A Memoir of the New Paradigm Chapter 3 by Sunblind - written for DTM / Amy's Conquest *** The Below is an extended segment from this story, written for us by an Incredibly talented author, Sunblind, whose other stories you can read here on Diana The Valkyrie! For the Full Story of "A Memoir of the New Paradigm (Chapter 3)", please visit our Member's Section at Amy's Conquest (www.amysconquest.com), or purchase it on its own on our AC site. Thanks all, and as always, hope you Enjoy! *** ******************** "Son of a bitch, Janey's going to be mad," is what I thought to myself as Jeanette Ellerbee, the head of the Economics department, lifted me on to the bar. We were in the tastefully decorated den of her home, having drinks before lunch. "Go ahead, Sweetheart," she motioned to, Cheryl Wraith, the young graduate student sitting across from her, "You suck him off before lunch, and I'll take my turn afterwards." "He's wearing a glove." "So, just shrink him, he'll shrink right out of it." That had a been an easy work-around for standard chastity technology, but these two were about to be disappointed. When we developed my glove, we infused it with a nano-technology that married the glove's cells to the cells of its wearer. So, when the wearer shrunk, so did the glove. I, of course, don't really understand any of the science. It was just my idea. ********** That idea had come about following an incident that had happened early in the summer, right after high school graduation. Janey lived on one side. My other neighbor was a widow; Mrs. Carpenter. Mrs. Carpenter had been a widow my whole life. She was a pleasant lady, in her early 70's, who baked cookies, and always gave out full-size candy bars at Hallowe'en. I had cut her lawn since I was about twelve years old, and she'd often call me over to help her with small tasks like changing a light bulb or moving some furniture. And like every other woman in the world, she had enhanced. Prior to enhancement, Mrs. Carpenter had no feminine shape. She had aged into one of those bodies that was simply asexual. Her boobs had sagged to her stomach. Her stomach had sagged to her hips. Her rear end was just for sitting. Post-enhancement, her boobs sat high, and mighty, easily filling a double E-cup bra. Her stomach was flat, her hips flared, and her butt was a pleasant bubble. Her hair was still stark white, and her face was still wrinkled, but she was once again, clearly a woman. And like all other women she was gigantically strong. It was the last weekend in July, and as I was finishing cutting her grass, she had come out and asked if I would come inside and take a look at her garbage disposal. It wasn't turning when she flipped the switch and she thought it might be clogged. So, I towelled myself off, and made my way in to the kitchen. I got down on the floor, and backed myself under the unit, under the sink. Lying on my back, my upper body was in the cabinet beneath the sink with my legs sticking out. I had just figured out that there was nothing wrong with the garbage disposal, when I felt her hand on my cock. (I was naked, having removed my clothes upon entering her home...more on that later.) She quickly paralyzed me, and gingerly lifted me out of the cabinet. I immediately saw that while I was working my way under the cabinet, she had removed the house dress she was wearing, and was now clad only in a beige bra and panties. She easily carried me to the couch in her living room. I tried to make my look pleading, but she was not to be deterred. She rubbed me until I was hard, and then, rather unceremoniously, took me into her mouth. "Mrs. Carpenter, please..." I begged. She made no response. As I've said before, cumming is cumming, but the humiliation of being taken by my little old lady neighbor was immeasurable. I tried not to hold back at all because I wanted it to be over as soon as possible. When I came, she, of course, sucked down every drop; and once she was finished, rather than waiting, she restored my ability to move. I wanted nothing more than to get up and run out of there, but she placed her hand gently on my chest, and held me in place. I put both of my hands on her wrist and pushed with all my might. It was like trying to lift a telephone pole out of the ground. I finally gave up. "Please, Mrs. Carpenter, let me go." It was barely audible, as the pressure from her hand was limiting my breathing pretty dramatically. That seemed to flip her switch, and she came back into herself. She looked almost surprised at the situation, and when she looked down at herself, she quickly picked up her hand, and covered her cleavage area. Then, averting her eyes from my nudity, she motioned me to the door. I grabbed my clothes, which I had left by the door, and got out of there before she changed her mind about letting me leave. I waited until we were in the diner, having ice cream, after the movie that we'd gone to that night to tell Janey what had happened. I thought she'd be angry. I was right. I thought she would be angry at Mrs. Carpenter. I was wrong. "Wait a second. It sounds like you're saying that this was somehow my fault." She put down her cup of coffee, sat back in her seat, and gave me a very sober look. "You know, Janey...I'm the victim here. She lured me in to the house and took me without even giving me a chance to fight her off." "And my point is...why did you let yourself get into that position in the first place. You need to be more aware of your