In The Amazon Empire: An Amazon Wife free porn video

In the Amazon Empire: An Amazon Wife & Mother Speaks of His Life~ Part Six~ Conclusion by Ginny Wolf ********** Principal characters in this episode: Rylann Penthesilea, Nanette's First Wife Hermia and Uther, his parents Zane, his only male child Nanette Penthesilea, Rylann's husband Baroness Sylvia Penthesilea, her mama Alistair, Nanette's Second Wife 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] ********** The Tenth Month of 3295 A.E. marked my 45th birthday for which Nanette threw a bash that made the society pages. I spent nine hours at the Venus Rejuvenation Salon and Spa being waxed, wrapped, broiled, creamed, peeled, steamed, massaged, smoothed, shampooed, conditioned, and polished. My favorite hair stylist, Ursula, came to the house to do my hair, bringing Vinson, the best beautician on her staff, to do my makeup. Before they arrived, I dressed, except for my gown. In order to fit into my glittering party dress, I purchased a vice-like open bottom girdle with back lacing. Comazons instinctively know that proper preparation to get ready for a big to-do or a major party takes time. Wives are terribly aware of the daily chore represented by the donning and fastening of classic foundations, particularly after decades of marriage. It is a daily bother a wife endures to please his husband. Also, I knew Nanette would enjoy tightening the monstrosity around me while I could only look forward to eight or ten hours being painfully encased in its grip of stiff rayon and nylon. That agony of course, would be intensified by having to wear spike heels. I remembered the counsel and training given to me by dear Dame Oblea. I would endure for the sake of making my husband proud and would also make doubly sure that Nanette was well aware of what I suffered for her sake. There are consolations however. First, all of my matronly friends would also be firmly girdled, tightly corseted or compressed in some type of foundation. Knowing that every man of one's own age endures the same discomfort for the sake of fashion and pleasing his husband provides an emotional satisfaction. Every wife is aware that other men endure the same wifely misery. And I confess that part of it can be a smugness that, having endured one's maid or husband putting you snugly into your girdle or corset, you look so much better than that Mrs So-and-so or Dame What's-his-name. One's own discomfort is greatly diminished. Second, our husbands become very frisky looking at their wives' silhouettes in our dresses and gowns. No woman can resist her man when he presents with a shapely hourglass figure. Plenty of love-making would follow the party. Many wives my age tend to be well-rounded, with fuller figures from so much love-making with our husbands, which resulted in our chubby bottoms and plump waists from repeated pregnancies, and ample breasts from nursing babies. Among couples our age, our strong spouses like buxom wives. While I was not the most rotund of my friends, I knew that I needed to be resolutely girdled, compacted as much as possible to look lovely in my outfit, both to outshine my peers and to seduce mt husband. As I expected, Nanette sent my maid Hadrian downstairs and took over the duties of dressing me. She relished making me grunt while tightening me into the frightening girdle, making sure I was nicely controlled, then patting my encased bottom and rubbing my imprisoned stomach. I looked on with jealousy while she easily slid into a light control long-leg panty girdle. "Easy to see who had seven babies and who was never pregnant," I commented. "I know, dearest, I know. That's one of the reasons I love you so. I appreciate the sacrifice of your youthful figure for our family and the Empire. Now let's finish dressing you before Ursula comes to do our hair." She fastened my bra and helped me into my hosiery, slip and high heels. After Ursula covered me with a cape and shampooed me, I sat at my dressing table to have my hair set. Nanette insisted on watching her, though the woman never styled me in any way that failed Nanette's approval. When I commented about this as she fixed the last rollers and pins in place, Ursula simply said, "It's no problem, Dame Rylann. I'm used to it. Many a noble fusses about every little step of a hairstyle on her wife. It's why I charge as I do." Nanette didn't bat an eye. Ursula rolled the hair dryer behind me, lowered the metal hood, turned it on and said, "Dame, I'll check on you in forty minutes. When your hair is dry, I'll have Vinson apply your makeup while I style the Duchess with hot rollers. Then while I comb you out, he can do makeup on the Duchess. Is that all right, my Ladies?" Nanette answered for both of us, "Yes. Certainly. Thank you." As soon as Ursula closed the bedroom door, Nanette lifted the dryer hood. Her face filled with lust. I knew I was in for it. "What have we here, my erotic little wife? You know you turn me on with your hair in curlers," she purred with evident desire. Despite my protests, the Duchess insisted on a quickie. In a moment, I kicked off my heels and removed the hairdressing cape. Spreading my legs while so snugly girdled required effort. Nanette sent shock waves through my belly which bounced off the wall of my imprisoning girdle and up into my brain. In six minutes flat I was back under the dryer, humming to myself, enjoying the feeling of her liquid love inside of me and knowing that my demanding spouse would give me more of a workout after the party. Nanette's party for me ranked as one of the social