A New Birth of Freedom - Nadine Vanquil Sex Story
09-19-2012, 07:02 AM
A New Birth of Freedom - Nadine Vanquil Sex Story
Lady Nadine has her baby. I give my very best thanks to my technical advisers Penn Lady and Yes_Please for their encouragement and invaluable assistance. (And congratulations to Yes_Please on the birth of her daughter!). I once again gratefully and humbly acknowledge the help and support I received from Grand Master dweaver999 and for his permission to publish (see copyright notice at the end of this story).
Of course, I am solely responsible for any and all inaccuracies, errors and omissions.
"I hate this pregnancy!" Lady Nadine Vanquil was having another bad day. By her count, it was bad day number 262.
"I hate coming here and spoiling everyone's luncheon with my weekly rant. This should be a happy time for you all...."
"Nadine, dawlin'," drawled Marguerite Rawlinson, her soft Baja Oklahoma accent like oil on troubled waters, "we've all been there. Eve should have stuck to the crudités and left the apple alone. But there you are, honey, we're in this together. And you forget it the first time your baby smiles at you."
"Margie, sweetheart, I know that. But even though I know what I know, I wish we had found a good surrogate."
"Nadine," said Elaine Burgett, "rant as much as you like. This is girls' recess. The boys can't play here."
"With a husband and three sons," said Lady Nadine, "this time must be precious for you."
"Oh, I have them trained. Tuesdays are mine, and Friday evenings. My men know their place."
Lady Nadine twisted uneasily on the banquette. "There's no good place to sit, or stand, or lie down. When I'm not ejecting from one end, I'm ejecting from the other. The nausea won't go away; my doctor says I can't take anything for it but ginger, which I hate and I won't take, even if they try to disguise the taste, because if my body doesn't like it I will not take it--no way! And the pressure points don't work for me. And I will not, will not, suck on anything called Preggie Pops--the name alone makes me nauseated."
"But we saw you and Charles at the Opera Society over the weekend," Elaine went on, trying to change a subject Lady Nadine had worn out. "Wasn't young McDevitt great as Otello? I only wish we had had a better Desdemona."
"Kanesha Singeltary really should not be singing that role. Her voice is too light and she's not actress enough yet. We had a frightful time casting Desdemona. All the best were in Europe or pregnant themselves. But when McDevitt sang that wonderful 'Esultate', young Chip in here gave me a kick that propelled me out of my seat. If his behavior to date is a foreshadowing of our post-placental relationship, I'll auction him on eBay! With no reserve bid! And if his father objects, I'll throw him in for free!"
It was Tuesday at the Country Club. Traditionally Ladies' Luncheon Day. The old post-and-beam dining room was off-limits to men, by custom, not rule, and although some twenty-something members would sneak in a husband or boyfriend (but never both; that would be too gauche even for them), they rarely did so twice.
Cleantha Little, turning to model her famous breasts through her tighter-than-necessary-but still-in-good-taste cream silk jersey, said, "Dear Nadine, ranting's cheaper than therapy but less fun than a good ass-fuck. And you can share a rant more easily, so go on."
"No, Cleantha, it's boring and stupid. I'm preaching to the choir. And when a man gets all sympathetic, I suspect pregnant women light his torch or he's gay and wishes he could play too. I just want the baby already."
Monsieur Jean, Lady Nadine's favorite waiter, was always on duty for Tuesdays. As her friends were finishing the second bottle of Beaune Clos l'Écu, she drank the last of her glass of water (no wine for months; Vanquil père et fils have much to answer for, she thought). Lady Nadine gently gestured in his direction.
Coming quickly but without obvious haste to the table, Monsieur Jean bowed, his obviously dyed black hair sparkling and his Terry-Thomas gap-tooth smile appearing suddenly under his waxed mustache. "Madame wishes dessert, perhaps? May I tempt Madame with our special chocolate soufflé?"
Lady Nadine thought to hell with healthy organic anything! I'll get on that damned exercise bike and burn it off if it kills me! I can't box, or weight-train, or drink anything but water and juice, or fuck properly, or do anything but gestate! Fuck this!!"
Smiling, she said, "Certainly, Monsieur Jean. Ladies, who's for some real decadence? I won't tell if you won't."
Marguerite Rawlinson drawled, "You may not, dawlin', but my bathroom scale will tell it on the mountain. Just a single espresso, Jean, please, and no lemon zest."
Cleantha said, "I'm in, Monsieur Jean. And a cup of green tea, please."
Elaine Burgett said, "What the dilly-o, it's Tuesday, and I can always have a salad for dinner. Just the soufflé, please." Turning to her friends, she went on, "Let Peter cook dinner; it's good for him."
Cleantha said, "And you'll give him dessert?"
"If he behaves himself."
"And if he doesn't? Behave himself, I mean?"
"Then he'll have to take his chances."
Nadine joined in the polite giggles. Then the contraction came. At first, she thought it was just another practice Braxton-Hicks, as she'd been having for days. Braxton-Hicks, sounds like he charged Pickett or surrendered Vicksburg, she thought. The discussion went from light banter to a serious review of the latest movies.
Dessert arrived, and Lady Nadine was really enjoying something completely unhealthy, when she felt a grinding in her abdomen. Oh great, another practice contraction, she thought, and leisurely finished her soufflé.
Lunch finally over, the ladies rose slowly, looking over the dining room for friends they might have missed. They started the goodbye ritual of signing chits for lunch, air-kisses, discreet trips to the ladies' room, and individual departures.
Lady Nadine walked to the valet station and was about to order her car when she felt a second grinding, stronger than the first. I'm not due for a week yet, she thought, but this is more than I ever felt before. I hate to bother Helen Waston, but I might call her when I get back home.
She drove her CTS-V down the hill to Country Club Lane, when the grinding started again.
She managed to get to the Interstate, drive the two exits, and up the hill to her home.
Leaving the car at her front door with the engine running and the beeping signal getting louder, she clambered out and rang the bell. Herman answered, raising one eyebrow. Lady Nadine never left her car running, even during the mindlessness of this pregnancy.
"Herman, get my kit."
"Yes, Madam. Shall I telephone to Master?"
"No, I'll do it."
"If I do not, Madam, Master will be displeased."
She snapped, "Herman, if you do call Master, I will be displeased. This may be nothing. Now bring the damned kit!" Lady Nadine never swore in front of servants. Herman brought the kit.
Never in front of the children or servants, she thought, keep it calm, keep it unreal. Never let them see it, ever. You owe it to Charles, you owe it to them....
As soon as Lady Nadine had thrown the backpack on the passenger seat and driven off, Herman called Charles Vanquil.
"7703, good afternoon," said Mr. Jakes, Charles Vanquil's personal assistant.
"Code Seven," said Herman.
"Right away, Herman."
Two clicks and the Master's voice, "Yes, Herman, it's happening?"
"I believe so, Sir; Madam called for her kit and was quite abrupt. She called it her 'damned kit' and told me not to call you. But of course your standing orders...."
"Yes. You did right. I'll call Valerie, in case Madam hasn't. Later." Charles hung the phone up.
Before the last January was half over, Lady Nadine knew she was pregnant. She'd thrown up for the third straight morning. It couldn't be the food, as Charles, Valerie and Sally had eaten what she'd eaten on both previous nights. Rosette was too good a cook to spoil food, and the thought of causing food poisoning would drive Rosette crazy.
It felt like the flu; she felt light-headed. She felt as if she was walking through deep sand or swimming slowly against a gentle current. Then her breasts hurt, and she struggled and winced as Charles pinched and twisted her nipples, which usually aroused her but now was painful and, shockingly, disgusting. "Darling, it hurts and isn't fun." Charles stopped, placed her on her back and drove his cock into her. It was a close race between regurgitation and orgasm.
She told Charles she would see Helen Waston, her special doctor. Charles smiled and said, "I would be smug if I weren't so happy. Let me know what Helen says the minute she says it, even though I know what she will say."
After the happy news, there came the hard part, the part she had dreaded. She hoped she'd chosen the right evening, after dinner. As they sat quietly, Charles with the Rémy Louis Treize and Lady Nadine with her water bottle, she looked down at her tightly folded hands and began.
"I will have Valerie take the doula course, and serve me during delivery. You approve?"
"Of course, no one is better."
"I will take the birthing class with her, once she has completed the doula course."
"Charles, this is hard for me to say." She stopped, blinked hard, went on. "Please believe me, I wouldn't hurt you ever. I know this will be a wonderful time for us after the damned pregnancy nonsense is over. I want your baby; I never wanted just a baby, I always, from the day we met, wanted your baby. But-- I must go through labor with no one but Valerie--"
Charles looked at her as he had never looked before. Had she hurt him? Was this anger? She'd seen him furious before, but never like this. What was she sacrificing at a dead altar?
She had no choice but to continue.
"My darling husband, you are the air that I breathe, the blood in my veins, you are everything in my life, and our baby will be just as much to me. But I must confront this. My mother cursed me when I left to marry you--"
Charles erupted, "Must we go through this damned, and I mean damned, nonsense again? Your parents threw you out; your brother and sister walked away from you as if you were rubbish on a street corner. It's their loss, not yours. Their damned superstition, their damned ancient gobbledygook; what in Hell is that to us now? It's all bullshit. Damn them and damn it! Will you carry these people in your head forever, to the exclusion of the people who love you, to the exclusion of me? This is my child too! No one, not you, not anybody else, will dictate to me. No one tells me no!"
"Darling, please hear me. My mother said I would bear but my child would be dead, like David and Bathsheba...."
"I won't listen to such filthy trash! If that's what's bothering you, take it out on them, not on me!" Charles' face was white. He placed the snifter on the table next to the sofa, and his hand was shaking. His face was red, his mouth compressed.
He stood up abruptly. Was he going to hit her? Her whole body stiffened. She stood up. If he hit, she would hit, to protect their baby, to protect herself.
"Darling, my love, my life, please listen. Be there at the end, after our baby is there, when I've driven a stake through the lies, through the curse. But I must walk alone here. Please, dearest, anything, you'll be there for every baby after, and I promise you, I'll do everything in the world to make sure there are other babies, if you wish them. You are my life. I beg you, dearest...."
"I will be present when my son is born! No one can exclude me from that moment, not even you!"
"All right, come when I call you."
"Am I to be a servant? I am no one's servant. I am Master here, even Master over you. If you have not assimilated this simple fact by now, you may be past learning it otherwise than by some rather harsh lessons. I am rather good at giving such lessons, as you may be aware." He moved toward her.
Lady Nadine was not a coward. She looked up at him. When she spoke, her voice was quiet.
"You don't need to call yourself Master with me. You're something better than Master: you're my life, my partner, my love, my husband." She did not drop her eyes despite the tears. "When I first saw you, standing at our gateway with Valerie that Earth Day, I knew that second you were the father of my babies, the King of my soul! No, not Master! You are the man I love till the day I die, and beyond."
"My Lady, stop that, it will hurt our baby. He needs our love washing over him."
Charles sat back down on the Chesterfield sofa. He sank deep into his mind, staring at the fireplace. He was gone a long way from this room, to a place where Lady Nadine could not go, could never go.
Though the day had been warm for mid-January, the night was very cold, and Herman had lit a fire. A log, burnt through, crashed into another, setting off a cascade of sparks. Neither of them noticed. Lady Nadine sat down, her stomach churning again.
Oh, what a goddamn anticlimax if I have to barf, she thought. The God of the Ridiculous must have invented pregnancy. Why can't I just split in half, like a thing under a microscope? Why me? Why this?
They sat, a few feet apart, but farther from one another than they had ever been, even before they had met. They had been closer, even as children living in different towns they had been closer, than they were now. The thing under the microscope was ready to split.
Charles came back to her. "I will do as you wish."
"Oh, my love, my dear sweet boy," she went to him, held him tightly, kissing him, until she tore herself away and barely made it to the bathroom, and collapsed, gagging and retching, over the toilet bowl. Rosette's elegant blanquettes de veau, haricots verts au beurre, and Boston lettuce and heirloom tomato in Sherry wine vinaigrette all came rushing up and out. Oh God, she thought as the dry heaves that followed her dinner tossed through her, another eight months of this? Young Chip Vanquil, please be nice to your poor Mommy!
Valerie Burbon was finishing the tuna salad sandwich and Diet Coke at her desk. It would have been nice to join her old friend Francine Traline for lunch at Luigi's. Tuesday was cioppino day; the seafood stew was really good. And the late September sun was inviting.
But the advertising production meeting had taken all morning, and calming the nerves, unruffling the feathers, and suppressing the mutinies that those meetings always engendered, took most of the lunchtime. June, her personal assistant, called the local brown-bag deli as soon as she saw Valerie dealing with Mary Carstares and Xavier while almost simultaneously placating George Falstaf. Next Edward, the new art director, threatened to resign for the fifth time that week, after James Whynch, editor of Mastering Magazine, publicly and in language ripe even by Delgrasi's anything-goes standards, threatened to flog and rape him for the sixth time that week.
Edward would not resign, as he had not resigned after each of the previous five monthly advertising production meetings since he began working on Mastering Magazine. The prospect of continuing to receive special treatment at the hands (and other parts) of Mr. Whynch filled him with delight. Still, Valerie had to act out the charade of talking Edward off his metaphorical balcony before he jumped.
Lunch finished, such as it was, Valerie e-mailed the meeting results memo to her boss the Colonel and the senior eyes-only distribution list. Her afternoon was clear, as it always was on advertising production days, in case the bosses needed to talk.
Her cell phone rang. Caller ID blocked. "Valerie Burbon," she answered.
"Valerie, Master. Lady Nadine is seeing Helen Waston now, and matters may be underway. You must get away at once."
"Yes, Master," she replied.
