In The Amazon Empire: An Amazon Wife Speaks~Part Five free porn video

In the Amazon Empire: An Amazon Wife & Mother Speaks of His Life~ Part Five by Ginny Wolf ********** Principal characters in this episode: Rylann Penthesilea, Nanette's First Wife Hemia and Uther, his parents Nanette Penthesilea, Rylann's husband Baroness Sylvia Penthesilea and Dame Oblea Penthesilea, her noble parents Alistair, Nanette's Second Wife Ira, maid to Rylann Hadrian, Rylann's new maid ********** Types of Amazon men: drones~men required to have at least two children; perform service jobs; largest group in society; covey males~men selected based upon physical fitness and emotional stability to bear a minimum of 12 to 15 babies with a maximum of 25 infants [Alistair is a covey male]; breed mares~men selected from the best looking and intellectually brightest of males, usually married off to nobles and required to have a minimum of five babies and no more than twelve; they are the matrons of high society [Rylann is a breed mare] ********** Pointedly, late one evening as Nanette cuddled me while I nursed darling Zane, I asked, "Sweetheart, I need to know. Do you plan to make me pregnant again? I have had seven. I know that by law, you could impregnate me again. Several times. But now we finally have our baby girby. He's beautiful. Your wife, however, is a tub of lard. It's going to take a concentrated effort for me to slim down. I want to do it. Although I'll never be that svelte bride you first so lovingly bedded, I do want to look nice for you. I want you to be proud of me. I'm thirty- four. I've borne you seven babies in the last seventeen years. I've nursed them and helped nurse Alistair's little ones. I can't look like a runway model but I do want to look like a well-proportioned matron." I stopped, afraid that if I said a another word, I'd burst into tears. The realization that I spent thirty percent of my married life pregnant shocked me. The fat on my hips and thighs embarrassed me. Nanette kissed me, sweetly, gently. "Do not worry, darling. You are a natural born homemaker and got pregnant like a good and properly submissive wife. I love looking at either you or Alistair in your maternity dresses. You should see the love on your face when you're nursing a baby like right now with little Zane. I understand your concerns. I really do. I did not select you as First Wife to turn you into a baby-making machine. That's what I have Alistair for as Second Wife. He wants fifteen or sixteen babies or more. I'm going to keep fertilizing him until we get there. I've even considered taking him to the legal maximum and have him bear twenty-five babies." To my self I thought of that poor, sweet covey male fattened yet several more times and smiling through it all and thanked the Goddess that I was a breed mare. She paused, stroked my cheek, took my free hand. "Right now, Rylann, and for some time to come, I need you as my wife active in politics, in society, at Court. The Queen is pleased with my work. I reasonably expect that within a year she will name me a Duchess." I gasped with surprise and pride. "So you, Dame Rylann, need to look pretty, dress well, show your beautiful face with me. Times are tense. We expect to be at war on two different fronts from male-dominated states. So as my mother helped my mama, I shall need you to help me. An attractive matronly wife is an incredible asset to a rising aristocratic husband. I intend not to make you pregnant again anytime soon." I sighed with relief. "Maybe ten years from now. To have a cute little caboose baby before you go through your change of life," she added with mischief gleaming in her eyes. "Oh if I weren't nursing this child, I'd swat you, you trouble-maker," I laughed. "Well, if my submissive wife swatted me, I'd have to put him across my lap and spank him. Might be fun to turn that ample bottom of yours bright red with a good, firm hand spanking. Then have you stand in the corner, like a naughty little girby'" "You would too, I know, and love doing it," I giggled. "You'd enjoy making me squeal and kick my legs. Then you'd expect me to wear a tight girdle after you warmed my tush enough to make hard to sit, you beastly, demanding woman." I paused. "Seriously my dear, thank you for not fertilizing me too. I'll help Alistair with as many babes as you give him. Of course, should you decide to have me bear you another baby while I still can, of course I would. I'm proud to be an obedient wife. And you know I'll gladly be at your side, at Court or anyplace. But to be your dignified and properly ornamental wife, I desperately need to do something about this ample bottom of mine. I want to look cute and curvy for you. Wouldn't you like me with a less ample bottom?" "I know, my darling. I've anticipated your needs and desires. You have been such a docile and dutiful wife that I've made some arrangements for you. Have you heard of the Venus Rejuvenation Salon and Spa?" "Goodness, what man