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RED SHOES By JoAnna Michaels I eased the car into the driveway and shut off the engine. My hands began to shake again. I glanced at the three small children, two girls and a boy, playing in the Hanson's front yard. The little boy, who I vaguely remembered lived two houses down the street from us, was being chased in erratic circles by the girls. His delighted shrieks mingled with the late afternoon cacophony of traffic and barking dogs. I wondered if Helen would be home yet. I hoped the house would still be empty. I couldn't stomach the prospect of telling her my interview, the first in well over a month, had gone poorly. Another faint hope dashed; I was still unemployed with little chance of finding work anytime soon. I continued sitting in the car, trying to find the strength to step out into the late afternoon sunshine. I felt exhausted. I had felt almost cheerful this morning before leaving for my interview with a vice-president of Allied Financial. "Good luck," Helen had said with the first small smile she had given me in weeks. On the way into town I had fantasized about getting the job and having a paycheck again. Things would be different, I had told myself. Life would get better. Helen would love me again. But, now, seven hours later, things were only worse. "Thank you very much for coming in," Mr. Franks, the Allied VP, had said with the obligatory dead smile and handshake. "If anything should change and we have an opening for you I'll certainly be in touch." I had spent the rest of the day aimlessly driving around and feeling sorry for myself. Still paralyzed, I thought about what Helen would do when she learned I had failed again to find work. As bad as the past year had been for me it had been good for her. Two promotions at Ryan Enterprises had almost doubled her salary. Her blend of executive and computer skills, not to mention her tall redheaded beauty, had her on the fast-track to a top position at the company. She had become a favorite of Jack Ryan, the hard- driving company CEO. She had hinted to me a month before that she was being groomed to take over the company's entire business software production division. I wondered if this would be the final straw for her, if she would leave me? For several months now we had been having ferocious arguments followed by days of numbing silence. We hadn't had sex now in two months. I knew I was mostly to blame. At first, after losing my job at Chemical, she had been very supportive. I had been the one sulking, getting drunk three or four nights a week, picking fights with her for little or no reason. Slowly, over those first six months I had been out of work, she had withdrawn from me. "Really, Joe, what damn good are you?" she had said during our last fight. "I mean to me? You don't make any money. You don't do a damn thing around the house except eat, sleep, sulk and feel sorry for yourself." Her voice had been as hard as frozen steel. "For what you cost me I could get a maid, a good- looking young pool boy and a dog and have plenty of money left over." My cheeks burned with the memory of her words. She was right. I was useless. I began to cry and then immediately hated myself for it. The sudden burst of anger gave me the strength to open the car door. If she was inside, I vowed to myself, at least I'd take her derision and scorn silently. The house was empty. I threw off my jacket and tie and headed toward the kitchen. I wanted a drink. Scotch, Vodka, it didn't matter; even a beer would do. That son of a bitch from Allied hadn't given me a fair chance. He'd only glanced at my resume before starting his brush-off speech. Asshole, I thought. I hoped he got his in the next corporate layoff. I was half way to the refrigerator when I saw her note. Lying on the dining room table next to the small vase of yellow, artificial flowers, it was written on an oversized pale blue sheet from one of her legal pads. Even from across the room I could recognize her looping, precise handwriting. I froze again. My hands started trembling. I was certain I knew what message those precise little loops would contain. She couldn't even tell me she was divorcing me in person. I thought of all those neat, typed letters I had received from various companies in response to my mailed resumes. I wondered if Helen's note, too, began, "we regret to inform you..." I suddenly felt furious with her. How dare she leave me just because I was out of work! I'd hire the best damn divorce lawyer I could find; I'd take her for all she was worth. Hell, I'd even ask for alimony! Just as suddenly the fire inside me went out and I began to cry. I loved her. I couldn't live without her. I vowed to myself I'd do anything, absolutely anything, to convince her to stay. I'd make up for the last year; I'd quit being such a self-pitying jerk. As I walked toward the dining room table I knew it was hopeless. Once Helen made up her mind there was no changing it. As I reached for the note I began to think about suicide. "Joe," it began, "you have two choices. At this point I really don't care which one you choose. First, you can leave now. If you choose to leave, I want all of your stuff out of the house by tomorrow morning. I don't care where you go. Just don't come back. If you do leave our marriage is over. I won't see you, or speak to you, again except in court." My legs suddenly went limp; I felt like iron bands were slowly constricting my chest. I slumped into a chair, tried to steady myself, then resumed reading. "Your second choice is to become utterly and totally submissive to me without reservation - to do exactly what I tell you to do at all times. If you choose this second choice, Joe, I warn you it will not be easy. If you disobey me at any time for any reason I will kick you out immediately and our marriage will be over. You will not have a second chance. Frankly, I don't think you're man enough to try it my way. It's your choice. If you are willing to submit to me completely on my terms, you will find your first commands in a note on my bed." ------------- I felt dizzy. Somehow, her words didn't make any sense to me. I read the note again and again. Submit? Utterly and totally? What did she mean? I pushed the note aside and got a beer out of the refrigerator. To hell with her, I thought as I took the first cold swallow. Not man enough to try it her way? I snorted and took another long, deep swig from the bottle. I paced around the kitchen, trying to summon up enough angry courage to find a suitcase, pack my clothes and slam the front door behind me. Beneath my phony anger, however, I could sense a growing surge of fear. Where could I go? I didn't have a dime of my own. I shook my head at how foolish I had been to have insisted, two years ago, on separate bank accounts. I hardly knew anyone in the city; we'd only been here three years. My family lived in Sacramento, almost half a continent away. Images of the solitary homeless men picking slowly through the dumpsters and shuffling out of cut-rate liquor stores on South Turner Street heightened my sense of dread. Then the reality of what my life would be like without Helen drove into my heart like a thousand wasps. I dropped the half- empty bottle into the sink and slumped against the wall. Memories marched through my mind like departing ghosts: the royal blue coat she wore and the way she toyed with her hair the first time we met; that first night of reckless Summer passion on the pungent forest floor; the clouds of steam produced by her riotous, joyful laughter the snowy night I proposed. I went back to the table and read her note again. The dizziness returned. "Submit." The word burrowed with a whisper into my mind. "Utterly and completely." I knew I could not live my life without being with her, being a part of hers. "I warn you it will not be easy." All I wanted at that moment was to hold her, hold