"Go to Helen's office and wait. If you will need anything from your home, have Sally bring it to you at Helen's. She can drive your car back home."
"You may exchange one embrace and kiss with Sally on her arrival. Go!"
"Yes, Master. Goodbye, Master." The phone went dead.
Valerie briefed June rapidly and left.
Valerie had taken the doula birthing assistant course the previous January, when Lady Nadine's pregnancy had been confirmed. Charles had not taken the Lamaze course with Lady Nadine and her. That surprised Valerie, but she knew better than to ask. She had assembled her kit weeks ago and kept it close by, leaving only the perishables for Sally, her slave and life partner, to bring when needed.
She put her Lexus in the last parking space at Helen Waston's office, next to Lady Nadine's CTS-V, which was parked with less than Lady Nadine's usual precision. Valerie was walking to the door as Lady Nadine came out.
"Ah, Slave. Well met indeed."
Valerie looked at the ground. Did she have to ruin her suit and stockings by kneeling in the parking lot?
"No, don't kneel, another time for that. I need my doula. We are going to Memorial."
"Yes, Mistress. Sally is coming to fetch my car. May I drive your car?"
"Yes, Slave." She learned over and kissed Valerie's cheek, as if she were a child. "Such a good slave."
A taxi pulled into the lot, and Sally Thatcher climbed out, carrying Valerie's kit. Sally's baby bump was quite prominent now, in her second trimester, and her braless breasts were quite full. She'll be a little saggy after this, thought Valerie. What fun tit-play will be, once Francine is born and Sally starts nursing. Valerie knew that Sally was carrying a little girl, although they had asked not to be told the baby's sex.
"Your pardon, Mistress," said Valerie, as Sally came quickly to them.
Lady Nadine was in charge, even as another contraction came. "Yes, hand over the keys and let's be going. Don't kneel or speak, Sally."
Valerie handed Sally her car keys, and they exchanged a quick kiss and hug. She always leaves me wanting more, Valerie thought, just like I love to leave her wanting more, as she watched Sally drive away.
At Memorial, Lady Nadine checked in. Valerie followed with Lady Nadine's kit and her own as they reached the birthing room.
Dr. Anil Singh came down from his office. "Hi Nadine," he said, his East Tennessee accent still prominent, though it had been years since he left Knoxville. "I'll just get a few vitals and take a quick look." The assistant following him, a short, stocky woman (Might be fun to play with her, thought Valerie) started taking blood pressure and pulse, and had Lady Nadine give a quick urine specimen as Valerie watched.
Lady Nadine threw off her silk dress, gestured to Valerie to help remove her bra and panties (underwear again, after years without, once she became pregnant) and climbed onto the low bed. Valerie helped get her legs into the stirrups so Dr Singh could do his examination and get her back on her feet quickly. The contractions had become more frequent.
"You're right on time, Nadine," said Dr Singh, "and you're giving birth to a big person."
"He feels big enough," Lady Nadine said, and grunted as a stronger contraction ground its way through her.
"What and when did you last eat?"
"I was at the Club for lunch about an hour and a half ago. Free range poulet au pot, field-greens salad with Sherry wine and Spanish olive oil vinaigrette, roast potatoes, chocolate soufflé, and water. No bread, no drink before, no wine with."
"It was, except for the 'no wine'."
"You're moving along normally. It should be hours before anything more serious happens. Valerie, call me at once if Nadine exhibits distress."
09-19-2012, 07:02 AM
RE: A New Birth of Freedom - Nadine Vanquil Sex Story
"Doula, help me up. I want to stand. Then tell me a story, a pretty story."
"How appropriate to call you 'doula'. You know, it's Greek for 'female slave.' One would think for a birthing woman to call her assistant 'slave' would be the height of oppression, disrespect and insult to sisterhood. But it's so right for us, isn't it, doula?"
"Yes, Mistress. I love you, Mistress, and only want to serve you."
"I trust you completely, and you trust me. Now tell me a sweet bedtime story."
Twelve hours later, the contractions came closer, the grinding even harder. Lady Nadine leaned back against the wall, legs spread as wide as if a spreader bar were clamped to her ankles. She tried to make a joke of it. Valerie stood near her.
An hour later, the water broke, and Valerie dried Lady Nadine. Valerie had long since changed from business suit and heels to coverall and cross-trainers. The course taught Valerie that birthing could involve blood, shit, piss and cum. Something to look forward to--NOT! Valerie thought.
Valerie called Helen Waston, who walked in quickly but without an appearance of hurry.
"Do you want me to move things along?" Dr. Waston asked.
"Not unless there's something wrong," Nadine answered.
Dr. Waston removed the monitor from the armoire and attached it to Lady Nadine. "Readings are normal, no fetal distress," she said, "Valerie, help Nadine onto the bed, I want to check dilation."
Dr. Waston went on. "I'm going to keep you hooked up. You're dilating normally but it will be hours yet. First children take their time, and this one is a big one and not in a hurry. Valerie, you know how this thing works; if it starts beeping quickly or Nadine shows any distress, page Anil Singh or me. One of us will be here. It's starting to get busy now. Here comes the three-o'clock-jump. Must come from when we gave birth in caves and didn't want the sabre-tooth tigers to get us."
Valerie helped Lady Nadine out of the bed and back onto her feet. The contractions came closer. Valerie was administering the ice chips, keeping the lights low, whispering to Lady Nadine. She helped Lady Nadine breathe through the contractions, holding her hands and then pressing into her lower back to counter-pressure the contractions. Valerie was unaware of tiredness or the sticky feeling of the coveralls she wore. She left only once, to go and piss (Oh shit, should have worn a diaper, she thought); she forgot to flush the toilet.
Lady Nadine was distant, as far away as Charles had been that night in January. She panted into the contractions, panting like a dog to stop from pushing, and grunting or moaning as they crested. Her mouth was dry, and the ice chips barely kept her lips from cracking with the dryness. The lights in the room were barely on. Lady Nadine broke the silence, pushing out the words as she ground her teeth.
"Fucking Descartes--got it wrong," Nadine said, nearly breathless, "I hurt-- therefore-- I am."
8:00 a.m. Valerie stirred in her chair; she had taken one catnap, less than five minutes. She had to be alert for Lady Nadine's needs and commands. Lady Nadine was leaning against the wall again, grunting as the contractions went on. The monitor continued its steady beep. Grey light was coming through the window, the dim light of the birthing room overtaken by dawn.
"Happy birthday, little Master," whispered Valerie, sure that Chip Vanquil would be born that day.
Valerie brought Nadine more ice and a sip of the apple juice from the refrigerator.
With great control, breaking through the pain by sheer will, Lady Nadine said, "You... may... have some... juice yourself...Slave. Perhaps... you... can get... breakfast."
Valerie took the breakfast pack out of her backpack. Hiker's dehydrated bacon and eggs, instant coffee, powdered milk--and Sally had put in Splenda in place of the sugar. Using the coffeemaker at the sink, she heated the water and had her breakfast, as if she were back on the camping trip she and Sally had taken that summer just past. She tried to keep the aroma of the food from permeating the room, protecting her Mistress.
Valerie smiled as she remembered the camping trip with Sally. Camping with a pregnant lady had been an experience; getting the air mattresses just right for sex made up in delight what it lost in spontaneity. Nothing was better than an orgasm under a spectacular meteor shower, the sky exploding in tune with her body. And the scent of pine needles and Sally's pussy, more intense and delicious than before, with her warm, milky pregnancy secretions. And there was Sally, nipple rings removed and replaced with tiny gold studs to free her breasts for the swelling to come, Sally's clit hood, the golden stud through it tickling her tongue, and the still warm earth, and Sally begging for orgasm, and at last, Sally exploding against her tongue, her fingers, and Sally, and her own orgasms, cresting, falling, the meteors joining their flaming bodies to hers, and Sally....
Lady Nadine's reserve, carefully crafted over years, was starting to break up. The contractions were clearly stronger. Her voice was choked, strange to Valerie. She spoke even as the contractions drove through her, an unending convoy of pain. "Slave, you know--my father and mother said I was dead when I married Charles. I married out of our religion. My sister and my brother, and I loved them, think I am dead. My mother said--my mother said--when I left her the last time-- to marry Charles, my darling Charles, that though I might carry I would never birth, my child would die, like David's with Bathsheba's, God would punish me, my son would--" she broke down.
Valerie's fury was physical. How dare anyone say that? How in Hell, and she meant in Hell, could a mother say that to her child? Her body tensed as if she was going to hit someone. Her fists bunched, her face white with fury, she stepped forward, and then stopped. No time for her emotions, only time for Mistress, her beloved Mistress.
"Mistress, no! I'm here! I will protect you and the baby. I'm here!" She put her arms around Lady Nadine and held her. Lady Nadine grunted. She was sweating, although the room was pleasantly cool. Valerie wiped her with a soft towel, and started singing Sally's song: "I love you, a bushel and a peck, a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck, 'cause I love you."
Calmer, Lady Nadine said, "They're coming, he's coming...."
Lady Nadine moved down to squat against the wall. The monitor's beeps sped up. Valerie called for Dr. Waston.
Helen Waston looked less focused than usual. Fatigue and disgust crossed her face as she spoke. "Two Caesarians tonight, one woman had no, absolutely no, prenatal at all, a teenager who didn't dare tell her parents (how they didn't notice I'll never figure out)--God give me strength, I'd like to strangle those people--now how is my friend Nadine?"
"I've... Been... Better." She tore each word from her throat.
"Let's look at you," shining a flashlight at Nadine's bulging vulva, stretching as Helen looked, "oh, you're doing great, not long now, maybe an hour and we'll have a birthday party. Do you want me to call Charles?"
Nadine shook her head. "Doula... Call... Charles."
"Yes, Mistress." Valerie took her cell phone out and called.
"Yes, Valerie?" Charles had obviously been awake through the night.
"Master, Mistress says your slave must humbly request that you arrive within the hour."
"Dr. Waston says everything is normal, and expects birth within the hour, Master."
"Excellent. Convey my respects to your Mistress the mother, and I will arrive shortly."
"When our baby is born and Lady Nadine releases you, you are to go home and give Sally as much oral and digital sex as she wishes. She may not give you release, but you may masturbate. Understood?"
"Yes, Master." The phone went dead.
"Mistress, Master directs me to convey his respects to you and to tell you that he is on his way here."
"Got to get back," said Dr Waston. "Call me or Anil Singh if you need--" and she finished the sentence as she left.
Lady Nadine gestured Valerie to stand with her, hold her. Valerie grasped her tightly.
Valerie could not tell when Nadine said, "Call... Helen!"
Valerie called Helen Waston. Dr. Waston took a look. "Not long now. Is Charles coming?"
"On the way, Doctor," said Valerie.
Charles Vanquil walked into the birthing room. Though he obviously had not slept, he was freshly shaven, and he wore his Gieves & Hawkes suit and Turnbull & Asser shirt and tie as if he were going to a business meeting. "Good morning, dearest. Hi Helen, how's trade? Valerie, is all well?"
Lady Nadine said, "It... Really... Hurts."
Dr Waston said, "Oh, there he is. Now push. Breathe into the contractions and push. Push."
In the dim light, the little head pushed its way through. They lost all track of time, all remembrance of the hours, as Charles Arthur Jameson ("Chip") Vanquil II emerged.
The pulsing birth cord, slowly throbbing and subsiding, finally being separated from mother and son. Chip Vanquil's first extra-uterine statement: "Aaaaaaaaaaa! Aaaaaaaaaa!!"
Lady Nadine whispered, "That voice! I know that voice! I will always know that voice! I will kill for that voice!" echoing a mother's cry from the Olduvai Gorge down throughout the millennia. In a nearly-strangled voice, Lady Nadine said, "Broke the curse! I broke the curse!"
Charles Arthur Jameson Vanquil the First took his son in his arms. He looked at the red-faced, cone-headed bundle and said, "Oh welcome, my baby, welcome. I don't know you at all; I don't know what makes you laugh or cry, what your politics are, or your religion, if you have one; I don't know what sports you like, what work you will do, what books you like, what music you love, if you love it at all, whether you're straight or gay or a little of both; whether you're intelligent or slow, whether you like me or not--I only know that I love you beyond any love I ever felt for anyone before." And Master Charles Vanquil actually, for one brief second, cried.
Valerie whispered, "Master, permission to speak."
"Certainly, Valerie. You did well."
"Thank you, Master. Mistress, you broke it. Mistress, you are wonderful and deserve every happiness." She kissed Lady Nadine's forehead, then wiped the sweat away.
"Master, I love you more than ever." She kissed his hand.
Valerie looked at Chip, now nursing at Lady Nadine's breast. Valerie admired the strong blue veins. The aureole and nipple were firmly held in the tiny lips. Valerie repeated what she had said in the dawn, "Happy Birthday, little Master. May I kiss his foot, Master, to show my submission?"
"Of course. My dear?"
Valerie carefully, gently, moved the blanket and kissed Chip's foot.
Lady Nadine smiled and said, "Good doula, my sister."
Valerie was staggering as she walked into the house, up the tree-lined path from the road where the taxi (Ralph again) had left her. It had been a long day and night and day. Sally was lying on the living room sofa, naked. It was a warm late September afternoon. Valerie kissed her.
"Mistress is doing fine, and baby Chip is lovely. Master says I can do you, anything you want, but I've got to get some sleep, sweetest. Then we can." She kissed Sally's abdomen. "Hi, baby, Mommy loves you."
"Do you need anything, Mistress?"
"Only your delicious cunt, but I'm so tired. Soon, dearest." Valerie dropped her backpack, walked into the bedroom and, still wearing her shoes and coverall, fell face down on the bed.
