The Major's Pretty Baby Face

June, 2011

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I found his note instructing me to wake him by four in the afternoon when I returned from a pleasant early afternoon lunch date with his mother.

My Master, Matthew, naps after workouts on his pommel horse or weight machine in the basement.

In preparation, I will undress completely and take down my dark honey blond hair. Today I wore it in a braided bun as he instructed before I left the house. It will be nice and wavy for my Matthew's hands to caress while I suck on his cock and balls.

Matthew says I have stunningly intelligent and expressive blue eyes. He makes me look into his eyes when I suck on his cock.

I have grown my hair very long for him. It falls in soft thick waves to the bottom of my firm round ass cheeks to show off and enhance my curvaceous figure. Matthew says my hair is very beautiful but he wants it longer still. My master is not one for false praise nor will he be denied.

Matthew says he has watched my sexuality bloom like the most colorful and exotic of rare tropical flowers. That is how Matthew describes those changes in me. I no longer suppress my submissive sexuality and passive nature, I embrace them.

Another of the changes I have discovered about myself is that I enjoy a little bit of pain. It heightens my arousal and enhances my glorious orgasms and obedience to him for I am a true slut, Matthew's slut.

Especially while being bound and helpless. I am forced to wait, sometimes for hours in longing desire as my juices flow making me wet with arousal and yearning for his touch.

When Matthew uses me for his pleasure my multiple orgasms seem endless as they burn through my body when he ravishes me. I love having my hair pulled when he fucks me hard.

I am mandated to exercise daily to maintain my figure or I will be spanked and it will hurt. My punishments are tailored to the situation.

Although I am 37, I can easily pass for a much younger woman in her twenties because he has seen to that.

I can kneel or be bound helpless for hours with little discomfort because of my daily yoga and Matthew is very proud of me.

I have also discovered early morning exercise and yoga invigorates my creative energy for the day. I can easily keep up with him on his long walks or our frequent backpacking wilderness camping trips.

I no longer work for Wright Insurance and Securities. I am much too busy taking care of our home.

Mathew teases me and calls me his kept woman or his Mistress. To the world we are boyfriend and girlfriend.

Matthew's family accepted me as one of their own and his mother treats me like a daughter. His sister, Laura, keeps pushing us to get married.

I am a woman of leisure in a matter of speaking. I am free to stay home to paint and draw. My paintings, my chalk and charcoal drawings are on display in several art galleries. The proceeds from their sale go to charity and for my art supplies.

I have everything I possibly need. I have Matthew and he sees to all my needs. Clara would be scandalized if she knew, may her soul rest in peace. I have a cleaning lady that comes in three times a week. Matthew insists on it.

I have no excuse not to look my best for my Master. My hair and makeup must always be perfect. Frumpy is no longer in my vocabulary and he oversees the purchase of all of my clothing and chooses my hairstyle for the day.

I was a married woman of thirty when I went to work for Matthew. I was fifty pounds heavier having let myself go frumpy. I wore loose and baggy clothing and stopped wearing makeup entirely. That has all changed.

Now at 37 years of age I weigh a fit and trim one hundred twenty five pounds at five-eight. My Master monitors my weight carefully and heaven help me if I gain more than five pounds.

He disciplines himself as well. At six-four he is strong and fit, like the competitive gymnast and hockey player he once was. I love my Master and I know in my heart that he loves me. If Matthew would only come out and say it, "I love you Chastity'.

Matthew has ordered me to share my story... our story, and so I shall. He will interject his opinions and perceptions from time to time.

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My ex- husband, Donald, is doing two consecutive life sentences resulting from killing a young mother and her infant daughter in an automobile accident.

Donald was drunk at the time. It was the third time he was arrested for driving while under the influence.

I was never accepted by my husband's mother. Clara was always interfering in our marriage and her lists of complains, criticisms and advice were endless. Holidays were always stressful with my mother-in-law.

Before I was married my family took turns for the holidays. Dad's family would get Christmas Eve and Mom's Family Christmas Day. We would alternate from year to year.