hasn't? Only a year in operation. Expensive in the extreme. Pictures on the society pages make it look like the Taj Mahal. Half the wives I know are dying to get in there. Supposedly appointments are hard to get." "Well, Dame Rylann, you have one. I have booked you for six months personal training with Olga Quattrocchi and a makeover with Vanna DiStablo. I met with her and discussed what should be done for you. Also, when Zane is a bit older, you will be scheduled for a consultation with Dr Salvatora Aristizabel, the finest plastic surgeon in the northern half of the Empire. If she tells me that you really do need a face-lift, I will let you have one. I've scheduled you with Ilona Kodicek, the renowned European corseti?re for new corsets. And when you have been sufficiently slenderized by Olga and properly corseted by Ilona, you will be fitted for a new wardrobe at Virago Sophia's Majestic Dress Salon." I was giddy with joy at Nanette's generosity and plans for me. As usual Mother Oblea was right. My wiles won me more than I expected from my husband. As soon as I had the baby fed, changed and settled, I went between her legs to pleasure her and then on my back, spreading my legs for her to show her my deep appreciation. Her response was deep as well, making me coo with pleasure. Dr Olga Quattrocchi turned out to be twice as demanding as Dr Gertrude Hagelaur, who had taught physical education when I was a youth, and used more fiendish methods with much more elaborate equipment. "Your husband wants you to shed pounds. I will make you shed pounds. Follow my orders. She pays much good money for your treatment," she told me on my first visit while I stood there stark naked, being weighed, measured, examined and photographed by her and two assistants. The treatment that day, after my measurements and evaluation, consisted of being given an enema, being fed sixteen ounces of a bitter-tasting herbal beverage and being baked in a steam room for forty-five minutes to "begin removing toxins." On my second visit, Dr Olga encapsulated my pudgy form in smooth black open-bottom "reducing girdle" which had laces, front and back. These she made as tight as possible and put me in a sweat shirt and a kind of hobble skirt made of sweat shirt material. While music played I waddled around a walking track, each step a struggle because of the extreme confinement of the open-bottom girdle and sweat skirt. She required me to complete two miles. From there she put me on a power exercise bike. My feet were fastened to the pedals and my hands to the handlebar while she electronically set the sped and duration of the session. Finally she led into an exercise room where three other well-rounded men waited. We all wore pink leotards and tights which revealed every inch of flab on our figures. For forty minutes, Dr Olga, her own slim figure in black leotard and tights, put the four of us wives through an extensive aerobics workout. Strict dieting provided another key component. Every day I completed a chart of everything I ate and drank. In my two or three sessions a week with Dr Olga, I handed her my daily dietary reports. Any unapproved food or drink, failure to eat full amount of approved foods, or unapproved snacking resulted in extra and severe treatments. Having to attend Court or cultural events with Nanette meant I ate forbidden things for which Dr Olga disciplined me; but I could not refuse to accompany Nanette. Obedience to my husband invariably led to torturous sessions at the spa. Dr Olga had more ways to diminish a man's weight and compress his measurements than I had ever dreamed where possible. She was a portly wife's worst nightmare. At social functions or at the hairdresser I often talked with other rotund wives as we confided our worries to one another about struggling to slim down to meet our husbands' expectations. My three best friends and I were all First Wives and had a total of 31 children among the four of us. Having all started out as slim brides each of us grew corpulent having babies. Three of our husbands had a Second Wife and Bartholomew's husband had a Third Wife as well. As breed mares we had done our duty. Randolph had birthed six babies. I had seven. Bartholomew and Horace each had nine. We four felt fortunate that our husbands now vented their creative desires on their other wives. Those five poor men had borne a total of 84 children to our husbands. Dame Bartholomew's husband had surprised him by taking as the Third Wife a youngster who was 17 years younger than her and then making the poor man pregnant ten times in a dozen years. The four women were all rising stars at Court who expected their First Wives to give them offspring and look chic in society. Our husbands were tall, slim and muscular while we wives endured hours of torture from our maids, hairdressers, beauticians and personal trainers like Dr Olga so we could appear in glamorous dresses by the side of our spouse with our every hair in place, our nails