One Thousand Kisses/Part Two

by Marlissa

"I'm your man, am I?" I ask snidley.

She stops sucking on my finger, looks up and gives me a "dirty girl" leer I know she's been working on all morning. My feminized beauty nods and slips off my lap and to her knees. I watch as she gingerly unbuckles my belt, unzips my fly, all the while licking her moist lips. My cock springs out, staring back at her at rigid attention. Lily looks up to read my mood.

"Lily, you little whore!" I chide playfully.

She gives me a dainty shrug. "You're my man though. So it's alright, isn't it My Love?" And taking my silence as permission, she opens her mouth and takes my man meat within her sweet mouth. As she takes the head deep down her throat, Lily's cheeks hollow out, suctioning every drop of the cum now spurting in her mouth. I let her do the work as always, watching the red lips greedily draw in every raw strand of my milky jism from my cock. In a minute it is over. With ladylike care, Lily draws the flat of her hand gingerly over her lips, wiping off the residue of my cum.

She is so much better now than she was only a few months ago. When I first introduced her to the art of oral worship, she was prudish in the extreme. A few spankings were required to convince Lily that yes, she would learn to become an accomplished and pleasing cocksucker for me. Gradually she accepted the necessity of learning to do it, then doing it to my satisfaction. Many tears were shed because of Lily's refusing to deep throat, then swallow, then swallowing whole. And they were not my tears that were being shed either. But now Lily is thoroughly proficient at her new skill.

She performs her new duty at least as well as the actresses in the hardcore porno movies she must watch. Porno movie watching is Lily's "homework"-- she has dozens and dozens to learn from. Depending on which area she needs "work in" I will pick a tape for her to watch. Favorites include "Mouth Whore," "Lingerie Slut," "Backdoor Bimbo," and "The Master's Pet Bitch"-- my favorites naturally.

Speaking down to the kneeling girl, I compliment her. "You are learning your Lesson well, baby. You are making a better mistress every day. Get up--"

Lily rises, still grinning at my praise. She has missed a drop of my spunk on her lower lip and it gleams in the glow of the afternoon light. I cup her chin and she realizes the goo she has missed. With kittenish zeal, she extends her tongue and draws it into her mouth, all the while looking at me with her glinty emerald eyes.

"Let's go into the bedroom, Lily." I pat her butt, which she wriggles for me and off she goes, prancing into the bedroom. I follow, enjoying the enticing sight of her exagerrated hip swivels. Very nice. In the bedroom, she first unbuttons my shirt and carefully hangs in in the closet. Next she kneels and takes my shoes, socks then pants off. As she pulls off my boxer shorts, there is an intensity in her face as she looks at the hard black mass of my pubic hair. It is moments such as this, undeniably face to face with the object of her humiliation and servitude, that Lily my mistress must think of her former life as my young protege Lyle. Such a promising young executive he was-- full of vast ideas and plans for the furtherace of my commercial empire. He was so like me-- ambitious, self- absorbed, without a trace of pity or regard for others. His ruthlessness was matched only by his brilliance. He must have thought he was bound for success when I asked him to join me on that fateful business trip, the one on which he "died." How could he know that what I was interested in was a mistress, not a loyal aide? And how could he know that the very attributes that made him a merciless businessman could be so easily turned inside out to transform him into this simpering, sexy playmate?

The bed is turned down and I slip into it. Lily follows me. She watches me with the eye of a trained observer. The thoughts go through her mind-- what will I want first? How will I use her? How can she accomodate me? Will she displease me and find herself punished? The riding crop is on the nightstand, a silent and everpresent reminder of my willingness to "correct" her wayward performance. I stroke Lily's thighs and she responds with girlish abandon, her arms on my bare chest, her soft cheek rubbing against me in rising heat.

All an act. Too bad they don't give out Academy Awards for being a sex slave. Lily would win one for sure. I know she really hates it to her core, hates my hands on her, hates this role I insist she play for me. She thinks that her life is to play the role of fawning sexpot. What she will soon realize is that her role is her life. I tell her to assume the position and with a lazy smile, she rises on her fours, places her cheek on the pastel sheet and flips her ripe red thonged bottom up into the air obediently. The dreamy expression on her face anticipates a deep and hard pentration.

Like cocksucking, Lily has learned to be used like a woman through many hard and severe lessons. She detested being penetrated at all when first put through that experience. She would buck helplessly, screaming in her bonds as I used her from behind. As in all the other changes she has endured, she accepted the act in degrees. She stopped struggling, then sullenly began to take an unwilling part. By then I had disposed of the bonds-- my dove had been convinced of the incontrovertible fate that awaited her. Then she discovered I could be kind if she were more cooperative and she assumed a pliability, allowing her supple body to be used by me without too much trouble. Within a few months, she was beginning to recognize her ability to please me afforded her supreme opportunities and I noticed her devouring articles in her many women's magazines about the female orgasm. It wasn't long before she was actively faking orgams to impress me with her femininity.

Kneeling behind her, I yank the thong down. She spreads her legs wide-- as she had been taught-- and braces herself. My cock is erect now, a missile aimed at her netherhole. I drive it inward with vigor, grunting as I invade the dainty space with all my might. Lily gasps as my masculinity conquers and occupies her plucked and feminized portal, bucks as I plunge in and out of between her girlish hips. Lily's "Girl Lessons" are proceding well, so much so that in recent weeks her "orgasms" have become better and better simulated-- so well in fact that at times she acts just like a twenty-five year old woman in the throes of sexual bliss. I feel the internal pressure building up within me and I prepare to explode in my dainty partner. Lily senses with her growing feminine intuition that I am ready. She has learned from her reading that it must be perfect-- for me, not her. She must "cum" when I do. Her moans and whimpers quicken, my love victim beginning her own ascent to feigned satisfaction. At last she has achieved a certain counterfeit grace in mimicking the ultimate moment of female bliss and as I plunge into her from behind, we both merge-- master and slave. Lily is a "moaner" and her sighs are music to me, the soft moans from which I take pleasure.       I withdraw and she slumps forward, a sulky frown on her face as she feels the cock which has filled her leave her so empty. I lay on my back and she presses her face to my chest. She knows it is her place to want to "cuddle" after lovemaking, so she dutifully rubs her body, slick with perspiration, against mine. I gently press her head, which is pressed against my chest, down to my lap. She opens her mouth to protest, but clamps her full lips closed. She knows what I desire and must obey. Her loose straight auburn hair falls over my limp member as she forces herself to clean it with her tongue, my palms guiding her mouth over the spots where I wish to feel her velvet ministrations.