events of the year. Court politics at that moment had some women buzzing like bees. Nanette's status at Court and her influence in shaping foreign policy meant that an invitation to our party was valuable. For the most part, those present were friends who came to celebrate with us. However, Nanette told me privately that some came "because the Foreign Office or the Chancellor" needed them to be there. I had been through such things before. I relished being Nanette's eye-candy, celebrating with friends and watching the bubbling of politics under the surface. The hall filled with people, conversation and live music. At our parties, unlike those I have attended at foreign embassies, the music is always live, not electronic, pleasant enough for people to dance to if they wish but never so loud as to drown out conversation. As I greeted our guests, I felt proud to be Nanette's wife, proud to be so finely dressed, proud of my successful husband. Each wife present played an important role. Each man was elegantly gowned, deliciously well-coiffed, expertly made up, perfectly polished, enchantingly scented, dazzlingly bejeweled, flawlessly waxed to hairless perfection on arms and legs, tightly girdled into perfect curves, smoothly stockinged, splendidly shod in the highest of heels, making a statement as to how desirable and important his husband must be. Each of us well-proportioned matrons, happily shaped into expertly packaged hourglass form to meet the expected social standard. Each of us well-disciplined and expertly trained to be model wives. Each proud of the children he had birthed. As I did, each wife anticipated that after the party, his strong husband would undress him, bed him, make him scream and squeal as she mounted him, rode him, penetrated him, taking him relentlessly into ecstasy as she had so many times before. People gave me birthday wishes with many kisses and hugs. Old friends from Foreign Affairs, the army, the Court warmly greeted me. A dear friend, one of Nanette's groomswomen at our wedding, kissed me lovingly on the lips, "Ah, the beautiful Dame Rylann, as fetching as ever! What birthday is this, my dear Dame? Surely not more than your 29th?" Wives who've known each other for years, checking each other out-who's going to what hairdresser? -a facelift for him? - new hair color?- who has gained weight?- who has slimmed down?- what diet is he following?- is his husband really going to impregnate him again?- where did he find that gorgeous gown?- what adorable shoes! -hugs to feel for tightly corseted waists or securely girdled bottoms. Rising young stars from Foreign Affairs, eager to impress the Duchess, made sure their wives were sweet to Dame Rylann. Three of those young wives, pretty breed mares, new to Court circles, just a bit uncomfortable with their plump baby mounds showing under their formal evening gowns, nervously kissing me, each hoping for the sake of his husband that I approved of him. I made them welcome, remembering when I was just like them, new to Court circles, pregnant for the first time, wanting to make a good impression for the sake of my husband. As hostess and honored guest I kept my eyes on everything and everyone. I noted both young and older Amazons checking out the pretty waitresses, young Amazons with eyes for First or Second Wife, mature widows looking for comfort in their advancing age from a cute girby who would be her eye candy in society and her main squeeze at night, middle-aged women with First Wife and Second Wife knocked up or busy nursing a baby so husband was feeling the need of a pretty and younger Third Wife for bedroom exercise and fun. Wives present whose husbands were on the hunt for Second or Third Wife either had to ignore the looking and sizing up of prospects or in a quiet moment with other wives softly voice hurt feelings or actively participate by giving suggestions to the searching husband. I had been spared the experience because Nanette had selected Alistair with the help of a Temple priest and had limited herself to two wives. However, I remembered an important Foreign Affairs party some years before when in the men's room I hugged a sobbing First Wife, a long-time friend about my age, whose husband had decided that she would take a Third Wife and was busily checking out the pretty drones serving the party. When I had my friend comforted and calmed I helped him freshen his makeup and return a smile to his face before we rejoined the party. As we prepared to exit the rest room, he kissed me gently and squeezed my hand, saying, "Thank you, Dame Rylann. I know she loves me. I thank the Goddess for allowing me to be First Wife. Yet it was quite a shock, after seventeen years of marriage and nine babies, to be told she wants a Third Wife. It's terribly hard to watch her sizing up slim and pretty young girbys, wondering if one of them will please her more in bed than I do. Sometimes it is very hard to be the wife of an Amazon." The servers at our party were a mixture of cute drones, stunning breed mares and beautiful covey males, all doing such work not merely for wages but in hopes of coming to the attention of an Amazon in need of a wife, even if not First Wife. Their short, black skirts puffed out by three layers of crisp white petticoats, frilly white aprons encircling slender well-girdled waists, a bit of cleavage discretely displayed, pale and slender arms, perky caps on a freshly-coiffed updo held in place with plenty of teasing and lots of hair spray, long smooth recently waxed legs in sheer black stockings, nails carefully polished, bow-shaped