I followed that same tradition while I was married to Donald. We went back and forth between Donald's family and mine. Donald spent all holiday's with his family leaving early when it was our turn to spend the day with mine.

When I was with Donald's family, I had to listen to my mother-in-law's hymns of praise about Clara's three other daughter-in-laws, the ones who were knuckled under and spent all their Holiday's with her. Holiday's with Donald's family was like a depressing sitcom with an abundance of good food.

The final nail in my coffin was when my mother-in-law found out I couldn't have children.

If nothing else Clara doted on her many grandchildren, eight, and she spoiled them terribly. Clara blamed me being sterile for her son's drinking; as if Donald needed any excuse to drink.

My ex-husband is a cowardly momma's boy. There is no doubt about that. Donald never took my side against his mother, even when his own brothers stuck up for me. He always wanted me to compromise which meant to capitulate in full to keep the peace.

It wasn't only the drinking that drove me into the arms of another man. Sober and temperate, Donald will always be a momma's boy.

My pathetic ex-husband refused to get help for his addiction. Donald was a functioning alcoholic like his father. His three older brothers drank but were smart enough to drink at home and sparingly.

Even early in our marriage, Donald liked to drink in low class dives. I had a bad feeling about that; why not drink in nice bars.

Matthew says I am attuned to such things, more so than him. I followed Donald once to see if he was cheating on me.

I waited in the shadows of the parking lot. Donald came staggering out of the bar with a woman; a woman old enough to be his mother.

The barfly stopped to smoke one of those long thin cigarettes. She held it between her fingers trying to emulate the graceful movements of the old time movie actresses when smoking was thought to be sexy.

I watched as the anonymous old floozy inhaled and held the noxious smoke in her tar coated lungs before letting the smoke out, some escaping through her nose. This old Cyprian spit on the ground while reaching around under her dress to adjust the crotch of her panties.

The old trollop then grabbed Donald by the crotch and kissed his mouth. My husband actually let her. I was ready to vomit when she turned her head to cough and spit up some phlegm onto the ground before kissing my husband's lips again.

They went to Donald's truck where she gave him a blowjob followed by the old broken down lush, rolling down the window to spit his semen outside along with whatever other juices resided in her mouth. Donald put his arm around her shoulder and she cuddled up next to him.

Donald held her for a half-hour while they sat in the truck sharing a fifth of cheap whiskey. She smoked several more of those cigarettes in between sips.

Finally, the woman got out and my husband drove off to who knows where. The old lush smoked another cigarette before going back into the bar.

I sat in my rust bucket of a car trying to make sense of things while gathering the courage to go inside to confront the home wrecker.

Once inside the "Palace of Song"; that was the actual name of the dive, I sat at the bar across from the whiskey marinated barfly.

I don't drink at all. I had to order something to blend in so I ordered Rum & Coke.

From where I was sitting I could see the bartender cleaning my glass on the stationary brush after dipping it into the sink on the side containing a greenish sterilizing solution. There were tiny flecks of who knows what floating in it along with a cigarette butt.

Next, the bartender put it in the other side full of gray rinse water before dumping it out to fill it with ice. He dumped the ice out and rinsed my glass in clean hot water from the faucet when he saw I was watching him.

"All new customers get their first drink on the house," the bartender announced, smiling magnanimously, "I own this landmark establishment and the laundry mat across the street. I see that you are married," he added, glancing at my wedding band and engagement ring, "Are you meeting your husband here?"

"You might say that," I replied, wishing the bartender would go away. He was hitting on me. I realized I said the wrong thing and must have given him the wrong impression because several of the men at the bar were watching me intently when I walked in. They were listening as intently to the exchange. One of them got off his stool and sat down next to me.

"Yes, I am meeting my husband. We are going out for dinner when he gets out from work." I lied to no avail. The man sitting next to me tried to start up a conversation. I ignored him. I was a married woman who didn't belong here.

I never go to bars, but I continued to watch my husband's choice in women to cheat on me. Eventually, Romeo took the hint and left; another Romeo took his place and tried the same.

Noticing I was staring, the lush walked over and asked, "Why are you staring at me? What's your problem, huh?"