manicured, our faces perfectly made-up and figures in shapely hourglass form. So we socialized, looking stylish, ate as was expected of us and endured harsh and demanding beauty rituals in consequence. In private we commiserated with each other about the price we paid to be beautiful and wondered at times if our husbands appreciated what we put up with for their sakes. "My slim husband has no idea of what I go through at a Court dinner, wearing a tight girdle and spike heels for six or seven hours, and keeping a smile on my face to advance her career," Horace would comment. "Then, when you do get home, all you want to do is get out of your foundation and take your shoes off but she's all horny and just wants to get you into bed and get between your legs," Bartholomew would add. The rest of us agreed. Randolph noted, "On the other hand we all know how husbands are when we're in the mood. I spend hours in the beauty salon, have a total body wax which just kills me, get my hair and nails done, have the children taken care of, arrange a delicious dinner, have my maid corset me within an inch of my life, slither into something tight and sexy, new shoes, new perfume, and what happens? She's exhausted from work. Or eats and rushes back to the office or the Court for a meeting." "I just hate it," Horace rejoined, "when all she can comment about is how pretty some girby movie star is or the wife of so-and-so looks so slender or that new cashier at the coffee shop has the cutest rump showing under his tight skirts. Ha! She forgets that I grew this fat posterior of mine having her babies. At our age, girbys, we work doubly hard to look nice for our husbands. And I wonder half the time if my husband knows what all I go through to be beautiful for her." Always I readily agreed with my friends yet at the same time I recognized that my Nanette was more considerate of me than some other husbands. I determined to work hard at my figure and my looks to keep my darling's full attention. So with determination I resolved to endure whatever Dr Olga would do to me. Dr Olga put me through all kinds of treatments. Far and away the worst reducing treatment Dr Olga used she called a paraffin bath. I followed Dr Olga and an attendant into a treatment room where what looked like six elongated wicker containers, at that time all empty, were lined up. As Dr Olga dressed me in a paper diaper and then cotton batting from my neck to my toes, the attendant lined the container with wax paper and poured about an inch of warm melted wax all up and down it. "What are you going to do to me?" I asked with obvious fear in my voice. "How do feel about being mummified?" the doctor asked. "Ugh! That sounds unpleasant," I answered in a quivering voice. "Are you really going to do that to me? What does it involve?" I knew I could not resist. Nanette gave her carte blanche to give me any treatment deemed necessary. Besides, if it helped me reduce my roundness, I would put up with it to look nice for my husband, whatever discomfort I had to go through. After covering my hair with a cloth turban, the attendant assisted me into the container. When I was situated, I watched in horror as she and Dr Olga covered me from neck to toes with pitcher after pitcher of warm wax. My heart filled with dread, wondering would be next. "Are you comfortable, Dame Penthesilea ?" the attendant asked. "As much as I can be," I answered. The attendant said, "That's fine. We have another client to start in his paraffin and by time he's nicely wax-covered, your shell should be firm and you'll be ready for your wrap." I wasn't sure what that meant. The hardening wax felt hot and heavy. When they brought in the next client, I recognized his voice and raised my head to say hello to Dame Reginald Honegosky, a friend and also a breed mare. He too was well-rounded, top and bottom, from recently birthing his tenth and final child. "Hi Rylann. Welcome to the joys of Dr Olga's beauty inquisition," he laughed. I felt better knowing that whatever came next, I would not be alone. Once Reginald was buried in wax, Dr Olga checked to make sure that my wax casing had sufficiently hardened. Satisfied, she and the attendant covered me with a linen sheet, a rubber sheet, a wool blanket and another rubber sheet. They followed the same procedure with Reginald "Are you doing all right, Dame Penthesilea ?" the attendant asked. I gulped and whispered "Yes." "All is fine, my cute comazons," Dr Olga said, smiling down at us. "Enjoy your time in your paraffin. Not only does this help melt fat but it reduces body impurities. We'll check on you in a bit." I heard their heels clicking on the floor as she and the attendant walked away. In minutes, I sensed the perspiration running from my body. The wax and coverings felt warmer and heavier. I felt helpless and afraid. "How are you doing, Rylann? First time in the paraffin torment?" I heard Reginald ask. "Yes, my first. I'm miserable. Ugh. I hate being confined like