Copyright Notice - The foregoing is a "derivative work", as that term is defined in Title 17 United States Code §101. The characters named Nadine Vanquil, Charles Vanquil, Valerie Burbon, Sally Thatcher, Francine Traline, Dr Helen Waston, June, Herman, George Falstaf, Mary and Xavier, the place named the mansion or residence of Charles Vanquil and Nadine Vanquil, the place named the home or residence of Valerie Burbon and Sally Thatcher, the entity or business known as Delgrasi Publications, and the publication known as Mastering Magazine, are all derived from literary works or productions copyrighted by dweaver999 (all the foregoing named characters, places, entity, business, and works and productions are hereinafter collectively the "dweaver999 products"), are the property of dweaver999, and all rights in and to any or all thereof, are copyrighted and reserved to dweaver999, pursuant to the provisions of Title 17 of the United States Code, and the Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works, signed at Berne, Switzerland, on September 9, 1886, and all acts, protocols, and revisions thereto (said Convention, acts, protocols and revisions are hereinafter collectively the "Berne Convention"). The balance of the foregoing, exclusive of the dweaver999 products, is copyrighted, and all rights reserved in like manner, by estragon, pursuant to said Title 17 of the United States Code and the Berne Convention. No part of the foregoing may be reproduced or distributed in any form, whether or not for profit, without the express prior written consent of both dweaver999 and estragon. The foregoing is published by estragon under one single license from dweaver999, for this publication and for no other. All brand names and trademarks, trade dress of any description, or materials copyrighted or otherwise legally-protected incidentally referred to in the foregoing, are the property of the respective holders thereof. The publication of the foregoing, and the references hereinabove, do not create any principal-agent relationship, partnership or joint venture between dweaver999 and estragon, other than as licensor-licensee to the extent herein set forth and not otherwise, and none should be implied; neither has any authority to act for the other, except as may be specified by separate written agreement and signed by each of them in each instance. This publication neither creates nor evidences any assignment of any copyright reserved herein or elsewhere by any party. Any reference to any person living or dead, or to any actual acts, transactions or occurrences, is purely coincidental, except as to public figures or institutions. In respect of all such public figures or institutions a qualified Federal and State Constitutional privilege is hereby asserted. The foregoing is not, and should not be used as, legal or tax advice. Pursuant to 31 CFR §10.0 et seq., the foregoing is not intended, and cannot be used, to avoid any penalty. The foregoing does not create or evidence any client-attorney relationship.
09-19-2012, 07:03 AM
RE: A New Birth of Freedom - Nadine Vanquil Sex Story
Sally becomes pregnant with the Burbon baby. Yet again I gratefully and humbly acknowledge the help and support I received from Grand Master dweaver999 and for his permission to publish (see copyright notice at the end of this story).
Of course, I am solely responsible for any and all inaccuracies, errors and omissions.
The morning after their confrontation with Eve Burbon, Valerie and Sally were asleep in each other's arms, as Eve and her daughters Naomi and Nicky were up feeding chickens and horses, milking cows, composting manure, and doing the same chores they did every morning.
The breakfast Valerie thought she and Sally would buy the Burbons had long been cooked and eaten by the time Sally and Valerie appeared. Their apologies brushed aside, and after a massive series of hugs and kisses with Valerie's nieces (Sally being introduced as "a good friend", while the girls exchanged a very quick sideways glance), Valerie asked where Joe had gone.
"Out plowin'. Snow's let up, and I heard the trucks out on the road. Ya might be able to get to the Innerstate. The county got cellphones for the plowdrivers, so I'll call Joe and ask. Y'want breakfast? I can cook somethin' for ya."
"Just toast and coffee," said Valerie. "Sweetheart, what would you like?"
"Miss--Valerie," Sally hesitated, glancing at Valerie's nieces. They didn't need to know about us yet, and Valerie said to call her Valerie, she thought. She went on, "could I have a little more, oatmeal or hot cereal and coffee and toast, please?"
"Got Cream of Wheat, if that'll do ya," said Eve. "Don't got oatmeal. We grow oats, but they're for the horses."
Valerie looked at Sally, with a lot of message in the look. "Oh yes, perfect," Sally replied, and looked at the floor. She didn't stop looking at the floor until her breakfast came.
Eve said, "Naomi, make up some more coffee an' toast, and get out the Cream of Wheat. Make it with this mornin's milk, there's enough for another day. See if we have any sugar, an' if we do, put some in."
"Oh, Momma, why?" said Naomi, in her again-I-am-imposed-upon-voice, but started to work.
Like the sons and the vineyard in Matthew, thought Eve. She says she won't but she does anyway.
Sally thanked Eve and Naomi profusely when her breakfast arrived. When Valerie and Sally had finished, with Nicky washing the dishes, Eve called Joe.
"Hey baby, how ya doin'?" Pause. "Clear as far as the Innerstate?" Pause. "OK, Val and Sal are leavin'. Send ya their love, and they'll call us when they get home. Now you drive careful, ya hear? Love ya!"
Valerie would call with the details for Joe. They'd start once Eve knew her baby was coming.
Valerie fretted at the delay. She knew that trying to hurry things would upset the balance she had feared to hope for. But still she thought There's no difference between those who say 'some day' and those who say 'never'. Mike's baby, her baby, was everything. Nothing would stop her, nothing could stop her. Not now that she'd gotten almost there.
Two months later, February, four a.m., though it might as well have been midnight. The sky was black, the snow still falling, and Eve could hear the trees creaking with the cold. As she moved from under the duvet, the cold hit her like a punch. She took her robe and wrapped it around her, but it only drove the cold inward, and her breasts ached with it.
Stagger to the kitchen. Water and coffee in the percolator, percolator on electric stove, but don't turn it on until milkin's done. Get eggs and potatoes for breakfast; clean the potatoes and get ready to boil them, let eggs warm up as best they can, and later scramble 'em in with the potatoes in the half-acre frying pan. Get bread (baked only three days ago), slice and put in toaster. Juice from a bottle into glasses (cold enough in here to leave them on the table). Then put two new logs in the fireplace.
God, she felt sick. The room started to move around her. No, it was just the nausea again.
Back to the bedroom to dress, heavy sweatshirt over the bra she'd slept in, leave the long underwear on, ski pants from the thrift store, thick socks, and get the high rubber boots from the mud closet at the back (generations of chickenshit on the soles and beyond), and the Spider ski parka the girls got her for Christmas two months ago. Gloves, wool hat and her muffler, and off to feed the chickens.
She got the can full of dried corn, and walked out into the yard. The cold hit her again, and she staggered again. It seemed to be a permanent condition. The old thermometer on the wall said minus 10--felt like it. The chicken house smelled, but not so bad as the cowbarn would smell.
Feed them, make sure the water basin was full and unfrozen, look for eggs--five, not bad, breakfast for tomorrow.
Back to the house, out of the boots, walk in stocking feet to start cooking. As breakfast would be ready as soon as the cows were milked, wake Joe with a kiss (if bending over didn't start the nausea again). His grunts made her laugh.
"Wake up, honey, gotta work today."
"Oh dammit woman, five more minutes."
"No sir, up an' at 'em. Get ready for breakfast. If you don't want it I'll eat it my own self."
"Yeah, and puke it all over the front doorstep."
"You stop that, it's all your fault," she laughed.
"You said you wanted...."
"Hush your mouth, Joseph Burbon, the girls will be up any minute now."
"No way no how, they gotta be pried outta bed with a crowbar."
There was the sound of a door slamming, followed by "Naomi, you're such a troll, were you raised in a barn? Why do you always slam doors?"
"To wake up the lame and lazy like you, Nicola Burbon, girl slug."
"I'll slug your miserable butt...."
"Girls!" shouted Joe, "is this a house for people or for mules? Stop it now, get dressed and get ready!"
"Yes, father," replied fifteen-year-old Naomi, in her best dutiful-daughter voice.
"Daddy, she's such a pig," whined twelve-year-old Nicky, "you gotta do something about her, she always tortures me...."
"I'll sell you both and buy a new truck, if you don't calm down." It was an old threat, and only provoked laughter.
"Girls," said Eve, "get ready and come and help me."
Buttoned and zipped to the nostrils, the Burbon women walked to the cowbarn on the old farm Joe and Eve bought for unpaid taxes twenty years ago. Eve was the eighteen-year-old high school dropout and runaway, and Joe was the plodding younger brother with a day laborer's job. But with love and sweat they built this farm and this home.
The smell caused Eve to shudder. Even though she had intentionally avoided even her morning cup of coffee ever since her period didn't happen (and she was always regular; Joe said he set his watch by his wife), she couldn't keep anything down. She barely made it to the barn door. As a farmer's child and a farm wife she was used to barnyard smells. Even when pregnant with each of her daughters, it wasn't like this.
She heaved and gasped, and heaved some more. Only mucus and bile.
The girls had seen this before. Eve had assured them every time that she was fine. Eve didn't want them to know that Aunt Valerie's visit just before Christmas, and Uncle Tommy's homecoming from the Coast Guard, had made her want this baby, so late in life.
And Joe had obliged. Her thin body, still firm and hard with years of work; her small breasts; and even her belly, still showing some of the stretch marks from Naomi and Nicky--all of it was still the girl he married, the girl he loved. On her hands and knees on the bed, Joe behind her like a bull to a cow, their animal mating, her orgasms and her final collapse to keep his cum in her, to let it make the baby they wanted...this was what brought her here. And she wasn't giving it up. Even so, she mentally swore loudly at the first Eve for starting this.
"Ma," said Nicky, "is it always like that when a woman has a baby?"
Eve jerked up, shocked out of nausea. "What did you say?!"
"Ma, what's it like? Does a woman always get sick?"
"Who told you about this?"
"I got a book at school, but it really didn't tell me what I want to know...."
"I'm going to talk to the School Board about this...no, I won't." She remembered her discussion with Valerie. "Yes, baby," she said, "sometimes, but every time is different and every woman is different."
"Was it like this with me?"
"Sort of, baby, but I don't remember very well. You forget all about it the first time your baby smiles at you," she said, and smiled.
"I'm sure I was better than her," Naomi cut in.
"I surely don't remember, Naomi dear. Now let's clean the floor, get the manure to the pile out back, and start milkin'. These cows'll be fresh, and they'll be hurtin' soon."
The girls hosed down the concrete floor, shoveled manure into the wheelbarrow and took it to the compost heap, again and again. Eve got the old milking stool, and started in on Lally. Fingers, wrists and arms get a real workout when hand-milking. Eve had won a prize at the county fair three years ago, beating out several muscular men.
Eve said milking machines were for pansies, and irritated the cows. Even though most co-ops forbade hand-milking, the organic co-op the Burbons belonged to welcomed it, as long as the cows and the milk passed the most stringent biologic tests. And the co-op took the ten gallons or so that the cows produced every day. Eve was astonished that organic milk brought three dollars a quart; she saw only about seventyfive cents of that.
"OK, Naomi," she said as the girls returned, "you can do Bottsie."
Naomi took the new stool Joe had made, sat down with the pail, and started milking. "Nicky, bring me another pail when I get done with this one."
"She's always giving me orders," came the expected whine, "she hates me and I never did anything to her...."
"Do what your sister tells you, and stop the arguing! And bring me a clean pail, please!"
Pour pails into milk can, milk can ready for Joe to load onto the truck and take to the co-op. Wash pails in boiling water later. He'd bring home some bottled milk and cream on his way back from work. Their check from the co-op wasn't much, but every cent helped, with gas and diesel so expensive. Get fresh hay for the cows, and fill the watering trough. While she got in the hay and filled the trough, the girls tended to their horses.
She felt better with the fresh air outside. Back to the house, and cook breakfast. Joe and the girls tore into the potatoes and eggs and toast and juice. Joe had his mug of coffee, and Eve had some herb tea Valerie had sent her. Valerie, her sister-in-law, was studying childbirth to help a friend of hers.
Now if only this baby had the kindness to let her get out to the woods for the hunting season in November....
Two weeks later, Joe's old GMC was chewing up another transmission rescued from a junkyard as he drove to work. Now it was time to end the jokes about selling his daughters. All the vacations they never took, all the new clothes they never bought, all the repairs, re-uses, rebuilds, recycles--maybe now he'd get the new truck.
Joe's snowplowing had gotten him a job with the County as a general laborer, tote-and-fetch guy. It was year-round work with regular pay, not like construction, which came and went. And they had medical insurance now. The girls, getting born, had almost ruined Eve and him, and doctors were spared for ultimate emergencies.
When the working day was over, he drove over to Cliff Bastone's lot and looked again. Cliff still had the three-model-year-old F450 diesel with a plowing package, bright red.
"Cliff, y'aren't gonna believe this, but I think I want a new truck."
"Naw, I must be dreamin'. Maybe it was last night's meatloaf did it. Joe Burbon actually would buy somethin' new?"
"Cliff, now you know I wouldn't do that to a pal, buy a new truck. Now there's a three-year-old truck on your lot. You don't want people to see you got old trucks y'can't sell, so why not let me take it away? Thirty four five I'll pay ya, and you can have my old truck...."
"Now Joe, you don't want me to call Chuck at the Sheriff's office to come arrest you for attempted grand larceny auto, do ya?"
"Cliff, you wouldn't do that to a pal, would ya? Thirty five five?"
"Forty one, and that's it. And your old truck, I'll call the fuckin' museum to haul it away, maybe I'll get credit for a contribution."
"Thirty nine five, and I'll bring ya a bank check."
"Forty five, and you got a deal."
"Thirty nine seven eighty?"
"Forty, you crook."
"I'll bring ya a check. Is the tank full?"
"I'll throw in a gallon to get ya ta Pete's."
"OK. I'll be back."
So Joe bought the new truck next morning with the cash he'd saved. And it was three years old, so he saved his reputation.
