The Painter's Daughters

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

                            Chapter 9

Some time later, Kim stirred. She removed a clean pair of panties
from her small suitcase, retrieved her bra, blouse, half-slip,
skirt and makeup kit and headed for the bathroom.

I lay in bed cocooned in my female trappings. From the ribbon on
my neck to the tips of my heels I was enveloped in intimate
feminine apparel. Strangely, I didn't feel aroused but I did feel
totally comfortable. I decided that if, at times, I had had
doubts about the wisdom of submitting to Mistress Kimberly's
training -- if I were uncertain about where it would lead -- it
was likely that she really *did* know what was best for me. That
thought dwelt in my mind as I listened to Kim in the bathroom. I
resolved I would try as hard as I could to follow her direction
at all times.

Kim came out of the bathroom dressed to perfection. Her blouse
and skirt looked as if they had been taken from the dry cleaning
wrap just moments before. She had not a hair out of place. She
was flawless. Except for a slight flush to her cheeks (which made
her look even more adorable) and perhaps the relaxed aura about
her.

One might never guess what she had been doing just 20 minutes
earlier or, for that matter, the play that for over an hour prior
had let up to the intense, rather short burst of activity.

She walked to the bed and smiled sweetly as she looked down at
me. Then she frowned as she noticed the gluey, gooey briefs and
said, "Tina, dear, we really must deal with your sticky panties.
Please go to the bathroom and clean up. Mistress will find a
clean pair of panties for you to wear."

I moved towards the bathroom taking the little steps that seemed
the only way to travel. As I moved, I had to agree with her; my
panties felt like a real mess. I removed my panties, but I didn't
take off my other dainties; Mistress had not said I could do
that. I ran warm water over a washcloth and cleaned myself up,
rinsing the cloth a few times. Then I dried myself with a towel
and, on impulse, I took Mistress' puff from the Oscar de la Renta
box on the counter and powdered the feminine scent all over the
area I had cleaned. Perhaps I overdid it just a little. With a
towel, I smacked the excess powder off the tops of my nylons and
the front of my body.

When I returned to the bedroom, Mistress was packing her suit
jacket into her small suitcase, which she closed and put a tray
of some sort on top of it. She said to me, "I *am* sorry, dear, I
seem to have run out of clean panties. Even the darling pink ones
you wore this morning have a stain on them, and that would never
do. Tell me, what kind of panties does Mrs. Greer wear?"

I froze at the mention of Margo's name. Somehow, in the almost
nonstop erotic fervor that I had found myself in during the last
couple of days, I had not thought of my wonderful wife very
often. A feeling of guilt and fear washed over me.

My expression must have given me away. "I believe I know what
you're thinking, dear, and it's all right. After all, hasn't Mrs.
Greer said to you several times in recent months that she felt
you weren't being attentive to her needs? And don't you fudge on
your share of the domestic chores -- the housekeeping and food
shopping?"

I was astonished. "How... how did you know that? I stammered.

"I really don't want to go into it, sweetness," Mistress replied.
"You may discuss it with Linda if you like. But right now I want
you to tell me how you feel about something from the time we met
until now. Do you think you are developing a better appreciation
of the essential truth that in order to be truly happy the male
must serve the female, that he must put her needs first? Are you
developing a better understanding of that?"

Kim was going where no girl had gone before, at least with me. I
admit, I had my fantasies about living in a female dominated
world, but that's exactly what it was, fantasy. Did she really
believe this, or was all this for my benefit? She sure knew that
I liked serving her and her sister. I was beginning to reconsider
my relationship with Margo. If I could only figure out a way to
tell her.

I wanted to serve these special women, but did I want to serve
all women? My reason was clouded by Kim's dominance. She had the
power to control my thought. "The purpose of man is to serve
woman," I thought. Did I believe that? -- did she? At the moment
I honestly didn't know.

She brightened. "Well then, sweetness, we really must get on with
your feminine appreciation training. I want you to open the
drawer of panties in that dresser and pick something that will
match your pretty outfit."

I was sidetracked by the immediate thought that, yes, there was
one pair... And somehow, probably because of my total enchantment
with the power of Mistress Kimberly's femininity, I never did get
back to whatever it was that was bothering me.

I opened my wife's panty drawer. She had a fairly broad selection
due, in part, to the fact that I was in the habit of buying her
the pretty unmentionables for her birthday and for Christmas but
I made sure I gave her other gifts also because, well, I didn't
want her to think I was a panty freak or anything. There was so
much I wanted to tell Margo now!

I found them. The nylon briefs were white with a cute ruffle trim
all around each opening, but also they had a little green ribbon
with bow at the front of the waist and one on either side of the
panties at each leg opening. They would match. Besides the color
coordination I believed Mistress would like, I thought the
ribbons provided a nice addition to the nylon and lace I was
wearing.

I turned to Mistress proudly with what I had found and was about
to put them on, but she stopped me.