situation." I was stunned. "Next you're going to suggest that it's my fault because my cock was out and that I got what I deserved." Janey pointedly did not answer. She took another sip of coffee, and we eyed each other a bit more. I put my eyes on my ice cream, and muttered, mostly to myself, "Wow." We finished our ice cream in silence and drove home. Once inside the door at Janey's house, I quickly stripped, and folded my clothes into a neat pile by the door. And this explains the reason I was nude at Mrs. Carpenter's: One of the first directives to come down from the New Paradigm Leadership allowed women to require that men be naked when in their (womens') homes. Janey's mother, of course, enforced the regulation, as, quite frankly, did my step-mother. It was, of course, very weird at first, but womens' actions were now very much dictated by the Testostrogen, and the new norms took hold very quickly, such that it often felt like it had always been this way. In fact, once, while up in her room, just after the Naked in the Home Directive had been issued, I had commented that it seemed like the only good thing to come out of the New Paradigm was that, from its outset, Janey's mom and my step-mom did not have any issues about us being alone in her room, or even spending the night together. Janey, who at that moment happened to be topless, walked over and gently mashed her boobs into my naked chest. The she put her hands on my shoulders and forced me to my knees. Slipping my head under the skirt she was wearing at the time, she pressed my face into her womanly area, and said, "They know that you can't take advantage of me, and that even if you could, I can't get pregnant unless I allow it. And, of course, they don't care if I take advantage of you." Then she had walked forward, forcing me, despite my having put all my considerable strength into resisting her, a resistance of which I am sure she didn't even feel, to my back, and sat her panties-clad pussy right on to my face. She ground on me a bit to emphasize her potential for dominance. Then she popped up, and lifted me onto my feet, and into a hug with my arms over hers. She snuggled in and made herself small in my arms. "You know, if the Testostrogen requires it...if you need me on my knees...or...you know...stuff like you just did...I understand." She had sighed in response. "Maybe once in a while, as a sex game, I might toss you around a little, or sit on you a bit, or take you "against your will." I love making you little, but not to dominate you. I just love to put...you know...all of you, in between my boobs. I feel so close to you when I do that. But I don't want to be your Mistress...in the bedroom...or out; and I certainly don't want you to be my slave. I want our relationship to be as normal...as Old Paradigm as possible...in a world where women basically have superpowers, and men don't. We just have to be careful about how we present in public, because these new rules are going to start coming fast and furious, and pretty soon there are going to be consequences if we violate them and get caught. "Like what kind of consequences?" "Like separation. You'd probably be assigned to another woman...and not your step-mom...it would be far away." "And for you." "I'd probably have to take some classes, and I'd be watched pretty closely going forward to make sure I was properly abusive of any man I might be involved with after that." "I don't think I could...you know...live..." "If it came to that, we'd run away. I hear they're much more tolerant in Norway, or Australia." I knelt in front of her. This time, of my own volition. I put my head under her skirt and kissed her hard, right on her spot. I peeled down her panties and licked her lips up and down a few times. She moaned and fell back against the wall that was, luckily, right behind her. Then I brought my finger up into the mix, and in just a few minutes she was melting. Never removing my finger from inside of her, I got to my feet. Her eyes were closed, and her hands were working her nipples furiously. Her skirt had ridden up around her belly, so her feminine triangle was completely exposed. I pressed into her, and she pretty much climbed on to my hips; and I took her against the wall like it was my god-given right. "You think you're so strong. You may be a little strong, but all it takes is a few kisses on your other lips, and you're weak as a kitten." Janey moaned, and put light little love bites all over my neck. "Oh...my...god...your cock..." was all she managed. Her tits were mashed against my chest, and I had her perfect ass in my hands; and I was lifting her up and down my shaft. We were in perfect rhythm. We orgasmed together. And then I spent the next couple of hours at the hardware store buying drywall, and tape, and paint; and repairing the rather large hole that we made in her bedroom wall. And from there we had somehow arrived, without warning, to a place where Janey was acting like every other New Paradigm woman and blaming me for simply being a man, in the presence of a woman, who had pressed her advantage in a circumstance where I was helpless to resist. So, after ice cream, we had gone back to her house, and I had dutifully stripped. Once I was nude, I turned back to Janey, who had uncharacteristically stayed with me while I undressed. Usually, she would head upstairs, and I would catch up, but tonight she had stayed. She had been wearing a pink polo shirt, denim shorts, and flip flops, but