Domestic Discipline Addict

Chapter Thirteen

Saturday morning we were both keyed up.

I took her again while she was involved in her morning sickness and then injected another hundred ccs of water into her growing baby.

I drew a bath and bathed her, enjoying the way her belly now peeked up through the bubbles.

While she soaked I went to the kitchen and made coffee.

When I got back to the bedroom she was standing in front of the full-length mirror, slowly turning, her hand lightly caressing her belly.

I walked up behind her and pressed my body against hers, my arms encircling her, my hands covering hers on the roundness.

"You are beautiful," I said, nuzzling her neck.

She leaned her head over, offering her neck.

"Even my stretch marks?" she asked, her fingertips tracing the marks.

I nipped at her ear and said, "especially your stretch marks."

She responded with a little hum,"mmmmmmmmmmm," and guided my hands to her breasts.

"Even with my titties all full and saggy?" she said with a little giggle in her voice.

I lifted her breasts, full and heavy, and rolled her nipples, thick and distended.

"Especially with your udders full and saggy," I said.

She giggled and said, "mmmmMMMMMMOOOOOOO000000ooooooo."

Which made me laugh and pull on her nipples.

"Should I build a stall for my beautiful cow?" I asked.

She shuddered and giggled and said, "is it too crazy that the image that just flashed through my mind was exciting."

"Maybe kinky," I said, tugging her nipples some more, "but hardly crazy."

She giggled and said, "David, I love my new look. Can I take it bigger?"

I patted her belly, "as big as you can stand is fine with me."

"Will you still love me when I'm huge," she asked.

I gently squeezed the soft layer of fat she had accumulated where her waist used to be.

"More cushion for the pushin'," I said, "and besides that," I went on before she could say anything, "you know that I believe women are SUPPOSED to be soft and round."

She leaned back into me and said, "Good. Now feed me please, God, the hormones have me feeling like I really AM eating for two."

I chuckled and said, "breakfast in bed or will you join me."

She giggled and said, "in the bed of course."

So I helped her into bed and went to the kitchen.

I don't claim to be a good cook, but I do breakfast well.

I puttered around, making a six egg omelet, a half-pound of bacon, English muffins, Grape jelly, and orange juice.

When I got upstairs, breakfast on a tray, I found her sitting up, her breast pump latched on, and a smile on her face.

I crawled up onto the bed beside her and fed her while she pumped.

"Now this," I said, grinning as she chewed a bite of her omelet, "is a level of intimacy very few couples ever achieve."

She giggled and opened her mouth for another bite.

We lazed in bed that way, the slow feeding, and pumping followed by me nursing like a hungry baby, enjoying the way her breast was changing, her nipple larger and firmer, her stroking my hair and humming little lullabies.

Finally, around noon, I said, "well bride-o-mine, what will you be wearing to your photoshoot."

She smiled and said, "stay put," and rolled off of the bed.

The stripes I had laid on her ass Thursday night still showed and I'm pretty sure she put some extra swing in her hips as she left the room.

I heard water running and the blow dryer going and then it got quiet.

I assumed she was doing her makeup.

When she came back into the bedroom my first thought was Betty, Don Draper's wife from that TV series Mad Men.

Her blonde hair was done in a lightly upswept hairdo. Her makeup was a delightful mixture of demure and slutty, with light eye makeup offset by bright red lipstick.

It was the dress that set it off though. A very light floral pattern in the pattern that would have been comfortable in the 1950s, back when women hid their bellies behind yards of cloth.

Lace patterned nylons with a nice straight seam, and 3" pumps completed the outfit.

She had accessorized with a heavy stone sort of jangly bracelet, a necklace with a silver feather pointing at the cleavage of her breasts, and dangly earrings.

Christ, she looked good.

"Christ you look good," I said.

She smiled and actually blushed as she did a slow turn.

"Now I don't know for sure what to expect today," I said, taking her hands in mine, "but remember, you can always say 'no.'"

"Nuh-uh," she said, grinning, "you created this monster. I ain't sayin' no to anything honey. I'm all in."

"All right then," I said, "let's go see what Thomas and Vivian have in mind."

I think we were both a little nervous as we headed over. Even singing along with the oldies station felt oddly awkward.

At the place, which I jokingly called the Compound, there were a dozen cars parked in front of the main building.

Thomas and Vivian opened the door as we stepped onto the porch.