this. How long will we be in these terrible things?" I asked. "We'll be out in about an hour, my dear girby friend, depending upon the good doctor's determination of how much we need to suffer today. She starts timing only after we've been wrapped. The prep time doesn't count. At worst, an hour and a quarter or hour and a half, depending upon what other tortures she has in mind to slenderize us. But it usually passes quickly enough and you'll feel so much better when she releases us. Just relax, close your eyes, think of something nice." "Oh, I can't. I've gotta pee." "It happens to everyone, dear, particularly the first few times. That's why they make us wear a diaper. Just let go. We go from here to a shower. The attendants are used to it." So like a baby, I wet my diaper and lay there like a soggy infant with the hope that they would let us out sooner rather than later. While suffering in our wax shells, we gossiped about some of the men in our social circle. "How could Dame Gunther wear a dress like that?" Reginald asked about a mutual acquaintance. "Didn't his maid have him look in the mirror before he left the house?" "He certainly ought wear a tight corset if he's going in an outfit like that." "You should have heard Mrs Honskala in the men's room complaining about having to wiggle that fat tush of his into a maximum control girdle for the night, as if it was the first time he had worn one. Fat chance I thought, with those hips and thighs of his. If it was the first time he wore one, which I doubt, it ought not be the last." "You-know-who was seated to your left that night at dinner. He's another one who needs to learn about wearing a good foundation." "Dame Rory must have had another face lift. His lips and cheeks can barely move." "Baroness de Antonia knocked up her Cody again. Is that his fifth or sixth?" "His fifth. He's one of those men who loves being repeatedly pregnant and pops out a baby with no problem. He'll be expecting same time next year too. They are trying to reach his twelve baby maximum quickly so they can have those charming stair-step pictures from youngest to oldest." "Duchess Wasilowski was in high spirits. She has both her First Wife and Second Wife wearing their bustles front-wards." "Did you notice the lipstick and nail polish Dame Mason was wearing? Lovely. I must ask him where he found it." "I see Dame Vinson has started having his hair colored. Finally. I wonder why his husband let him show so much grey." "Speaking of hair color, did you see Dame Maxwell? That brassy red is not right on him, not at all." "I heard that young Mrs Esther Zadorozhnaya sassed his husband and is having to wear his leather collar in public. Again." "He needs to have another baby. That will improve his attitude." "Especially if she made him pregnant with twins or triplets, both of which run in her family. That would certainly make him a lot more docile." "The good Dame Atwood mustn't be getting enough at home. His flirting was outrageous, batting those overly made-up eyes of his at every woman who looked at him." "Well I hear his husband has been giving regular attention to one of the young men on her staff. Maybe thinking about a Third Wife? Atwood really needs to update his look, then he'd find himself praying with his knees upward." "He's a breed mare like us. Has he done his maximum duty?" "No. He's had eight. Four girls Four girbys. If he would work at seducing his own husband, he'd get laid, get full in the belly and have all of her attention back. You and I know you have to keep putting it out to hold onto all of your woman's love." "Absolutely. That's why we go through tortures like this." "Dame Hamilton's new hairdo is rather fetching." "Yes, he looks good from the neck up. But he really needs to be here sweating off fat with us. Almost four months since that last baby girby but he still looks chunky He must have gained forty pounds or more with that pregnancy and has lost barely an ounce of it." Reginald had been coming a bit longer than I had and filled me in on some of the other treats I had in store from Dr Olga. "I'm sure she will give you several 'tropic massages' which are like being barbecued. She wraps you in a sheet and puts you on a massage table in the steam room. Then she puts a rubber sheet over you, fastened so tightly under the table you can't move a muscle. She lets you broil in the steam for twenty minutes. Then a masseuse works on you, without removing the sheets. Ugh! The masseuse seems to know just where every once of fat is located on your body. She really works you over. The good part is that it really does help tone you." It sounded gruesome. "Yes, we wives pay a high price for child- bearing and still trying to look beautiful for our spouses," he commented. I totally agreed. "Believe me," Reginald went on, "Dr Olga enjoys torturing rotund wives like us. She's an evil genius. Has she put you through a 'nimble pants workout' yet? No? She will. Two attendants slide you