Click here to read Part 1
Madame went to her email to comb through the dozens of responses she had received. The large majority were complete duds, of course. Some with no pics at all, some offering nothing but tiresome dick pics, or worst of all, those hairy waist-down panty boys. Yuck. There were also the usual functional illiterates for whom spelling and punctuation appear to be irrelevancies.
Among the first cut we noted several who were very cute and wrote charming introductions, but one in particular stopped us dead in our tracks. It was Nick, a limousine driver whom Madame had fired for behaving inappropriately with me (it wasn’t his fault, as I had initiated the contact and aggressively pressed the issue). He was more gorgeous than ever, and even Madame could not fail to have been moved by the heartfelt apology and plea for forgiveness in his accompanying email. And Madame was indeed moved. “You want him, don’t you, baby?” I nodded my affirmation. “Then we shall have him.” Madame stroked my cheek and kissed my forehead. I tingled from head to toe.
In a flurry of emails, instant messages, and cell phone calls, Madame made all the arrangements for a Friday night assignation with Nick. He was to arrive in his limo, in uniform, and drive the two of us to the restaurants and clubs we’d selected for that evening, just like on a regular job. We wanted to make him wait an excruciatingly long time before he’d get to lay a finger on us.
The wait through the week was excruciatingly long for me as well. In my excitement I became even more absent-minded than usual, which is saying a lot. I have more than a touch of ADHD and it is only through Madame’s discipline that I have learned to manage it with any consistent degree of success. Madame was kind and indulgent through much of the week, but by Thursday afternoon I was bouncing off the walls, and Madame, who was working at home that day, decided it was time to reel me back in before I went utterly bonkers.
The breaking point came when I suddenly burst into her study, unannounced, dumped a heap of dresses on a sofa and loudly announced, “Madame, I just cannot decide what to wear tomorrow evening! Why can’t I ever make up my mind? Will you please help me choose?” The juvenile Hayley Mills could have played Donna in this movie. A split second after the last word exited my lips I knew I’d crossed the Rubicon. The skies darkened and I heard the not-so-distant rumbling.
“Donna, dear,” she said with ominous impassivity. Her volume and projection rose steadily as she spoke. “Do you see what I’m doing here? Do you see? Look and think about it for a moment. That’s right, Donna. I AM WORKING!!!!! I have been working ALL DAY on a project that I have been working on ALL FUCKING WEEK! I am not finished with it and I have to meet a FUCKING DEADLINE tomorrow morning so I can be free to give my spoiled, little brat a special gift that I’m beginning to think she doesn’t deserve and NEVER WILL!” I wanted to burrow under a rock and curl up like a potato bug.
“I want you in the kitchen in five minutes. Naked, except for those pink strappy pumps of yours. The ones with the 6” heels you hate because they hurt your toes and make you feel awkward and clumsy. Go. Now. But not without putting those stupid dresses away and OUT OF MY SIGHT!”
In a hair under five minutes I arrived in the kitchen, naked and tottering on those outlandish pumps. Madame ordered me to lean on the cold granite of the center island and spread my legs apart. She went to the refrigerator and filled a small dish with ice wedges from the automatic dispenser. She pried my ass cheeks open and without any preliminary stretching she inserted a wedge into my anus. Another. Then another. Five in all. I had never felt anything quite like it. I quickly developed what I could only describe as a sort of anal brain freeze. The dull ache soon radiated throughout my pelvic region. Madame forced my legs back together and spanked me for a minute or so with a steel spatula. When the spanking was done she dug her nails into both cheeks, leaving behind her trademark ten of those familiar pink concave crescents.
“Down on your knees, cunt.” I complied. Madame turned her back to me, lifted up her skirt, and presented her wide ass to my face. “You know what to do.” I thrust my face into the deep crevice dividing Madame’s glorious rump and started licking enthusiastically. Steadying herself with one hand on the island, Madame picked up her favorite vibrator with a clitoral stimulator, and began to masturbate with it as I licked. Madame must have been extremely aroused, as she came quickly and very noisily. I could feel the spasms coursing through her whole body, her ass cheeks contracting and squeezing my face. When her shaking and shuddering finally subsided, Madame handed the vibrator to me to be thoroughly washed and put away.
“Donna, you are to remain naked and wearing those shoes for the rest of the day. You will not sit unless and until I grant you leave to do so. Is that understood?”
I spent the remainder of the afternoon dusting, vacuuming, scrubbing the kitchen and bathrooms, and preparing the evening meal. Madame periodically checked my work. If satisfied, she would give me a sweet smile and a kiss on the lips. If not, then a slap, a bite, and/or a pinch. I had the feeling she’d turned down the heat to keep me acutely aware of my nakedness. I rubbed my arms and shivered. My nipples contracted and stayed shriveled and taut for hours. By nightfall I was frozen stiff and my toes were crushed and numb. Madame wrapped me in a blanket, lay me down on the bed, took my shoes off, and kissed and massaged my aching toes. She filled the master bathroom with scented candles, drew a hot bubble bath, and left me to luxuriate for a full hour. She returned to towel me off, apply moisturizer, and put me in my coziest pajamas and robe. A cup of hot chamomile and half a chick flick later, I was comfortably asleep in Madame’s arms.