on to some part of her, forever. "If you are willing to submit to me completely on my terms..." I could no longer think. I stood, wiped the tears from my eyes and slowly walked toward the bedroom. "Joe, I doubt you will read this, but if you are, congratulations. There may be hope for us. On the top shelf of the closet you will find a large box. It contains your new clothes. You are to strip as soon as you finish this note. It doesn't matter what you do with the clothes you are wearing now; you won't be needing them again. Once you are naked open the box. When you see what is inside you will be tempted to disobey me. Remember, you must obey or leave. If you remain you must wear everything in the box. Once you are dressed you are to call me for further instructions. You may reach me at 555-0901." Without thinking I began undressing. Even though I was alone I felt slightly embarrassed removing the last of my clothing. Now naked, I opened the sliding closet door. The box was black cardboard. I reached up, slid it off the shelf then carried it to the bed. It was surprisingly light. For several silent moments I hesitated before removing the lid. Finally, deciding that I would wear whatever she had placed inside, I plucked the box open and stared down at its contents. A white, sheer slip, a matching set of white panties and brassiere, a white garter belt and matching white stockings. For an instant I could not breathe. Remember, you must obey or leave. I forced myself to inhale, then slowly lifted the box and dumped the lingerie onto the bed. I wasn't quite sure what to put on first. At last I decided on the panties. I fumbled trying to put them on. The cool, thin material slid easily up my leg. It took me forever to successfully manage the garter belt and stockings. Fearful of ripping the delicate material, I inched each stocking up a leg. The tiny snaps on the garters were as slippery as now born snakes. When at last I got to the brassiere I discovered it was heavily padded. Finally, with a sigh of relief, I pulled the slip down over my head and started for the telephone on the Helen's bedside table. Just as I was about to pick up the phone I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the opposite wall. Stunned by my absurd reflection, I had a sudden and powerful urge to rip everything off and flee the house. "You will not have a second chance..." "Helen?" My mouth was as dry as a Summer sidewalk. "It's Joe." "Are you dressed?" Her voice was crisp and business like. "Yes, dammit! But, Jesus, Helen, what the -" "Joe," she cut me off; her voice was harsh. "Listen to me. Do not speak like that again. Do you understand?" I swallowed the angry words that had come to mind. "Yes." I said, feeling totally frightened and bewildered. "Are you wearing everything?" I said I was. "Good! How does it feel? Tell me how it feels, Joe." I didn't know what to say. I was afraid to tell her the truth, that I felt humiliated. "I don't know," I finally lied. "Joe, you are lying to me! You must not ever lie to me again." My cheeks flushed. "Now, Joe, I want you to stand up and look at yourself in the mirror. Take off the slip so you can see yourself in just the bra, panties and hose." I did as Helen ordered. "Tell me who you see in the mirror." Her voice was softer now. "I don't understand," I mumbled, eyeing my bizarre reflection. "I see me, Joe, in..." "No," Helen said, almost whispering now. Her voice was full of soft feathers, the way it used to be when we made love. "You don't see Joe. Joe's gone, darling. You see my JoAnna, my beautiful little JoAnna, my new maid." "Helen, I can't --" "Then leave." Her voice was cold again. I shivered. "I knew you couldn't do it. Goodbye, Joe." "No! Helen, wait!" I was shaking, afraid she'd hang up. "I can do it. Please, don't leave me." "Who do you see? Look in the mirror and tell who you see." I stared once more at my reflection. I saw a slender man in his mid-thirties, about five seven, with short brown hair and pale legs and arms, wearing a white brassiere, panties and stockings. "I see JoAnna," I said softly. "Good," she cooed, the feathers back in her voice. "Very good, JoAnna!" I trembled. It felt cold in the room. "Now, my darling, I have a special gift for you, for being so good." "A gift?" I replied stupidly. She laughed, that same wonderful laugh I had remembered earlier. It had been a very long time since I had heard it. "Yes, sweetie. A very special gift for my new JoAnna!" She told me to put down the phone and look for a white shoebox in the corner of the closet. She told me not to open the box until I was back on the line with her. "Are you ready to see your gift?" she asked softly when I picked up the phone after retrieving the shoebox. It was a pair of bright red high heels. The spikes were at least four inches long. "Put them on," she commanded. I put down the phone, then forced my feet one at a time into the too-small shoes. I almost fell when I tried to stand; the shoes were treacherous. Helen must have heard me grunt when I caught myself by falling against the wall. "Oh, dear," she laughed, "is JoAnna having trouble with her new shoes? Don't worry, my pet, you will get plenty of practice." I eased myself away from the wall with tiny little steps. I looked down at my feet. Even in the shadow of the bed the high heels sparkled. "Now, JoAnna, I want you to listen to me very carefully." The business tone was back in Helen's voice. "I will be home in precisely forty minutes. You will make me a vodka tonic just before I arrive. Have it on the coffee table. I want you to be on your knees beside the couch, with you head down, when I come through the door. Be sure and put your slip back on. When I enter you will not look at me, or speak, until I speak to you. Do you understand?" "Yes," I said. "Oh, JoAnna, there's one more thing." I tensed, wondering what further humiliation she had in store for me. "When I come home I won't be alone." Helen hung up before I could say anything; the dial tone droned in my ear. Putting down the phone, I slumped slowly down onto the bed, stunned by her final words. I shivered and clutched the flimsy slip to my body. Strangely, I did not think about leaving. The thought never crossed my mind. What I did want to do was hide. I wanted to find some small dark crevice I could crawl into to avoid her promised confrontation. I knew that was hopeless. I looked the clock over her bed. It was 6:40. She would be home, perhaps with a stranger, at 7:20. For slightly more than thirty minutes I did not move. I sat quietly on the edge of her bed, by the phone, my mind not really focused. The red high heels were pinching my feet; the toes on my left foot stung. I looked down at my thin legs. Encased in the delicate, white stockings, they looked different, strange, as if they did not belong to me at all. The thought passed my mind that I could not really tell, just by looking, if these legs were male or female. I rubbed my forehead and cheek with one hand. Without thinking about it, I let my hand drop to my chest. The gradual swelling beneath my slip, created by the padded brassiere, reminded me of the way Helen's breasts felt when I caressed her through her blouse. I shivered again and looked at the clock. 7:10. This couldn't be real, it couldn't really be happening to me. It had to be a game! Or maybe she was testing me. She'd come through the door, glance at her waiting drink and at me dressed in this ridiculous fashion and kneeling beside the couch, and she would laugh. Then I'd laugh, too, and she'd tell me it was all some idiotic game she was playing, some silly, offbeat amusement she'd read about in a magazine. She'd kiss me and we'd both laugh again and hug and kiss and make a dozen stupid little jokes. Maybe we'd even make love. For the first time since I arrived home earlier that afternoon I smiled. 