"Come here, dear," she said, and I walked over to her, to the
bed, beginning by now to feel a little self-conscious without my
panties on. It had seemed natural before. That wasn't the only
feeling that was changing; whether it was because I was rummaging
through my wife's drawer of panties or because Mistress was such
a vision of loveliness, I don't know; whatever the reason, my
penis was growing again.

Mistress grew it to full staff with just a few strokes and then
she kissed it! I had seen fresh lipstick pressed to a Valentine's
Day card which clearly showed the imprint of my wife's lips, but
the mark of Mistress' lips was now there clearly on my cock.

"There," she said, "Now everyone will know you are spoken for."
Well, there were only the two of us in the room, so I didn't
understand who "everyone" could be. But then Mistress had sprung
so many surprises on me already I began to wonder if she had some
surprise which would involve "everyone".

I forgot my wondering real fast. She began to play with me, no
she was tying me... It was the other strips of ribbon, the
narrower ones that had been on the bed all this time. I had
forgotten about them.

Kim started looping the ribbon around the base of my cock.
Although I could see what she was doing, I could never duplicate
her intricate movements. All I knew is that I wound up with a
loop of ribbon around the top of my balls, separating them from
my penis. Another loop went in front of and behind my balls
criss-crossing underneath. My balls stood out as clearly as those
outside a pawn shop. She finished the whole thing off with a
beautiful bow on top.

Mistress stood back a little to admire her handiwork. "How sweet!
In fact, captivating would be a good word, don't you think?" she
giggled.

I wasn't sure if this was funny or not until Mistress explained,
"Dear, this will prevent any accidents. You may not touch the
ribbons without Mistress' permission. And you won't be able to
come unless the ribbons are removed. Isn't that just wonderful?
Put on your panties, dear."

"Yes, Mistress." I didn't know if I was ecstatic as she was, but
I'd promised myself I'd try as hard as I could to do everything
she asked of me and, after all, she did know what was best. As I
stepped into my new panties and pulled them up my legs there was
that thrill again as the nylon of my panties pressed the nylon of
my stockings. I brought them down to my ankles once more and up
again to try to satisfy my appetite for this strange, wonderful
new feeling.

Meanwhile, Mistress sat down in my chair and was looking at the
reflection of her lips in a compact mirror as she freshened her
lipstick.

"Tina, dear, come and let me have a look at you." I minced
towards the chair, as I thought she expected me to move.

As I stood before her it was clear that her eyes were focused on
my crotch, on my rock-hard penis straining inside its silken
prison. I felt embarrassed that the length of my baby doll barely
reached the top of my panties; I had this helpless feeling. But
it appeared that Mistress liked it just the way it was. I asked
her if I might try to find a waltz-length nightie because I
thought I would feel less exposed. She laughed and said that
perhaps, in the future, she might permit something a little
longer.

"We must get on with your training, dear. It is important that
you demonstrate respect for Mistress at all times. Any time
Mistress enters a room, any time you speak to Mistress, you are
expected to curtsy. When you are wearing ladies' slacks we will
handle things a little differently, but today we will practice
with your skirt."

"But this is a nightie, Mistress."

"You didn't curtsy, did you, sweetness? I know it's a little
shorter than your skirts will be but I want you to grasp the hem
on each side and pull them out just a little as you lower your
head, bring one leg back and bend your knees slightly."

Mistress had me practice curtsying for the next half hour. I
learned the difference between a normal curtsy and a more formal
one, which was far more difficult in terms of how low to the rug
I had to get. I fell over twice before I eventually got the hang
of it. She laughed. I think my heels were the problem, but she
wouldn't let me take them off. She said there was no point in
learning to curtsy without heels if I was going to be wearing
them all the time. These references suggesting that my dressing
up might be more than an occasional thing bothered me until I
remembered my promise to do everything she told me. And besides,
she looked so absolutely lovely.

Technically, the ribbons worked. That is, my engorged penis
stayed rock-hard through all of the curtsying. Mistress remarked
on that several times and clearly she was delighted. In a way, I
felt safe and secure tied up the way she'd done it. But it took
so much of my willpower to fight the periodic waves of total
frustration that I began to feel exhausted. I didn't think I
could stand much longer.

Mistress noticed my distress and told me to kneel before her. She
was so perceptive, and so good to me.

As I gazed up into her beautiful green eyes (forcing myself to
ignore the delectable viewing options over all the rest of her
body but not, unfortunately, the soft insides of her thighs as
her legs were crossed) she told me I was now ready for my first
painting lesson.

At last! I knew Ms. Worthington did not think much of my painting
skills and now Mistress was going to train me how to do it
properly.

"Sweetness, as you are a beginner Mistress wants you to focus
first on paint removal skills and then, especially, on accuracy.
And Mistress knows that if you start small and get it right, then
you will be better prepared for the larger jobs later on.

Well, what Mistress said seemed to make sense. I waited,
expectantly.

"Please crawl over to my suitcase and get the materials I have
placed on top." I was grateful Mistress allowed me to crawl
because I really didn't feel I could stand on my heels without
more rest.