mouths well lipsticked, eyes seductively made-up. They circled among our guests bearing trays of food, offering drinks and refills, constantly smiling, making certain guests lacked for nothing, not minding the pull of their confining panty-girdles or the pinch of their high heels after hours of work because a glance from a tall handsome woman yet offered to each one the hope that he might become her choice. Leave behind waitress work and be captured, spread, mounted, fertilized by a caring woman. Have babies and be a good wife. In my heart I wished each such girby good luck from the Goddess. A typical example of the conduct one might see at such society events came from my friend Dame Gower, wife of Baroness Zara Athanassiou, a colleague of Nanette's in the Foreign Office. Gower is a blonde breed mare who mothered six lovely children for the Baroness. He wore his hair swept up in a French twist under a cluster of barrel curls. His gold beaded sheath shimmered in the light, so figure hugging that I knew he was girdled as snugly as I was. Matching gold satin pumps with four inch heels with his high-stacked hair added to his height, necessary to come close to the tall woman who was his husband. After greeting me, he joined three other wives with drinks in hand, laughing and chatting. When, at Nanette's direction, the sitars and other strings struck up a traditional fertility dance melody, the four of them put down their drinks and dashed to the dance floor. Putting their arms around each other's waists, throwing back their heads, elaborate hairdos bobbing, they became as the school girbys we all once were, forming a chorus line just like each of us had done for parade drill teams, or cheerleading, or in school plays or festival dances at temple or dance groups of various types where we displayed our youthful curves in hopes of receiving a woman's attention. Never mind that their figures were fuller from loving husbands, bearing babies and nursing infants. Never mind the stretch marks hidden by foundation garments and pretty lingerie. Never mind the need for bigger bras. Never mind hair now colored by the hairdresser's art. Never mind the thicker thighs, plumper bellies and well-upholstered derrieres. Dame Gower bounced and wiggled in time to the music and did a series of high kicks, revealing plenty of chubby and quite sexy stocking-covered leg. Half a dozen other wives, giggling like crazy, joined them. As the ten of them laughed and danced, their wifely assets- top and bottom- jiggling despite the constraints of bras, corsets or girdles, their high heels still skillfully on their feet, they began to sing the traditional bawdy chorus. In another moment every man was joining the lewd and suggestive lyrics while our husbands laughed and nodded approvingly. At the end all the wives applauded and every husband eyed her wife with desire. We wives relish being who we are. The party was a great success. About a week later I saw Dame Gower at the beauty salon and as our hair was set and dried we compared notes on the antics we performed with our husbands once we arrived home from the party. "Phew! She hasn't put me through a steamy session like that in months," he commented. "Every available opening on my body received a workout, if you know what I mean. Then she did me all over again, top to bottom and bottom to top. Thank you, my dear. It was the grandest party of the season." The good part of the year 3296A.E. began with Alistair giving birth to another girl, Beatrix, in First Month. The bad part was an outbreak of piracy in the Indian and South Pacific Oceans. Of the affected sea-going powers, only the Netherlands, China and the Amazon Empire took strong action with the Empire taking the lead in military suppression of illegal activity. For our superior efforts that spring and summer, we paid a high price which included my darling Naomi, killed at age 23 in an assault on a pirate base in the Indian Ocean and Alistair's beautiful Adelaide, whose patrol boat was sunk with all hands days after her 21st birthday. Once again, Alistair and I joined grieving mothers. Once more we received honor from Her Majesty. On the occasion of my birthday, I received an invitation to a private tea with Her Majesty. I was thrilled to be so honored. Queen Hestia XXVII is a tall, beautiful, dark-haired woman with commanding bearing. In a very private dining area in the palace, I was received by the Queen who was flanked by her Chancellor and the High Priest of the Temple of the Goddess Mother. After rising from my knees, a bit difficult in the tight skirt, rigid girdle and high spike heels I wore, and being invited to sit, we were served a delicious tea by two cute drone maids. The Queen waved them away and I wondered what was on Her Majesty's mind. "Dame Rylann, you know that you and the Duchess are dear to our heart. Your husband has given great service to the Empire in our mother's time, Queen Thetis of sacred memory, and in ours. We appreciate that more than our words can say. Your own family has blessed our realm with many strong, beautiful daughters. Five of them paid with their lives in the line of duty to protect the Empire's freedom. Another whose charming face we now often see in the Foreign Office was seriously wounded while acting courageously under fire. We have not forgotten. Yet the warfare against us does not abate, only ebbing and flowing. Many precious daughters such as your own have been killed, paying the ultimate and historic price Amazons have paid since time immemorial. Some times our people are wearied