she had removed the shirt and the shorts (and the flip flops). Her bra was a lacy pink confection that pushed her together creating an absolutely obscene amount of cleavage. Her panties were a hotter pink. She stepped gently to me and lifted me over her shoulder. "I've decided...it's time to lock up your penis...I don't want what happened today to ever happen again. Your cock...your semen...belong to me..." I struggled to get down from her shoulder, but that was, of course, futile; and she gave me a good squeeze to let me know I was treading on thin ice. "I'm not playing around...and you better take that to heart." And she gave me another good squeeze for emphasis. "This is the way it's going to be from now on..." I pushed on her as hard as I could. Nothing. But this time, she squeezed me, and reached her arm over my butt, and between my legs and took hold of my balls and gave them a pretty hard squeeze. I whimpered because it really, really hurt. "A.J." her voice was hard, "This is happening.... Don't make me do things to you that will make us both sorry later." I just hung over her back. "I want to hear you say that you understand why this is necessary." "Janey...what the..." She flipped me hard to the ground. I rolled over a few times, and she was on me before I came to a stop. She flipped me onto my back, and laying prone, perpendicular to me, wrapped one arm around her breasts, so that they were basically a unit, and dropped their underside onto my face. I struggled to get out from under them. No chance. I was on the brink of unconsciousness when she let up. "Say: 'Janey, I understand why this is necessary.'" I stared up at her, helpless, but defiant. And down came her breasts again. And again, she held me until I was nearly passed out. Finally, she let up. "A.J., I swear, I will put you over my knee, and you won't be able to sit down for a week. Now tell me that you understand why this is necessary." I immediately rolled my lips into my mouth to show that, no matter what, I had no intention of giving in. And faster than I could follow, she had us to the couch. I was bent over her left knee, and my legs were both captured under her right leg. I could feel the weight of her breasts as they spread out across my back, halfway across me, and from right above my ass to between my shoulder blades. She held me fast under them with her left forearm across my back. And she spanked me. The sound of flesh meeting flesh as her hand crashed to my bottom repeatedly was so loud, I thought it was probably audible out on the street. It seemed to go on forever. I did not make a sound the whole time. I did, however, literally bite through my tongue. Not all the way, but I opened a cut that bled pretty badly. When it was over, she lifted me back onto her shoulder and laid me on the floor on my back. I immediately rolled to my side, because of how painful it was when my rear end touched the rug. She disappeared for a few minutes, and when she returned, she had a lot of gauze, a towel, and what looked like a medieval torture device. The first thing she did was carefully pack my mouth with gauze. I just lay there, dazed and yielding. She'd beaten the fight out of me. Then she sat down on the floor behind me with her legs spread wide and gathered me into her so that her front was to my back. Completely destroyed, I laid back onto her pillowy chest, and allowed my head to loll back on to her shoulder. But it didn't stay there for long. She wrapped her legs over the top of mine in a double grapevine. Then she shifted so that my back arched over her left hip. She put her left forearm on my chest and forced me into a supine position. This, of course, served to elevate my groin. For good measure she tucked my left arm down under her left leg, and pulled my right arm over her head, and back on to the floor behind her. Then she scooted back and sat on it. She had me completely tied up and helpless, using just her legs and her butt...and she went to work on my cock. She rubbed me, mostly with her right hand, while her left arm stayed on my chest, and held me in place. She massaged my balls, and tickled my shaft for about two minutes, and then she wrapped her fingers around me, and pumped me up and down until I couldn't stand it any more. I shot all over my stomach, and she continued to gently massage me until I was completely empty. Then she towelled off my stomach and waited a few minutes while I deflated. Once I had shrunk to my post orgasm smallest, she quickly strapped me into the metal contraption she'd brought back into the room with her. It surrounded my penis and balls. It fastened with a tight metal ring that sat against my abdomen, encircling my entire package. It had a small padlock that hung down from the ring and dangled under my balls. Its shaft was almost exactly as long as my shaft, and there was a hole in the top so that I could use the bathroom. And she made quite a show of attaching the key to a bracelet that she was now wearing on her right wrist. (Janey is left handed.) When she had finished, she rolled me out of her grasp, and onto the floor. She stood up and walked a few steps away from me. I rolled to my knees and got to my feet very shakily. I was, to say the least, a little beat up. My ribs (why is it always my ribs) were badly bruised from the two or three squeezes she'd given me at the outset of the beating. I had jammed my shoulder from when she'd tossed me to the floor, and then it was doubly hurt