As she services me, I reach casually to the nightstand where her diary resides. I can feel myself grow thick and heavy down below as I flip through the scented pages, scanning for the more recent entries. Lily must keep a full account of each and every one of our sexual escapades-- a little chore that I feel reinforces her identity as a nubile young mistress. I smile as I read of my visit just a few days ago.

"My beau has just left and I am already so lonely! I press the pillow just to smell him! This time was so special, so exciting! He called from work, saying he was passing by the apartment and had time for a "quickie" between meetings. I hurried to get ready and when he arrived I met him at the door on my knees, ready to give him a great big kiss where I know he wants it! I had his zipper down and was ready to get to work when Missus Slatsky passed by! What a sight she saw-- me tricked out just like a callgirl in my sexy black lace panties, bra, garters and fishnet stockings on my knees ready to give my lover a blowjob!

My beau just laughed. "Good day Missus Slatsky!" he said and shut the door. We both laughed-- how funny! Then he pointed to his wristwatch and reminded me why he was here. Of course I got back to work. Then when he said so, I stood up. He took me in the kitchen, bending me over the table--"

I scanned to the bottom of the page and saw her sticky red kissmark with the number "124" penned in small numbers. Lily keeps a strict accounting of the times I use her for my pleasure-- it is absolutely crucial she does so. The number symbolizes the count toward freedom-- her "quota" if you will. The rules are strict. She can only count anal penetration-- oral doesn't count. Thank goodness or she'd already be up much higher that she is. She can't wait til she reaches 1,000. That's the magic number, you see. When she reaches 1,000, I have told her that I will free her-- that I will turn her back into a male and return her to "the world" with a small bit of money and the chance to leave this life as my submissive mistress.

Why would I make such a promise? You have to understand the ambition and efficiency of my former assistant and protege. Lyle was a driven personality, absolutely fixed on the objective at hand. Give him a goal and he wouldn't stop til he achieved it. It was an element of his personality that I wanted to retain in his new role as my mistress-- one I knew would lead him to become the perfect sexpot afternoon plaything. Thus I gave Lily her quota-- she would need to service me like a woman 1,000 times and if she did this I would release her from her gender. In doing so, I knew she would need to work as hard as she could to becoming the sextoy of my fantasies.

One thousand.

And so she did. Unwilling at first. I am not a strong man, but I am not weak either. I found it fairly easy to punish my frail pretty girl when and however I liked whenever I felt she wasn't "trying" hard enough. The crop scares her and she fears the thick black belt I keep in the nightstand. But for the most part, an over-the-knee, panties-down-now! spanking is sufficient to lead her back to the light. And so my Lily began to act her role in earnest. Now she plays the part so well-- the coy "good girl" who I force to be a "bad girl" in bed-- that I know she will never regain her male identity again. The swaggering young executive is gone forever. I know this. She does not.

One thousand.

As my kitten licks me clean, I once again consider my plan to turn her into my secretary. She won't be an assistant, like all these young college women demand. Oh no-- Lily will be an old-fashioned secretary, one that will do all the menial, common things that powerful men such as myself shouldn't bother with-- fetching my coffee, picking up gifts for my wife, sewing on the odd loose shirt button, and so on. Sort of like a maid at the office. I probably won't even have her type or file-- I'll have other girls do that and keep Lily concentrated on my personal needs, if you get my meaning.

One thousand.

And like an old-fashioned secretary, she'll dress and act the part. She'll prance through the halls in tight revealing miniskirts, sheer blouses, lots of make-up, big hair-- the works. Lily has learned to strut with the best of them and I'm sure she'll give the passerbys in the hallways quite a show in her high heels and long legs. I won't be shy about giving her pats on the fanny in front of my employees and treating her like a kewpie doll. She'll hate it inside-- the former hotshot being condescended to and groped. But she'll smile like a spoiled kid on the outside.

One thousand.

And behind closed doors, well-- use your imagination. There is only one reason for having a sexy, young single woman as your very own personal secretary. And unlike wives and career gals, good little secretaries don't DARE to talk back or disobey. That's what I've planned for Lily for months and months. And, believe it or not, she'll be thrilled at the prospect of becoming my hot, horny secretary. It just gives her even more opportunities to reach her magic number.

One thousand.

But what will happen when she reaches that final number, right after the thousandth time she has offerred up her tight, rounded pantied backside to my needs? Will she rise from her submission, triumphant in the expectation I will free her? Or will she realize then that she is unable to escape her conditioning, that she NEEDS to be treated like the slut she has become? What will I do as she yanks up her panties? Merely pull them down again, begin to fuck the bitch for the 1,001 time and begin the next millenium of her life of rape? I just can't wait.

Lily raises her head, her tongue now sliding eagerly over the stretch of my "foot-long" giving me her best Julia Roberts "I'm hot for you!" leer. I command her to get on her fours and the feminized executive scampers to obey. So efficient, so erotic my mistress is. She shall earn two little entries in her diary today.

THE END