Chapter 18: The White Witch of Walden - Prelude IV

DEE'S BIRTHDAY PRESENT (continued)

I blinked. "What?"

"I want you to make her pregnant, Freddy."

I still wasn't sure I understood her. I started to laugh, but didn't. Brenda seemed very serious. "Um, Brenda... I... uh... Maybe we should talk about this; just the two of us..."

"No, Freddy, I want her to hear. This is my gift to her."

I glanced at Dee. She had assumed her familiar posture, her hands on her lap, her eyes cast submissively downward, the way she always did when Brenda and I would talk about her at dinner. Normally, this seemed to give her a sense of subservience that was a gratifying part of her nature. Now, she blushed almost painfully red.

Brenda had put Dee on birth control pills (the same ones she, herself took) on that first day she had come to live with us in the small house in town. I admit, there were a few anxious days on my part when I realized that our first two unprotected couplings might have culminated in a young heir to the Darlingshire empire; but Dee had had her period right on schedule, and she'd been as regular as Old Faithful every month since. The fact that the girls' cycles did not overlap was especially pleasing to me. In fact, everything about my life was especially pleasing right now. But a baby has a way of changing things. A baby has a way of changing EVERYTHING.

"Brenda..."

"Freddy, I know you don't think it's a good idea, but that's because you're not thinking about it the right way."

I shook my head and prepared to reason with her. "Brenda, think about how it would look. We've been introducing her as our housekeeper. But if Dee has a baby, then everyone would assume that her baby is mine."

Brenda still couldn't look me in the eye. "It wouldn't be her baby, Freddy."

"What?"

"The baby would be mine."

"WHAT!?"

Now she looked up at me. Her eyes were clear, her voice steady. She'd really thought this out.

"She would have your baby, but it would be raised as yours and mine. That's the only way it could work. It's the only way the baby could truly be yours. We would all raise him, all of us together. But when he got old enough, he would think of ME as his mother. Dee would be his nanny. Don't you see, Freddy? It would bind Dee to us. PHYSICALLY bind her. She could never leave. Never. If she did, she would be leaving her own son. Even when we're all old and gray and our son has moved away from home, Dee would still have to stay with us; stay to see him when he visits; stay to see our grandkids. She would know, now and forever, that her slavery is permanent. There could be no greater bondage."

I was absolutely flabbergasted. The idea was so insane it was practically demonic!

"Brenda, that's crazy!" I said as calmly as I could. "You can't impregnate a woman against her will!"

"It won't be against her will, Freddy. She will do it because she loves you, and because you order her to do it. She will bear your child and give him to you because you command her to do so."

"Brenda, this 'slavery" thing is just a game! Babies are real!"

"I'm sorry, but you're wrong. Dee's enslavement is very, very real. And doing this will only underscore that reality. It will make it tangible. It will force a commitment to honor the 'slave' contract. For all of us. This would make it FOREVER, Freddy."

I took a deep breath and ran my fingers through my hair. She was doing it again. She was winning an argument by using logic, but her logic was like no other in the world.

"What if I don't want a baby?" I said defensively.

"Come on, Freddy," she scolded softly, smiling. "A son to take fishing? How could you resist?"

"NO!" I said firmly. But the damage had already been done. The mental image was there. Everyman's dream: he and his son in a boat at sunrise. Two poles and a bond as strong as blood. If I couldn't shake that picture from my head, I'd never be able to talk sense into her.

"I thought you wanted to have your own children. We've talked about it."

"There's plenty of time, Freddy. Dee is older than me."

"Three years!"

She was smiling broadly now. She knew she'd won. "Plenty of time, Freddy."

I was losing it. I had to think of a way to convince her, convince both of them, that this couldn't POSSIBLY work. "You could never make people believe someone else's child is your own! There are doctors and nurses involved. We couldn't hide a childbirth!"

"We wouldn't have to," Brenda replied calmly. "Think about it. Dee would go through a normal pregnancy and normal medical treatment. She'd simply use my name."

"That's crazy!" I repeated. "What about insurance? She'd have to have identification! She'd have to give them her Social Security number."

"We'll use cash," Brenda said. "No one will ask for identification if we don't USE insurance. And she'll give the doctors MY Social Security number. And MY name."