Both were dressed I noticed.

"Welcome," Thomas said, shaking my hand and kissing Arlene chastely on the cheek.

"Welcome," Vivian said, hugging Arlene softly and kissing me lightly on the lips.

I gestured around at the cars parked.

"So not exactly a private photo session," I said.

Thomas chuckled and said, "little is private when you join The Life."

They led us inside and there were at least two dozen people in the room.

I was surprised men outnumbered women, I guessed about 15 men to 8 or 9 women.

We were introduced around but the names sort of rolled off of me.

There was Roger and Aaron and Paula and Annette. A black man named Conrad was ridiculously handsome. A brunette introduced as "Elsie," although I doubted that was what was on her birth certificate, had breasts that made Arlene look flat-chested. Mame, whose face was a mask of wrinkles and I imagined was at least 70 and maybe closer to 80.

The TV had, of all things, a baseball game on and about half of the people seemed to be engrossed in it.

"Something to drink?" Thomas asked.

"Beer for me," I said.

"Can I get a screwdriver?" Arlene asked.

"Be right back," he said and left the room.

Vivian gestured to a small table and we sat.

"Are you excited?" she asked.

"Yes," we both said in unison, "but nervous too," Arlene added.

"No need for that honey," Vivian said, "you can always say 'no' if you decide you don't want to do something."

Thomas was back then, my beer and Arlene's screwdriver in glasses.

He had two envelopes that he ripped open, emptying one into my glass and one into Arlene's.

"Ummmmmmmmmmm," I said, "what's that?"

"For you," he said, tipping his own glass to me, "some of that magic elixir Vivian and her pharmacist boyfriend have mixed up that will keep you hard and cumming like a garden hose."

"For you," and here he tipped his glass to Arlene, "a little something to relax you, just a tiny bit of LSD, and a little something to get the juices flowing."

I looked at Arlene and she looked back at me, doing the one eyebrow thing.

"All righty then," I said doing my best nerd imitation, clinking glasses with Arlene and taking a deep swallow.

"All right, we're going to start now," Thomas said to the room, "we'll call when we need you."

"Come along you two," Thomas said and led us through one of those corridors that this place seemed to have everywhere.

The room he led us to appeared, to my untrained eye, to be a professional photography studio. There were lights and those umbrella things with shiny stuff on the bottom all over the place. Several cameras and, I realized, video cameras, were mounted around the room. The space centered on what I realized, when it started to turn, was a big turntable about 20 feet across. As I watched, the scene became a living room that would have been at home in any tract house in America.

There was a couch, chair, coffee table with some oversize books, and the back wall was a floral pattern wallpaper.

Vivian led Arlene to the couch and sat her down, talking to her outside of my hearing.

Thomas puttered around setting up a half dozen cameras.

"Video?" I asked.

"Yep," he said, "the best advertising medium since billboards were invented."

"Okay baby," he said to Vivian, "whenever you're ready."

Vivian said, "What was the name of your first pet, dear."

Arlene looked puzzled but said, "ummmmmm I guess Buttercup, my first cat."

"Mmhmmmm," Vivian said, "and what was the street you grew up on?"

Again that puzzled look but she said, "well, Krameria in Denver."

"Okay honey," Vivian said to Thomas, "roll."

There was nothing dramatic like clicking buttons or anything like that, but he said, "you're on."

Vivian turned to the video camera and said, "We're here to interview Buttercup Krameria who says she thinks she's ready to start selling what her husband doesn't seem to want much anymore."

When I frowned Thomas said, "don't worry big guy, it's a standard script."

Arlene giggled prettily and said, "well, I hadn't thought of it quite that way but I suppose you're right."

Vivian paused and looked her up and down.

"So when are you due dear," she said.

That stopped her for a second but then she said, "June 3."

"So seven months down," Vivian said, "are those magnificent boobs producing yet?"

"Not yet," Arlene said, "but when I pump I'm starting to get a few drops of a clear liquid."

"Well dear," Vivian said, "let's see them."

Arlene stood and pulled the maternity top off.

Jesus, she was sexy. The way the stretch panel of the skirt embraced her round belly highlighted rather than hid. And I realized she had a nursing bra on, something I hadn't seen before.

"Oh, my," Vivian sort of crooned. "Stunning."

