water for 15 minutes.
The cream was so irritating to my skin; my erection wilted. Did
women have to put up with this torture all the time?

When she allowed me to shower, it was such a relief. As my body
hair piled up at the drain, part of me felt self-conscious, silly
even. I felt even more naked and exposed. Another part of me was
thrilled at the attention I was getting from Mistress.

During my shower Mistress left the bathroom but by the time I had
finished she had returned with a very large fluffy pink towel and
a box that she put on the counter. She had removed her jacket,
blouse, skirt and, I guess, the slip that I was sure she had had
on underneath. "Dry yourself off, darling."

As I finished drying she ran her fingers lightly all over my
body. It felt so different without my hair; I was truly naked.
She was next to me in a very frilly and inviting sea-green
color-coordinated lingerie set, high heels and a perfume scent
that was just devastating. I wanted to bury my head between her
soft breasts and never come out. Once again my cock was defying
the laws of gravity. She had barely touched my maleness and
still, the woman was driving me stark raving mad.

I begged. "Please, Mistress, I need you so much. I'll do
anything, but please, please help me."

"Tina dear, now I want you to listen to me very, very carefully."
Her speech slowed, she spoke each word very distinctly and her
voice was oh, so soft. I hung on to every syllable. I was riveted
on every nuance. It had been eighteen years since I had heard
those very words, "I want you to listen to me very, very
carefully," and the earlier speaker was the drill sergeant my
first week at boot camp. At that time I was scared to death. This
time I felt a combination of anxiety, frustration and arousal. I
was totally bewildered, so completely under her control.

Quietly, and in her ultra-feminine voice she said, very v-e-r-y
slowly, "Sweetness, I have told you that you *are* going to learn
to control your immature urges. You *will* control yourself. You
will find it easier as your training progresses but I will not
have you acting this way, and if necessary I will think up a
punishment for you that you will not like. Do you understand what
Mistress is telling you?"

"Yes, Mistress." My tears welled up. I could see my watery eyes
in the mirror.

Mistress gave me the nicest, lingering kiss on my cheek. "Why
darling, I'm so glad you understand. This is going to be so much
fun! Isn't it wonderful?"

She was so good to me. And she took a large powder puff out of a
circular box on the counter that said Oscar de la Renta on it and
she dusted me all over with a powder that seemed to have the same
scent as her perfume. She gave extra attention to my engorged
prick with her puff.

"You look so pretty, darling!" she exclaimed. "This is so
delightful! You are just so sweet and so very feminine. Tina,
dear, let's pretend that you're Mommy's little girl. Wouldn't you
like that?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"No, darling. 'Yes, Mommy.'"

"Yes, Mommy."

"That's my little girl. Do you know it's a good thing you're my
darling little girl because Mommy is getting all wet and excited.
Isn't that wonderful? But Mommies mustn't play with their little
girls. So I'll just have to try to restrain myself. That's sooo
sad darling, don't you think?"

"Yes, Mommy." In spite of my own overwhelming sexual urges, I
found myself responding to Kim's wishes, not because I thought
playing along would make her love me. I no longer played along
because the game was fun (Indeed it was still that!). I wasn't
playing at all and this was not a game. I was responding to Kim's
desires because it pleased Kim. And pleasing Kim became something
exceptionally important to me.

I started to feel dizzy. Maybe I was hyperventilating. Mistress,
Mommy -- whatever -- put her arm around my waist, held my hand
and helped me as I staggered into the bedroom. She sat me down on
the bed. I sat there for some time; eventually the stars --
little pinpoints of light that seemed to be floating across the
backs of my eyeballs, and in the room all around me -- began to
fade.