I blinked. It couldn't be that simple. I tried desperately to think of something that wouldn't be covered by such an easy ruse. Exasperated, I turned to Dee. Her eyes remained downcast. She was still blushing; and she was shaking.

"Don't ask her!" Brenda said suddenly. "Order her, Freddy! Command her to have your baby!"

I tried to ignore my pretty wife. "Dee?" I said gently. She looked up, tears in her eyes. I couldn't read her expression, but it was obvious that she was deeply moved.

"Don't," she urged softly, and I wisely remained silent. "Please, Master. Please don't ask!" Her voice caught and she began to cry in earnest. I didn't know what to do. I think I'm like most guys: crying women unnerve me completely. I watched, speechless, as Dee moved her chair back and stood up. Brenda did the same, and in another moment, they were in each other's arms, holding one another tightly, crying. I shuffled my feet beneath the table and waited patiently for this crazy female emotional moment to finally wind down. When, at last, they were dry-eyed and normal, Brenda turned Dee's naked form toward me.

"Command her, Freddy!" she urged.

I sighed and stood. Once again, I was climbing onto the stage of this very strange play that had become my life. Dee stood before me, very meek, very demure, and very, very desirable. I took a deep breath.

"Dee."

She looked up with big, brown, shy eyes. "Yes, Master?"

"Go get me your birth control pills, Dee."

"Yes, Master!" and she moved off toward the guest bathroom as fast as her butt plug and three-pronged nipple clamps would allow. Very quickly, she was back, handing me half a dozen foil-backed pill dispensers. I took them, threw them away in the kitchen wastebasket, and then turned back to my excited slave.

"Dee, you are going to have my baby," I said sternly. "I'm going to make you pregnant."

She cast her eyes downward. "Yes, Master."

And she smiled.

DEE'S QUICKENING

"It takes a willing slave to sustain a vicious master."

That quote, oft used, haunts me to this day. Somehow, I found myself ever deeper in the role of master to my two ladies. It may seem to you that I was being duped by my lovely slaves, who seemed to consistently WISH for more and more ways to expand that role. I truly didn't know what to do. I loved them both absolutely. I wanted nothing more than to make them happy and free. But the thing they wanted most was to be more completely mine. A true conundrum.

The next Tuesday, normally Naked Dee Day, was instead her big night out with me. I walked through the door, home from school, to be brought up short by a sight that I can only describe as astoundingly beautiful. Brenda had gone out and bought Dee a forest green velvet dress with a plunging, nearly pornographic neckline. Her hair had been done to perfection, and I don't think I've ever seen a more stunningly fascinating woman. I complimented Brenda on her artistry, kissed her good-bye, and Dee and I were on our way.

The big city is a good hour and a half away, but we made decent time. My dread of the operatic evening had been hovering over my head for a week now, but somehow Dee seemed to sense my reluctance, and she'd devised a method of sustaining my interest that again left me absolutely shocked. In our private box in the opera house, she positioned her chair slightly behind me, leaned forward, pressing her breasts in to my back and shoulder, and spoke softly into my ear throughout the performance, translating the words as they were sung. It WAS much more interesting when you could understand what was being said. I had had no inkling that she knew Italian, and told her so when we had been seated for dinner. I fought a losing battle to keep my gaze above her prodigious cleavage (a thousand greedy eyes raked her luscious form that evening, and she blushed almost continuously). She astounded me even further by telling me that she was fluent in Spanish, Italian and French, and that she was nominally proficient in Japanese and Russian. I couldn't believe I'd made such a brilliant beauty a hypnotic cook and housecleaner!

I left to go the bathroom for a few minutes, only to return to find that drinks had arrived. She told me she'd ordered a "genius" for me, though the pint of stout next to my plate was obviously a Guinness. This, as it happened, was exactly what I'd intended to order, which was not entirely surprising. Dee seemed to have an uncanny way of serving me things I wanted at home before I'd even asked for them. Oft times, it was a particular type of tea, or perhaps a favorite meal. At first, I considered it unnerving, but I eventually got used to it. I'd long since chalked it up to the idea that she'd become so attuned to my needs that she could read unintended body language or moods. This, however, was the first time she'd gotten me something that she obviously didn't even know the meaning of. She'd told the waiter "a dark beer called genius," and the guy had figured it out. I pointedly asked her how she'd come up with the order, but she just shrugged and changed the subject.