This is another tale from post WW 3, when women rule the world.
Right on the heels of the email inviting me to the owner's association garden party came one from my good friend Andrea. 'Gwen, dear, you ARE coming to the association garden party, aren't you? It doesn't really matter that you don't own her any more, and it's been ages since we visited. A.'
My oldest daughter, Rose, and her wife are both doctors and live in Moose Jaw. My youngest, Mary is an engineer and married a sweet young man. They live in Port Credit. My middle one, my son Jason, is married to a very successful investment banker. Beautiful girl. They live in London.
Once my slave, Nancy, came of age and we could start using her sexually, she changed for the worse. She started thinking she was my husband, Ted's, equal. And he let her.
So I sold her.
That led to arguments.
I got a respectable dowry for Ted after I divorced him.
A few months ago I sold the old house and moved into this nice two bedroom apartment.
So, I dress in my pink lace bra and pantie set, natural nylons and my pink floral print, sleeveless, knee length, sun dress. On my feet are my ivory, pointed toe, block heel pumps.
I'm talking to Grace, who has her husband, Mike, and slave, Trey, with her. We're both leering at the cute sissy, faggot serving finger foods. He's wearing a tiny mauve bikini, purple collar and purple locked on spike heel ankle straps. Yum!
"What are you two looking at?" It's Andrea. We cheek kiss. She has her slave, Amy on a leash. It's been evident for a long time they love each other. I don't know why Andrea doesn't apply for citizenship for Amy and marry her. Anyway.
" That sweet little faggot in the purple."
'Oh, him. Yvonne's I think. Come I'll introduce you to her."
"No, no, I'm not interested in him."
"Come, you should meet her anyway."
Slaves serving at the annual garden party are assumed to be for sale or trade.
After the introduction, Yvonne said, "Like a closer look?" And before I could say anything, "Timmy, come here." And to another server, "You, take his tray."
Timmy looked just as sweet up close. pale smooth young skin, blond hair tied in a pony tail with a purple ribbon. Grey eyes, no makeup And that sweet slim little body.
"Here love." Yvonne put one hand on Timmy's shoulder and with the other hand snapped a meter long leash to his collar, then handed me the loop end.
"Timmy, this is Ms. Gwen."
Blush, eyes down, "Hello Ms. Gwen."
"Dear, you keep Ms. Gwen company."
"Yes Mistress."
So, he was with me for the rest of the party. I noticed when I was stopped visiting he slid his soft hand into my leash hand.
Through the next week I realized how quiet and empty my apartment seemed.
I got Yvonne's number from Andrea, and met her for lunch. We negotiated a price. I was surprised to find out the little queer was twenty years old. On the way home I got him a few outfits.
Friday evening she brought him. As agreed he came with only a tan, short sleeve jump suit and flip flops.
"I'll get him something to change into, then we can do the paperwork."
We sat at the dining table and spread out all the forms. Yvonne was well organized. "Oh, before I forget, Timmy has a very good sperm count, so here's the breeder's card. I have him milked once a month, a nice bit of income on the side."
As we worked through the forms, Timmy stood quietly by the kitchen door, in the red bikini with the big red fur puffs over his little faggot breasts, and a red fur triangle over the crotch of the thong bottom, and red leather spike heel ankle straps. Sweet.
Everything signed, the money transferred to Yvonne's account she hugged him, we cheek kissed, and I was all alone with my sissy faggot possession.
"Come Timmy, sit with me." I picked up the paper and led him to the couch.
We sat and I handed him the form. "Read this out loud dear, so I know you have read and understand."
"Ms. Gwen, I'm sorry, I don't. I can't, um read. I'm sorry." A tear slid down is cheek.