Having completed her project Thursday night without further Donna-related disturbances, Madame was free to take Friday off and give me a full “day of beauty” in preparation for the evening’s fun. All spankings, paddlings, whippings, etc. were suspended for the day, to ensure that my bottom remained smooth and inviting for Nick. Before we left the house, Madame filled a small flask with her strong, bright yellow morning pee, which she carried in her purse through the day. Anytime I embarrassed or irritated her, she would have me take a sip as a pungent symbol of her firm possession and unyielding control. She pee-spiked all my drinks that day as well, from my morning orange juice through the evening’s cocktails. I confess that I rather liked receiving these reminders. I had to suppress the occasional urge to misbehave just so I could enjoy another taste of Madame’s delightful essence.
Manicure, pedicure, massage, facial, waxing, hairstyling, and makeover – Madame treated us to the works, and when we were done I felt positively gorgeous. Male heads practically spun off their heads as we two beauties sauntered by. More than a few women registered comparable reactions. Nick didn’t stand a chance. No one did.
At 6 p.m. sharp Nick’s limousine pulled into the driveway. Madame and I had each put away several glasses of white wine while we were dressing. I chose a scandalously short, sparkly cocktail dress in teal, cut on the bias to emphasize my long , perfectly shaped, tanned, smooth legs. With my tan I needed no hose, and I love the feeling of my legs being freshly shaved and bare, so I selected my favorite open-toed, 3 1/2 inch strappy sandals. Madame went for a more understated mature look, selecting a tight, sequined, low-cut number in French blue, emphasizing her ample curves and deep cleavage. Primped and perfumed, decked out in some of Madame’s most expensive bling, we two girls were locked and loaded for bear.We were the hottest thing going and we both knew it. We entered the limo and Madame brusquely gave Nick our first destination. She ordered him to raise the privacy glass. Nick was to be just another generic limo driver until Madame was good and ready to relieve him of his duties. We rode to the restaurant kissing, holding hands, and giggling all the way. As long as no one else was close enough to hear, tonight I was free to address Madame by her real name. This was a rare privilege, and each utterance gave me the sweetest frisson. Truly a night to remember.
Dinner was lovely, as always. I’m a hopeless shellfish addict, and as she has done many times before, Madame filled me with all the clams, oysters, shrimp, and lobster I could stuff into my greedy mouth. I was allowed to get mildly tiddly on two Scotches and half a bottle of Veuve Clicquot, with each glass receiving but a single, teensy droplet of Madame’s precious golden cordial.
On the way to the dance club we let poor, famished Nick hit the Wendy’s drive-thru for a burger and large fries. He was going to need plenty of fuel to get him through the night we had planned for him. Nick dropped us at the dance club and went off to park and await Madame’s call for him to return.
The dance club was loud, cavernous, and crammed full of milling, young people – some openly ebullient, others standing about, diffidently nursing their drinks and feigning deep boredom. As far as we could see, Madame and I were the eldest patrons there, by a significant margin. It proved no disadvantage.
The imposingly beautiful, middle-aged, blonde BBW bombshell, and her leggy, lissome, equally middle-aged, tranny companion with red, bee-stung lips and big, brown eyes were magnets for attention. While the men hovered from a safe distance trying not to be obvious, the women had no compunctions about showing their interest. The girls repeatedly pulled us both out onto the dance floor, and we all slithered and swayed seductively to the subwoofers’ rumbling pulse. Several bold young women openly suggested that we “get together” after hours. Alas, Madame and I had other plans.
Whenever we overheated from dancing we would retire to the bar, where Madame had a reserved table. Madame ordered oysters for us both, and I was granted the privilege of two more generously poured scotches on crushed ice, each, of course, enhanced with the barest hint of Madame’s well-guarded, secret flavoring agent. I was having a perfectly fabulous time.
Click here for Part 3
About the Author
In the early to mid-2000s, Donna Queen enjoyed a brief, unexpected, but memorable career as an amateur transgender porn star, with a devoted worldwide following. She is now fully transitioned and happily married to a wonderful woman, and is no longer active in the porn scene, although her pictures and videos remain widely distributed and she often receives fan requests for new material. While she no longer makes visual porn, Donna is a gifted writer of fiction in multiple genres, including BDSM erotica. While Donna writes primarily from her own perspective as a lifelong submissive, she also demonstrates a sure grasp of the dominant’s point of view. Although her work is first and foremost powerfully erotic, Donna strives to create fully realized and authentically human characters, and her stories always reflect her loving, generous spirit and delightfully wicked sense of humor.