when she'd dragged me to the couch. My ass was on fire for obvious reasons. My face was bruised from the mashing it took when she was smothering me under her boobs, my tongue was all swollen, and my head was ringing. I headed for my clothes. "Where do you think you're going? I turned and looked at her but kept moving towards the door. When I spoke, I sputtered out some blood, and my voice was thick, and slow. "I think it might be best if I slept at home tonight. I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep, and I don't want to keep you up." She took a step toward me. Not aggressively. But I jumped back. I was, at least for the moment, officially terrified of her. "A.J.," she started. "It's for the best. You'll see." "Yeah," I said as I stepped naked through the door with my clothes under my arm. I figured it was a short walk to my house, and, anyway, I didn't care any more. "This is way better than what Mrs. Carpenter did to me today." I'm not sure why she let me go; but she did. I needed to be away from her for a while, for obvious reasons. I got into bed. My hope was that with a night's sleep, I could gain some perspective and figure out what the hell had just happened. The chastity cage was one thing, we could deal with that...maybe come to some understanding. The beating, however, clearly Testostrogen-driven, was something else entirely. Did it mean that all of her talk about living our way in the New Paradigm was just a lot of lip service? I'd need to do some heavy thinking, but I was too beat up to think coherently. I did manage to fall asleep, but it was not restful because every time I rolled over, I woke up. I remember thinking that I was going to be stiff and sore for at least the next couple of days. Anyway, at exactly 2:11am, on my new-fangled digital alarm clock, I woke up. And something was different. It was my ribs. They weren't throbbing. I brought my hand to my face. My lips weren't swollen. My tongue was normal sized, and my head wasn't pounding. And my bottom... I was lying on my back, and my bottom didn't feel like ground meat. I reached to my groin. The thing that Janey had locked me into was gone. I sat up...and there was Janey, sitting on my desk chair. She had turned on the desk lamp and bent it way down so that it was throwing just enough light for me to see that she was wearing a baby blue, light cotton nightgown under its matching light cotton robe. It was a set that I had bought for her when she complained that women in the movies and on TV always wore such nice clothes to sleep, and that she always wore just one of my old tee shirts over panties. She'd never actually worn it to bed, but, at least she had it. I leaned back into my pillow, and said, "You look very nice." She replied. "Thanks." Her voice was small. "Been here long?" At this point we rarely slept apart. Most nights were spent in Janey's bed, but we'd occasionally sleep in my room. Her being in my room was not surprising. We had keys to each other's homes. My step-mom had probably heard her come in, but she would have known it was Janey, simply by Janey's scent, and gone back to sleep. "About twenty minutes. You know, I don't need much sleep any more. I watch you a lot." "You took away all my hurts." She made a noise that was suspiciously like a sob. "Yeah," she looked up at the ceiling, and collected herself. "I had you inside for about ten minutes. I just kept you asleep...and I've been watching you for about ten minutes." She was fighting back tears. "Thanks. I was having a lot of trouble sleeping." Now, a definite sob. "A.J., please ... I love you ... I am so ... A.J., it was the Testostrogen ... " "Janey, I get that your biology is different now, and, truthfully, if I'm going to be beaten by a woman, I'd just as soon it be you. But you're always talking about how we're different than everyone else, how much you value me, and that you're my protector." I sat up and crossed my legs. Back then we used to say, "Indian style." I continued quietly. "If something like this had happened in the Old Paradigm ... say, that the neighbor's an old man who asks you to show him how to bake cookies. And you're at the oven, and he comes up behind you and grabs your tits. He's got you pinned against the oven, and he had already taken off his pants, and he rubs himself against your ass until he comes all over your back. And later that day, you tell me the story. How long do you think before I'm on your side of the booth with my arms around you?" I paused. Her lip began to quiver. "And how long do you think before I pay that guy a visit?" Her eyes were brimming. "And in a million years, is there any way that that scenario ends with me beating you?" She erupted into tears. I watched her evenly for about a minute, by which time I was harder than I have ever been. "Janey. Come to bed." The sound of my voice must have given her some comfort, because her weeping slowed. "Janey. Don't make me call you by your full name." And slowed again. She was getting a hold of herself. "Janey?" She looked up, and sniffled. I pulled the blanket away, revealing my gigantically erect cock. "Any chance I could get a little help here?" And she was on me so fast that I was inside of her before the echo of my last words had faded. But what was really amazing was that in addition to coming all the way across the room to jump me, she had turned out the light and removed her nightgown and robe. She moves so goddamn fast it is unbelievable. She had