After the bank and the gas pump (goddlemighty, four-thirty-five a fuckin' gallon for Diesel!), off to work, and after work to the hospital for the blood tests. And the sperm sample he'd agreed to give, so they could see if it would work for Sally. He promised Valerie he would do it, and Eve agreed.
It was a little less bad than he was afraid it would be. He never liked needles, but the blood draw was quick. The sperm sample was the hard part. He felt like some kind of pervert, jerking off into a little cup-like device. But it was finally over, and then home to supper.
The girls were home already, in the depths of homework. Joe pointed to the new truck, and told the girls that the guy he'd sold them to would be there in the morning. As they shrieked, he laughed, and Eve laughed, and they all had a good laugh before supper.
When the lab reports had checked out, Valerie called Joe.
"Joe, it's Valerie. Everything's OK. When can you come over here?"
"Hi Valerie, how ya' doin"? An' where's 'over here'?"
"We're fine, Sally and I send love to your women and you, and 'over here' is Memorial Hospital. D'you know where it is?"
"Nah, but I can find it. Your town's not so hard to get around."
"I'll pay for the gas and the mileage on your truck, and if the county won't pay you for the day I'll make it up to you."
"I'll leave the truck for Eve. I can rent a car for the day, that way you get only one bill and we got no figurin' out to do. I'll get the info about the deposit and let ya know. It'll be a cash rental 'cause we don't use credit cards."
"Joe, that's a great idea, but I can arrange the rental from here, just tell me which company and where they are."
"Great, Val. How's Tuesday?"
"Friday's better, if you can."
"OK, but Friday's payday...."
"I'll cover you until you can get your check."
"OK, Friday, but I can't pick up the car until seven a.m. That means I can't be to Memorial before noon."
"OK. I'll call you tomorrow to confirm everything. Take care."
"You too," and the call ended.
Valerie had to work around the Friday advertising production meeting at Delgrasi. This was a command performance. She couldn't not attend; she ran the meeting. She couldn't reschedule it, because the ads had to be in place with all problems solved that day. She could, however, make sure that it finished on time, and suppress any histrionics.
As Edward, the drama-queen art director, had succumbed to the charms and whip collection of James Whynch, editor of Mastering Magazine, and moved into the slave quarters in the basement of Master Whynch's home, the drama of these meetings had greatly abated. Still, if Whynch had denied Edward orgasm for more than a week, Edward did get a trifle petulant.
Fortunately, the meeting ended promptly at noon. Jamie Whynch must have fucked Edward raw last night, Valerie thought. She had told June, her assistant, where she was going and what she had to do. June could cover for her, as long as she got back for the very special meeting at five. The Colonel had invited her; she was to be the only woman present, and the top level of management and ownership would be there. Even the office gossip mill had been shut down on this one.
Sally should be ready, and should be prepared. Valerie had very carefully charted their menstrual cycles for months before the confrontation with Eve and Joe, because of Charles' orders and their required exhibitions. Women living together tended to synchronize their cycles, perhaps through some chemical signals. Sally and Valerie tended to be flowing together, and Valerie always listened to what her own body was telling her. Charles controlled them both, and Valerie wanted to be his best slave ever --and the best mistress to Sally.
Sally was younger. Both of them kept fit.
Anticipating today, Valerie kept Sally excited. She limited her slave's orgasms, tugged at her piercings at odd times, made sure Sally got plenty of sleep; she tried to keep the tensions Sally's business generated from affecting her. She took Sally to Mephisto's rarely, but gave her a good thrashing each time, and lots of hugging afterward.
Finally, she had removed the chain from Sally's labia that morning, and very carefully trimmed her mons, letting the leopard tattoo show clearly through the surrounding bush. Valerie made sure the gold stud through her clitoral hood had not irritated her.
Sally was waiting for Valerie, naked and on her hands and knees just behind their front door. Valerie lifted her, hugged and kissed her, and got her ankle-length down-filled coat. "Put on boots, sweetheart, it's mucky outside, and get into your coat. It's time."
Valerie took Sally down to Memorial, parked her Lexus at the far end of the lot. They entered through a side door. The security guard asked them to wait, as he called Dr Helen Waston to meet them.
As they waited, Valerie found Joe waiting in the lobby.
"Everythin' OK?" he asked.
"Yes, Joe, it's fine. Just drop off the car and mail me the receipt they give you."
"Your doc said they might need another shot if this one don't take."
"We'll deal with that if it happens. I can't just say 'thank you', it sounds so damn lame--Joe, I owe you for everything. God bless you!" She threw her arms around her brother-in-law and hugged him hard. "Ask Eve to pray for us--and to forgive me."
"No need to forgive, she don't have to forgive you an' she knows it. God bless." They exchanged a quick hug, and Joe left, walking to the rented Ford Focus, not looking back.
Helen was ten minutes late, and rushed. "Someone got enthusiastic with a riding crop this morning," she explained, "and I had some patching to do. Now Joe has done his thing, so it's time we did yours, Sally."
Sally looked down at the floor, a picture of submission. Valerie got even wetter than she had been. She was going to help Sally get pregnant with their baby.
Dr Waston led them to an examining room. Valerie took Sally in her arms and kissed her. Sally trembled. "Mistress," she whispered, "I'm so scared."
Valerie knew this, or something like it, was coming. She turned to Helen. "Please give me ten minutes to get her ready," she said.
"Of course," said Helen Waston, "the sample will keep. But I don't want to push it."
"Just ten minutes," said Valerie. Helen left them.
Ever since she had told Sally about the Ice Man, Mike Burbon, the man she had loved and who had been taken from her, Sally knew Valerie's obsession with having a Burbon baby. Submitting to Valerie validated Sally's life; she existed only to serve, to suffer if necessary. Every breath she took was Valerie's, not hers.
But this was the ultimate gift; not just her ovaries and uterus, but her entire body and soul, would make the baby Valerie must have.
09-19-2012, 07:03 AM
RE: A New Birth of Freedom - Nadine Vanquil Sex Story
But still. But still--there would be no room for Sally here. This baby, made from her body, wasn't hers. And once the baby was born, where would Sally be in Valerie's life? The booster rocket disengaged and the space capsule went off to world unknown; the disengaged booster fell back to earth and disintegrated, and nobody cared.
Was that what she had to look forward to? Could she go back to Charles, now that Lady Nadine had married him and their first child was on the way? No way! Charles would look on that as cheating, and he would never cheat Lady Nadine.
"Valerie," she whispered again, "where is Sally? I want the baby too, but where am I? You've pushed me away. I can't be without you. I'm so scared!"
"Slave, what do you mean you're 'so scared'? I haven't pushed you away, you're mine! You are closer to me than anyone! You must to do what I tell you to do, scared or not scared. This baby means everything to me; I can't have her, so you will. You gave me your hand, you promised me. I own you, I own your ovaries, your vagina and uterus. There will be no more talk."
She's playing, Valerie thought. They always play....
She remembered something Dorothy, the editor of Poly Living, had told her. Dorothy was crying when she'd just heard her therapist had died. "Even though I terminated therapy years ago, I still her voice in my head 'Dorothy, why are you doing that? You're not Momma, you don't have to do that.'" She stopped crying and wiped her face. "I will always have her voice in my head."
And I will have Charles in my head, Valerie thought, always. She could hear him in the split-second she took Sally into her arms. "Being Master means responsibility, Valerie. It does not mean having your own way always, although you must maintain that illusion in your slave's mind. You must know, not only what your slave thinks she can bear, but also the maximum pain, mental and physical, that she can bear, and how to push her there. You must know when your slave will go too far to please you, to suffer serious injury; or will safeword, or try little gambits, to test you, to play you. Slaves are ingenious, and I love that about them. They always want to "top from the bottom" as the cliché goes. Once you let them think they can get away with anything, however slight, they will constantly invent new try-ons. Too lenient a Master means an uncertain slave. More than kindness, more even than what we call 'love', is certainty. A slave must be able to trust her Master, and a Master must always be consistent-- trustworthy, firm and loving. You want to be a Mistress--then be one!"
She released Sally abruptly, although Sally was still whimpering. "Slave, get on the bed. Face down!"
Sally, still trembling, removed her coat and boots, her nipples taut and prominent with the rings tight against her flesh. "No more talk," Valerie ordered, and unlocked the chain that held Sally's labial rings together, giving Valerie and Helen easy access. Before Sally turned around to lie face down, Valerie kissed her hard. "Now get on that bad. Face down!" said Valerie. Sally climbed on the paper-covered, narrow examination bed.
Valerie took the paddle from her purse and carefully, precisely, spanked Sally until her trembling stopped. Still leaving her face down, Valerie fingered her slave's labia, testing for lubrication. Needs just a little more, Valerie thought. She thrust two fingers into Sally's cunt and probed for the g-spot. It was tight from the back, and might work better. Sally neared orgasm. Valerie stopped, removed her fingers and wiped them on Sally's buttock.
She went to the door. Helen was on the phone. "Whenever you're ready," Valerie mouthed. Helen held up two fingers.
The insemination itself was quick and undramatic. Valerie's actions were not, holding Sally, kissing her, probing her vagina again until Sally came. Making sure Sally stayed recumbent, so that Joe's sperm could start their baby--no, her baby. I love Sally, but this is my baby, she thought, surprised at her own ferocity.
Although Helen said they might need a second session, this one took.
Copyright Notice - The foregoing is a "derivative work", as that term is defined in Title 17 United States Code §101. The characters named Charles Vanquil, Valerie Burbon, Sally Thatcher, Mike Burbon, "Joe" Burbon (brother of Mike Burbon), Dr Helen Waston, June, the place named the home or residence of Valerie Burbon and Sally Thatcher, the entity or business known as Delgrasi Publications, and the publications known as Mastering Magazine and Poly Living, are all derived from literary works or productions copyrighted by dweaver999 (all the foregoing named characters, places, entity, business, publications, works and productions are hereinafter collectively the "dweaver999 products"), are the property of dweaver999, and all rights in and to any or all thereof, are copyrighted and reserved to dweaver999, pursuant to the provisions of Title 17 of the United States Code, and the Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works, signed at Berne, Switzerland, on September 9, 1886, and all acts, protocols, and revisions thereto (said Convention, acts, protocols and revisions are hereinafter collectively the "Berne Convention"). The balance of the foregoing, exclusive of the dweaver999 products, is copyrighted, and all rights reserved in like manner, by estragon, pursuant to said Title 17 of the United States Code and the Berne Convention. No part of the foregoing may be reproduced or distributed in any form, whether or not for profit, without the express prior written consent of both dweaver999 and estragon. The foregoing is published by estragon under one single license from dweaver999, for this publication and for no other. All brand names and trademarks, trade dress of any description, or materials copyrighted or otherwise legally-protected incidentally referred to in the foregoing, are the property of the respective holders thereof. The publication of the foregoing, and the references hereinabove, do not create any principal-agent relationship, partnership or joint venture between dweaver999 and estragon, other than as licensor-licensee to the extent herein set forth and not otherwise, and none should be implied; neither has any authority to act for the other, except as may be specified by separate written agreement and signed by each of them in each instance. This publication neither creates nor evidences any assignment of any copyright reserved herein or elsewhere by any party. Any reference to any person living or dead, or to any actual acts, transactions or occurrences, is purely coincidental, except as to public figures or institutions. In respect of all such public figures or institutions a qualified Federal and State Constitutional privilege is hereby asserted. The foregoing is not, and should not be used as, legal or tax advice. Pursuant to 31 CFR §10.0 et seq., the foregoing is not intended, and cannot be used, to avoid any penalty. The foregoing does not create or evidence any client-attorney relationship.
09-19-2012, 07:03 AM
RE: A New Birth of Freedom - Nadine Vanquil Sex Story
The adventure continues toward the births of two sisters (who don't know they are sisters).
Again, deepest thanks and grateful acknowledgment to Grandmaster dweaver999 for his encouragement and for permitting me to publish this story. He created a world and filled it with real people; I merely scribble in the corners.
Thanks to a great composer and lyricist, Jim Steinman. When I was stuck trying to write this story, and about to let it all go overboard, there was Bonnie Tyler belting out Mr. Steinman's masterpiece--and everything was all right.
One more time I gratefully acknowledge earlier technical assistance from SA Penn Lady and Yes_Please. As they didn't read this story, they aren't technical editors/advisors strictly speaking, but their past help has been invaluable.
Finally, of course, I am solely responsible for any errors, inaccuracies or misstatements.
Valerie and Sally didn't speak as Valerie drove home. The roads were clear in the early afternoon, and the day, though cold, was bright. A cloudy day would have made the drive home even more depressing. I should be elated, Valerie thought, and yet Sally is hurting; she isn't just playing, but I can't give up this baby. I won't, Sally or no Sally! And I have that damned meeting back at the office--oh, fuck it all!
She nearly missed the exit from the Interstate. Sally flinched as Valerie took the exit ramp hard, squealing the tires on her Lexus and making her even angrier. She braked hard at the top of the ramp, and squealed the tires again as she turned onto Spring Street.
Parking roughly and taking Sally inside, Valerie kissed her, removed her coat, and took her to their bedroom. "Just lie down and rest, darling. I'll come home and cook us a great dinner."
"Yes, Mistress," said Sally, looking at the floor. She sounded like a lonely, unhappy child. Valerie hugged her hard. "You know I love you. I love you," Valerie said desperately, hoping to break through Sally's pain--and her own. Valerie was afraid she hadn't succeeded, as Sally turned away and lay down.
Valerie had to leave. She could not miss the meeting.
"Well," said the Colonel, "Rupie Murdoch has come out. He's making a tender for as much Delgrasi stock as he can get. Will and Rocky told him to fuck off, but the cousins, those motherfuckers would sell anybody and anything. And Rupie is throwing cash around like it's going out of style.