I had to think fast, "Excuse me for being rude. I was taught better than that. I was wondering if you were she. The resemblance is uncanny. My mother used to take me to the Community Theater on Delaware when I was a little girl," that part was true.

"What do you mean," she asked.

I'm sure I saw you on stage. I'll never forget my first and favorite musical, "Oklahoma". What a voice that actress had, even better than Shirley Jones. I thought it was you; I mean that actress was prettier. That wonderful inspiring actress was blonde, and you are a blonde. Oh, I know that was a long time ago but....."

The old floozy smiled and I was thinking, 'good she bought it.'

"I can act, sing and dance," interrupted the man sitting next to me. "I can be anybody you want. Let's pretend I'm your husband. Bartender, buy my wife a drink!"

The bartender brought me a chit and put it next to my untouched drink before scooping up several dollars from the pile of bills in front of the second Romeo to pay for it.

"No, I never sang in Oklahoma, but I do remember the Community Theatre on Delaware. I sang there in a musical during my senior year of high school. The musical was "South Pacific."

I am a singer by profession. I have starred in numerous engagements in Las Vegas before I returned back home to sing locally. You were too young to go to those places, honey. I'm sure your Mother wouldn't take you there."

"Why don't you sing for us, Nancy?" Romeo two said, interrupting again. Can you sing "far away"?"

"Buzz off, Fred. Can't you see we're having a conversation and the lady is not interested?"

"It's a free country, Nancy," the man replied taking my chit and going back to where he was sitting.

I stayed for almost two hours trying to make a graceful exit as Nancy told me her life story, embellishing it a bit I'm sure.

Nancy's age was from sixty five to seventy. She was thin to the point of emaciation. Nancy's dress was much too young a style for her and had seen better days. I could tell that she tried very hard to keep neat and clean despite smelling like booze and stale cigarettes.

She was wearing far too much face powder and ridiculous amounts of rouge on her cheeks. There was a tooth missing in her dentures when she smiled. Nancy was smiling now that she had a sympathetic ear.

Nancy's thinning dirty gray bleached blonde hair was pulled back in a short narrow ponytail and she had feathers in it.

I found out that Miss Nancy Grace lived in a room above the bar and worked in the Laundry Mat across the street. Miss Grace wanted me to take me up there to show me her scrap book.

It was sad really. In other circumstances I might have gone. I felt sorry for this woman. I was ashamed of myself for labeling Miss Grace with names like lush, floozy, trollop or barfly. Nancy was a lonely, lost soul.

I was hurting myself yet I stayed to listen when I could have just walked out.

Before I left we went to the far wall. There was a large poster advertising her singing engagement. The poster is similar to what is seen now in movie theatres.

It was under glass and framed in dark oak. There were other signed pictures on that wall featuring local celebrities and some famous ones, when this place saw better days as a booming popular nightclub, and before that a landmark tavern and stage house.

The photos and plaques were dusty. The glass was oily and grimy, except for Miss Grace's. The wood was clean and smelled like lemon oil and the glass was crystal clear. The glass seemed to sparkle, even in the dim light of the sparsely placed incandescent light bulbs in the high ceiling fans.

Miss Grace had such a faraway look on her face as she touched in reverently....remembering.

The Poster was a lithograph of Miss Grace when she was a woman about my age. Her arms extended in welcome to the audience with the outline of a full orchestra in the background, and Miss Grace was wearing a colorful flouncy dress with feathers in her full long blonde hair.

The lettering at the bottom gave the dates and places of her singing engagement, announcing in bold letters "Starring Nancy Grace". Those years were the Pinnacle of her life, and now?

Miss Grace did sing in nightclubs and appeared in Las Vegas in some of the smaller Casinos for a time. Then in various lounges and finally as she got older, dive bars for pittance wages and drinks, but mostly for the chance to be in the limelight.

Nancy graciously sang the theme song of "Oklahoma" for me and I was surprised she knew the words. In her day Nancy must have had a fabulous singing voice. The cigarettes and booze had taken much of it.

Before I left Miss Grace showed me a much worn and faded color photo of her when she was a teenage girl. She was standing behind a table with a birthday cake on the table lit with candles.