flipped us around so that I was on top, yet she was still somehow the one that was doing the thrusting. Janey was actually fucking me from the bottom. I grabbed her big boobs and held on for dear life. And she bounced me like I was a rubber ball for a full ten minutes before she came, and that was when the seas really got rough. She had wrapped her insides around me (like she always does), and she let me go in the middle of her orgasm. We finished together, and when it was over, I could see that she was still a little teary. I wrapped her in to my arms and rolled over her so that I was partially covering her. She sunk in to me. She was actually trembling, and I did my best to give her the impression that she was safe, and loved, and secure. I nuzzled her ear and whispered. "I love you...and nothing you could ever do to me will ever change that." She cried another little sob, and after a minute... "A.J.?" "Mmm?" "Could I, please...would it be okay if...could I please "little" you? I really need to feel you surrounded by my boobs right now, all safe and warm. I want to bury you in there, and feel you get all heavy as you fall to sleep all tucked into my tits." I could tell she was smiling through her tears as she shifted around to face me and gave me a deep kiss; by the end of which, I was about six inches tall. She laid on her side and arranged her right breast flat onto the bed. Her side boob was against the bed, so what was essentially the inside side (the cleavage area?) spread out, appearing to me to be about twice the size of a king size mattress. I hopped up onto its broad expanse, and laid down on my back, with inches to spare above my head, below my feet, and beyond the span of my arms. She then lowered her left breast (she'd been holding it out of the way) on top of me, positioning it so that as it spread out it covered me from my toes to my chin, with my arms tucked safely inside. I turned my head to my left, and Janey bent her head in towards me, so we could make eye contact. We smiled at one another. "Can you breathe okay?" "Oh yeah. This feels wonderful. This always feels wonderful. I just love when you do this to me." "It's about to feel a lot better." And she reached up her left hand and began to gently massage the top breast. I gazed up at her. "This will not take long." She smiled back. "No, I don't suspect it will. And when you're ready...you can just cum. You don't have to ask permission or anything. Just cum in my tits whenever you're ready." "Thanks," I whispered. My eyes were already closed, and I was fast approaching the point of no return. "A.J.?" "Yeah, Janey?" "I love you..." And her rubbing became a bit more languid. "I love you...and... could you please tell me that you know that nothing will ever change that." "Janey. I know that you love me. And I know that you will always love me...no matter...what" She sighed happily. "Thank you, A.J." And she gave one more, little sob, and said, "Now cum for me...cum in Janey's big tits...you love my big tits, and I have you all tucked into them...and I want you to cum in them..." And I came in them...for what seemed like forever. She kept up massaging her top breast until I was completely empty. And then she brought me out, and popped me into her mouth, feet first, up to my chest, and washed the cum from me with her tongue. And while she washed me, she wiped her boobs clean with the blankets. And when I was clean, and her boobs were clean, she gently placed me back in, in the same way I had been in before, and we gazed into each other's eyes, and I drifted off to sleep tucked safely into Janey's big, soft tits. The next morning, Janey had commandeered the kitchen, and dressed in her elegant blue nightgown and robe, was a blur of chopping and mixing and dicing and stirring. (My step-mom had made herself scarce.) We sat down to eggs, oatmeal, pancakes, waffles, bacon, ham, fresh fruit with homemade cream, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and coffee. Janey felt deeply that feeding a man was a fundamental aspect of being a woman, and after yesterday's train wreck, she was in major over-compensation mode. In fact, there were a couple of times that morning that it looked like I might be in danger of being loved to death. It was at that breakfast, however, that I sketched out my first rudimentary idea for the Chastity Glove. And I really want to make this part of the story short, because the details are so fucking boring. Suffice it to say that I figured: (1) it needed to be made out of flexible fabric that would not make the wearer feel like he was in prison; (2) the material would have to be such that it limited the wearer's feeling, so he couldn't be rubbed through it; (3) the material would have to be strong enough, and mold to the wearer in such a way that a woman couldn't just tear through it (like Janey had torn apart those steal hand cuffs that Faith had used on me); and (4) it would have to shrink along with the wearer so a woman couldn't simply shrink him out of it. And I figured the answer to all of these lay in Testostrogen. And, as it turns out, it did. The science of how it works: boring...but it works because when a woman activates her Testostrogen she also activates the Testostrogen in the glove. And over the next eight years, while going to school and eventually being awarded a doctorate in economics (which took only seven years), I shepherded the project through two science departments, three patents, and, counting