7:15 I pulled myself up off the bed, did my best to plant my feet securely beneath me, then began hobbling toward the door. I discovered that if I kept my weight unnaturally forward and took only very small steps I could walk without turning an ankle or falling. I headed toward the kitchen. For a moment I panicked; I couldn't find the tonic water. At last I spied the smallish bottle on the top shelf of the pantry. I stepped toward it and my right ankle began to give way as the spike of its matching shoe skidded out from under me on the slick, tile floor. I grabbed the pantry door, cursed, and lunged forward and snatched the bottle off the shelf. I dropped two ice cubes into Helen's drink, slammed the refrigerator door shut and quickly staggered toward the living room. I glanced at the numberless clock over the entertainment center. It looked like I had a minute or two to spare. A coaster! Damn, I knew she'd kill me if I didn't use a coaster. She was always nagging me about it. With her drink clutched in my right hand, I lurched back toward the kitchen. Where were the damn things? I began jerking drawers open at random. I got lucky on the third try. I grabbed one of the stacked, blue, plastic circles then spun around, praying my feet would stay under me. I zig-zagged back to the living room as fast as I dared. I dropped the coaster onto the coffee table, then gently centered the glass on top of it. I knelt down, relieved to be off my untrustworthy feet, then rested most of my weight against the upholstered edge of the couch. I was excited. She'd be home any second now and this lunacy would end. I heard footsteps outside the door. Remembering her instructions, I lowered my head. The metallic jangle of her overstuffed key-chain, followed by the sound of a key sliding into the lock sent my pulse racing. The whispering squeak of the opening door stopped my breathing. I sensed more than heard or saw her moving into the room and toward me. She crossed the room. She dropped her pocketbook on the dining room table. The muted sound of paper sliding against paper suggested she was examining the day's collection of mail. After a pause that seemed an eternity in length I heard her carpeted steps again coming toward me. "Very good, JoAnna," she said from somewhere above me. "I am pleased with you." I started to raise my head, unsure of what I wanted to say. "No." Her voice was stronger. "Do not look at me. Do not speak!" Confused, I dropped my head until my forhead was resting against the near edge of one of the three cushions on the couch. Ice clinked against glass and I guessed she had picked up the vodka tonic I had made for her. She sat on the edge of the couch next to me. Her nearness, and the oddly reassuring scent of her perfume, comforted me. For a full thirty seconds of silence neither of us moved. At last, she put a hand on the crown of my head, then slowly caressed my hair. "This is not a game, JoAnna; I want you to know that." There was a huskiness in her voice I had never heard before. Her hand slid down to my neck. "This is very real." Her fingers brushed my cheek. "Do you understand me, do you believe me?" I could not think. Fear and confusion mingled within me with an altogether unexpected calmness. Her fingers gathered in a fold of my skin, then pinched my cheek until it burned with pain. "Answer me, darling. Do you understand?" "Helen - ," I started to reply, lifting my head from the couch. She pushed my head back down. "I know you are afraid. Of course you are. It's only natural, I suppose." She began stroking my hair again. She moved closer to me. "But do you understand what I want from you now?" Her touch was hypnotic. I felt myself relax. "Yes." My voice sounded as if it were coming from someone else. "You do have a choice, you know," she said quietly. "You can leave. Do you want to leave, JoAnna? Do you want to be Joe again?" Her touch was now so light I could barely feel it. "Do you want to be that sad, pathetic little man so full of bitterness and self-pity?" Is that how she saw me, I wondered, is that what she thought I had become? I shivered. "No," I said in that faraway voice. I began to cry. "Good," she cooed. I felt her bend down over me. Now her words came in a purring, sensual whisper: "I don't ever want you to be that man again. Not ever. I want you to be JoAnna. I want you in lace and satin; I want you curled up at my feet. I want you to please me, to do anything I ask." Her lips brushed against my ear. "And I want you to live only to please me, for my happiness to be your only thought." She was silent for several seconds. "Can you do that, JoAnna? Can you live only for my happiness?" I was warm. I felt safe with her over me, with her hand running through my hair. Nothing but her nearness mattered. Tears rolled down my cheeks. She loved me - after all I had done, after all the cruel, stupid things I had done to her, she still loved me. I began to cry harder. I wanted desperately to please her, to do anything she asked of me. I never wanted this warm intimacy to end. "Yes," I sobbed. "Yes, Helen, please let me be JoAnna. Let me be your JoAnna!" "It will not be easy," she said. "You will need to learn, to be trained, to please me." She kissed me again. "Are you willing to learn?" "Yes," I answered, my voice hoarse from crying. "I want to learn. I want to learn so I can always please you and never disappoint you again." "Do you promise? You won't disobey me no matter how hard it becomes for you to do what I command?" I gently moved closer to her. "Yes, I promise." "I love you more than I ever have before, darling." Her words poured over me like warm, pure water. I felt cleansed and more alive than I had in years. I never wanted this moment to end. "Not a bad start, Helen." The new voice was deep, slightly accented yet very feminine. "Get her up so I can have a proper look at your new maid." I stiffened and tried to twist around to see who was in the room with us. "Calm down, JoAnna," Helen purred, "I told you I wouldn't be alone. "This is my new friend Denise. She's going to help me train you." I blushed and began to tremble, suddenly aware of how foolishly I was dressed, how I would appear to this stranger. My stomach turned. I felt faint. "JoAnna," Helen continued, "I want to you stand up now so Denise can inspect you." She put a hand under my shoulder and pushed. "Don't disappoint me so soon. Be a good girl for me. Don't you want to show Denise how pretty you are?" I rose awkwardly to my feet and turned to face Denise. She was tall, powerfully built, with short, black hair. Her eyes were a deep, cold, intelligent blue. She wore a black jacket over a white blouse and a long, black skirt. Blushing again, I dropped my head, utterly unable to return this provocative stranger's frank, level stare. "Yes, Helen, I do think you might have good material here. There appears to be a natural submissive streak in her." Denise stepped toward me. "JoAnna, take off your clothes. All of them. Now, quickly." Her voice left no room for argument. Still, I was paralyzed. I made no move to comply. Denise strode over to me, grabbed me by my neck and pulled me against her breast with surprising strength. Before I could react she reached behind me and brought her open palm down hard on my buttocks. I flinched. The unexpected blow had hurt. "Do not disobey me!" Denise struck me a second time, then released me. Reaching down she took hold of the bottom of my slip, then yanked it quickly over my head. "There," she said, "that should get you started." I unfastened my brassiere and dropped it to the floor. "Now the panties," Denise ordered, stepping back. I reached down and slid the flimsy garment down my legs, then stepped out of it. I flushed again and dropped my head, painfully aware I was now totally exposed to both women. To my horror, I realized I was becoming sexually aroused. "He's not that much to look at, granted," Denise said disapprovingly as she began circling me, "but, still, there