into this skin tight garment of a girdle-like fabric, bright yellow in color, which covers you from your toes to right below your bra line. It's hideously revealing, showing every lump and fat curve you have and then you workout on a tread mill followed by an exercise bike. Terribly embarrassing, except every wife looks just as pudgy." He was about to tell me more but just then I heard the attendant saying "Hello, good Dames. Just checking on you. You have thirty-eight minutes left to simmer. I'd like to put a nice facial, a deep cleansing mask on each of you." Heedlessly, we agreed. In moments, the attendant leaned over me and smothered my face with a thick pink cream. It felt wonderful and I closed my eyes as she applied the mask. I almost dosed off until I realized that the facial on me was hardening like cement. "Mmmphhh mprrhr, llzzzzz," was all that I could barely utter through the firm beauty mask. At that point I was totally mummified, wrapped in cotton batting, sealed in pounds of warm wax, my face covered in hardened cream, my lips cemented shut by the beauty treatment. I could not move or speak. I heard Reginald making the same glub-glub noise through his sealed lips. Happily, we emerged from our cocoons at the end of an hour. Nanette laughed when I described the treatment, threatening to come and watch the next time. "I'm sure Dr Olga ordered those facials to be put on you two to stop all your prattle. Knowing you and Dame Reginald I'm sure you were buzzing like gossiping little school girbys. I'd love to see the two of you all swaddled and muffled, enduring a little misery for the sake of being beautiful for your husbands. I'll bet you looked cute." A little misery, I thought to myself. Remembering Dame Oblea's advice, I said softly, "My dear, it's quite a bit more than a little misery. You have no idea of how your wife suffers to look nice for you. Being cocooned in that wax shell was hot and uncomfortable. Then having that concrete mask put on my face. Oh, just awful! But you know that I endure all that pain to please you by looking nice." "Yes, darling, I know you do. How can I show my appreciation?" I gave her a suggestion which she followed that night in our bed. She made my suffering so much more bearable. During the six months, Dr Olga steamed me, cooked me, baked me, stewed me, roasted me, toasted me, broiled me, melted me and simmered me, working the fat off of me in more versions of sweltering treatments than I ever imagined possible. As part of my reducing I was also pummeled by masseuses with steely hands and by a variety of machines; shaken, squeezed into an assortment of sweat-suits; vibrated on tables, massagers and roller machines; suctioned on my breasts, hips, thighs, neck, stomach and derriere; clad in a body suit and vacuumed from neck to toes; wired to a variety of intimidating machines; confined, wedged; covered in creams-blue, green, brown, white, black; wrapped in plastic, in linen, and in wool; painted and plastered with a variety of chemical compounds; trussed up and fastened down; submerged in warm sticky mud or tepid salty water; stretched, bent, pulled and compressed, all as part of more reducing treatments than I knew existed. I'm sure that all of those machines and procedures were devised by women to slenderize their men. Every time I thought that Dr Olga and her attendants had tortured my poor plumpness to the maximum, I would find, to my horror, some worse treatment awaited me. However, as with my experience in the hideous paraffin bath, most always some other chubby wife was enduring it to please his husband as well and we full-figured men supported and encouraged each other. Dr Olga made me endure the paraffin bath at least once a week, and in three particular weeks two times in the week, each time for ninety minutes. Fortunately, each time one or two other plump wives suffered at the same time so we helped each other with words of support or, when our faces were hermetically sealed in those awful facials, with thoughts of support. The torture could be endured more easily knowing that beside me some other plump wife was likewise suffering. Several times I found myself consoling some other chubby wife enduring the treatment for his first time just as Reginald as talked me through my first time. I knew by then to warn them about the possibility of the constricting facials. And the thoughts of Nanette enjoying my rejuvenated curves increased my endurance for the torments inflicted in the spa. My hair, skin and nails received dozens of kinds of creams and lotions. Vanna DiStablo gave me a stunning new hairdo and an updated look for my makeup, of course with Nanette's approval. I breathed a sigh of relief that I did not yet have any grey hair. Fortunately, the six months passed. I emerged fit and attractive. Certainly I could not wear my wedding gown again but I came down three dress sizes. Vira Ilona outfitted me in several new corsets, girdles and all-in-ones. I came away