the angels, four rounds of financing. Due to various New Paradigm directives, Janey was always listed as the legal owner of the companies, and when we sold, we walked away with $28 million. When we sold, we were twenty-six years old. I had been teaching for one year, having gained an appointment on the strength of my thesis, the last chapter of which had been published in The American Economic Review. As it turns out, I was a little ahead of the curve on the economic issues of environmental inequality (which is a story for another time); apparently being the world's foremost expert on the next big thing keeps you in the conversation even in the face of arbitrary gender-based discrimination brought about by a random cosmic event. Janey had just graduated from medical school and had entered her family practice residency. But a lot of stuff happened in those eight years. For one thing, Janey and I got married. Considering the way the world was changing, I figured I'd better get as educated as I could, as fast as I could. Due to all the AP work I had done in high school, and taking full course loads over the Summers, I had graduated from college in just two years (the Summer following the Mrs. Carpenter incident). Janey, going along at regular pace, had just finished her sophomore year. Our two years in the dorms had been a little rough, but we got through it. One of our very first weekends on campus, my floor was raided by the girls on the floor above us. Janey, who lived in the building across the quad had gotten wind of the plan, and as all hell was breaking loose on my floor...guys were literally being stripped and carried off like a scene from an old Errol Flynn movie...Janey burst into my room. Opening her trench coat, under which there was only her soft, soft skin, she pointed to her love nest. "Get in." I didn't have to be told twice. In I went; and we spent the night in her room, or in my case, in her womb. Stuff like that happened all the time. So, after I graduated, just prior to turning twenty, and was accepted to graduate school in the fall, we decided the time was right. School was paid for through scholarships. My stipend would pay the rent. And for food...we both had some savings; though, Janey had more because I had paid for every movie, every mini-golf game, and every late-night snack all through junior high and high school. That was how it worked back in those days. The institution of marriage was changing, too. Men were being taken for husbands because women wanted easy access to semen. Most couples did not marry for love. In fact, most men were simply being told by women that they knew or were somehow acquainted with, that they were getting married. The women got uninterrupted access to semen; the men got protected and provided for. Most men lived in quarters in their wives' homes and knew better than to question about how their wives went about gaining sexual satisfaction. But that was other peoples' problems. About a week after I got my diploma we took a walk, and ended up at the playground of the elementary school that we had attended. It was where we'd had our first kiss, when we were in third grade. It was on a dare. Right under the sliding board. And this night, as we passed under that same sliding board, I got down on one knee. I had been carrying my mother's engagement ring around for about a month and had not really planned that this would happen (Janey had suggested the walk, and we sort of ended up on the playground just by chance), but what could be better than getting engaged on almost the exact spot where we'd first kissed. There was a funny little moment that occurred because when I knelt, she had been slightly in front of me. As I went down, I caught her hand, and she turned back, and stepped to me. And I could no longer see her face. "Um...Jay...could you step back a bit." "Oh, sorry." She stepped back, and I was no longer under the shelf of her bust. Her hands were already up at her mouth. I cleared my throat and held out the ring. "Janine Everett Walsh, I have loved you my entire life. And I promise that I will love you for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?" She shook her head yes, and cried, and through her tears, the happiness in her eyes was, perhaps, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. She held out her hand, and I slipped the ring onto her finger. I stood up, and we shared our second-ever kiss under that sliding board. About a week later, we found ourselves at the county courthouse in line for a marriage license. Back in those days, you could get a marriage license in our state at eighteen years old. We were both almost twenty. I was in jeans and a button-down shirt, Janey was wearing a sun dress. As we got closer to the window, Janey whispered to me something about being calm if the woman behind the window was rude to me. I shrugged. It had become a woman's world. I was used to it. "It's just that we want to keep a low profile. We're kind of young. And you're clearly not my submissive slave boy. We don't want to get on any watch list, or anything. There's a lot of women now who are...well, you know...anyway...just be cool." When we got to the window, things actually went pretty smoothly. Until, the name-change documents came along. Apparently, as part of the licensing, you pre-sign with regard to whom is going to take whose name, and what that name will be. There hadn't been any directive or anything, but most men were now