"I want us to try to figure out a way to keep Delgrasi Publications Delgrasi--and to give us inspiration, guys, if Rupie takes over, we-uns is all walkin' the plank. With no severance."
Jamie Whynch asked, "Can't Delgrasi borrow the money to buy out the cousins? I mean the corporation of course...from a bank or a hedge fund or somewhere? Are leveraged buyouts out of fashion?"
George Falstaf answered abruptly, "Good thought, Jamie, but it won't cut it. I understand Will Delgrasi approached the banks we deal with. Delgrasi is debt-free, and Rocky and Will haven't pledged their stock to anyone for a loan, so the banks'll lend for sure, even in this economy, but they won't lend nearly enough. Murdoch's paying well over the odds. And even if the banks would lend enough, Delgrasi would have to pay the banks every cent of the bottom line and more, for years, to pay off the loans. No bonuses, no benefits, salary cuts, take garbage ads just to raise cash--we'd lose our staff and go broke."
"Sounds like Rupie's gone crazy," someone said from the other end of the table (Valerie was thinking so hard that whoever was speaking didn't register).
"Like a fox," said the Colonel. "He's paying far more than our free cash flow would justify. But we have a niche and a moat and a franchise, all the fuckin' Buffet buzzwords. There's no meaningful competition for what we do."
Valerie spoke up at last; something had clicked. "Colonel," she began, then paused, and went on.
"I haven't seen our latest numbers, but we're nothing compared to News Corporation. Our free cash flow isn't even a rounding error on their balance sheet. Mr. Murdoch isn't buying our cash flow. And he sure isn't putting his name, and News Corp's name, on Mastering Magazine and Pony's Paddock and Poly Living. When News of the World got caught hacking cellphones and stealing stories, he shut them down and ran like a thief. Can you see the Tea Party crowd and the National Organization for Outlawing Marriage, and the crew that believes Fox News, cheering that their guru bought Jamie's latest story about better beatings before cock-and-ball torture? Or Dorothy's stories about multisexual sixsomes raising children?
"No sir! Mr. Murdoch wants something more than Delgrasi's magazines or their free cash flow. And I'm betting what he's buying is power. That's the only thing he'll spend that kind of money on, the kind you're talking about."
"Valerie," said George Falstaf, just slightly patronizing, "very interesting, but what's that got to do with Delgrasi Publications, Incorporated? What power do we have?"
"Not us, Mr. Falstaf," Valerie said, and paused again. "Our subscribers."
"Motherfucker!" The Colonel's big black fist hit the table with a crash. "Of course, dammit! He buys Delgrasi, he gets the subscriber lists. The names on there are fuckin' dyna-mite. Say you're a Senator, a Congressman, a Judge, the CEO of a major bank, or even Someone Bigger--you want it known you're in the lifestyle, while you're defending the Defense From Marriage Act? Bankrolling the homophobe politicians? While you're yipping it up about "Family Values"? Holy shit, girl, you got it!"
Valerie didn't mind the "girl", not from the Colonel. "I've never seen the real names on the subscriber lists..." she began.
"Of course not," Pedro Valdez from Circulation broke in, loudly. "I never have, and my business card says I'm the department head. They're guarded better than Fort fuckin' Knox. I only see box numbers and phony addresses."
Valerie went on, "but there must be names there that would tremble if Murdoch threatened to out them. Maybe even politicians and journalists and big campaign contributors from the liberal side, who he could smear real good...."
"So," concluded the Colonel, "we engage in some polite blackmail?"
"I'd suggest we call it Defense of Reputation," said Valerie. "And one more suggestion if I may, sir? Maybe we need a new financial advisor, to bring in some fresh thinking, perhaps even facilitate the arrangements. Someone who can talk to our subscribers, tell them our story in their own language. Gently suggest what having their names in Mr. Murdoch's hands would mean...."
"Like Champagne Charlie Vanquil?" asked George Falstaf.
Valerie's mouth dropped open. How the Hell does he know about Master Charles? And how dare he call Master 'Champagne Charlie'! Valerie snapped her mouth shut and said quietly, "Mr. Vanquil would be perfect."
George Falstaf smiled at her. "Just the man, isn't he, to get the message across to the right subscribers the right way, scoop up their money, syndicate the deal (without any money sticking to his fingers or Word One getting out), create some innocuous entity to hold the stock, and assure our subscribers of the utmost discretion and anonymity. And maybe even a modest return on their investment."
"Colonel sir," Valerie asked, "May I call Mr. Vanquil?"
"George," said the Colonel, "do you concur? Remember, George and Valerie, if this blows up, your collective asses are grass and I am the lawnmower! My wrath will descend upon you heavily!"
"And if Rupie buys Delgrasi we're all dead anyway," Falstaf replied in a monotone, staring at the table. "What else are we going to do?" Turning to the Colonel, "if you wish, Marcus (Falstaf had permission to use the Colonel's first name), I'll get with Will and Rocky tonight. I don't dare telephone, even on a landline, and e-mail's out of the question."
"Anybody else feeling brilliant? No? Valerie, hold off on calling Champagne Charlie till I tell you. OK, let's go home," said the Colonel.
"Darling, I know I promised to cook for you tonight, but we have to go out. We're having dinner with Master and Lady Nadine tonight." Sally was still in bed when Valerie came home.
"Yes, Mistress." Valerie looked at her; she had been crying. "Oh baby, when you cry it hurts me too. I never want to really hurt you, only when we play."
"Mistress, please let me be Sally. I want this baby, but I want to be her Mommy, me, Sally, not a breeding animal. I belong to you, but let me belong to you, not your pet animal, but me, Sally. And let my baby be herself, not some trophy."
"Oh honey," Valerie dropped to her knees next to Sally, "I'll try. I want this baby so much. It's so hard to share what I need so desperately. But for you, anything."
"If Master Charles doesn't put us on restriction, tonight I totally belong to you."
Charles Arthur Jameson Vanquil II ("Chip") was in the middle of his dinner when Valerie and Sally walked into the livingroom. He looked momentarily at the new arrivals, decided not to howl or hide as he recognized them as non-hostile, and returned to Lady Nadine's left breast.
Charles extended his right hand for Valerie and Sally to kiss, as they knelt. "Good evening, Valerie and Sally. It's nice to have your company. Please take seats."
Two responses of "yes, Master," and Charles clicked his iPad. Yolande, the latest apprentice, appeared, naked but for a collar of used tampons around her neck. "Yes, Master?" she said as she slid to her knees.
"Drink orders, slave."
"Yes, Master. Master? Mistresses?"
"This is truly tedious, slave. Lady Nadine is your mistress. You are to address these others as 'Ladies'." Charles gave her a quick slap with Ruffnex Mizzou '56, a wooden paddle he'd acquired ("Would you believe it, on eBay?"). Signed by select students of the Agricultural College at the University of Missouri in 1956, it was an unusual toy. More than once, Charles had thought I wonder what any of them would think today if he saw what had happened to this memento of his misspent youth?
"Thank you, Master, may I please have another?"
"Of course. The Lord loveth a cheerful giver." Smack! "Now, as the vulgar would have it, girl, ya gotta work!"
"Master? Mistress? Ladies?"
Charles asked for a Lustau almacenista fino, Nadine for her usual Pellegrino and lemon, Sally for the same, and Valerie for an extra dry Gibson. ("If you have Plymouth rather than London, I'd like that." "Valerie, of course we do. Yolande, see to it." "Yes, Master.")
"Now, then," said Charles, taking his first sip of the Sherry, "I take it we can talk after dinner. I would, however, before we sit down to dinner, like to tell you that I spoke to George Falstaf on a secure landline, and we have agreed on the terms of the transaction Valerie proposed. Logistics will be a problem, and the damned money-laundering laws make it a real pain, but after all I am used to managing pain, it's rather a speciality of mine. My commissions, as you know, are never onerous, only very mildly extortionate. And the alternative is most distasteful to the Delgrasis' many fans.
"Valerie, your analysis has been very helpful, and I am sure, if we succeed in implementing your plan, the Delgrasis will not be ungenerous in showing their appreciation."
"Thank you, Master," said Valerie, her eyes tearing up.
"No, thank you, my dear. My name might be on certain lists, which I should not like to see in the filthy paws of a certain Press Baron whose initials are Rupert Murdoch. But moving from this distasteful topic," he pressed the iPad again, glanced at it, "I see dinner is ready. Nadine, my love, shall we have our dinner? May I take it Chip has had his dinner?"
"Your son has dried me up," she said, holding Chip against her shoulder as he let out a hearty burp, followed by a loud howl. "Now he is getting ready for bed."
"Such a good boy," said his father, going to kiss his son. "But what an appalling noise! I do hope he's not practicing to be a politician or a lawyer."
"Only if he goes to Harvard, darling," said Lady Nadine, with a gentle lilt to her voice.
"Well, I doubt he'll be going to Wellesley, darling. Except occasionally for amusement. Good night, boy."
Lady Nadine settled Chip in the wheeled cradle, and they went in to dinner.
When they returned to the livingroom, Yolande had built up the fire and poured Charles his Louis Treize. Hot water and a selection of herbal teas were arranged on the sideboard.
"Now, need we say any more about Delgrasi?"
Valerie said, "No, Master, the fewer people who know, the better."
Chuckling, Charles replied, "Obiwan has taught you well, Luke."
"But Master, George Falstaf was really rude this afternoon. He called you 'Champagne Charlie'. I didn't want to make a scene, with all the stress we were going through, but I was furious."
"Save your indignation, my dear. Falstaf's tongue gets more exercise than his brain, when he should have it the other way around. Two years ago now, I invited him to a dinner party I was giving Will and Rocky Delgrasi at the Gotham, to celebrate paying off the corporation's debt financing I had arranged. I ordered champagne, and of course no good deed goes unpunished. George got a little too happy, and he endowed me with an epithet I would sooner not hear. He should drink less and think more.
"Now, there's something more important. I'll be direct, because this is no time for diplomacy. Sally, are you pregnant?"
"Master, it's too soon for any test to show it, but I feel it. Yes, I am. It's like I have the flu, I'm kind of hazy about everything. We just...today... it's way too early for me to be nauseous and my breasts don't hurt, but I'm different, and I feel different...."
Valerie hugged her and kissed her cheek.
"I will talk to Sally, alone. My dear Lady, could you and Valerie make sure that Chip is settled in for the night and all alarms armed? And show Valerie the new frame we've installed in the dungeon? Just a brief demonstration, of course, we don't want to spoil her digestion."
"Of course, dear. Valerie."
After they had gone, Charles asked Sally, "What is going on between you two? Valerie gets possessive, very possessive. I know. She called me once on my treatment of a servant. Although she was right, she challenged my role as Master, and it was only with difficulty I accepted that then. I won't accept it now. I am your Master."
"Master," Sally said, standing in front of Charles, "she wants to own me. This is her baby I'm carrying. There's no room for Sally, except for providing an egg and a uterus to grow it in. She's more than a Mistress, she-- like she wants to crush me, not dominate me."
"You know, dear Sally, subs want to try to 'top from the bottom', dictate how their Masters must treat them, make rules beyond their contracts. I have your contract and Valerie's. They should be reviewed. It may be that you are playing the sub game, and I like that, it keeps Master on his toes. But it may also be that Valerie is setting herself up as something beyond her proper role.
"After all, we review our insurance coverages, our tax strategies and our long-term investment plans every year. We haven't reviewed our D/s contracts for much longer, and that's just poor planning.
"No excuse for poor planning. So--no restrictions, enjoy yourselves thoroughly between now and next Saturday. Both of you come back here at, say noon, and bring your contracts with you. Now let's see how my dear wife and yours have contrived to amuse themselves."
They walked down the stairs Sally knew well. As they entered the dungeon, they heard Lady Nadine's voice. "Now we can push part of your body forward, or pull it back, since the arms of the rack are flexible. Let me show you."
Valerie was naked, of course, and strapped to a large wheel with many spokes, attached at top, bottom and sides to heavy struts that permitted both vertical and horizontal rotation through 360 degrees. Lady Nadine was holding what seemed to be a television remote, but at a touch Valerie's upper body was pushed forward, causing her breasts to protrude.
"Now I can attach nipple clips and weights, and have you lean forward, and the effect will be enhanced. Sally, would you like to help?"
"Master, may I?" "Certainly, Sally."
Sally attached and tightened the clips Lady Nadine held out to her. Valerie gasped very slightly, and gasped louder as Sally attached the chains and the weights. Lady Nadine touched the controller, and Valerie was moved forward, her breasts taking the full effect of the weights.
"See what a nice toy this is?" asked Lady Nadine. "Sally, would you like to play?"
"Yes, Mistress." She turned to Valerie. "Mistress, may I?"
"Tonight I totally belong to you," said Valerie.
Sally kissed Valerie, tested the weights with a gentle pull that made Valerie gasp even louder. She walked to Valerie's side, to the ends of the scars from Francine's beating . She kissed each scar. She ran her finger gently over each, and kissed it again.
Valerie started to cry. "Don't cry, Mistress, I love you." Sally remembered the words of a hymn they'd sung in church a few weeks before: "With what rapture, gaze we on those glorious scars." She smiled at the thought of what some of the people who had sung that hymn would think if they saw her now.
Still smiling, Sally slapped Valerie's face, twice, three times. She kissed her mouth, then bit each ear. She reached down to Valerie's vagina and thrust three fingers into her. Valerie gasped again and her crying became sobs. Sally brought her lover slowly, gently, to orgasm, and removed her fingers. She held Valerie's head as Valerie hung suspended, kissing her again, comforting her. "When we get home tonight, Mistress, you will pleasure me with your mouth and your fingers."