is potential. He'll have to be shaved, of course. Hormone treatments might help considerably, too." From behind me, she ran her hand roughly over my buttocks, one finger penetrating my cheeks and touching my anus. "Firm here, that's nice. You'll need to spank him frequently, Helen, at least at first." She was now back in front of me, closer than she had been before. She reached down and flicked my genitals. "Not much here, as you said, dear." I bit my lip. "What does he look like fully erect?" "JoAnna, play with yourself," Helen rose from the couch and stood beside me. "Show Denise what you look like when you are as big as you get." I wanted to run from the room. I teetered on my heels. "JoAnna, dear, don't be shy. Stroke yourself now." I turned toward Helen. She was smiling. "Be a good girl for me," she said, gently taking my hand and guiding to toward my crotch. I began to masturbate. Both women watched without speaking. After several minutes I felt myself finally begin to swell in my half-closed fist. I shut my eyes. "Good girl," Helen murmured, stroking my shoulder. "Do you want her to come?" "Certainly not!" Denise slapped my hand away and replaced it with one of hers. She twisted my penis painfully, then squeezed it. "Yes, clearly a deficiency," she announced. "But, then," she continued to Helen, "not something you'll need to concern yourself with from now on." Denise released me then ordered me back onto my knees. "How's her tongue?" "Fair," Helen said, "but Joe was never very fond of oral sex. He'd only do it to me if it was a special occasion, like my birthday." She laughed. "And I always had to act so incredibly grateful." "Do you mind if I see for myself?" Helen asked. "Oh, of course not!" Helen giggled. "I'd like to watch!" "Just watch?" Denise smiled at my wife. I couldn't believe the conversation the two women were having. They were talking about me as if I were not present. I wasn't even certain I understood what they were saying. Denise reached behind herself and released the clasp of her skirt, then stepped neatly out of it. She was not wearing underwear. Her pubic hair was dark, thick and bushy. Handing her skirt to Helen, she sat on the couch and lewdly spread her legs. "JoAnna, show Denise how well you can lick," Helen gently pushed me toward the space between Denise's legs. "Make me proud, sweetie." Numbly, I crawled toward Denise. When I was close enough she reached out, took me by the back of the neck and roughly pulled my face into her crotch. Her odor was strong and oily. I thought for an instant I would gag. "Come on," Denise growled, "get that tongue going!" I pushed my face deeper into her crotch. My tongue found her labia beneath the forest of public hair. I began to lick the moist crevice. "Faster, harder, deeper," she said, now grinding my head into her with both her hands. "Not bad," I heard Denise say to Helen, "but there is considerably room for improvement." Her hands grasped the back of my skull again. "Higher," she ordered, forcing my head to the desired position. "Hmm, yes, that's better." I sensed Helen moving toward us. The couch sagged slightly; Helen was now sitting beside Denise. I glanced up. My wife was stroking Denise's neck with the tip of her fingers. "Are you going to come?" Helen asked in her husky voice. The women were now exchanging light kisses. I saw Helen's hand slide down and cup one of Denise's breasts. "Do you want me to?" Helen was unbuttoning the other woman's blouse. "Oh, yes, Helen, darling; that feels quite nice." Denise's legs opened wider; her pelvis pushed against my lips. "What wicked little teeth you have, darling; I adore the way you bite my nipples." "I want you to come, Denise; I want JoAnna and me to make you come." Denise began softly whimpering. Helen reached down and stroked my hair and the side of my face. I could hear her sucking the other woman's nipple. Ignoring the growing ache in my jaw, I pushed deeper into Denise's crotch. I wanted her to come. I wanted to make her come because Helen desired it. Suddenly bringing this stranger to orgasm was the only thing that mattered to me. Helen's hand slid down my face, then forced its way between my lips and Denise's labia. "You're so wet," she murmured. Helen's fingers began to dance across her lover's clitoris. "Come, darling. Please...." Denise shuddered. "Oh, God, yes! Damn! Yes!" She gripped my head again and smashed my face hard against her mound over and over. I grunted from the sudden pain. Helen laughed that marvelous, feathery laugh I loved so much. I laughed, too, proud that, together, we had made Denise explode. Buttoning up her blouse, Denise scowled down at me. "You are entirely too pleased with yourself, JoAnna." Turning to Helen, she continued, "your maid must be properly spanked right this minute. Do you have a paddle?" Helen said she didn't. "What can we use?" Denise mused, looking around the room. "We need something that will inflict enough pain to teach her a lesson." "One of her shoes?" Helen asked. Denise smiled. "Of course. How fitting." She ordered me to give her one of my red high heels. My hand began to shake, but I managed to pluck my right shoe off, then hand it to her. "Yes," she said, turning the high heel over in her hand. "Here, Helen, I think you should give JoAnna her first taste of pain, don't you?" The women forced me over the edge of the couch. My face was pushed down into the soft cushion. "You should be grateful to Denise," Helen said quietly as she gently rubbed the shoe's soul over my naked ass. "I was simply going to kick you out, divorce you. She talked me out of it. She convinced me I should give you a chance to become submissive, to be JoAnna." The first blow struck without warning. The pain, while bearable, forced the air out of my lungs. "Aren't you glad I listened to Denise?" The second blow, considerably harder than the first, landed on my right buttock. I tried to squirm away. Denise grabbed my leg and held it firmly in place. "Oh, God, I love this! Look how red she's getting!" By the fifth blow I was crying. I felt a hand slide against my inner thigh, then snake under me and grasp my penis. I squirmed again. Helen continued striking me with my shoe. The hand stroked me, slipping over the tip of my member; I could feel myself edging toward orgasm. Which woman's hand was it, I wondered? The uncertainty made the experience all the more arousing. The pain from Helen's blows blended with the sexual heat surging through my groin. I could no longer think. I could only feel. I had never been so sexually excited in my life. Simultaneously with Helen's final assault I exploded with a scream into the couch, then almost fainted. "Yes," I heard Denise say softly, "definitely; she has potential." I smiled to myself. I knew Helen was proud of me. The thought I had pleased her made me happier than I had been in years. "Remember, Helen," Denise continued as she rearranged her clothing, "she'll need to be spanked every day. I'll bring you a proper paddle Sunday." Denise put her skirt back on, the women embraced. Denise started toward the door. "If she continues to do well we'll introduce him to Ryan next week. I can't wait to see her on her knees at his feet." ------------------- As I gently placed the last of the clean, bone-white dinner plates into its place in the cluttered cabinet to the right of the sink I glanced at the kitchen clock. 