Arlene gave a look so wonderfully coquettish that it had to have been practiced in the mirror as she reached up and unhooked the snap of the left cup of the nursing bra and lowered it, revealing her breast and nipple, dark and hard, sitting proudly on the broad cone of her areola.

She squeezed her breast between both hands, starting at the base and slowly working forward until she got to her areola.

Then she worked her nipple and areola, pumping them with her fingers, and when a clear drop formed my erection was instantaneous.

She kept doing that until the drop got big enough to fall, leaving a tiny wet spot on her skirt, and then did the same with her other breast.

Vivian, and Thomas, and I watched, fascinated, not saying anything.

Arlene did the same thing with her other breast and this time the drop that formed wasn't completely clear.

The way the bra held her breasts, slightly pushed away from her body and then drooping under their own weight was so outrageously erotic that I wanted her right then.

"Lovely dear," Vivian said and I thought I caught a little catch in her voice, "now take off the bra please and show the clients the goods."

Arlene smiled what can only be called a flirtatious smile at the camera and did that double-jointed thing all women seem to learn with their first training bra, reached behind, and undid the hooks.

Her breasts, free now, hung until they almost touched the roundess of her belly and I loved that there was a little drop forming on the tip of each one.

"Slow turn honey," Vivian directed and Arlene did.

"Now another, hands behind your head," Vivian directed again and Arlene did, and in that position, the heaviness of her breasts was even more highlighted.

Throughout all of this Thomas had been clicking away with his cameras, moving from one to another, sighting through the viewfinder, and then pushing the little shutter release.

"Now the skirt honey," Vivian said.

There were no buttons or zippers, the big elastic panel handling those duties.

She pushed the skirt down past the roundness of her belly and let it drop.

"Oh my God," Vivian said giggling, "did you get those at a sailmaker?"

Her panties were, indeed, huge.

The thigh-high nylons and pumps still did good things for her legs.

"Off," Vivian said, pointing.

For the first time doing the photoshoot Arlene hesitated and blushed.

"OFF!" Vivian snapped.

She bent and pushed the panties down leaving her standing in only the hose and her shoes.

"Good girl," Vivian said, "now slow turn."

She repeated the turns, the second with hands behind her head.

Standing like that, with the bright lights, I realized how big she had gotten.

And how fucking gorgeous she was like that.

The stretch marks showed clearly in the lights.

Jesus, she was sexy.

"Okay," Thomas said, "That's got it. Get her ready for the next set honey."

Vivian crooked her finger, summoning Arlene to follow. Arlene picked up her clothes and followed.

The turntable stage turned and now it was a bedroom, the four-poster bed in a dark wood, a dark coverlet, and a pale blue wall. A bedside stand with a lamp completed the image.

While we waited Thomas and I talked.

"Look," he started, "are you sure you're okay with all of this?"

"I'm sure," I said, "but one thing I learned was it has to be consensual with her."

He chuckled and said, "you got that part right anyway."

I grinned.

"Ummmmmm," he said, "would you be interested in participating?"

"Huh?" I said, revealing once again my brilliant wit.

"Vivian and I have been doing this for a while and we've learned a lot about what our, well, our clientele want," he said, "and a cuckold fantasy is pretty high on the list."

"Like I'd be in the room?" I said.

He grinned.

"Ever suck a dick?" he asked.

"No," I said instantly.

He grinned.

"Well," he said, "what if it was worth, say, $5,000 to you."

When I hesitated he laughed and said, "you're a natural whore too, aren't you."

"Is that really something some men want?" I asked.

"You'd be surprised by how many men enjoy the cuckold experience," he said.

"Wow," I said, "I'll think about it."

When Arlene came onto what I now thought of as the "bedroom set," she was a vision in red.

A sheer, diaphanous peignoir over a barely less sheer baby doll set showed off her size, especially her pregnancy. The fuzzy high-heeled slippers, mules I think they're called, completed the outfit.

Thomas' camera was steadily clicking as Vivian directed her through poses.

First, it was almost demure, laying on the bed, chin propped in her elbow.

Then a breast was exposed.

Then both.

Until she had Arlene on her back, her knees drawn up until they touched her distended nipples, and her fingers opening herself so her cervix was in full view.

What really got to me, though, was when Vivian got her up on all fours, the big pregnant belly hanging almost to the mattress, her legs spread, her swollen labia peeking out from between her thighs, her excitement showing as her natural love honey left trails down her thighs like slugs, and Vivian tugging on her nipples, milking her like a cow, while Arlene mooooooooed contentedly.

