The Reluctant Mistress and Her Unexpected Transition Part 27
Episode 27 – Daddy’s Girl
Hamilton’s mother was dying of bone cancer. Her doctors gave her three to six months to live, but she refused to move into a nursing facility or hospice house. She wanted to die at home. Her husband has mild dementia and couldn’t be trusted with her care. At Rebecca’s insistence, they hired a full-time live-in hospice nurse. Ever the good son, reliable husband and adoring slave, Hamilton moved in with mother to care for her to the end. The day he left for Richmond, Rebecca commented that the hardest thing about leading a kinky life is that life gets in the way.
I have married friends who say the same thing about their sex lives and kids.
With Hamilton in Richmond, my slave’s visits to clean Rebecca’s house became a weekly ritual. Saturday morning after breakfast, I would lead him on his leash out to the Civic, put him in the trunk, hogtie and gag him, and then drive to Rebecca’s, stopping on the way to do my weekend shopping. Usually it was just for groceries at Trader Joe’s or Whole Foods, but sometimes there were two and three stops. My slave never seemed to complain. Maybe it was the gag.
Rebecca grew to count on Danny’s housecleaning services. She’s a harsher, more sadistic Mistress than me; he always came home with mean-looking welts across his body, marks that made me cringe. Our agreement was that she would not make him bleed, and she kept her word, if only barely. She had her strap-on playtime with him when his cleaning chores were complete (never to her satisfaction) but turned over the harvesting of his semen to me, a task which I easily incorporated into our Sunday ritual. I would alternate, allowing him lick up his cum one Sunday (if he hadn’t gone over his demerit count), and the next Sunday, I made him ejaculate into a sterile container.
But just to make it real (and why not?), Rebecca arranged an appointment with a former colleague who ran the local fertility clinic/sperm bank. The three of us showed up one Wednesday at lunch and signed forms together. Danny was our sperm donor. If something happened to him, I was the recipient and legal guardian of his sperm. We signed him up for six visits, starting mid-February. The donation took place in an airless, sterile room, and their porno collection was laughable. Even so, Danny was probably the happiest donor to ever walk through their doors, thrilled at the prospect of mid-week release. He was certainly the only donor with a cock cage—the kinky part of the visit. Rebecca set it up so Danny had to ask her nurse friend for the key each time, and then return it. And she knew why.
Three months flew by, and soon it was April 15th, Tax Day and the day our contract came to an end. In preparation, I prepared a financial statement. I had paid off all of Danny’s credit cards and closed the accounts. He was now debt free, with $6,046 in a savings account. I wrote up a release for the savings account and the $2018 in the joint checking account. I wrote up an agreement that gave him title to his truck for one dollar. Finally, there was a document which released any claim to his sperm at the clinic.
I put that set of documents in the ‘Free Danny’ folder (which I labeled, ‘FREE’). In the other folder (‘SLAVE’) was a single sheet of paper, a new contract, based on the original. It read:
“I, Daniel Simon Barton, being of sound mind, enter this agreement freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, to develop my character and to obtain the intellectual, moral, physical and spiritual benefits of a female led marriage with Ms. Vanessa Prudence Whetstone.”
The second paragraph was close to the original contract, only with two life-altering revisions:
“I, Daniel Simon Barton, hereby enter bondage as the slave of Ms. Vanessa Prudence Whetstone. This agreement shall be binding on both parties, and exist from the date of signing, April 15, 2015, in perpetuity. Under the terms of this agreement, Ms. Whetstone shall have full authority over me in all matters, private and public, encompassing all human activities, without restriction. This authority may be granted from time to time to Mrs. Rebecca Ray Fowler Hamilton, Ms. Whetstone’s fellow Mistress. Nothing shall be excluded from the scope of Ms. Whetstone’s authority, which is absolute.”
The third paragraph was condensed, the details of BDSM sexual practices now a given:
“I, Daniel Simon Barton, agree that Ms. Whetstone has total power over my sexual activities, any form of sexual release, specifically orgasms, and may practice female domination in all its forms, may cage, defile, humiliate or punish me, with or without cause, as she sees fit.”
The fourth and final paragraph was a life sentence into female-dominated slavery:
“I agree to Ms. Whetstone’s complete authority over all my daily activities, the use of my time and planning future events. I agree to her authority over my finances, that all my earnings and any savings belong to Ms. Whetstone, that she will issue me a weekly allowance, the amount set at her discretion, and that purchases of $40 or more must be approved in advance. I agree that Ms. Whetstone owns and may dispose of all and any property in my possession. Finally, I agree that Mr. Whetstone has sole rights to my sperm and may inseminate herself with it at her sole discretion for the purposes of having a child. I agree that she has sole custody and is the legal guardian of any child so conceived with my sperm and that the child will take her last name, Whetstone. In agree that in the event of my death, she inherits all my earthly possessions, financial interests, intellectual rights and physical property.”
Mr. Daniel Simon Barton
Ms. Vanessa Prudence Whetstone
Mrs. Rebecca Ray Fowler Hamilton
Signed this ___ day of April, 2015.
I knew the contract wasn’t legally binding in a court of law, but it was morally binding, and as far as I’m concerned, that carries more weight in a world where legal documents often are less reliable than a fly, where men and women lie to each other about what they truly want; they marry phantoms and then are dismayed when it all falls apart, leading to a national divorce rate of 50%. Our agreement would be honest and real, the foundation of a female led marriage, and if Danny agreed to it, I thought we had a chance of enduring happiness, if not in perpetuity, then say, 40 years.