by conflict. They need their hope renewed. As we learn from our history, birthing new babies brings new hope. Therefore with the inspiration of the High Priest," she nodded in her direction, "and after consultation with the Privy Council and our wise Chancellor, we are asking a select group of attractive mothers, mothers all decorated with the Royal Maternal Silver Ribbon, to become pregnant at the same time, under our Imperial protection, in a show of hope to our people and of strength in the face of our enemies. All of these mothers are over age forty but none has yet passed through change of life. We realize that what we ask is difficult for all of you, made harder still by doing it in the public eye. We will provide medical care from the Imperial Hospital where we and our family are treated. Our Treasury will meet all the costs of these pregnancies and births. All of these children, girls or girbys, will be educated at our expense and serve our government. And we will be mindful of the generosity of these mothers and their husbands with generosity of our own. So, Dame Rylann, will you be the first to accept this difficult task?" Three pairs of eyes stared at my very soul. What could I say? It was my 46th birthday. I had delivered seven babies before. I had not been pregnant for twelve years. I hated the thought of growing fat once more with a pregnancy and again losing my figure. I worried about what it would be like to be on the delivery table at my age. But to refuse my Queen? Impossible. "I would be greatly honored, Your Majesty, to bear another babe for my country under such special circumstances." Of course, when I returned home, I learned that my Duchess already knew about the plan. When we spoke with Alistair, he excitedly volunteered without waiting for a meeting with the Queen. He and I saw the glint of lustful excitement in Nanette's eyes as she would have both her wives pregnant at the same time once again. Because it took some time to complete arrangements with the other mothers and their husbands, the agreed-upon start date for efforts to impregnate the participating men was the fifteenth day of First Month, 3297A.E. with a goal of having us all pregnant by fifteenth day of Second Month. In the months leading up to our joint pregnancies, our household engaged in a flurry of excited preparation. Twelve-year old Zane and five-year old Jory were keyed up at the prospect of seeing both their mothers pregnant. Zane had just had his first monthly and felt like a big girby, wanting to know when he could have babies. Faith, going on 21, wanted us to find her a wife and arrange her marriage. Farrah, age 17, hoped we'd have girbys but Azure, age 14, and Alistair's Caresse, age 17, wanted us to have girls. Robin and Rose, Alistair's youngest twins, age 14, wanted both of us to have sets of twins while the triplets, now age 9, wanted each of us to have triplets. We blanched at the thought. I hated to think what I would look like at my age and pregnant with triplets. Yet I recognized that at my age I might well end up pregnant with twins, or, worse yet, triplets. On the morning of 15th day, First Month , Alistair and I arose very early. The night before, our maids had polished our nails, given us soothing facials and set our hair. Now in the quiet house, children and staff forbidden on our side, we dressed, first severely tightening each other's corsets. Alistair reminded me of my dear mother, wanting me to cinch him in, moaning and gasping as I pulled his laces and telling me "make it tighter, dear." He returned the favor, closing my corset to the maximum. My corset was dark green, his bright gold. Panties to match corsets. Sheer black stockings. Mules with 5" heels. See through robes. No bras. We styled each other's hair, using plenty of hair spray to hold the upswept dos in place. To finish, we did each other's makeup with plenty of lipstick and gloss to match our nails, lips painted into a full pout-like and kissable look, becoming blush on our cheeks, eyes done into a wideeyed look with false lashes, eye liner, mascara and silver sparkly shadow on the eyelids. As soon as we heard Nanette head into the shower, we prepared breakfast. When she came into the main bedroom, we were waiting for her. We took her into the kitchen and fed her breakfast while we watched the desire grow on her face. Last sip of coffee and she bent us over the kitchen counter, side-by-side, just as years ago, took our panties off and spread our legs. First she took me doggie style, then Alistair. While catching my breath and still wet with excitement I could hear Alistair moaning as his pleasure increased. "For all that effort, you two deserve a good going over." She lifted me onto the kitchen counter, then plopped Alistair beside me. Coming between my welcoming legs, she kissed me deeply while making my insides vibrate. Leaving me catching my breath yet again, she turned her attention to Alistair. He wiggled and squealed as Nanette made him breathless as well. "Excellent start, my Dames. We shall resume these noble efforts tonight. I'll be home at six this evening. Before I come, have your maids dress you in seductive outfits but leave your panties off. I shall have you each as an aperitif before dinner and sherbet afterward. Be brave, darling wives. You do this for Queen and country." So it went in our house and others. The Amazon husbands all rose to the task with relish and skill. Soon Alistair and I missed our monthly, along with twenty-three other wives. Once the Imperial obstetrician confirmed that all of the participating