Saturday was overcast, and snow threatened again, as if winter was a drunken guest who wanted to make yet another incoherent point before being propelled out the door.
Sally wanted to sleep. The morning after their dinner with Charles, her business phone rang at 5 a.m. The week that followed had seen her in Cleveland, recovering an auto repair shop that had burned to the ground, but was insured by one of Sally's biggest clients. Temporary space was easy, with the current economy, but advertising the temporary location; securing replacements for the tools and equipment that had been destroyed; trying to placate maniacal customers whose irreplaceable cars were gone; scrounging replacement cars for them or endlessly haggling over cash payouts when replacements didn't suit them (and as usual some customers whose heaps had been righteously consumed thought they'd won the lottery), working around the fire marshals and police investigators; and above all, doing it all by herself in six days, while not rattling the cages of her client's bean-counters, or spending too much money--that was 144 hours of pure Hell.
And Valerie was on the phone, almost hourly, worrying about the baby and Sally's health, while Sally had plenty to do.
Finally, on Thursday afternoon, it was all too much: "Mistress, I'm going to lose the client and my business. Now leave me the fuck alone!" And she hung up, as the song echoed in her head: "Once upon a time I was falling in love, but now I'm only falling apart. Nothing I can do, a total eclipse of the heart".
By dawn on Saturday morning, Sally had flown back home exhausted, barely having strength to drag her carry-on up the walkway. She had slept perhaps an hour or two, when Valerie wakened her and reminded her that it was time to see Master Charles.
09-19-2012, 07:03 AM
RE: A New Birth of Freedom - Nadine Vanquil Sex Story
The symptoms had hit, but they were milder than she'd read about. Yes, the nausea was there, and the sore nipples, and the moodiness. But she could concentrate on driving in Cleveland, and on her work. Invictus Mutual Fire & Casualty was giving a good imitation of The Quiet Company, but she had reason to hope for a performance bonus for the Cleveland job. And being in her own bed, next to a sleeping Valerie, was a treat after the cheapo motel.
Master Charles was in his power-business mode.
"What changes have you proposed? None? Why not?"
"Master, it's been perfect," answered Valerie.
"Master, I--I can't. I love Valerie, but I can't breathe...."
"She's going to pieces, Valerie. I won't have my property damaged. You may once have intervened with me to save a servant from pain. But Sally is not a servant; Sally is mine, as well as yours. She'll give us both the baby.
"But perhaps I'll assign my rights in Sally's baby to young Chip, maybe even put our baby in his trust fund. He might like that, when he knows what he's getting. So I will amend our contracts; Sally gets to be the mother, you are equal partners in the baby's life, but if you can't agree I will decide. Now we'll draw up the amendments to our contracts and have a bit of lunch."
"Yes, Master." "Yes, Master."
Lady Nadine strode into the room, holding Chip against her breasts. "See, dearest boy," she told her son, "what a good Daddy you have. He gives his boy everything to make his boy happy."
As Valerie and Sally were getting ready to leave after lunch and a ceremonial contract signing, Charles spoke to Sally.
"Turn around, Bright Eyes."
"Yes, Master," she replied, awaiting the usual parting flog.
Instead, she got a very gentle pat on her ass.
"That will be the last until you give birth. You, my dear Sally, can consent to play, can choose a safeword or give it away. This person," he walked around her and gently patted her abdomen, "is incapable. So we will assume she does not consent, until she is old enough to decide. But there are no other restrictions; enjoy yourselves."
"Yes, Master." "Yes, Master."
He kissed each of them on the cheek.
"Helen, we're going to fly to Vermont, go camping and climb Smuggler's Notch. We can get Sally a really good support climbing harness, and we won't try scrambling or anything extreme. There're good hiking trails. Can we?"
Spring was becoming summer, at last. Spring had gone on until it was too perfect, until the warm days and cool nights, the early morning rains and the afternoon drenching showers, had become clichéd. Now came the heat, the humidity, the rainstorms.
Master Charles had saved Delgrassi and routed the evil dragon (incidentally pocketing a most pleasant commission; his next project would be even more interesting--turning around a bankrupt sports franchise). Will and Rocky had definitely been generous in rewarding Valerie. A month's vacation, paid for, was the least of it. Valerie gasped when she looked at her bonus check, even after withholding was taken out.
Helen Waston looked at Sally. Helen's face twisted slightly, considering. "OK, but take it easy. You're going up four thousand feet plus. Also it's summer. Stop and rest every half-hour for at least fifteen minutes, and hydration, hydration, hydration. I don't care if Sally has to piss every time you stop. Of course, Sally, don't drink just water, get electrolytes--but none of that damn "sports" stuff they're always pushing, with all the sugar and chemical junk in it. You know what you need--potassium chloride, very little sodium chloride and even less unrefined cane sugar--I'll give you a prescription, but get lots of it.
"You'll be carrying your food, but I'll e-mail you a list of the best of the MREs. The best of the worst, the stuff is loaded with sodium and chemicals. And of course take all your vitamins. And make sure your cellphones are charged, with spare battery power. Call me if anything unusual happens. And I'll write you up a letter for the airline, if they need clearance to let Sally fly. Pick it up as you leave." She started typing on her iPad. "Have a great summer," and she kissed them both.
Sally's piercings set off every alarm in the airport. The TSA scanner took her to the back room, smiled at her, and told her to strip. Sally did, un-self-consciously. "I could have so much fun with you, sweetheart," she said, reading Sally's collar, pulling Sally's breast studs and squeezing her breasts. Then, fingering her labial rings and looking at the leopard tatooed on her mons: "Oooh, what a treat!" Opening her uniform shirt, she showed Sally her collar. "Wanna play?" "I can't, sorry, Mistress Valerie is waiting." "Lucky Mistress Valerie. Tell Mistress Valerie that switch Jennifer sends her compliments, and any time Mistress Valerie and slave Sally want to play, just come around here." And she sent Sally through.
The drive from the airport to Underhill took them through valleys and up the side of the mountain. It was sunny and hot, but the evening was cool as they set up camp at Underhill.
The climb in the early morning, through the dew and the mist, was exhilarating. The sun was burning off the mist; the haze hadn't yet started to obscure the hills and the town in the valley. They found a firepit and made breakfast, Sally drinking herb tea with powdered milk and Valerie with her two cups of black coffee.
At the summit, they saw other hikers working their way up. Enjoying the view and the strong cool wind, they lingered, exchanging greetings with the arrivals.
Clouds came streaming in, obscuring the trail. Sally reached into Valerie's pack and pulled out her anorak. Valerie pulled hers from Sally's pack (each carried the other's, so no need to remove pack from shoulders). The rain squall came marching across the valley, and the rain washed over them. Sally was laughing like a little girl, and Valerie smiled and kissed her rain-washed face.
The sky cleared, but the descent was difficult, the trail being wet and the earth slick and muddy. Valerie held onto Sally most of the way down.
Camping with a pregnant lady was something none of the Sierra Club publications had yet considered. Valerie eventually got the air mattresses just right for sex, but she could have written her own book on the subject by the time she'd finished.
But the Perseids were starting. Nothing was better than an orgasm under a spectacular meteor shower. The night sky exploded, as Valerie and Sally lay close in the tent. Valerie moved slowly along Sally's body, drinking in the scent of her milky pussy, the pregnancy secretions mingling with the scent of pine and clean night air, and the dried sweat and the warmth. Sally's softening breasts, and her soft fingers holding Valerie's hair as Valerie's tongue traced each stud that replaced Sally's labial rings; Sally's clit hood, the golden stud through it tickling her tongue, and the still warm earth, and Sally begging for orgasm, and at last, Sally exploding against her tongue, her fingers, and Sally, and her own orgasms, cresting, falling, the meteors joining their flaming bodies to hers, and Sally....
And finally, driving through Vermont in August, cellphones turned off and the mp3 turned up high, with Celine belting out Jim Steinman's words and music, burning off the pain and frustration of the winter as the sun burned off the morning mist: "I really need you tonight, forever's gonna start tonight, forever's gonna start tonight...."
And Valerie made up her own words: Nothin' more to say, no more eclipse of the heart."
Copyright Notice - The foregoing is a "derivative work", as that term is defined in Title 17 United States Code §101. The characters named Charles Vanquil, Lady Nadine Vanquil, Valerie Burbon, Sally Thatcher, Dr Helen Waston,and George Falstaf, the places named, respectively, the home or residence of Valerie Burbon and Sally Thatcher, the home or residence of Charles Vanquil and Lady Nadine Vanquil, the entity or business known as Delgrasi Publications, Incorporated, and the publications known as Mastering Magazine, Pony's Paddock and Poly Living, are all derived from literary works or productions copyrighted by dweaver999 (all the foregoing named characters, places, entity, business, publications, works and productions are hereinafter collectively the "dweaver999 products"), are the property of dweaver999, and all rights in and to any or all thereof, are copyrighted and reserved to dweaver999, pursuant to the provisions of Title 17 of the United States Code, and the Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works, signed at Berne, Switzerland, on September 9, 1886, and all acts, protocols, and revisions thereto (said Convention, acts, protocols and revisions are hereinafter collectively the "Berne Convention"). The balance of the foregoing, exclusive of the dweaver999 products and other copyrighted and reserved works and productions, including without limitation those hereinafter set forth, is copyrighted, and all rights reserved in like manner, by estragon, pursuant to said Title 17 of the United States Code and the Berne Convention. No part of the foregoing may be reproduced or distributed in any form, whether or not for profit, without the express prior written consent of both dweaver999 and estragon. The foregoing is published by estragon under one single license from dweaver999, for this publication and for no other. All brand names and trademarks, trade dress of any description, or materials copyrighted or otherwise legally-protected incidentally referred to in the foregoing, are the property of the respective holders thereof. Fair use exception is hereby claimed for excerpts from the song "Total Eclipse of the Heart", music and lyrics by Jim Steinman, copyright 1982, 1983 by Lost Boys Music, administered by Edward B. Marks Music Co. The publication of the foregoing, and the references hereinabove, do not create any principal-agent relationship, partnership or joint venture between dweaver999 and estragon, other than as licensor-licensee to the extent herein set forth and not otherwise, and none should be implied; neither has any authority to act for the other, except as may be specified by separate written agreement and signed by each of them in each instance. This publication neither creates nor evidences any assignment of any copyright reserved herein or elsewhere by any party. Any reference to any person living or dead, or to any actual acts, transactions or occurrences, is purely coincidental, except as to public figures or institutions. In respect of all such public figures or institutions a qualified Federal and State Constitutional privilege is hereby asserted. The foregoing is not, and should not be used as, legal or tax advice. Pursuant to 31 CFR §10.0 et seq., the foregoing is not intended, and cannot be used, to avoid any penalty. The foregoing does not create or evidence any client-attorney relationship.
09-19-2012, 07:04 AM
RE: A New Birth of Freedom - Nadine Vanquil Sex Story
The end of the story. I part from these characters with real regret. It's been an experience for which I am endlessly grateful, most of all to Grandmaster dweaver999, il miglior fabbro, for creating these people and this world, and letting me into it; to Laurel and Manu for giving me the opportunity and the place to tell this story; and to my fellow authors, for inspiration, support and guidance, and for setting the bar high.
November again. Almost a year had gone by since Valerie and Sally had come back to Joe's and Eve's farm. Indian Summer was beautiful but brief. Gray days and cold weather now. Eve shivered as she put on her down vest over her red plaid shirt.
Joe had gone to the County offices to get his assignments for the day. Somehow the County found the money to keep him on the payroll, but who knew about next year? If taxes went up there'd just be more foreclosures. And now with winter coming, people would have to heat their houses and fill their gas tanks and, yes, see if they could afford to eat something beside rice and beans, maybe.
The girls were at school. So it was time to do some yardwork. She put some tough twine in her pocket. Her hunting knife was sheathed under her left arm (and later she thanked God again and again that it was there).
When she opened the door and stepped out, she almost didn't see the branch aimed at her head. On pure reflex, she quarter-turned, and it caught her shoulder. The pain dropped her to the ground.
He was on top of her, trying to get his hands around the throat. With the baby inside her nearly ready to be born, movement was nearly impossible. But she clawed one hand away, and as he tried to strike her, she bit it hard.
"You fucking bitch, I'll kill you!" he screamed, and tore at her jeans. 'Does he have a knife? Or a gun?' she thought, 'oh God, not the baby not the baby....'
"I'll let you, just don't hurt me," she gasped. His grip slackened.
She struggled to open the jeans, and slid down the long underpants she wore for chores and hunting.
He raped her hard. He lifted her by the back of her neck and pushed her head down, the sheer force overwhelming her. He thrust into her cunt, impaling her. Pain shot through her, joining the ache in her shoulders, wrist, chest, legs, combining into a single torment as he thrust again and again.
She only found out later he'd broken two of her fingers.
Unwilling, unthinking, her body responded with her cum. It wasn't an orgasm; it was a surrender of bruised soul and tortured body, a final, futile attempt to shield her from more pain. She shuddered for fear for the baby she was carrying, praying in her heart like a child, a neglected and injured baby, for whom no help would come.
He removed his cock and shoved it in her ass, the pain blinding her. He raped her again, her own fluids subverted to assisting the invader.
Ram ram ram, like an animal.
Finally, Eve reached her arm around and found the knife. As he was still thrusting, she drove the knife around her belly, back into his groin. He screamed and cursed, as the blood and urine leaked from him.
Desperately, with a strength she never knew she had, she rolled to her back as he grabbed the tree branch and tried to hit her again. His arm caught the knife thrust, and more blood gushed. Hauling out the knife with the same insane strength, Eve drove it at his neck, stabbing and stabbing again.
This time the blood gushed.