taking their wives' names. And the woman behind the window had prepared the documents, without asking, such that, after the ceremony I would be Archibald Jackson Walsh, and Janey would still be Janine Everett Walsh. Janey, however, shall we say, had other ideas. "Wait. This paper says I don't get to change my name." "Why would you change your name?" And the woman behind the window glared at me. Janey took a deep breath...and leaned into the window. "Miss, I'm sorry to be any trouble. I know that times are changing. But there aren't any new Directives about this, and, well," and she took another deep breath, "I have spent a great deal of time dreaming about getting married ... to this very guy," and she indicated me. I gave a little wave, and the woman sort of smile-sneered at me. "I actually want him as my husband. And I want to take his name. Right now, do you know that in my bedroom there are six notebooks. The first one, I started when I was in the second grade. The last one, I finished like two weeks ago. Those notebooks are filled, from cover to cover, with the words, 'Mrs. Archibald Turner,' except for where I wrote, 'Mrs. Janine Turner' and," she paused for a moment, clearly struck by an unexpected thought. "Although there are some spots where I wrote, just, 'Janey Turner' ... you see, Janey is my nickname." The woman gave me a "please make her stop" look. And I thought to myself: Oh ... so now we're allies? Janey, though, was just getting started. "I have spent my entire life working to land this guy and preparing him to be landed. And while I understand that some random rock crashed into another random rock, and this all happened," and she cupped her massive chest and juggled her boobs around a little bit, "that does not change the fact that tomorrow at this time, I am going to be Mrs. Archibald Jackson Turner...hell, I have even practiced the signature like a million times...now, please go back there, and come back with the papers that say that." The woman, shaking her head, glanced over to me. I just shrugged my shoulders and tried to look innocent. Later, as we walked out of the office, all officially licensed, I bent to Janey's ear. "Way to be cool, there...Mrs. Turner." We got married the next day, in the backyard; in front of family and friends. Per the new norms, I promised to obey. Janey promised to protect. In private, we promised to love and to honor, and to protect ... each other. Janey was radiantly beautiful in a plain white dress, and we left on our honeymoon the next morning. We honeymooned in the Caribbean. Two nineteen-year-old kids, neither of whom had ever been anywhere before. I had been on a plane exactly once; Janey twice. We were excited, and a little scared...but we were together. As opposed to home, where men were required to be nude in private settings, here men were naked all the time. I stripped on the airplane, per the regulations. Janey was adorable in a green jumper that showed off her legs, and a straw hat that made me want to jump her. And about twenty minutes after we landed, we were in a cab on the way to the resort. As we pulled on to the resort property, she turned to me, and took my penis in to her hand. I gave her a "what the heck" look. She pushed the hat back on her head, and I got light-headed...literally... from how beautiful she was. "Just a little head's up...I think the Testostrogen might be flowing a little bit this week." I gave her a bit of a terrified look, but she smiled and said, "Don't worry...husband...god damn, I like saying that. It's going to be fun." Then she pulled me onto her lap, and letting go of my penis, she wrapped her arms around me and gave me a gentle hug. "I love you so much. I am so happy." "Me too." "But..." "But?" "Well, we're out of our element. I mean...I don't know...it's exotic...and I'm feeling....you know...sexy...and powerful...I think you might be spending an awful lot of time under my tits this week...and...," and here she cupped me with one hand and started rubbing me in earnest with the other, "you absolutely may not cum without my explicit permission...on a case by case basis." My head was back on her shoulder, and her lips were right at my ear. "And what if I do cum without permission?" She abruptly stopped her ministrations and moved me off of her lap back onto the seat; where I squirmed, uncomfortable, and frustrated. "I'm not sure," she said with mock-seriousness. "I think I'd probably put you into one of your gloves, or maybe an old-fashioned cock cage, and leave you all frustrated for the rest of the trip, or," and here her voice took on slightly (but only slightly) mocking tone, "maybe I'd just assert my dominance in a different fashion...like maybe..." and she looked directly into my eyes, "from behind." I thought for a moment. "You'd be into that?" She shrugged and reached across and took my hand. "Not as punishment...I mean...we don't live like that...no one around here gets punished...for anything. But, these days, dominance is kind of a biological necessity, and I can only sit on your face so much...I don't think a little variety would be such a bad thing. I mean it's all part of our games...right. I mean you do know that the whole 'under my tits' thing, and the 'no cumming without permission' is a game, right?" "Of course." And a couple of beats went by. "So, you would be in to that?" She got a little sheepish. "Does it 'skeve you out? "Surprisingly, no. I think if it were done lovingly, like we always