Silver Ribbon mothers were pregnant we began a series of regular meetings and photo sessions with the Queen. The meetings gave the men the opportunity to share and support each other, especially in the last four months as we all grew fat and uncomfortably lumpy, comparing our baby bumps as we advanced in our pregnancies. We giggled together about the crazy antics our husbands had put us through to make sure we were pregnant on time. Since we ranged in age from 41 to 49, the medical staff informed us we would all deliver by caesarean section, all between the 15th and 30th of Tenth Month. So I knew in advance that on the day I turned 47 I would birth my eighth and last baby. In solidarity as it turned out, Alistair would have his c- section on the same day. Nanette's First and Second Wife both conceived girls. By good fortune I was carrying only one babe but our darling Alistair indeed was carrying another set of triplets. In the midst of my joy in my pregnancy, as I started my sixth month, mama called to tell me that my sweet mother Uther died at age 78. That wonderful man had born nineteen children to mama and spent his life as an excellent helpmate. Because I was bulging with my baby and 46 years old, Nanette prohibited me from flying south for the funeral. Instead, she arranged to bring mama, my sisters and their families, and my girthers and their families to the capital for a lovely memorial service. Only my youngest sister Tecia could not come as her breed mare wife was close to delivering his third. The Queen sent a lovely message of condolence which gladdened mama's heart. At the airport as mama, a healthy and active 84 years old, prepared to return home, she proudly rubbed my protruding stomach. "You've done well, my beautiful breed mare. On his death bed your mother spoke lovingly of you and Theolan. Surely you shall be richly blessed by the Goddess for this great service to your Queen and your noble family." I cried as she kissed me. Our girbys followed our pregnancies in fascination. On Zane's 13th birthday, I was in my seventh month and looked like a blimp. He watched Hadrian lace me into my pregnancy corset, an undergarment that looked like body armor, the front flexible, the sides and back incorporating heavy, closely spaced boning for good back support needed during pregnancy. "Mother, will I grow as fat as you when I'm pregnant? Will I have to wear a corset like that?" By this point his mama and I had started him in a corseting regimen. When he was not wearing a corset, I kept him properly girdled. He made no complaint about his corsets or girdles. He was so totally a good girby, very fashion conscious, that I knew he would naturally make a proper and perfectly submissive wife. "Well darling, every man is different in his pregnancies. I'm so stout now because of my age and previous pregnancies. You may or may not fatten up as I have. Just remember, darling, that bearing babies is a man's destiny and honor. As for a pregnancy undergarment, it's important for good self-image and to please your husband to look as shapely as you can. You'll find the support for your back during pregnancy is important too." "Mother when will I be married?" "Probably not until you are 20 or 21, my girby. Your mama is sending you to finishing school after senior high school so you have social graces and skills. Mama and I contacted a priest from the Temple and she is working on your marriage arrangements. You will know when the time is right." "I do so want to be married and have babies," he said. "When I'm carrying my babies I hope that I'm as pretty as you are mother." I bent down, no easy task as restrained as I was, making my stays creak, and kissed him. What I refrained from telling was that his mama and the priest had found a young Amazon who would make a good match for Zane. Her name was Dorcas Antianara, age 18, of an ancient and noble house. Tall, blond, very attractive, extremely intelligent. Nanette, through the priest, had opened negotiations with the Antianara family. Her mama was the Duchess Eurydice Antianara, her mother Dame Jomay, a drone male from a noble house who birthed Dorcas and a pretty girby named Adel, two years younger than Dorcas. I knew Dame Jomay from work on the Queen's Committee to promote art. A match joining the Antianara and the Penthesilea houses would be important in society and at Court. I felt a secret thrill that my sweet Zane would become a loving comazon, bedded as the wife of a strong Amazon who would make him squirm and squeal as Nanette had done to me. And someday he too would swell with new life, making Nanette and me proud grandparents yet again. That night in bed, I shared Zane's comments with Nanette. "In a matter of years, dear, the house will seem empty with most of our children gone and having their own families," I said a bit tearfully. "There, there, dear, not to worry. You're very emotional when you're pregnant. We will have these last four little ones. Zane's marriage is six or seven years away, even if we betroth him before finishing school. It won't be all bad, darling. More sweet grandchildren coming. I expect Zane to get pregnant like clockwork. And I'll have more opportunity to jump your pretty bones any time I want," Nanette answered. "Women! Is that all you husbands think about, having sex with your wives?" I asked with a grin. "I just hope Zane doesn't get fertilized with many babies right away." "I'd count on Zane having seven or eight, just like you, dear. Our girby adores his mother. However many and whenever he has them, he'll be a fine mother. It