from the Majestic Dress Salon with a gorgeous new wardrobe. Of course, Nanette could hardly keep her hands off of me. Meanwhile Alistair kept meeting his destiny as a covey male. In the Eighth Month of 3286, he gave birth to a third set of twins, Sylvia and Hermia, named to honor my mama and Nanette's mama. Next he hatched triplets, Ambrosia, Cordelia and Ariadne, in Sixth Month of 3288. For this accomplishment, which amounted to birthing thirteen girls, our dear Alistair was presented at Court and received the "Order of Distinguished Matrons" from the Queen. He reminded me of my own dear mother as he stood there in a glamourous gown and spike heels, all of his roundness rigidly corseted, his hair and makeup just perfect. Of course, this honor reflected well on the new Duchess Nanette. The Duchess was not finished making babies. Nanette made Alistair fruitful with Sappho in Second Month of 3290. My pretty Zane turned 6 and Nanette finally allowed me to have a facelift from Dr Salvatora Aristizabel. She performed a miracle on my face, taking twenty years off. As Nanette and I approached our wedding anniversary that year, my maid Ira and his wonderful husband Helena, our faithful butler, retired. Nanette hired another ex-soldier, Charity, a decorated combat veteran, as our butler. Nanette allowed me to hire a very cute drone named Hadrian as my maid. Only 27 years old, he was a war widow with two little girls, ages 8 and 5, to support. We gladly brought him into the household where his daughters could grow up with ours. Fortunately for me Hadrian possessed a beautician's license as well as a masseuse's license and was a talented lute player. Nanette approved my purchase of a salon-type hair dryer to keep in the bedroom. She added an exercise room to the house, a room which included a dance bar; exercise mats; two each of steam cabinets, stationary bikes, and belt massagers; a massage table; and a whirlpool bath. Having Hadrian as my maid my hair always looked nice between salon appointments. He believed that true beauty was created inside and outside a man so he would do things like put a clay facial on me and play softly on his lute while I relaxed under the mask. With the exercise room right in the house, I went to the Venus Rejuvenation Salon and Spa less often. My slim maid, however, proved to be as tough a task mistress as Dr Olga Quattrocchi. Worse yet, my darling husband gave Hadrian free reign when it came to things like putting me through a strenuous exercise regimen or cooking me in the steam cabinet. Encouraged by Nanette, Hadrian would prepare me for an evening at Court by an extra-long session in the steam. Just when I thought that I had perspired off plenty of fat, he would make me drink a glass of water and keep me in the hot steam for another ten minutes. When dear Alistair was not pregnant he and I were cooked side-by- side in the cabinets, always for a length of time approved by our husband. Any number of times Nanette watched admiringly as Hadrian put Alister and me through a strenuous workout, both of us dressed in leotards and tights which exposed our figure flaws. Invariably Nanette would pat our bottoms, thank us for being her good wives and in the evening have us perform our wifely duties. Our husband was insatiable and seemed only more interested in sex as she aged. Finally Alistair birthed his own little girby, Jory, born in First Month of 3292. Another joy came with a wedding. At the time of the spring equinox, my maid Hadrian was married to a widow named Evangeline Dascoigne. Nanette recognized that Hadrian, like all men, needed a good woman to regularly take the starch out of him. Evangeline, eleven years older than Hadrian, worked as a guard and driver at the Foreign Office. Her wife died accidentally several years before, leaving her to raise two girbys, now 17 and 13. Nanette, working with Hadrian's mama, arranged the marriage, much to everyone's delight, and helped Evangeline betroth the 17 year-old, a pretty drone, to a young soldier under Nanette's command. As wives do, Hadrian and I often giggled together about the antics our spouses put us through in bed. As he helped me dress or did my hair we agreed that tall strong soldiers make good lovers. Our chats made clear to us that our husbands occasionally compared notes on how they lit our lamps. In turn we worked at ways to keep their interest and build their excitement. However, it was that spring that the disaster known to so many Amazon households came upon us. The Empire was engaged in fighting off a vicious attack in what would be known as the Third Sand Island War. The war resulted from the third try by an alliance of machismo-driven male leaders to seize Amazon territory. Early in Fourth Month my first born, Inez, age 24, a lieutenant in the army, was seriously injured in combat. Nanette arranged to have Inez brought to the military hospital in the capital where I spent many anxious days by her bedside. Under the excellent