Now it was a struggle to the death. The blood was running onto her hand, her face; she shook her head to try to keep it from her eyes. He tried again to hit her with his fist, but she avoided most of the force, and he hit the side of her head. He tried to stand, but slipped, as the blood from his groin had wet the ground. The pulsing blood continued, it seemed forever until it slowed.
He fell back, and more fluid leaked. But it wasn't his.
The water broke. Eve was having her baby.
He struggled, but she could feel him weakening. He rolled to the blood-soaked ground.
Eve rolled away, the contractions gripping her. She knew she could never reach the house, not now.
'Get help...must get help' she thought, 'save my baby....'
The next contraction was stronger. She forgot the other pains. Getting her jeans back on, or getting herself covered, was impossible. She dragged herself across the blood-soaked gravel toward a scrubby patch of grass, but stopped.
'Could he have a cellphone? Might get help....' She dragged herself again, the pain in her abdomen and fingers setting up new blinding flashes across her eyes.
His pants were soaked with blood and piss. Of course she couldn't move him, he was a big dead weight; literally a dead weight, he had bled to death and was cold already.
But his jacket pocket nearest her had the cellphone.
The pain of getting it out with her broken fingers made her scream. But she held it long enough to open it and press 911.
"Dispatch, what is your emergency?"
"Ma'am, where are you?"
"One...one...three...seven...five...County Road...six...." The contractions were more frequent now. Nicky was a quick one, she remembered, half an hour and out she came.
"Ma'am, we'll have people there in five minutes. Is the man still there?"
"Ma'am, is he near you? Can he hurt you?"
"OK, ma'am, stay where you are. Help is coming."
Eve lay there. The contractions got harder and faster. Remembering Naomi and Nicky, she started pushing. She felt the head of her third daughter emerge, as the gravel scrunched with the sound of the arriving cruiser.
Sheriff's Deputy Brenda Nolan jumped from her cruiser, her 9 millimeter S&W M&P (that she purchased with her own funds and got a waiver to carry on duty) ready. She dropped to one knee and scanned the yard. She saw the corpse and she saw Eve, with the baby emerging. She reached for the lapel mike.
"Dispatch, need an ambulance, got a baby being born and one man down."
"201, copy, on the way."
"201, copy, out."
Brenda ran over to Eve. "Hang on, ma'am, help is on the way."
"So...is...my...baby....Is...she...all...right?" Eve was gasping.
"She looks fine, ma'am."
It seemed forever, but the siren started and got louder. The Fire & Rescue F-450 skidded to a stop, and the paramedics jumped out. They didn't call Crew Chief Klein "Medevac Barbie" for nothing. Crew Chief Barbara Klein, her red hair sprayed as if for the runway, her tailored blue uniform leaving little to the imagination, followed by Jake ("Bones") Cheshire, all 110 pounds and 5 foot nothing of him, ran over to Eve.
Eve had pushed out the baby, still connected to her.
"It's all right, Momma," said Barbara, "we'll get you and our little friend here over to County Hospital right now. Who's your next of kin?"
"Joe Burbon," said Eve, shutting her eyes.
"I know him," said Bones, "works over to th' County office, general laborin' man."
"OK," said Barbara, "we'll call him and he can get over to the hospital."
"I'll put a note on th' door," said Bones, grabbing his notepad and scribbling "Mom at County Hospital. All well." He ran to the house door, and with some adhesive tape from his kit taped on the note, making sure the door locked.
Barbie made sure the cord had stopped pulsing, cut it, tied it off, and slapped the little girl's butt. She cried. Eve started crying, too. Barbara and Bones moved Eve and the baby to the ambulance and took off, siren blaring.
Deputy Nolan got back on her radio. "Dispatch, 201."
"Dispatch, please kindly ask the would-be State Po-lice CSI team to come out here. I got a dead body and a lot of blood. Barbie and Bones're headed to the hospital with woman and baby."
Eve was still holding the cellphone. When she got to the hospital, the cellphone was bagged with her personal effects. The knife was held for the Sheriff's CSI team.
Joe arrived, with their daughters. After exclamations of relief and admiration for the baby, the doctor asked the girls to wait outside. Eve told Joe what had happened.
Joe's normally placid face was contorted with rage. "You killed the sonofabitch?" "Yes, Joe." "Didn't torture the motherfucker none?" "No, Joe." "What a shame. You sure he's dead?" "Yes Joe." "Too fuckin' bad I can't kill the sonofabitch again."
Outside, Naomi and Nicky were huddled together. "There's somethin' wrong with this," said Naomi.
"What?" asked her sister.
"Well, besides the fact that I need another sister like I need a bad case of poison oak," she said, gently punching Nicky, "and besides the fact that this means years of unpaid babysitting for both of us, why did Momma go to the hospital?"
"Because that's where people have babies, genius," said Nicky, gently punching her sister.
"But doofus-girl, Momma had me at home and you at home, and this latest Cross I have to bear, she was gonna be born at home, like you, doofus-girl, you moron."
"Ask Momma, brainchild."
"Yeah, right. I'll get some kinda answer, ya sure, ya betcha."
Joe came out. "Momma needs to rest. The doctors need to keep her a day or two to make sure everything is all right. Your sister is fine. I'll call Pastor Jenks and arrange the baptism. Her name is Nancimarie."
"That's a lovely name," said Naomi. "Why was I stuck with a doofus name like Naomi?"
"Now honey, Naomi's a fine name." Joe had the patience of a saint, but it was wearing slightly thin.
"Well, it's better than Nicola, at least, that sounds like a cough drop."
"You troll!" snapped Nicky.
"Girls, I love my truck, but I might still sell you both and buy a newer model. Your new sister has better manners; I think we'll keep her. Now let's go home so you can cook dinner" [groans accompanied this announcement] "and do your homework. Tomorrow is a school day." More groans followed, with Naomi's now-usual threat to have Uncle Tommy call his old shipmates in the Coast Guard and get her enlisted before she reached 17 or graduated from high school, so she could run away.
The CSI team had finished when they reached home, but the blood, though dried, was still on the ground.
"My God, what happened?" cried Nicky, grabbing her face with her hands.
"I knew something was wrong," said Naomi. "You never tell us anything, you and Momma, you think we're too little or too dumb, but dammit...."
"If you ever, ever talk to me like that again, Naomi Burbon, you'll wish you were in the Coast Guard in a hurricane!"
"Daddy, I'm sorry, but you and Momma...."
"All right, your Momma was attacked this afternoon. She fought the attacker. He's dead. She had your sister on the ground out here. Is that plain enough for ya?"
"My God!" Simultaneously shrieks. "Is she all right?" "Is Momma gonna go to jail?"
"You saw her. She's been through a lot, but your Momma's tough; you know how hard she had it growin' up. As for jail, it was self-defense. Momma'll be home real soon."
And she was. The examination at the hospital showed Eve had been sexually assaulted. The assailant carried no identification, and when the Sheriff's Deputies found the car he had driven, they found it was not registered to him, but to a Cally Lee Tyler from an adjoining State, and had been reported stolen by her father.
911 Dispatch had the cellphone number from which Eve had called them. The cellphone was billed to the same Cally Lee Tyler, at the same address as the vehicle registration.
The County Prosecutor decided not to present to the Grand Jury. No charges were brought against Eve Burbon.
Eve came home with her new daughter. She had nightmares for a week, waking up and clutching Joe, screaming, her older daughters rushing in. It was a tense time, as the older girls had to look after Momma and their new sister, and do all the chores and go to school.
They were home from school at the end of that week, when Naomi had had enough as she and Nicky were preparing dinner.
"Lincoln freed the fuckin' slaves," said Naomi, "or did I miss something in American History?"
"Naomi, if Momma hears you cussin', you won't sit down any time soon."
"Child abuse! I'll call the Sheriff and his grandmother!"
"Oh, go wash your mouth out with Clorox!"
"Oh, go take a leak in this dam' soup!"
Eve staggered out, administered a brief but thorough chastisement to both, and said, "I'm tired of lyin' around, nursin' Nancimarie and lookin' at the wall. I'm goin' huntin'." She went back to the bedroom and dressed.
Eve took down her fluorescent orange vest and hat, got her .308 Winchester and five rounds, and the new hunting knife Joe bought her (she couldn't touch the old one when the County Prosecutor returned it to her), and walked out of the house.
Two hours later she returned. Night had fallen. "I marked where the buck is. When your Daddy gets home, I'll tell him where it is and we'll all drag it in t'morra." And she put the remaining four rounds away, and started cleaning her rifle.
She had no more nightmares.
It wasn't until after the birth of Sally Thatcher-Burbon's daughter in December that they found out the whole story.
A stranger came by the house late one Saturday in January. They were all at home; for once, almost all the chores were done.
Joe was there, and Eve was nursing Nancimarie. The girls were finishing their housework and getting ready for the evening milking. They had three fresh cows, and Joe was telling Nicky to get a move on.
The man was driving a once-expensive BMW. He stopped on the gravel, got out, and walked slowly up to Joe.
"Is this the Burbon house?" He mispronounced it "Bourbon", which Joe hated.
"Yep." 'I wonder what he's sellin'', Joe thought.
"I have something to say to Mrs. Burbon."
"She's here, but she ain't receivin' guests just now. Like to tell me what you want?"
"My daughter is--was--Cally Lee Tyler."
"And you're Jack Tyler, then."
"Come on in."
They went into the house. Joe called out "Eve, Mr. Tyler's here to see you."
Eve covered her breasts, keeping Nancimarie's mouth against her nipple. Nancimarie had a healthy appetite.
The men walked in.
"I wanted to say thank you," said Mr. Tyler. "You know what happened to my baby."
Eve said, "It almost happened to me too, Mr. Tyler. Please sit down. Joe, can you get somethin' for Mr. Tyler?"
"No, I don't want anything. She was my only child, and that--that...." He broke down.
Eve wanted to get up, and started to, when Nancimarie removed her mouth from her mother and started to cry. Eve had to stay seated and help her daughter.
Joe got the bottle and a glass and gave Mr. Tyler the whiskey.
He recovered. "I'm glad you killed him. I'm sorry I didn't."
"I'm sorry I didn't, too," said Joe.
"Her mother will never get over this. Even though we broke up years ago, Cally Lee kept us together. Now there's nothing."
There wasn't much more to say. Mr Tyler finished the whiskey and left.
The next Sunday Nancimarie was baptised. Valerie and Sally drove from before daybreak until well into the evening to be there and get back home for work the next day. The pre-Christmas push was on for both of them, and days off weren't possible. Valerie had to do all the driving because Sally and their baby were too big to be comfortable behind the steering wheel.
Sally insisted upon a tree. Valerie wanted a plastic tree, if they had to have one, but Sally insisted upon real blue spruce. She had the decorations from her childhood, and added one or two souvenirs for each succeeding year. She had one from Stowe, for that summer, and smiled as she looked at it, before placing it on the tree.
"It is beautiful," Valerie admitted, "even though this time always hurts me." She was thinking of Mike.
"I know, darling," Sally told her, walking over to hug Valerie.
Valerie hugged back. "Baby, this year will be so special, so wonderful, but still--"
Valerie was crying. Sally held her as tightly as their daughter would permit.
Finally, Sally had to step away as their daughter gave a mighty kick and it felt as if the baby twisted herself completely around.
"Francine Michaela Thatcher-Burbon!" said Valerie, distracted by Sally's sudden movement. "Let Mommy alone, now!" She stopped crying and dried her eyes with her fingers.
Sally, still trying to get comfortable, said, "She's not listening."
"Wait till she gets out of you. We'll spend years trying to get her to listen to either of us."
"Our Christmas present, huh?"
"Yeah, and one I have been wanting for so long."
'Yeah, she's been wanting this baby,' thought Sally, suddenly despressed after the joy of choosing and trimming the Christmas tree. 'So have I, but that's incidental. Dammit, it's still incidental! I'm fucking incidental! I'd go to Master Charles again, but I don't want to be a crybaby, always running to Daddy whenever someone hurts me, or I don't get my own way....'
She remembered Louie, from her schooldays. Louie was a big fat kid whom all the other boys bullied incessantly. Louie's father had died when he was in the fourth grade, and his Mom (who had always run the family anyway) decided to "protect" him. Sally remembered that fourth grade year.
Louie would have done better to run away and hide. Mom showed up at school every other day, it seemed, to "protect" Louie. The teacher, Miss O'Rourke, lectured the class, but it was ultimately ineffective. Louie got bullied worse and worse. 'I don't know how he survived,' she thought, 'how he made it through that year.' She had wanted to help, but had no idea how. She kept quiet and stayed away. The girls could bully just as bad as the boys, if not worse. Survival depended upon not standing out and sucking up to the leaders. Sally learned that lesson early, and well.
Then her mother died, and her life collapsed. Her father, never a strong man, was barely able to hold a job and provide for himself and Sally. Sally put herself through school, apprenticed herself to a man who was going into what was a new business, disaster recovery. She worked seventy-hour weeks for starvation wages, took all the verbal abuse (but fortunately no physical abuse, once she had thrown a heavy-duty stapler at him), learned the business and started her own. Most of the clients followed her.
But her life was empty, until she met Charles.
'And now I have Valerie,' she thought, as her life went by in a second inside her head. 'I have Valerie and I don't know what to do with her. I want to name the baby for my Mommy, Janey. I loved Janey. When she died, I died. I want to give her a grandchild that's her grandchild.'
They ate supper in silence. Sally wanted a drink but couldn't have one. She slept in the cage; it was worse being so pregnant, but she managed to find a comfortable position, and at least her daughter remained quiet until five a.m.
The baby's movements woke her.
The cage was unlocked, as Valerie had gone to sleep before her. Sally crawled out and stretched.
Valerie stirred, reached out her arm, and woke with a start. "Sally? Sally?"