didn't hurt you that your husband kept you barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen," she joked. "I know it hasn't hurt me." I paused, then batting my eyes at her, I whispered, "Darling, being such a good girby for you and Her Majesty, I'm bulging with child. I want to do my wifely duty. Perhaps my sweet husband would make her fountain of life available to her pregnant wife for some mutual refreshment? Please, my dear husband?" As she lowered her sugar basin to my waiting mouth, Nanette laughed. "You're such a typical wife, dear, asserting that women think only about sex, you just do your submissive wifely duty, and so forth, all the while seducing me with your sexiness. You know I can't refuse you, especially when you're pregnant. I guess when I'm retired I'll never be able to get out of bed," she snorted. I only let out a muffled "mmmppphhh" as I vigorously sucked and licked, wanting every drop of her honey. While my mouth was busy, her hands explored every inch of my body within her reach. Soon we both erupted with joy. However, Nanette decided to finish what I started. Soon I had my face in the pillow while I bucked and wiggled as she took me in my plump bottom. For some reason every time I was pregnant and my husband took me in the tail, I had the recurring pleasant memory of being taken that way as a young bride, which only added to the pleasure of the moment. "At times mounting my cute wife really is all that I think about," she said. "You are such a good wife, my dear." We laughed and cuddled. Alistair and I were both feeling our age and our plumped-up bodies. Regularly we massaged each other's aching backs and sore feet. We took frequent naps together, our arms wrapped tenderly around each other. As chubby as I was, I felt relief that I would never be as rotund as poor Alistair. He served as the best example of a truly dedicated covey male I have ever known. I made sure that our cook gave him all his favorite foods and his maid made him comfortable and contented. We shared tender kisses. Because he liked a particular lipstick which I wore, Nanette permitted me to wear it every day and kiss him regularly. In public we held hands, proud to show off our increasing girth for the sake of the Empire. Carrying twins at his age, poor Alistair grew extremely portly. Often during the day I would massage his back and his belly, making him purr like a kitten. If Nanette was away on imperial business, Alistair and I used vibrators on each other. When our dear husband was home at night she put us side-by-side on the bed and give our well-rounded bottoms a good pounding. Afterwards, she had us sleep on either side of her, a loving trio, arms and legs all entangled. By the last two months, the twenty-five of us specially selected wives really bulged with our babies. All of us being over forty and having had numerous previous pregnancies-in total we had born 236 children before this-we all looked quite ample and very broad in the beam. The court photographers and news reporters couldn't get enough of the group of us waddling along in our maternity dresses. Our tall, slim Queen loved posing, surrounded by twenty-five sacrificing wives, fertile for the sake of the Empire. As a result of the publicity surrounding our prolific efforts, obstetricians and hospitals throughout the Empire reported a vastly increased number of pregnancies as other men did their patriotic duty to grow heavy with child. On the morning of my forty-seventh birthday, Nanette took her two very rotund wives to the Imperial Hospital where by c-section I delivered Calpurnia and Alistair delivered Helena, Celina and Martha, making our husband the proud mama of twenty-seven daughters, five of whom had died in service to the motherland, and two cute dohters. At the time of the Twelfth Month solstice all of the twenty-five mothers with our beaming husbands and new babes posed with the Queen for photos. Among us we had provided Her Majesty with thirty-five children, twenty girls and fifteen girbys. True to her word, the Queen generously rewarded the families which included promoting Nanette to the rank of general. In the following months a record number of births were reported throughout the Empire. I returned to weight-loss torture under Dr Olga at the Venus Rejuvenation Salon and Spa. She had several new methods of torment so three days a week, I was baked, squashed, sweated, pushed, pulled, squeezed, stretched and toasted. The most horrific of the new tortures was worse than the paraffin bath. To begin, Dr Olga painted my body from my neck to my toes with silvery compound of some sort, which dried very quickly. The attendants wrapped me in linen strips which made me look and feel like a mummy. I was lifted into a steam cabinet, a towel place around my neck, my face covered in cream, my hair covered with a hairnet. Dr Olga squeezed a tight linen mask over my head with holes only for my nose and eyes so speech was impossible. The door was closed and the steam turned on a low setting. I was left to cook in that helpless condition for an hour. Having other wives suffering through this treatment worried me rather than relieved me for masked and speechless that way we all looked exactly the same and I feared that I might be left to mercilessly bake while another wife was released. Fortunately they seemed to keep accurate track of which corpulent wife suffered in which steam cabinet and my fear was never realized. In addition, my maid Hadrian, acting on Nanette's orders, put me though strenuous workouts at home on the days I wasn't in