40 years is long enough in my book. Not many people have a chance at that kind of happiness.
April 15th 2015 being a Wednesday, that morning, while he ate his breakfast from his bowl at my feet, I told Danny we would have to put off formal discussion of the end of our agreement, and the beginning of a new agreement, until Saturday. Was he willing to extend his slavery until noon Saturday? Of course, he agreed. I sent him off to work, telling him to think long and hard over the next few days about what he wanted to do, and plan on spending Friday night in his cage. It might be the last time.
Saturday morning, for the first time in months, Rebecca came over to our house. Danny served us breakfast in his cute maid apron, and then he ate from his bowl at his place by my feet. When we had eaten, I took away his bowl, brought out the two envelopes and placed them on the table. Rebecca went through them first, reading carefully. “I’m prepared to sign,” she said, smiling.
I put the documents back in the envelopes.
Now it was Danny’s turn. I ran my fingers through his black hair. It was long again, the way I liked it. “Slave, you have a very important choice to make this morning,” I said, placing the 8 x 11” envelope labeled ‘FREE’ on the floor. “This choice returns you to the freedom you enjoyed from the day we first met until the day we signed our agreement, which as you know, expires at noon. You’ll note that you are now completely free of debt, you have over six thousand dollars in savings, about two thousand dollars in checking, and you’ll get back clear title to your truck.”
Danny looked over the documents in less than thirty seconds.
I placed the second envelope in front of him, labeled “SLAVE.”
“This choice makes you a slave for life. The contract inside describes a female led marriage, in which I own and control everything, including you. If you sign it, I will marry you. I will be your Mistress above all else, and your wife only for legal purposes. Also, if you sign this contract, it gives me all rights to your sperm, and I plan on having a baby soon. We would have our wedding in July. Go ahead and read.”
Danny pulled out the sheet of paper. He spent three long minutes reading it. I wondered what he was thinking. I resisted the urge to stroke his back. I so wanted his cock inside me, but he was going to have to agree to terms that stripped him of absolutely all rights, terms that made him my slave forever, and then slowly discover that I was a loving Mistress who granted privileges and freedoms as a reward for good behavior. And God knows Danny was a good man, inclined to good behavior.
“May I speak freely, Mistress?”
“Mistress, you know I love being your slave. I love being in your home. I love making a living and knowing that it goes to you. I love knowing that you’ll make the important decisions. You are a smart and beautiful woman, and you are blessed with the wisdom and love of Mistress Rebecca. The two of you are always going to make wise decisions . . . decisions that are the best for everyone.”
I looked at Rebecca. I could tell she was pleased to hear Danny’s respect for her spoken aloud.
“I only have one modification . . . a request if I may . . . a change to the contract.”
“And what is that, slave?” I asked, sincerely curious, thinking it better not be an exclusion about cross-dressing or not wearing ladies’ underwear.
“You know I was adopted, Mistress.”
“Yes, of course I do.”
“I don’t know the name of my biological mother or father. I love my adopted parents, but as you know, we aren’t all that close and I don’t feel any deep attachment to my adopted name, Barton.”
I looked over at Rebecca. She shot back a quizzical look. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that if we get married, I’d like it if we had the same name. For the child’s sake, for my sake, I would like it if I took your name, Whetstone.”
Mr. & Mrs. Whetstone
I stared at the back of his head, tears welling in my eyes. Oh, this man, this man. I looked across the table at Rebecca. She shook her head incredulously, meaning ‘yes, take this guy, he’s the one.’
“Rise up, slave, on your knees, face me.”
Danny lifted off the floor and turned to face me. For once he was flaccid in his cage, and it didn’t bother me a bit. I took his face in my hands and kissed him. “Daniel Simon, will you be my slave?”
He gave me his happy, boyish grin. “Mistress Vanessa, I would love to be your slave forever.”
We signed the document, the three of us, and then I led Danny upstairs by his leash to his cage and locked him away with his diary. “I want you to write about this day, slave. I want you to write about the last six months and what it meant to you, and what you hope for the future. And while you’re writing that, Mistress Rebecca and I are going to start planning our wedding.”
No happier slave has ever said the words, “Yes, Mistress.”
We were married in the Great Meadow at Shenandoah National Park, on a sunny afternoon in July when the sky was the palest shade of blue and tall thunderclouds decorated the Blue Ridge Mountains. It was a small ceremony, the four of us and close friends, a party of twelve. Hamilton was Danny’s best man; Rebecca was my maid of honor. We exchanged vows in front of a Lutheran minister, a favorite of gay and lesbian couples in Charlottesville. It seemed fitting, since ours is an alternate lifestyle marriage. Danny got three platinum rings, one for each nipple (the piercing ceremony took place that morning), and the larger one that I slid on his ring finger. And yes, he legally changed his name to mine.
That night we stayed at a lodge on Skyline Drive, just the two of us. We stayed up until midnight, enjoying a small band that happened to be singing downstairs on a one-night stand. The lead singer reminded me of Danny Schmidt, the same songs of life, the bittersweet lyrics. Yes, it’s a hard road to find a good man, a hard road to keep a good woman, and a hard road to raise a good child in this crazy world we live in, but Danny and I agreed it’s worth a try. We did it the new-fashioned way, me on top.
Our daughter came into the world eight months later, a month early, hell bent to get out of the womb, six pounds seven, and wouldn’t you know, a daddy’s girl, born on his birthday, March 21st.
We named her Daniella Prudence Whetstone.