"I'm here, Mistress."
"Did you have to get up?"
"No, Mistress, I slept in the cage."
"In the cage? What for? We're not permitted to play until Francine is born."
"I needed to. I needed to think...to try to find a way...."
"To find a way to do what?"
"To tell you."
"Are we playing games? Tell me what you need to tell me."
"I want to name the baby for my Mommy. Mommy died when I was little. I love her so much, I want to give her a grandchild...."
"Honey, you are giving her a grandchild. But we agreed--her name is Francine Michaela, and I'm adopting her the minute she's born, so we're both her parents."
"I wish I could call her for my Mommy."
09-19-2012, 07:04 AM
RE: A New Birth of Freedom - Nadine Vanquil Sex Story
"Now honey, no."
Sally drooped, her head sunk.
'It's just the hormones,' thought Valerie, 'I'll ask Helen Waston about this, but I'm sure it's just chemical.'
But Sally remained depressed. She dragged herself to the kitchen and started Valerie's breakfast. Although the morning sickness had gone, she didn't want any. Valerie's breakfast was the usual black coffee and oatmeal. Sally cut up a banana and put it in the oatmeal.
Valerie came in to eat her breakfast. "Where's yours, honey? Did you eat already?"
They usually had breakfast together.
"I don't want any."
"Oh baby, don't. We have so much to look forward to. You should see Helen. I'll make an appointment today."
"I don't need Helen, I need Valerie."
"No, baby, don't do this. Please."
Valerie finished her breakfast, showered and dressed quickly. Kissing Sally's forehead, she said "I put the shopping list on the refrigerator. Here's money for the cab to Food Lion. We don't need much, so there's not a lot for you to carry. I'll see you tonight. We're having veal and spinach with mushrooms. Love you." Valerie strode out of the kitchen and out of the house.
Sally said nothing. 'The slave got her orders,' she thought. 'The slave always gets orders. The slave has nothing, owns nothing, is nothing.'
"GODDAMIT, I AM NOT NOTHING!" she shouted. Instead of crying, she reached for her cellphone, the one Valerie had given her.
Charles Vanquil was more than annoyed. "Ms. Thatcher, I am not John Quincy Adams and you are not in chains aboard the Amistad. Nor am I your and Valerie's father. You are both adults, you are both morally bound by your mutual agreements, so grow up and work it out yourselves." Sally's tearful call bit deeper than Charles would admit, even to himself.
"Master, I tried, but she won't listen...."
"Well, try again. Understand, I won't intervene. I will not permit this squabble of yours to enable you to create some sort of psychological ménage à trois with Valerie and me. I hope you have sufficient work to occupy you just now, because I certainly do. Goodbye and good luck."
'Why do I get involved with this?' thought Charles. 'I really must be too kindhearted. Jamie Whynch was saying just that yesterday. The philosophy of dominance...one could write ten volumes and not tell it all. Well, enough.'
Charles went back to work.
Lady Nadine came home just as Charles finished executing the trades that Sally had interrupted, closing out positions and reckoning the profits and taxes generated.
"Hello, darling, how's business?" she asked.
"Not as good as it would have been if Ms. Thatcher hadn't interrupted me, trying to get me involved in her latest spat with Valerie. Getting her pregnant wasn't Valerie's smoothest manoeuvre this year."
"Don't blame it on the baby, dear."
"If there wasn't going to be a baby, they wouldn't be fighting over the baby's name. Let's have some lunch, I'm hungry."
"The baby's name? I thought they were naming her for Francine Traline and Valerie's husband Mike."
"Yes, it was settled. Except Sally now wants to name the child for her mother."
"And of course Valerie is adamant, and Sally is resentful, and they expect me to play Solomon and cut the baby in two, so they can each have her own way. And I won't do it."
"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be fucked up the ass...by both sides," said Lady Nadine, smiling.
Charles rose from the sofa, moving his laptop to one side, and kissed her. "They did teach you something useful at Wellesley."
"More than they taught you at Harvard," she replied, sticking out her tongue, which he seized between his teeth and licked.
Parting momentarily, they went to check on Chip and have lunch.
Sally was going to go to see Helen Waston on her way to the Food Lion, but she didn't feel like talking any more. Master Charles had ground her down. She felt abandoned. She went through the aisles listlessly, checking off items on the list and paying for them with their joint low-limit credit card.
Waiting for the taxi to take her home, she felt the contractions start.
They were light enough so that she thought they were just practice. The taxi arrived quickly, as it was still early afternoon. There was almost no traffic going back home. As she finished putting the groceries away, and putting the credit card slip in the folder for Valerie to review, the contractions got firmer.
Sally knew first babies could be late; her due date was still two days away. She went to her computer and started to answer the few business e-mails that were in her inbox. Nobody wanted to work with the holidays so near.
The next contraction was firmer, grinding its way into her. Sally realized this might not be practice.
'Call Mistress, call Master, call Helen....' It seemed too much. Sally could handle burned-out businesses, flooded factories, industrial vandalism. Sally could deal with thieves and con-artists, insurance companies, lawyers, accountants, tax officials, fire investigators, police; but right this minute she couldn't deal with anything.
There was no "she" any more.
Sally sank to the kitchen floor. She lay there. The contractions kept dragging through her in waves.
She struggled to kick off her shoes and lower her jeans and panties. If the baby came, it would be easier...or would it?
She lay back down. The pain got worse, but she was used to pain. Pain was all that was left.
The contractions continued, as the afternoon light waned, as the sky turned a yellow-grey through the sliver of window she could see from where she lay.
The water broke, and ran over the floor. The pain got worse, and then worse still. Sally drifted into the subspace of pain she had not visited for so long. Her body was being torn apart, her Mommy was dead, Mistress and Master would take this baby away from her.... Sally was crying, her body shaking.
Winter night, full dark, shut out the world. Something black, like a cloud, was covering her. She'd be dead soon, the pain would stop, she would be with Mommy, she would be safe, away from Mistress and Master, away from the pain, at last, at last....
"Sally! What the hell?!" Valerie was kneeling beside her, her skirt wet with the water on the floor. "Oh my God, the baby's coming, you didn't call, oh darling, don't leave me don't leave me!" Valerie pulled her inseparable cellphone from her side and jabbed the "emergency" key.
"911, what is your emergency?"
"Three Seven One One Garfield, lady having a baby, lady in shock, need ambulance."
"Are you with the lady, ma'am?"
"Keep her warm. No food or drink. I'm sending an ambulance. Are you Valerie Burbon?" The operator mispronounced her name as "Bourbon", but Valerie didn't correct him. "Yes." "Stay on the line, ma'am."
The next five minutes saw Valerie cover Sally with the first thing she could find, a tablecloth that they never used again, put her heavy neck-to-ankle down coat over it, and she stayed beside Sally, holding her hand, kissing her cheek and forehead. "Baby, please stay, oh please stay, I love you so much."
The siren's wail came nearer. "Ma'am," came the voice through the cellphone, "they're coming to your door, open for them please." "Oh thank you thank you," Valerie gasped into the phone and jumped to the front door.
The EMTs, unemotional, brisk, professional, strapped Sally to the stretcher, lifted her quickly and placed her in the ambulance. Valerie tried to get in with her, but the EMT stopped her. "Sorry, ma'am, you can follow if you wish."
"If I wish?!" Valerie locked the house door and jumped into her car, her wet skirt chilling her as she followed the ambulance, driving a lot faster than the law would allow.
Valerie sat shivering outside the birthing room, as Helen Waston had ordered her to wait while she made sure Sally was in no danger. Sally's blood pressure had dropped, and Helen had to work to stabilize her patient and to keep the baby safe.
Valerie heard Sally's grunts, her scream, and stood up. She would go to Sally and no one, nothing, would stop her. As she did, she almost knocked over the nurse Helen had sent to tell her to come in.
As she and the nurse untangled themselves, she heard the cry.
"Oh, thank God, the baby!"
Francine Michaela Thatcher-Burbon's head was elongated from pushing its owner's way through Sally's body to the world outside. A dense mop of hair covered her eyes, which were blinking rapidly at the strange light.
"Is she all right?" Valerie asked desperately, as she ran into the birthing room.
"She's fine," Helen said. "She had a hard time getting out, but she'll be just gorgeous in a day or two."
"Sally, darling, are you all right?"
"Oh, Mistress, I'm so tired. I hurt, and I'm tired. Is she all right?"
"Darling, she's fine, I'm so happy, I love you both so much."
"We're just going to weigh and measure her, take a test or two, nothing invasive, clean her up a little and bring her back to her mommy," said the nurse.
"Mommy," said Sally, crying.
"I'll stay with you tonight, darling," said Valerie. "I'll call Franklin Moore in the morning and start the adoption. You won't need to sign papers for a couple of days. We'll both be her parents then."
"I want to be her mommy."
"Oh, my dearest, my love, you always will be."
Sally tried breastfeeding Francine when they brought her back. They both drifted off to sleep. Valerie and the nurse made sure they both were securely tucked in. Valerie begged some dry scrub bottoms from Helen to replace her dripping skirt.
Francine and her parents then spent their first night together.
"Godfather? It sounds like a bad movie," said Charles. "And no, I won't undertake to see this child raised in a religion in which I do not believe."
They had come to see Master Charles the week after Sally came home from the hospital.
"Master, I had to ask," said Sally. Valerie nodded, but her face showed no more enthusiasm than Charles'.
"Then you must find someone else, dear Sally. I'm sure you have a friend who will undertake this largely ceremonial role."
"Will you come to her baptism?"
"Of course. You are very important to me. Is Francine going to be godmother?"
"Yes, but she doesn't know it yet," said Valerie. "I want to surprise her. I'll tell her as we stand together in the church. After submitting to her again, to show how much I trust her, I want to show how much I love her by naming my daughter after her."
"And you think surprising her shows your love?"
"Why yes, Master."
"Don't you think it might be embarrassing to her, to make her have to deal with this in front of all the people at this ceremony?"
"Master, I never thought this might cause her any embarrassment, I meant it to show my love...."
"And perhaps just a little, to show her how what she did to you embarrassed you, exposed you in public?"
"Master, no, never! I never...."
"You never thought, Valerie. Or if you thought, you never examined the implications. Tell Francine in advance, and let her decide to accept your gift."
"And now, for Sally. Oh, good evening, my dear."
Lady Nadine walked into the room, smiled at Valerie and Sally, and kissed Charles.
"Did I miss anything, dear?"
"Only that Valerie will tell Francine what she intends before the christening, or baptism, or whatever it is, and get her consent. And I am not going to be godfather."
"Good as to the first, and too bad as to the second. I so much would have liked to see Al Pacino as Charles Vanquil, with a mandolin obbligato. And to imagine all those people being shot or garroted, as you are taking the vows or whatever they are."
"My dear, much as it hurts me to disappoint you, I regret...."
Chip Vanquil let out a howl, and his parents went to his cradle. Francine Michaela, lying in her carseat and hearing another child, joined in. As their parents picked them up, their eyes met, and held.
They stood at the font in the back of the church, Sally, Valerie and Francine. Joe and Eve Burbon joined them, Joe as godfather.
The priest asked, "Name of this child?"
Valerie and Sally answered together, "Francine Michaela."
As they left the church, Valerie whispered to Sally, "Our next baby will be named Janey."
"Our next?" Sally was surprised. "I thought you would want to stop at one."
"My darling Sally, my love, my soul, to make you happy I'll stop at nothing."
Copyright notice: The foregoing is a "derivative work", as that term is defined in Title 17 United States Code §101. The characters named Charles Vanquil, Lady Nadine Vanquil, Valerie Burbon, Sally Thatcher, "Joe" Burbon as the brother of Michael Burbon, Michael Burbon, Francine Traline and Dr Helen Waston, the places named, respectively, the home or residence of Valerie Burbon and Sally Thatcher, and the home or residence of Charles Vanquil and Lady Nadine Vanquil, are all derived from literary works or productions copyrighted by dweaver999 (all the foregoing named characters, places, works and productions are hereinafter collectively the "dweaver999 products"), are the property of dweaver999, and all rights in and to any or all thereof, are copyrighted and reserved to dweaver999, pursuant to the provisions of Title 17 of the United States Code, and the Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works, signed at Berne, Switzerland, on September 9, 1886, and all acts, protocols, and revisions thereto (said Convention, acts, protocols and revisions are hereinafter collectively the "Berne Convention"). The balance of the foregoing, exclusive of the dweaver999 products, is copyrighted, and all rights reserved in like manner, by estragon, pursuant to said Title 17 of the United States Code and the Berne Convention. No part of the foregoing may be reproduced or distributed in any form, whether or not for profit, without the express prior written consent of both dweaver999 and estragon. The foregoing is published by estragon under one single license from dweaver999, for this publication and for no other. All brand names and trademarks, trade dress of any description, or materials copyrighted or otherwise legally-protected incidentally referred to in the foregoing, are the property of the respective holders thereof. The publication of the foregoing, and the references hereinabove, do not create any principal-agent relationship, partnership or joint venture between dweaver999 and estragon, other than as licensor-licensee to the extent herein set forth and not otherwise, and none should be implied; neither has any authority to act for the other, except as may be specified by separate written agreement and signed by each of them in each instance. This publication neither creates nor evidences any assignment of any copyright reserved herein or elsewhere by any party. Any reference to any person living or dead, or to any actual acts, transactions or occurrences, is purely coincidental, except as to public figures or institutions. In respect of all such public figures or institutions a qualified Federal and State Constitutional privilege is hereby asserted. The foregoing is not, and should not be used as, legal or tax advice. Pursuant to 31 CFR §10.0 et seq., the foregoing is not intended, and cannot be used, to avoid any penalty. The foregoing does not create or evidence any client-attorney relationship.
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