5:30 p.m.; Mistress would be home in less than an hour. Ignoring the itch beneath my garter belt, I bent over and closed the dishwasher door. Despite a week of practice I still felt unsteady on my four inch heels and grasped the edge of the counter for support. Straightening up, I surveyed the now spotless kitchen as I smoothed down my short black skirt. Mistress, I hoped, would be pleased. Everything was now done. I smiled to myself, then walked across the now spotless kitchen floor and the freshly vacuumed dining room carpet to the dark wood, glass topped table. With a triumphant flourish, I used a red magic marker to cross through the last of the fifteen instructions she'd written out for me this morning on a sheet of blue note paper. Snapping the red plastic cover back on the oversized pen, I slumped down into the nearest chair. My feet were killing me. I looked down at my legs. My slender, shaved legs were encased in dark nylon; the red high heels dangling from my toes still seemed impossibly small for my feet. I was thankful once Mistress arrived I would spend most of the evening on my knees or bound to the bed. I glanced down at her Helen's list again, admiring her graceful, precise handwriting. These innocuous deep blue words, orders to clean both bathrooms, vacuum, scrub the kitchen floor, and similar chores, reminded me of the note she had left for me seven days earlier. Those words, also on pale blue paper, had changed my life in the most stunning way. Her note had given me a stark choice: submit to her, be utterly at her command, or leave. Half out of fear of losing her, half out of love, I had elected to stay. She had first stripped me naked, forced me to wear women's clothes, then taken my very identity. I was no longer Joe, her unemployed, bitter husband who drank too much. I was no longer the frightened man in his mid-thirties who was fast losing his dream of a meaningful career yet bitterly resented his wife's business success. Now, a week later, sitting here at the immaculate dining room table in a short, black maid's dress, in stockings, a garter belt, in pale blue panties and brassiere, in high heels, I was simply JoAnna. Helen's JoAnna. Helen's slave JoAnna. The first few days had been extremely difficult. Helen had been unyielding. The morning after my initiation I had discovered all of my male clothing gone from the closet and dressers, replaced by skirts and blouses, dresses and lingerie. When I had protested, Helen had slapped my face then ordered me to leave. I had fallen to her feet, begging forgiveness. "Will you be JoAnna forever and always?" she had asked. Numbly I had nodded. That evening she punished me for my rebellion. After I cleared away the dinner plates she had ordered me to the bedroom. After binding me securely face down on our bed with white cotton rope she said, "you have been very bad today, JoAnna." Her voice was light as feathers. "Very bad. I want you to lie here and think about your naughtiness." She reached down and pulled my hair hard enough to bring pain. She released me, then her hand slid down my back. "When I return I will have to spank you for your little scene this morning." She pulled my short skirt up until it was bunched around my waist. "But first I will want you to tell me how bad you've been. I want you to tell me how much you deserve to be punished." She gently eased my pink panties down my legs. Lightly caressing my bare bottom she added, "Do you understand me, JoAnna?" "Yes, Mistress." Her hand was now sliding slowly down between my parted thighs. Her finger nails slid over my balls. I jerked and tried vainly to pull my legs together. Mistress laughed, her hand now cupping my testicles. She began to squeeze. "Are you mine, JoAnna?" "Yes, Mistress," I sighed, acutely aware of my vulnerability. I was completely, utterly, at her mercy. I knew she could do anything with me she desired. "Absolutely mine?" Her hand increased the pressure on my scrotum. "Yes, Mistress," I grunted. I tensed, waiting for the increase in pain I was sure was only an instant away. "Raise yourself for me, JoAnna." I struggled to lift my pelvis and stomach off the bed. Her hand moved forward, finding my penis. She laughed. "What a little slut you are!" I buried my reddening face in the bedspread, embarrassed by both my erection and her discovery of it. Her fingers toyed with me for an instant and then were gone. "If you're very good, JoAnna - if you take your spanking like a good little girl, maybe I'll let you come for me." Before I could respond to her she was gone. I spent the next hour hurtling from emotion to emotion. First came shame. What sort of perverted degenerate had I become? How could I let this happen to me? What flaw did I have that explained this? What forgotten, sick event in my childhood had led to this moment? I was thirty-five years old. I had two college degrees. Once, before the word "downsizing" had entered my vocabulary, I had managed more than three hundred employees for a large bank. I had played football, basketball, in high school, even spent two years in college ROTC. Now, after all that, I was tied to this bed, in women's clothes, in panties, and letting my wife turn my into her slave. I imagined my parents, my sister, my old high school friends, my former business colleagues seeing my like this, seeing me humiliated, dressed like a woman, groveling at my wife's feet. I cringed at their sniggering, their snide jokes, their cruel, dismissive laughter. Next came fear. Perhaps Helen had gone mad. What might she do to me? What if she came back with a knife? I shuddered at the awful possibilities. I tested the strength of the rope holding me to the bed frame, wondering if I was strong enough to escape. What did she have in store for me? What might she do in the next days, the next weeks or months? Anger. She couldn't do this to me! How dare she! I wouldn't let her take away my manhood. When she returned to the bedroom I'd end this silly game. I'd find a job - a better job than hers! If she didn't like that then, yes, I'd leave. I'd show her. I could manage just fine without her! Pity. But I couldn't. Without her I was nothing. Without her I was dead. No, worse than dead. At least the dead feel no pain. I imagined myself in a homeless shelter, hugging a too-small, threadbare coat around my bony shoulders and coughing until I vomited blood. I couldn't leave. I wouldn't. I was nothing without her. Better to be her slave, to endure anything she put me through, be anything she wanted, than that awful nothingness. Exhausted, I closed my eyes and made an effort to clear my mind. As the tumult of tangled emotions ebbed my breathing slowed, my arms and legs relaxed. I began to wonder how much longer it would be before Helen returned. I thought about the spanking she had promised. Another emotion, one I had suppressed before, began to fill me. I remembered how I had felt last night, with Helen and her friend Denise. Almost against my will I recalled the sweet peace I had felt as they had held me over the couch and spanked me with one of my red high heels. My penis began to stir again. I tried to summon up my anger again to use as a shield against this growing feeling. It hit me with overwhelming power. I wanted this. It was that simple. I wanted it. Helen had not forced me to be her slave. She had not compelled me to grovel at her feet, to display myself in lingerie to a total stranger, to submit myself to pain and humiliation at that stranger's hands. I wanted it. Once my veneer of masculinity was stripped away along with my suit and tie, I craved being abjectly submissive. I was JoAnna. Maybe I had always been JoAnna. Maybe it was Joe who was the imperfect, frightened deception. "Have you been bad, JoAnna?" Mistress was back beside me. Her voice was gentle, sweetly pure. "Yes, Mistress," I answered, relieved we were about to finally begin. "I have been very, very bad." "Are you ready for your punishment?" Her hand touched my naked, waiting flesh. "Yes, Mistress." I couldn't wait for it to begin, to feel the welcome, purifying pain. "Please spank me like I deserve, Mistress." She made me count the blows. Each one freed another little part of me. Each jolt of pain snapped another of the links chaining me to the past, to Joe. Each blow against my reddening flesh brought me closer to Helen, and closer to JoAnna. By the time I reached "twenty-five" in my counting I was crying. Hot tears filled my eyes, rolled