The Painter's Daughters

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

                           Chapter 12

If the start of the day was getting to be predictable, it was the
most pleasant routine I could think of. It was 8 a.m. sharp and
the girls were on my doorstep.

Linda stood there chewing a stick of gum, a smirk on her face,
and said, "Hi, boss!" There was no question who was boss and she
knew it and I knew it and she knew I knew she knew it. But I
didn't think about that.

"Why, Mr. Greer," Kimmie said sweetly. "You look so powerful,
so... so masculine today. Why, any girl's heart would go pitter
pat just by looking at you."

I guess I did look pretty good. Earlier I'd showered and shaved
and had put on my shorts and my freshly ironed Washington
Redskins cutoff jersey. I had rolled up the sleeves and stood in
front of the bedroom mirror expanding my chest, checking my
biceps. Then I put on a clean pair of jeans and socks, laced up
my sneaks and stood again in front of the mirror. "Yup." The
shirt seemed to have just the right touch, emphasizing my fairly
broad shoulders and tapering to my slim waist. The jersey's
ragged edge ended just above the belt line of my jeans. The jeans
themselves were a perfect fit and hugged my buns; overall I had
that clean, athletic look. And I felt terrific, full of energy.
It must have been the good night's sleep.

The twins were a contrast in perfection. Linda had on her usual
baseball cap but was wearing a pair of white overalls, decorated
with paint smudges and spatters from earlier work that hadn't
come out in the wash. And her workboots. But I knew the body
beneath and I knew her arrogance. "Powerful female, needs some
taming," I thought to myself.

Kimmie's soft flowing red hair set about her shoulders and it
looked like she had no makeup on. Well, a light touch of
lipstick; her clear smooth complexion required no makeup if she
chose not to wear any. It was her dress as much as anything that
gave her that 'little girl' look. All white, with a peter pan
collar, short puffy sleeves and a slight A-line from the swell of
her breasts to perhaps only a third the way down her thighs.
Short white cotton ankle socks and black Mary Janes. And her
white bag, I guessed a shoulder bag to judge by the length of the
strap. She was swinging it lazily back and forth.

The dress style did not emphasize her breasts. But I had this
intense urge to reach up under her skirting, rip off her panties,
drag her inside, drop her on the couch and do her. Mad,
passionate sex. Right then and there.

And Linda. She could have been standing there in sackcloth and
ashes, beating me with a broom. I'd take anything she decided to
dish out. Because that would mean I'd be *with* her. Just the two
of us. Alone.

I took a deep breath and flexed my muscles, hoping somehow to
impress these two vixens. They looked at each other and smiled.
It was no use. They ruled and they knew it. But for my eighteen
years of marriage while I had always cared for my wife, it was I
who made the decisions. Margo seemed to accept that. That's the
way I thought it was supposed to be.

If I even hinted at that to the two women I faced, they'd laugh.
I knew it. As I exhaled I looked down at my shirt and it seemed
that even the Indian's feather was wilting. It was so confusing.

"C'mon, Tommy boy. Time to get to work," Linda said. She brushed
past me, headed for the patio outside the living room where her
materials were stored. I looked at Kimmie, poised, unhurried.
Perhaps waiting for me to do something.

"Oh, excuse me, Kim." I opened the door wider for her and stood
aside.

She nodded as she stepped into the house. "Why thank you, Mr.
Greer. That was so thoughtful of you." I closed the door. I took
in all of her, wondering how, wondering what would be the proper
way to act with her.

It turned out there was no need to waste the time thinking about
it. Linda's shout came clearly from just outside the back of the
house, "Kimmie, you take him, I'm gonna get right to work."

Kim got right to work also. She put her arm through mine -- I had
not thought to offer her my arm -- and we walked in the direction
of my bedroom. Another shout from Linda: "I want him later for
recreation." I blushed.

"Kim," I started...

"That would be Mistress, wouldn't it sweetness?" she said.

"Well, I don't know that we should..."

"Tina," she said sharply, "It will *not* be necessary to
re-establish your proper place, now will it?" She stopped; we
were outside the bedroom. Her eyes were fixed on mine. Although I
knew she was looking up at me, I felt that she was staring me
down. And suddenly we both knew how it would be between us, how
it had been almost from the moment I'd met her.

"No, Mistress."

"Why sweetness, that's just wonderful!" And she took her arm from
mine and placed a hand on each side of my face and leaned up and
kissed my cheek. "Come into the bedroom with Mistress,
sweetness." She walked in, gave a small skip, twirled in front of
my armchair and sat down in it. "Tina, dear, your jeans look so
uncomfortable. Is there something growing there?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Well, then, the jeans need to come off. Sit down in front of me
and take off your sneakers." I sat and began to untie my laces.
Then I got up and removed my pants.

"Darling, you really are going to have to pay attention to
Mistress. Boxer shorts are ugly. You must throw them all out.
Yesterday I had this wonderful thought that you should be kept in
panties all the time. Do you remember me saying that, sweetness?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Well, then. Shorts off, socks too."

I stood there in my Washington Redskins shirt, feeling a little
sheepish and feeling a lot undressed. But at the same time my
cock, which had been in a plump state all this time, began to
grow.

"Sweetness," she was staring at my penis, "Mistress is certainly
glad your biceps aren't the only muscles you like to flex.
Mistress likes it when you are hard for her. You *will* stay that
way for me, won't you sweetness?"

"Mistress, I don't think... I mean, I can't control... Oh,
Mistress! You are such a beautiful woman." My right hand moved
towards my cock.