"All right," Thomas said, "that's got it. Viv set her up for a home invasion. Ron, get ready to throw a load into that."

I kept watching, fascinated, as the turntable set turned again, back to the living room now.

"Home invasion?" I asked Thomas.

He smiled and said, "just watch."

When Arlene came through the door onto the set she had changed again. This time she had on a T-shirt so tight I swear I could see stretch marks through it with a "Baby On Board" sign stretched across her belly. Her red bra showed clearly. Her legs were in white tights. She had on white high-heeled shoes.

She sat on the couch and opened a magazine.

The doorbell rang.

She went to the door, carefully, and called, "who's there?"

"FedEx," the reply came.

"Just leave it," she said.

"Sorry ma'am," came the reply, "signature required."

She hooked the door chain and opened the door carefully.

"Just pass it through," she said.

A clipboard was passed through and when she took it - BAM!

The door was kicked open, loudly, the chain breaking away from the frame.

"What the," was all she got out before he was on her.

He slapped her, hard enough to rock her head, making her cry out, and then he kicked the door shut.

"What the," she started again and he backhanded her, this time starting her nose bleeding.

I started up and Thomas snapped, "Sit back down David! You wanted this, now enjoy the fucking show."

I looked over and saw him looking at me but, more importantly, one of the bigger guys, Aaron was the name I thought, was standing beside him looking ready, even eager, to make me sit back down.

On the set, Arlene dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around the guy's waist.

"Please don't hurt me anymore," she said looking up at him.

I couldn't tell if she was acting or not, but she sure looked scared to me.

He reached down and grabbed her hair, yanking her head back.

"Open your mouth you cow," he said.

She did and he hawked up a loogie and spit in her mouth.

"SWALLOW BITCH!" he snapped.

She did.

"Now listen bitch," he said, twisting her hair and making her cry out again, "give me your hand."

She did and he released her hair.

"You, my sweet cow, are going to do exactly as you are told," he said in a calm, almost reasonable voice, "or I will start breaking your bones starting with your little finger."

He bent back her little finger making her scream.

"I can break it, do you believe me?" he asked in that same, frighteningly calm voice.

"YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS," she wailed, "please don't."

"Why I think we have an understanding," he said, offering a hand and helping her to stand.

Those were real tears and that was real blood.

"Now my sweet cow," he said, rubbing her belly and squeezing her breast, "turn on the radio and find 100.7. They usually have some good music going. And you do a strip for me that makes me believe you are doing it because you want to or you'll be wearing a finger cot for a few weeks."

With no warning he slapped her again, hard enough to snap her head around and leave a mark that I thought might become a bruise.

"Do you understand?" he said in that weirdly soft voice.

"Y-y-y-y-y-yes," she managed, holding her cheek.

"Then get to it," he snapped, slapping her ass and then sitting on the couch.

She went to the little shelf on the wall and turned on the Bose Wave radio that I hadn't noticed was there.

Thomas called over his shoulder, "Sarah, I need you in here please."

I watched as Arlene started to dance for him.

I actually jumped a little when I felt hands on my shoulders.

Breath was warm in my ear when I heard a soft voice whisper, "what do you like baby," and felt a warm wet tongue trace the shell of my ear.

I vaguely remembered being introduced to Sarah, a short, round woman, cute rather than pretty.

She moved around in front of me, spread her legs, scooted forward, and sat on my lap.

"Would it interest you to know that I haven't shaved in five years and I'm a VERY hairy girl," she said, giggling a little and then kissing me.

"Do NOT finish him," Thomas said, "I have plans for him later."

She giggled and nuzzled my neck, her tongue a warm, wet thing finding all of my special spots.

Meanwhile, I watched Arlene, awkward with her center of gravity well ahead of where it usually was, and hardly dressed for a striptease, making a bad job of it.

She had struggled out of the T-shirt and almost fallen when she tried to strip out of the tights while keeping up the rhythm of the song, something slow and sexy by some jazz singer, maybe Norah Jones.

Sarah leaned back, blocking my view, doing the crossed arms thing to peel off her own T-shirt.

Jesus, she WAS a hairy thing. Very hirsute. The thick curly dark hair in her armpits ran a couple of inches down her side and down the inside of her bicep.

She kept her arm up and leaned forward, pressing her armpit to my face.