down my cheeks and sank into the soft bedspread. Joe, what little was left of him, was now being erased. Now I was becoming JoAnna. I began to feel lighter, smaller. I could sense my body changing shape. At "fifty" I was JoAnna. JoAnna, with breasts heavy against the bed, with long, flowing hair resting on her slim, trembling back. JoAnna, her long, slender, beautiful legs parting, her vagina filling with wetness. At "sixty" I cried out. Joe's voice was gone. My voice was now girlish, breathy, pure. My laughter sounded like wonderful music. "JoAnna, I'm so proud of you." Mistress' face was beside mine. Her red hair covered my cheek. She kissed my ear, my chin, my mouth. I tried to kiss her back but I was too slow; she was gone. She untied me, then turned me over. As I watched she stripped off her dress and panties. She moved to the head of the bed, then crawled onto my chest, putting her folded legs on either side of my neck. Grasping the headboard, she pulled herself forward until the damp warmth of her crotch covered my face. Her smell, a heavy, earthy aroma, filled my nostrils. "Make me come, JoAnna," she ordered. "Make me come and I'll give you a nice surprise." I bent my head forward, obediently probing for her vagina with my tongue. "Yes," she cooed when my tongue made contact with her flesh, "that's nice! Yes!" Pleased, I pushed harder into her and quickened my pace. She shuddered, then leaned forward and pulled my head deeper into the warm, dark space between her thighs. "Good, JoAnna!" The sound of my name, my real name, sent tiny bursts of happiness through me. My arms were imprisoned beneath her but I was able to move them just enough to caress her smooth, bare ankles. My jaw began to ache. I ignored it. I wanted to please her, to make her come. That was all that mattered to me in the world. My lips and tongue raced across her vulva and clitoris. She dropped a hand into my hair, her finger nails digging painfully into my scalp. After another minute, Helen shuddered suddenly, her knees squeezed my cheeks. "Oh, yes, JoAnna! I'm coming! I'm coming!" Helen's other hand released the headboard. Pulling slightly away from my face, she arched away from me, then reached behind her. I shivered; she was touching me, stroking me. Finger nails grazed my flesh. I knew I was on the brink of orgasm. "Come for me, JoAnna." Mistress smiled down at me. "Come for me now." I cried out. My immediate, if involuntary, obedience made Helen laugh. "Good girl! Yes, fill my hand, JoAnna." As my last spasm died, Mistress slid down until her pelvis was over mine. She bent over me until our faces were only inches apart. "Here," she whispered, presenting her hand to my lips. "Lick my hand clean." When I hesitated for an instant she slapped me with the other hand. "Eat this, JoAnna. Eat this nasty, little mess you've made on my fingers." I opened my mouth. Mistress smeared my sperm across my lips and tongue. The taste was hot, bitter, salty. "That's a good girl. " She held her palm flat against my lips. "Get every last drop, darling." When at last I was done Helen snuggled against me. She gently stroked my sticky lips and cheeks. "Did you like tasting sperm, JoAnna?" Her voice was light, full of feathers. I wanted to make her happy. I realized I would do anything for her happiness. Anything at all. "Yes," I said, then blushed. "Good," she replied. Her hand slid down to my throat. "Will you do it again for me, darling?" "Yes," I smiled back at her. "Any time I want?" I snuggled against her, burying my head in my soft breast. "Yes, Mistress." "Do you promise, JoAnna?" I nodded, my face pressed against the warmth of her body. "Even if it isn't yours?" II The memory of the impact of Helen's words startled me out of my late afternoon reverie. I glanced again at the kitchen clock; it was now approaching six; I barely had time to honor the last of Mistress' instructions before she was due to arrive home. After neatly folding Helen's list in two, I placed it and the magic marker on the kitchen counter, then headed toward the bedroom. In what was becoming a ritual for me I stripped, dropped my soiled clothes into the hamper filling with tomorrow's laundry, then stepped into the shower. The hot, drenching spray relaxed my tired muscles. After a idle moment or two I spent fifteen minutes shaving my legs, arms and underarms. Mistress liked my skin smooth, clean and hairless and I did as thorough a job as possible with the twin-bladed razor. Reluctantly abandoning the luxurious warmth of the shower, I dried, powdered and lightly perfumed my body. When I was finished I spent a moment pondering my pale pink reflection in the mirror covering the wall above the counter and sink. The image in the glass shattered my pretensions of truly being female. However slender, hairless and smooth this creature in the glass might be, he was still decidedly male. I turned away, eager to put on my panties, brassiere, stockings, heels, garter belt and pale blue slip. Once I was dressed I returned to the bathroom and confronted my reflection again. The padded bra, satiny slip and smooth stockings gave my body a pleasing feminine appearance. I frowned, my short hair and naked, masculine face completely destroyed the illusion existing below my neck. At precisely 6:21 I centered Helen's vodka tonic on a coaster on the coffee table. Kneeling beside the couch, my face toward the door, I began my wait for my Mistress. Unlike that night a week before, tonight I was at peace. The fear, the confusion, I had felt seven nights before were now only a fading memory. This was where I wanted to be: waiting for Mistress, waiting for her commands. After the revelation which had come with that first punishment, I had been happier than I had been in years. Cleaning, vacuuming, washing clothes and dishes, seemed a luxury. Being responsible only to Helen, needing only to please her, to obediently do her bidding, was a simple and easy joy. I even looked forward to the spankings, which came at least once each evening. Perhaps the only stricture I had found difficult was her command that I not touch my penis without her permission. Even this was only truly hard when she would pull my head into the dark intersection of her naked thighs. After that first night, when she had forced me to eat my own sperm, she had not touched me, not allowed me an orgasm. Though frustrated, I struggled to accept this enforced celibacy as a part of my training. She was home. I could hear her closing the garage door. My body stiffened beneath my slip in anticipation. Her key invaded the lock. The door swung open. I dropped my head and closed my eyes, folding my hands in my lap. As she had each evening, Mistress ignored me. She walked into the kitchen, then the dining room. As I waited the soft sound of her shoes on the carpet faded; she was headed toward the bedroom. A moment or two later I heard her return. "JoAnna," Helen called softly. "Yes, Mistress." I did not raise my head or open my eyes. "You may look at me." As always her beauty took my breath away. Her long, red hair complimented the near navy color of her tailored business suit. The twin, soft curves of her hips, waist and breasts tantalized me. I had a sudden urge to crawl to her and hug and kiss her slim ankles. She gave me the barest hint of a smile. I blushed and dropped my head. "JoAnna, I am very pleased with your work. The house is spotless." "Thank you, Mistress." My eyes moistened. It was the first time she had given me any praise for my housework. "You deserve a reward. I have brought you a gift." She strolled to the couch, then sat beside where I knelt. Stroking my cheek idly, she said, "you can have it after dinner." She picked up her drink, my signal to leave and begin preparing her meal. ----------------- "Come with me," Helen said after I had cleared away the soiled dinner plates. She led me to her bedroom. A large, round white box lay on