Nancy was wearing a simple blue dress with a lace collar and her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

There was a young man standing next to Nancy. They were standing and looking at one another, arms straight out and fully extended. They were holding hands

It was obvious from how they were standing and how they were looking at one another that they were in love. Women know these things.

I could tell that young man absolutely adored Nancy...it was that obvious.

"I was eighteen when this picture was taken, Chastity, we both were. The photo was taken on Sunday, right after Church. Momma and I used to sing in the Choir.

It was my birthday and my Mom gave me a surprise birthday party. Charlie popped the question to me as I was getting ready to blow out the candles. I accepted. We were to be married in June.

The alcohol was starting to wear off and Miss Grace seemed a different woman now.

"Something came up and I.....I mean something always came up with me. I was getting one singing engagement after another and I was always out late singing or rehearsing, I....

We never...." Nancy paused and wiped a tear as she stared at that photo. I gave her some Kleenex from my purse.

Miss Grace wiped her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself. She looked kindly at me. It was then that I realized that her eyes were the same color as mine, the same deep blue that my Master likens to priceless sapphires. Age and alcohol had not dimmed the brilliant blue color of Nancy's eyes.

"I don't know why you are here, honey and it doesn't matter. You don't belong in a place like this. I can tell. You have never done anything like this before. You haven't touched your drink.

Miss Grace sounded more like a kindly Mother now then the low woman that I first assumed her to be.

"Look at you, dear. You didn't even have the sense to take your rings off. Go home to your husband, honey. It can't be all that bad. Go home, Chastity."

I went into that bar intending to confront the woman and leave hating her. I assumed hating that woman would make me feel better.

Instead, I left the bar feeling sorry for her. I was feeling sorry for myself while hating my husband. Hating my husband didn't make me feel better, just worse.

Miss Grace was a lonely old woman trying to relive her youth. She had no idea that Donald was my husband.

I went home to find Donald passed out on the sofa. I went to bed not bothering to cover him with a quilt like I always do.

I lay there thinking about my birthday next month. I couldn't get that photo Nancy showed me out of my mind.

Clara would invite me over for cake. My favorite cake is chocolate and my favorite dessert is anything chocolate.

Donald's favorite cake is white with strawberry filling and strawberry icing with fresh strawberries on top and that is what Clara will serve for my birthday.

Every year I was polite and would stay a couple of hours. Donald would spend the rest of the evening with his brothers while I would have chocolate cake and chocolate ice cream with my mother and family. Clara complained to Donald that I am antisocial because I left early; the same scenario every year.

I cried myself to sleep that night. Donald, who had a hangover, woke me up early the next morning demanding his breakfast.

My husband had no plausible explanation why his wedding band was not on his finger. He suddenly decided to catch breakfast on the way to work.

Later in the day Donald telephoned to claim that he left it on the sink in the construction trailer the day before when he was washing his hands and somebody stole it.

Until that night, I tried very hard to please my husband and be a good wife. I was polite and respectful to my mother-in-law. May Clara's soul rest in peace. The woman found fault with everything I did. Donald, the baby of the family could do no wrong.

I am not a confrontational woman. I have been described as a cheerful, friendly person, although I am secretly shy and admittedly passive. I go out of my way to please everybody. I was taught it is better to give than to receive. Clara was a lost cause.

I stopped talking to Donald and refused to sleep in the same bed with him. I cleaned our house and cooked Donald's meals ahead of time for him to heat up.

Donald eventually figured it out. He confessed everything and begged me not to tell his mother.

In the end I didn't. What would be the point?

My Mom would find out and it would break her heart. Clara would twist things around and put all the blame on me.

I would have kept my mouth shut, regardless. Donald tried to make it up to me. I continued to freeze him out and refused to talk to him.

Donald surprised me on my Birthday. He was gone when I got up. I noticed my old sedan was gone while I looked out the window waiting for the coffee pot to fill in the sink.

There was a brand new emerald green Toyota Tacoma four wheel drive pickup up truck in the driveway with happy birthday written on the windshield in soap.