When I got to her suitcase, I was astonished. But I found that
when I was on my knees it was actually easier to curtsy than when
standing up. Because my knees were already bent as much as they
reasonably could be. I curtsied. "But Mistress, this is nail
polish remover and nail polish and a set of little styrofoam
thingies and cotton balls. And the brush is so small I don't see
how this training could help me paint better. I mean, real
painting."

"Are you questioning Mistress, darling?"

I thought about Mistress' question for only a few nanoseconds. I
curtsied. "No, Mistress."

I crawled back to Mistress with my tray of materials (have you
ever tried to crawl on both knees but with only one hand, because
the other is holding a tray?) and positioned myself at her feet.
I followed her directions and removed her pumps. Then I moved
respectfully back a few feet as she stood and removed her skirt
and slip.

When she sat in my armchair once more I crawled to her. She was
so nice to allow me to unfasten the garter tabs from the top of
her stockings and carefully remove the nylons from her luscious
legs.

"Darling, the pink polish went very nicely with the outfit I had
on this morning, but it doesn't match my green suit very well
does it? That's why you have the fire-engine red. Like my
lipstick." She pursed her lips and kissed the air. She looked so
beautiful. I wanted so much for her to wrap those wonderful lips
around my cock and nurse at it, restrictive ribbons or not.

But she was all business. As she taught me what to do she
explained that she wanted not only the perfect color for her
outfit and her hair, but also she shared with me that some
college professor had made an error in judgment and did not
understand that she was a straight 'A' student. Later, at class
she intended to help him understand his mistake, and for that,
she wanted perfect nails and she would accept nothing less than
perfection from me. If I was good at my new job and if I
continued as well with my training as I had so far on my first
day (was it really only the first day with Mistress?), I might be
allowed to do her nails every day.

I learned the proper technique for removing polish. I learned
that the styrofoam thingies were separators for her pretty toes.
I had two false starts with the fresh polish when I accidentally
brushed a little on her delicate skin. She made me remove it all
and start over. I think my mistakes were because when I opened
the bottle of nail polish, the aroma (unlike the smell of the
remover) captivated my senses. That probably contributed to my
carelessness. But I felt so lucky that I was at her feet serving
her need. I really began to understand that serving woman was a
privilege for me. I knew my place. I belonged at her feet. And in
what seemed no time at all I had finished each of her delicate
toes and felt so proud of myself. I screwed the top back on the
bottle of nail polish.

"Now, darling, here is where you must take extreme care not to
get *any* polish on my freshly painted toes. Take off my panties
and be very careful as you slide them off my feet."

Mistress' directive startled me, but I got right to the task as
she raised her hips slightly. I slid her panties over her
curvaceous hips, down her long shapely legs and I was extremely
careful as I took her glistening toes through the leg openings
and waistband of her briefs, and didn't get a single particle of
polish on anything.

Mistress' next directive didn't startle me. In fact she didn't
have to say anything; I was learning. She just smiled and spread
her beautiful legs. Again, I got right to the task.

Kissing, lapping, flicking my tongue and suckling on Mistress'
wonderful pussy, with her soft thighs squeezing my ears, with her
female scent and juices, is an indescribable wonder. I know that
my body is not within hers, I know I am kneeling on the floor.
But somehow it feels as if all of me is inside her. I feel so
loving of her and at the same time feel so safe and protected by
her. This time it was a little different. Although I felt
completely buried in and surrounded by the inviting warmth, also
I could tell by the insistent pressure of her thighs that she had
her legs raised straight out, nothing supporting them. Of course.
This would be because Mistress had no intention of getting the
slightest smudge on her freshly painted toenails. Mistress was
such a fabulous woman. Mistress tensed, then screamed, her thighs
squashing my head. Oxygen deprivation caused me to feel dizzy,
disoriented in that enveloping whirlpool. It was wonderful.

Mistress had me give the same detailed attention to her long
fingernails as she had had me give her toenails, and it seemed
that I was finished in no time. Then she had me put her materials
back on their tray and place them on the counter in the bathroom.
Finally, after the time I had spent on my knees, I was able to
stand again reasonably well.

By this time, Mistress' toenails had dried and she had me put her
stockings back on, her panties, her half slip, her skirt and her
pumps. I was quite good at dressing her and Mistress said that I
should expect those talents to be put to use on a regular basis.
I was not quite sure what she meant but I was proud that by this
time I was beginning to be of real value to her.

But, also by this time, the frustration connected with my
unrelieved hard-on was just unbelievable. If I had managed
somehow to control myself for Mistress and delay my own personal
gratification for the proper time as determined by her, the tight
ribbons refused to allow me to go soft. I was trapped.

"Please, Mistress," I begged. "Please take my ribbons off. I
can't take it any more."

Mistress looked genuinely concerned. Her compassion for my
problem was obvious. And she really looked sad as she said, "But
I can't, sweetness, my nails are still wet."

She thought for just a moment, then

"LINDA!"