the dark bedspread. "You may open it, JoAnna." Inside the box I found a glorious wig of medium length honey-colored, curly hair. I bit my lip, fighting back tears. "Oh, Mistress! Thank you!" Taking my hand, she pulled me into the bathroom, then pushed me down into the small chair facing the mirror. Together, under the bright mirror lights, we fitted the wig over my short brown hair. "What do you think, JoAnna?" Mistress' reflection smiled down at me. "Do you like my gift?" I stared, enchanted by my reflection. The soft curls resting on my pale shoulders were lovely; they glowed and sparkled in the bright light. Gently I swayed my head from side to side, fascinated by the way my new locks flowed with the movement. Tentatively, I touched the soft hair framing my face, then gingerly pushed it back and away from my neck. Mistress laughed, clearly recognizing that I was rapidly falling in love with my altered reflection. "Thank you, Mistress," I whispered. "You look very pretty, JoAnna." Mistresses caressed the back of my neck. "I want you to look pretty, darling, to please the company we have coming tomorrow night." I stared at her face in the glass. Company? I shivered. "Is Denise coming back?" I asked, knowing I was being impertinent. Helen's smile faded. "Yes, darling, Denise will be here." She slapped me lightly on the cheek. "Now no more questions. Replace your wig carefully in the box, then go fetch the ropes for me and position yourself on the bed. I can't wait to feel your tongue inside me." That night she rode my face hard; her hands gripped the back of my skull and pushed me so far into her crotch that I could barely breathe. By the time she reached orgasm my tongue and jaws were numb. Exhausted, I fell asleep even before Mistress untied me. The next morning the brevity of Helen's note surprised me. Other than cleaning the master bathroom, vacuuming the living room carpet and dusting the furniture I had no other chores. I was instructed, however, to bathe and shave myself especially carefully and well. In another break from what had been our mundane routine, I was to put on my clean maid's dress after I bathing rather than a slip. The pale blue note also informed me Mistress would be arriving home from work much earlier than normal, at four if all went well at the office. I rushed through my housework and then regretted my haste. With nothing to do I could not keep myself from anxiously wondering what the evening might bring. Would Denise still approve of me? Would I once again find myself between her thighs, my face buried in her overgrown pubic hair? The thought of once again submitting to the tall, dark haired woman excited me and, for a moment, I thought about disobeying Mistress and masturbating to relieve my anxiety. Ashamed by this rebellious thought, I forced myself to lie face down on the bed and pretended I was tied spreadeagle. "JoAnna," Mistress said as she struggled the door with two large grocery bags at ten minutes to five, "get up off your knees. I'm late and we have a lot to do." Leaving her freshly poured drink untouched, she stalked to the kitchen, beckoning me to follow. "We'll need three of everything - glasses, coasters, salad plates, forks, spoons, knives." I stood behind her, stunned. Three? I wondered if I was included in the number. If I was not, then Denise was not going to be our only guest. "Be sure they match, darling. I'm going to shower and dress." When Mistress returned to the kitchen half an hour late I was stunned by her transformation. She wore a white, low cut, swirling dress that looked both soft and sexy, a wide black belt, pearls and white, four inch heels. She also wore more makeup than I could remember her wearing in years. "Do I look nice, JoAnna?" Mistress grinned at me. "Denise insisted I buy this dress. I thought it wasn't right for me, but," she turned in a circle, the skirt flying around her calves and thighs, "it does make me feel wonderfully wanton." I couldn't speak and I couldn't pull my eyes away from her half exposed breasts. I wanted to rush to her, to hold her. I wanted to make love to her as we had in the early days of our courtship. I suddenly realized how ridiculous, how effeminate, I looked. For the first time since that night of my first punishment I felt confused about who I was, who I should be. I lowered my head. My cheeks burned; my eyes filled with tears. "What's the matter, JoAnna?" Mistress stood next to me. She stroked my hair. "What has my little girl, my little sweetie, so upset?" "You just look so beautiful, Mistress," I mumbled, hoping she would not guess the truth. At the same instant I wanted her to know how I yearned for her and for her to respond to my desire. As her JoAnna, as her slave, I was powerless to take her into my arms. "Silly girl," she murmured. "We can't have you all weepy now. It's going to be an exciting and busy night." She laughed and kissed my cheek. I fought the impulse to grab her and kiss her on the mouth. "I know what will cheer you up; let's go do your makeup!" Slightly more than half an hour later I sat staring in open mouthed amazement at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The image in the glass was now, to my eye, at least, entirely female. My eyebrows were a thin dark line, my eyelids a delicate shade of blue, my lashes long and dark, my cheeks a smooth pink. My lips were no longer thin and pink. Now they were full and luscious red. The face beneath my honey colored hair was the face of a lovely young woman. I struggled to reconcile the entirely feminine image in the mirror with the feelings boiling inside me. I glanced at Helen's reflection. The inward sweep of her dress to her waist tortured me. I wanted to hold her there. I wanted her to melt in my arms. I looked back at myself, at JoAnna. Currents of resentment began to flow through me. The docile girl staring back at me from the mirror seemed to mock my frustration. "JoAnna?" Helen's voice was sharp. I dropped my head, both ashamed and proud of my rebellious thoughts. "Yes, Mistress." "I want you to listen to me very carefully. You are to serve our guests tonight in any way they desire. Do you understand?" I didn't immediately answer her. I was confused. What did she mean? "You do not need my permission. You will treat any demand that a guest makes to be my order." When I still did not reply Mistress gripped my neck and pulled my face around to hers. "Do you understand?" Her voice was harsh, menacing. A tiny spark of anger flickered in my stomach. "Answer me, slut! Do you understand?" Her eyes bored into mine. "Or would you rather leave?" Her voice was deadly calm. I dropped my head. "Yes, Mistress, I understand." "Stand up, JoAnna. Bend over the counter and lift your skirt." Mutely, I obeyed. "Tonight is very important to me. I want you on your best behavior. Maybe this will serve as a reminder to be a good girl." Her blows were hard, unmercifully hard. Despite my rebellious resolve not to, I began to cry and whimper after the first thirty seconds. When she was finished, Helen spun me around. "Now look what you've done, you stupid thing; you've ruined your makeup." She pushed me back into the chair and spent another fifteen minutes repairing the havoc my tears had wrecked. ------------------- At 8:10 the door bell rang. "Open the door, JoAnna. Smile for our first guest." My hand began to shake as I walked across the living room carpet toward the front door. My stomach was full of briars. I swallowed, then quickly pulled the door toward me. It was Denise. She smiled at me then pushed past me and into the room. "Helen, darling, you look magnificent! Stunning! Give me a kiss!" The women embraced. As I watched from beside the door Denise cupped one of Helen's breasts. I dropped my head, not wanting to see someone else touching my wife in such an intimate way. "I'm so excited," Mistress laughed, still hugging the other woman. "You don't know how