agony at Dr Olga's hands. Hadrian found a monstrosity called an electric sweat suit. This rubberized device had a temperature gage on the back which I could not reach once he put me in it. The outfit also had a very long cord so that I could exercise on the mats or pedal on the stationary bike while I cooked in the sweat suit. He also found a hideous tube-like garment of stretchy material into which I had to slither. Once inside it I was compressed from my breast bone to my knees but my relentless maid made me walk, bend, stoop, high-step and kick until I thought I might faint. Slim Hadrian was merciless with me. Twenty weeks of these miseries at the spa and at home restored my figure enough that extremely corseted or mercilessly girdled my waist could be brought down to twenty-eight inches. I remembered Dame Oblea telling me to "enjoy hourglass dressing while you are still a sylph. After three or four babies it's difficult to get down to even twenty-four inches." After eight pregnancies I rejoiced that Hadrian could help me achieve a curvy figure. Our poor Alistair presents a very full-figured dowager look. Yet he never complains. He continually has Rainier, his maid, put him in sleeping stays at night and in the morning take him out of them only to have Rainier tightly lace him into a daytime corset. And he constantly wears the highest of heels. Our sexy husband finds it hard to resist her buxom Second Wife in his sleep corset and regularly makes ends meet, so to speak, much to Alistair's delight. I still love to hear him squeal, knowing that I'll soon be next. Desire has not lessened with age in our lusty husband. Every time she takes one of us the other knows that he will have his turn momentarily. As Calpurnia turned one, I noticed grey strands in my hair. Nanette gave me permission to color my hair so I went with a pretty frosting, an updated version of Dame Oblea's look, which thrilled my husband. I took a picture of the dear Dame to show my stylist and asked her to give me a version of his look. The day I came from the salon I felt nervous, never having colored my hair before. I told the cook to prepare an appetizer, salad, main dish and dessert which Nanette loved. I selected a good wine and arranged for us to be served in our private dining room. With dinner preparations well underway, I went upstairs to dress. I decided on a seductive outfit. I started with a black bra and matching black satin panties. As Hadrian zipped me into a very firm control girdle, he winked, knowing what I was planning. I opted for sheer black thigh-high stockings instead of ones requiring garters so that Nanette could take my girdle off but I could keep my stockings on while we made love. That turns her on so much. The newly-frosted vixen would give his woman a big thrill. Hadrian laughed and decided to do the same for his husband that night. With Hadrian's help I slipped on a tight fitting dress that accentuated my derriere. I decided on a pair of black patent pumps with a five inch heel. Hadrian applied a very sexy makeup to my face. When finished, I looked carefully at my new self in the mirror. I liked what I saw. I knew with certainty that Nanette would too. When she entered, I came to meet her and stood still to let her stare. Her eyes filled with desire as she surveyed me completely. As we finished our candlelight dinner I knew Nanette was winding up for a long session of love making. And I, her newly styled wife, wanted to be taken, to give myself passionately to my husband, to submit to her demands, to eagerly surrender my male body in the way that wives voluntarily surrendered to their husbands since the beginning of the Empire. The feel of being mounted and penetrated by my sweet husband satisfied me as it always has since our wedding night. I felt so excited that I could barely whisper, "Yes, darling, I'm always yours for the taking. I'm glad you like my hair." "Oh, my darling wife, you look wonderful. No wonder my mama had my mother frost his hair. How delicious!" "I'm glad I please you, dear husband," I whispered as I squeezed her in the right place so she would take me again. As one of her gifts to me on my fiftieth birthday, Nanette sent me back to the fine plastic surgeon Dr Salvatora Aristizabel for a face lift, tummy tuck and some work on my derriere and my thighs. Only four weeks after my birthday, I began to manifest the classic symptoms of change of life- hot flashes, a decline in my monthly flow and then in three more months an end, moodiness, cramping, weight-gain. Nanette, caring husband that she is, sent me back to the psychiatrist, Dr Wilma Foraldas who recognized the emotional problems with change of life. In addition to therapy and medication, she put me through several weeks of "connective course adjustment." Of course those sessions made me so horny I could barely wait to worship between Nanette's legs and have her between mine. Nanette placed Zane in an all girbys school such as I attended in my youth, a school with a strong academic curriculum coupled with the fashion-and-beauty curriculum. Because his mama decided to send him to finishing school after senior high school and marry him off at age 20 or 21, Zane was spared the demanding comazon-prep course of studies. When at age 15 he modeled in the school fashion show I thrilled to see him strut the runway in a short skirt and high heels. I knew he would make a wonderful wife. He quickly adapted to being tightly corseted to a 16" waist and loved the way girls responded to his shapely figure. His academic excellence coupled with a sweet