"Take your hand away, darling. You didn't wear your panties, did
you? That was very naughty and Mistress is upset with you."

She had this pout on her face and, despite my frustration I had
to admit she was right. I hadn't dressed properly for her. And
she looked so lovely sitting there in her innocent (but
so-seductive) dress, her hands folded in her lap.

Something seemed slightly out of place. Then, as I studied her I
realized that although so much of her clothing and demeanor
suggested "little girl" those perfectly shaped fingernails said
"woman". And it was only yesterday afternoon I had cared for her
nails and applied a fire-engine red nail polish. This morning
they were pink once more.

"Tina, I thought you wanted to please Mistress," she said.

"I do, Mistress. Really."

"Well then, take off that silly shirt and get properly dressed."

I pulled my shirt over my head. "Mistress, do you have things for
me to wear?"

"Why no, darling. Do you mean to say you haven't bought them
yet?"

I was confused. I knew the previous afternoon she had said
something about my going shopping and she'd given me a list, but
it was just a joke. I thought it was a joke. I hoped it was a
joke.

Maybe it wasn't a joke. "No, Mistress."

"Really, sweetness! We will just have to make do. Go to Mrs.
Greer's drawer and take out a pair of pretty panties. And a bra,
garter belt and nylons too. I don't want you partly dressed when
company comes."

Stunned, I headed toward the dresser. I didn't even want to ask
what Mistress meant by 'company'. When I was with this woman,
life seemed to be one nonstop succession of surprise, frustration
and embarrassment. And pleasure. My cock was standing straight
up.

I dressed in a daze. The light blue panties didn't match the
white bra and garter belt, but I hardly noticed. A week earlier I
would never have considered doing what I was doing. But now I
knew what Mistress expected and, in that light, it seemed only
natural.

"Very nice, darling. But I am still upset about your forgetting.
I want you in panties all the time. How are we going to remember
that, sweetness?"

"I don't know, Mistress. But I promise not to forget again."

"I'll call you my little panty slave. That should help, don't you
think?'

"Yes, Mistress."

She gave a little cry of delight, and then "Darling, you are not
wearing any heels. You still are not properly dressed."

I knew not to argue. I went to the closet and took out a pair of
Margo's heels. These were sandals. They were made of thin white
straps, which would show more of my feet. Thank goodness the
buckle allowed me to let out the strap that slipped up each of
the heels of my foot. The heels themselves looked to be about 3"
high and I didn't know if I could walk on them but I was sure
Mistress expected me to try. So I put them on and returned slowly
to Mistress. I found that if I continued to take short, little
steps and if I used my arms to help balance, that I was able to
move without wobbling too much.

I stood in front of Mistress, now properly dressed (I thought),
my cock rock-hard and nestled in my panties. She looked me over
critically and then she smiled. She stood and stroked me through
my panties, just a little.

"Mistress' panty-slave won't forget to wear her panties in
future, will she?"

"No, Mistress."

"That's a good girl." She turned her back to me. "Darling,
Mistress has been getting all wet. Unbutton my dress."

I needed no second invitation for that and I undid the buttons
carefully down the back, helped Mistress from her dress, from the
slip she had underneath, and carefully placed her clothing on the
bed. Mistress stood before me in her bra and panties; even with
her little-girl socks and shoes she most definitely did not look
like any little girl I had ever met. I squeezed my engorged penis
hard through its nylon covering.

"No, darling. I have told you before, you may not touch yourself
without Mistress' permission. Mistress is going to think up a
punishment for you. Panty-slaves know that their Mistress'
pleasure always comes first. Not sometimes. Always. Do you
understand, sweetness?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"That's just wonderful, darling! I just *know* we're going to get
along so well together. Mind you, we have lots more to learn in
our feminine appreciation course, don't we?"

"Yes, Mistress." I didn't know what she meant but I did know what
to do when she instructed me to take off her panties (which were
damp and smelled so nice) and when then she sat down in my
armchair. I knelt and stroked the outside of her legs softly as I
licked and kissed my way on a course up the inside of her legs,
along her soft thighs to her.

I buried myself in her, licking, kissing, suckling. Her breathing
quickened, I found it harder to breathe. When she arched, I
increased my devotion to her. And she came. I suckled her softly,
enjoying her sweet juices.

The problem with all this was that my cock was as hard as it
could be. Mistress excited me no end, but I knew I could not take
more of this. "Frustration *can* overpower desire," I thought to
myself, and wondered how to tell Mistress that I did not need any
more teasing, that I needed relief right away. Even Federal
Express ('When it absolutely, positively, has to be there
overnight') would be too slow to take care of my need.

Suddenly, and with surprising strength she pushed me back. I lay
on the floor, on my side and breathing heavily. "On your back,
hands at your sides," she said, sharply. And then she both
astonished and delighted me as she took off her bra, lay down
next to me, fed me a nipple and said, "Nurse."

She stroked me through my panties. I was bound to her for
eternity. And I exploded.

"Ewyoo, yuck," Mistress said.

But she continued to cradle me in her breasts as gradually I came
back to earth and my breathing subsided. She ran her fingers
through my hair and rocked me. I was at peace with the world. I
whispered, "You are so good to me, Mistress."

"You won't forget your panties in future, will you darling?"

"No, Mistress."

She had me pick another pair of panties from Margo's drawer. This
time I remembered Mistress' preference for color coordination and
chose a pair of nylon briefs with pretty lace inserts -- all
white, the color of my other intimate wear. I went to the
bathroom to clean myself up.

When I came out again, Mistress had dressed and was touching up
her lipstick. She looked as fresh as when I'd opened the front
door.