glad I am that you'll be here." The women kissed. "It's all I could think about for the last three days." "I wouldn't miss it for the world, Helen." At last releasing Helen, Denise turned to me. "Is that really you, JoAnna?" Her frank gaze was disconcerting. "What a difference a week makes." She motioned for me to turn around. Reluctantly I obeyed. "Nice! Helen, you've done superbly with her. She looks just like a girl. You should be proud." Turning back to me, Denise said, "get me a drink, JoAnna. Bourbon and water." I turned to Helen. "Yes," she said, "bring me a drink, too, JoAnna. Make it a double." As I scurried to the kitchen, relieved to be free from the tall brunette's eyes, the two women continued to discuss me. "Is she obedient?" Denise asked. "Yes," Helen answered. "I had a bit of trouble with her the first day, actually. I followed your advice and she's been the perfect little lamb ever since." "I suppose tonight will be a major test." I couldn't hear Helen's answer because I was running water for Denise's drink. "Well," I heard Denise say, "you have to be firm. If she won't accept, you have only one option. Still, if you show her she has no choice..." I returned to the living room, a glass in each hand. The women were now sitting on the couch. "Come here, pet," Denise said as I handed her the drink. "Kneel beside me." I did as she instructed. The dark haired woman patted me on the head. "Do you love your Mistress, JoAnna?" I blinked, then answered yes. "Do you remember the promises you have made to her?" I nodded, not trusting my voice. "What were those promises?" She cupped my chin, forcing me to look at her. "To be hers completely," I said weakly, glancing at Helen. My wife was staring at me, her face an inscrutable mask. "What does that mean, JoAnna?" Denise's voice was even and soft. Her grip tightened. "What does it mean that you are Helen's?" I tried to clear my throat. Why was she asking me these questions? "That I will do anything she desires; that I belong to her." "Are you her slave?" I bit my lip. "Yes," I finally said. "Now, this minute? Are you Helen's property, her slave? Will you obey her completely - right now?" Denise leaned toward me. Her large, dark eyes hunted mine. My pulse quickened. My stomach knotted. I could not escape her. "Tell me if you are." "Yes," I said, the word escaping my lips like a fleeing thief. "I am Helen's slave. Her property." "This very instant, JoAnna?" She released her hold on me. "Yes, " I whispered, dropping my head again. "This very instant." Denise instructed me to stand, to lift my skirt and pull my panties down. I did so, my face burning but my rebellion spent. She told me to touch my penis, to hold it out away from my body. "Make yourself hard," she said. "Play with yourself but do not come." After a slight pause, she added, "look at me while you do it." I obeyed. Her eyes held me as securely as Helen's ropes. I felt myself rise and stiffen. Just as I began to feel the prickly heat the signaled orgasm was approaching Denise ordered me to stop. She stood and stepped toward me. "JoAnna, your tiny little dick cannot satisfy your Mistress." My cheeks flamed; I remembered what Helen had said seven days earlier, during Denise's last visit, that my lovemaking had never satisfied her. "Look at the little thing. As hard as it can get and it's still no bigger than one of my fingers!" She reached down and roughly gripped my penis. "You know what I'm saying is true, don't you, JoAnna?" "Yes," I said, feeling suddenly defeated, overwhelmed. "That's why she made you into JoAnna, into her slave maid, isn't it? You do know that, don't you?" "Yes." I fought the tears invading my lower eyelids. She twisted my cock painfully then pushed it down and back between my thighs. "Close your legs, JoAnna." I obeyed and Denise stepped back. "You see, Helen? See how she really looks like a girl now?" "She does!" Helen laughed. Denise turned back to me. "Do you want your Mistress to be happy, JoAnna? You wouldn't want her to be miserable, would you?" "Of course not," I answered, confused by this new line of questioning. "Good, JoAnna." Denise smiled at me, then glanced back at Helen. "Sometimes your Mistress needs more than your tongue to make her happy. Sometimes she will need a big, beautiful cock. A cock that can thrust deep inside her and make her come again and again. A cock much bigger than yours." I couldn't breathe. I felt like I would shatter into a million pieces if I so much as moved at all. "Isn't that right, Helen?" Denise's eyes did not leave mine. "Helen, tell your slave what you need, what you want." I wanted to look at Helen, but I couldn't tear my eyes from Denise's face. Helen stood up, then walked slowly toward me. Denise stepped aside; now Helen stood in front of me, a sad smile on her face. "JoAnna, I love you. You've made me very happy this past week. You can never know what a thrill I feel when you are on your knees before me." She leaned forward, her lips brushed my cheeks. "But I am going to take a lover." The tears now overflowed. Mistress touched the tiny river winding down my left cheek. "I am going to take a lover and you are going to watch." Denise was now beside me, too. "Because your Mistress loves you so much, JoAnna, she is going to share her lover with you." The two women were now almost hugging me, Denise on my left, Helen on my right. "She wants you to share her joy." A hand forced its way between my thighs. "You will see Helen take her lover's huge cock in her mouth and in her cunt." Fingers brushed the rigid flesh of my penis. "I want you to be there, darling," Helen murmured in my ear, "to see his cock stretch me open, plunge into me." One of the women was now slowly pumping my penis. "I want you to hear me scream his name, beg him to take me again and again." Another hand was caressing my balls. "Imagine it, JoAnna," Denise whispered, kissing my ear. "Imagine your Mistress' beautiful legs on his shoulders as he drives that huge, gorgeous cock into her. Imagine her kissing her lover a thousand times. Can you see it?" Now I was on the brink of coming. The hand pumping me withdrew. I moaned. "Can you see it, JoAnna? Can you see him, all sweaty, driving into her, fucking your wife, your Mistress? See his dark cock slip out of her cunt and then drive back in?" The hand returned, but only for an agonizing instant. I shivered. The women pressed in closer to me. "Darling, I want you to see me when I come." Two sets of nails slid painfully up my thighs. "I want you to see my shake, see my breasts darken, my nipples harden like tiny stones." Two hands squeezed my balls. "I want you to hear me scream his name. See his beautiful, wet, spent cock finally pull out of me." Fingers gripped my penis, squeezed until I felt intoxicating pain. "I want you to see the last pulse of his sperm strike my belly." Denise leaned into me, biting my ear. "I want you to watch me coat my fingers with that sperm, then watch me lick them clean." Helen dug her nails deep into my thigh. "Don't you want your Mistress to be happy?" Denise pulled my head around until our faces were only inches apart. "Don't you?" "Yes." The answer sprang from my lips before I could stop it. "Will you watch me?" Helen's voice was light as feathers. "Will you?" "Yes," I whispered, turning to face her and replaying in my mind the wanton images the women had conjured for me. "Yes." My legs were trembling. I felt dizzy, faint. I feared I would fall. "I love you so much, darling," Helen kissed me softly on the lips. I clung to her with what little strength I still possessed. "You have made me wonderfully happy." Ten minutes later the doorbell rang again. III Helen shivered slightly, then turned and looked at me. "JoAnna, please answer the door." I was kneeling at her feet. Paralyzed by fear and exhaustion, I did not respond. "JoAnna!" Helen's voice was sharper now. She reached down and slapped my left cheek.