personality and good looks made him a starlet at Court. He never hesitated to help with the little girls, Calpurnia, Helena, Celina and Martha. He possessed a strong natural maternal instinct. His older sisters adored him. As my daughters married I found myself in the role of Dame Oblea to their cute wives. I tried to share with and care for them as he had for me. When pretty Vardon, after his betrothal to my Farrah, hugged me tight, kissed me and said, "Thank you, Mother Rylann, for caring for me and for your other dohters-in-law," I sensed Mother Oblea's spirit smiling at me. In due course, I took my own Zane aside for "the" mother-dohter talk. As we walked a path in the garden I looked at his beauty. Lovely hair well styled. His makeup perfect. The sweet neck so inviting for his husband's kisses. His hourglass shape in a tight-fitting dress. The cute soft beautifully rounded bottom waiting for his woman's pleasure. His slim legs in shiny stockings, with trim feet in pretty high heels. So we held hands and talked of a wife's duty to surrender to his husband and the pleasure of being mounted by a woman. At the end, he kissed me so tenderly. "I hope, mother, that I may be as good a wife and mother as you. Mama told me often of how much effort it took before you became pregnant with me and how much you endured giving me birth. Thank you." My eyes filled with tears of joy and pride. On a bright sunny morning in the Eighth Month of 3305, A.E., on our 38th wedding anniversary, Duchess Nanette and I brought our beautiful Zane to the Temple to marry Dorcas Antianara. Missing only our precious daughters who died in service to the Empire, we gathered our lovely family around us to celebrate. Inez, now 37 and a major in the army, with Cody, her drone male wife and their two children; Faith, 29, with her breed mare wife Ponce, five months along with his third baby; Farrah 26, with her breed mare wife, Vardon, seven months pregnant with his second baby; Azure, 23, working on her doctorate, accompanied by Mahoto, recently betrothed to her; little Calpurnia, at 7 proud to be an attendant to her girbyther. Our children borne by Alistair also present. Beatrice, 28, with her wife and two children; Caresse, almost 26, with her wife carrying baby number three; Daphne, 24, with Missus Gower, her recently betrothed; the twins, Robin and Rose, 22 and in graduate school; Emeline, 20, in college in pre-med program; the triplets, 18, starting college; Sappho, 15; Gretchen, 11; Beatrix, 10; Helena, Celina and Martha, also 7, proudly serving as attendants to their girbyther; our darling Jory, 13, looking angelic in his gown and heels, proud to be tightly laced in his corset to an hourglass figure, anxious to be married himself, delighted to be in the wedding party. Duchess Nanette, the stunningly attractive mama of the bride, was now 60, slim, ramrod straight, her upswept grey hair adding to her height. Dame Alistair, heart mother of the bride, was 52, a roly-poly comazon full of humor and good fun. And the bride's birth mother, Dame Rylann, two months away from my 55th birthday. Assisted by my excellent corsetiere, my maid Hadrian did manage to girdle me down to a 26" waist so my mother-of-the-bride dress looked fetching on me. My hair and makeup were perfect. With pleasure Alistair and I knelt before Nanette while she fastened white lace collars around our necks, reminding us of our wedding days on which we were brides. I sniffled a bit as Nanette and I helped Zane dress in his gown. Only Nanette's command not to smear my makeup kept me from crying when she put the bridal veil on him. His husband-to-be, encouraged by Nanette, selected a fully opaque white veil so that Zane had to be guided by his mama as he walked from house to car to temple to the feet of his beloved. "It is a very good step for our darling girby to learn submission and obedience to his husband," Nanette had informed me. When his new husband fastened Zane's wifely collar around his neck I glowed with pride. At the wedding festivities, Baroness Sylvia, a spry 95 years old, whispered in my ear, "My dear girby, that pretty one of yours is going to bear his full compliment of twelve to that demanding husband of his, I just know it." It may well be that Zane's Grandmother Sylvia had wisdom from the Goddess. Zane became pregnant in the fifth month of his marriage and birthed twin girbys, the fate I dreaded. At the moment he is in the fifth month of his second pregnancy, his belly bulging with girl triplets. I hope my personal story is helpful and informative to your boss. However, if you require any other information from me, you must ask my husband, Nanette, for permission. ***** The governor finished reading at a late hour. The report convinced him he had "the" issue to take the White House in the upcoming presidential election. The empire of woman posed a problem to world peace. And someone needed not only to protect the men of the world from these Amazons but should set free the poor enslaved males in this terrible situation. What the governor did not count on was how many women in the United States would decide they too wanted to live as Amazons. The most momentous change in world history was about to come as tens of thousands of American women would emigrate into the Amazon Empire, bringing their husbands to be transformed and trained as Amazon wives or seeking marriageable males in the Empire. Soon the Amazon Empire would emerge as the sole superpower on the face of the earth. Eventually the majority of males on the planet would be Amazon wives and mothers. The End.