care of the doctors she made a full recovery. Nanette and I felt very proud when the Queen came into the hospital room and decorated our Inez with the Gold Rose [~Editorial comment: the second highest military award in the Empire~] for bravery under fire and her courage in saving seven women under her command. Late in the Fifth Month, Alistair's first twins, Athena and Alexandra, serving in the air force, were killed in combat and two days later my Vianna died in a naval battle. Grief overwhelmed us. Alistair and I spent hours holding each other and crying. Nanette's own heart ached but she bravely comforted us both and reminded Alistair and me that we stood in long historic line of comazon mothers. As awful as our loss, others suffered more. At night, Nanette whispered in my ear. "I know you suffer my darling wife. But you must be brave. This is why, after all, beautiful breed mare males like you and brave covey males like my Alister are called to bear children. It is through the sacrifice of generations of such males bearing child after child, that we have survived as a free people. People the world over hate us because we are free women." "I know you are right, my dearest. I'm truly proud to mother such Amazons. Deep down I knew this could happen to me and my children. It's just so shocking when it does." I cried again. Nanette held me close. For weeks Alistair and I continued in deep grief, often moody and weepy around the house, which was not good for our children or my household staff. Nanette did her best to calm us but finally sent us to a psychiatrist, Dr Wilma Foraldas who diagnosed both of us with matronly hysteria. To treat us, she put us through several sessions of "connective course adjustment." In the interests of delicacy, I can only describe this as being in a state of undress, strapped to a comfortable couch with medical "devices" attached to our breasts, our bottoms and our private parts and being mechanically stimulated and relaxed. A curtain divided the couches where Alistair and I lay so we could not see each other but certainly could hear each other. Once the doctor had us situated, she said, "Good Dames, you are set for your treatment. You're going to be fine. Relax and enjoy. Wriggle to your heart's content if you feel like it. If you need to huff and gasp, go right head. Outside of this treatment room, no one can hear you. This is just part of being a proper wife and getting back to normal." With that she turned the lights off, soft music on and flipped a switch on each couch. In moments I felt warmed all through my body and I burbled with pleasure. Alistair and I could hear each other sigh and groan but it didn't bother us. We felt better after several treatments. On alternate days when we did not receive treatment at the psychiatrist's office, we used vibrators on each other at Nanette's orders. While this provided temporary relief, we agreed that no device matched the pleasure of our husband mounting us, taking our willing flesh for her pleasure and ours. An interesting side-effect of these activities at home and at the doctor's office caused both of us to be intensely amorous and desirous of Nanette. After each treatment or session with our vibrators we could hardly wait to offer her leisurely exploration of her sweetness by our strong, eager tongues. She being a healthy womanly Amazon, managed to plough the fields between our legs hard enough and often enough, some nights taking us both two times each so that we were eventually satiated. Recognizing how needy we were, Nanette devised a plan whereby she required Alister and I to both dress in naughty baby doll nighties and apply seductive makeup. She proceeded to blindfold us and place us side-by-side on her bed, then taking us both in turn. We loved the quiet minutes waiting in the dark to see which of us she would take first. Which ever she selected, the other grew excited and moist listening to his dear co- wife moaning and writhing, knowing that he would be taken next. Nanette praised us for being such good wives. The noble deaths of our daughters and the serious injury of Inez qualified Alistair and me to be awarded the Royal Maternal Silver Ribbon by the Queen in Eighth Month of 3292 A. E. [~Editorial comment: For some legal purposes such as this the First Wife and any other wives are all considered the "mother" of the child regardless of which one actually birthed the child~]. Pictures of two rows of mothers in black dresses being honored by the Queen moved people throughout the Empire as the ceremony always does. Among ourselves, we mothers cried more tears and held each other tight. For us all, the ceremony was therapeutic. Sharing with each other, we recognized again why we are married to and bedded by Amazons-not merely for our own pleasure but for the sake of the Goddess and the Queen, as generations of comazon men before us. Also in the Eighth Month of that year, Nanette and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary. My darling husband, despite the pressures of her duties, took me away for a week to a secluded beach where we relaxed, slept late, swam, went horse-back riding, ate well and had sex often. Even after twenty-five years, my lover made me melt. We had great fun in a variety of ways, some of which make me blush. Even as an experienced wife I found my husband could teach more positions from ancient Amazon texts about love-making. The private time together helped us both. We also had family portraits taken. The two of us, then with the children, then the children individually. My brood consisted of Inez, age 24 and now a decorated captain assigned to her mama's staff in the Foreign Office; Naomi, age 19, at university and serving in the naval reserves; Faith, age 16; Farrah, approaching age 13; Azure, age 10; and cute little Zane, age 8. Alister's brood consisted of girls ages 17 through 2 years and now his pretty girby, just 7 months old. Nanette wisely decided that both girbys would be raised and married as breed mares like me. Alistair expressed relief that his cute little Jory would not have to follow his mother as a covey male. While Alistair was satisfied with his own role in life he told me privately how pleased he was that Nanette picked to Jory to follow in my heels rather than Alistair's own, recognizing that some covey brides must breed to the maximum twenty-five babies and find it difficult. From the beginning, Zane acted naturally like a girbyish girby. At age five Zane was excited to come to the salon with me and have his hair set "just like mommy." His first permanent wave at age six, his little head so cute in perm rods, and no complaining about the smell of solution. Nail polish regularly. Entering his first beauty pageant at age seven, looking so adorable in his competition gowns, his little face beautiful in his makeup. Never a complaint about figure training when I had put him into his first panty girdle for the pageant. In his portrait he looks like a little angel in a pretty pink dress, pink tights, black Mary-Jane shoes, hair curled sweetly. Alister and I busily planned matching outfits for the girbys as soon as Jory could walk. Our other great loss in that calendar year was the death of dear Dame Oblea, just after his 79th birthday. We saw him on his way with a wonderful state funeral at the Temple of the Goddess Crone. His casket was carried by six soldiers from Duchess Nanette's command. Nanette wore her military dress uniform while Baroness Sylvia, now 86 years old, wore a dramatic black ankle-length gown. Alistair and I, along with Dame Oblea's four other dohter-in-laws and his own three girbys, stood with our faces covered with thick black veils and black lace collars fastened around our necks, appropriate signs of morning. The dear Dame went to his rest with 72 living grandchildren and two more in gestation. Nanette deeply grieved the loss of her mother. I lost my best friend. One of the good results was that Baroness Sylvia and I grew closer. After the dear Dame's funeral, I made it a point to visit the Baroness often, at times just by myself so that we could enjoy a cup of coffee and chat about Court happenings; at other times, I took one or more of the children. The Baroness was greatly fond of my Farrah and Alistair's Sylvia, both of whom took after their grandmother in looks and personality, and also fond of the cute girbys, often saying "They are adorable, Dame Rylann. Both will fetch a goodly bride price when the time comes." When our armed forces prevailed and peace came again, Nanette celebrated by trouncing me every night for three weeks in a row and inflating pudgy little Alistair like a beach ball. He birthed Gretchen in Third Month of 3294. I felt badly for our dear thickened covey male, in yet another pregnancy at 41 years of age. I knew our dear husband might impregnate him several more times as he would fertile for close to another decade. But the dear girby simply said how glad he was to help the family and the Empire while he had fruitful years left. I provided all the care and support which I could. Many an afternoon we shared a cup of tea or coffee, gossiping and wondering which of us Nanette would bed that night. In good weather we would stroll through the park, holding hands, admiring the flowers. In the rainy season we would nap side-by-side, listening to the rain pattering against the windows. Regularly we dressed Zane and Jory in matching outfits and showed off our pretty girbys, wondering to whom our husband would marry them off in due time. After my beautiful Zane turned 10, Hadrian and I introduced him to a regimen of good skin care and regular exercise. Zane loved to dress in matching mother-dohter leotards and tights and workout with me as Hadrian put me through my paces. And if Zane saw me with my hair in rollers, he had to have Hadrian set his hair as well. I knew he would become a perfect breed mare wife just as I have become. To be continued...