do the dominance, I think it would be nothing more than another intimate experience that we share. I do, however, reserve the right to not actually enjoy it...and to tell you so afterward." She pulled me back on to her lap and started rubbing again. "Then you better not cum in this cab." Thank God, we arrived at the main entrance within thirty seconds. If it had been thirty-one, I wouldn't have made it. As we pulled under the front portico of the resort, we were greeted by a large sign that read: "Beyond this point, men must be leashed or carried." Janey gave me a "stay in the car look," and getting out, asked the Bell Captain about the sign. Returning to the car, she came around to my side. "They don't want men wandering around the grounds by themselves. It's for your own protection. Obviously, I don't have a leash, so it's the shoulder...for now...," and more to herself than to me, "I wonder if they have a gift shop?" Janey lifted me over her shoulder and made to walk into the building to check in. The porter, a woman of about Janey's height, wearing a quasi-military uniform of red and gold, and, although because of the cut of her jacket it was hard to tell, looking like she might be in the H-cup range, stepped forward. "Ma'am, that's okay, I'll take him with the rest of the luggage." And before Janey could refuse, this beautiful black woman plucked me from my wife's shoulder and took me over her own. Janey muttered something, again mostly to herself, about letting the Testostrogen flow, and led the way into the lobby, followed by the porter, whose name tag said "Andrea," carrying our two bags...and me. Janey checked us in, and Andrea led the way to our room. It was an all-inclusive beach club, and we had our own little villa, with a sitting room, and a veranda. Along the walk, hung over Andrea's shoulder, I raised my head, and made eye-contact with Janey. Her look told me she was enjoying this and going with the flow was my best bet. I resolved to see it as a fun adventure...because, Janey's look also told me not to worry, that she would never let things get out of hand. I trusted her, and I loved her, and I knew that she would never let anything bad happen to me, so I relaxed. Upon entering the room, Andrea put the suitcases by the bed, and then in a relatively gentle fashion placed me into the Teacup Restraint that was mounted on the wall. A Teacup Restraint is named such because it sort of looks like a teacup. It is cup-shaped with holes in its bottom for the man's legs. A pole comes out of the center of the bottom with straps to fasten the ankles in place. There are also straps on the cup's brim, for the wrists. And two handles, on each side, so that the whole thing looks like a teacup. Using the handles any woman can easily carry the thing, man and all, from place to place (in the fashion of carrying a coffee mug; or a teacup). There's mounting hardware on the back that attaches to wall racks. (Many households will have wall racks in multiple rooms so that the man can be carried from room to room, and hung up, wherever his wife, or girlfriend (or mother) wants him to be. And lastly, there is a third hole in the front that provides easy access to one's manly area. (Janey and I received one as a wedding gift from her sister, Nancy.) Once I was in place, Andrea reached in and pulled my cock and balls through the hole so that I was quite exposed, and entirely vulnerable. "Shall I harden him up for you ma'am?" Janey paused for a moment. She clearly hadn't been prepared for the question. But she recovered quickly, and said, "Yes, that would be very nice. Thank you." And Janey stood and watched, smiling wickedly, as Andrea, the busty porter, rubbed me until I was like blue steel. "He's quite a good size, ma'am. Congratulations." "Thank you," said Janey, as she handed the dark-haired woman eighty dollars in local currency ($20 American). "We're newlyweds." "A lot of good semen in this one. Enjoy." And with a tip of her hat, Andrea stepped out. When Janey turned around from locking the door she was smiling happily; and so was I. Somewhere between the cab and the room, we'd silently agreed that we were going to have fun with this. And the great thing was, that like all the things in our life, the fact that we were having our own secret experience in the midst of a curiouser and curiouser world, was the best part. Janey crossed the room and sat on the bed, which was positioned right in front of where I was hanging. I was still rock hard as she kicked off her sandals, and just gazed up into my eyes. "We've come a long way from Faith's bedroom...jeez, I nearly killed Margie just for touching your balls...and now, I just gave some strange woman, that we just met, twenty bucks for giving you ninety percent of a hand job." She shook her head wistfully. "Ah, well...what a world." she said, and unbuttoned her jumper. It pooled around her feet, and she stepped out of it. Underneath the green jumper, she was wearing a slightly paler green bra and panties set. The bra, like all of Janey's bras had more material than the average man's tee shirt; and the panties were the new kind; called a thong, very sexy. "I think we'll just stay in the resort tonight...have dinner in the restaurant and look out at the ocean. And then I'll put you under my tits and enjoy your pathetic struggles." She ran her index finger down the length of my still hard cock, which caused the slight flagging it had experienced since Andrea had stopped rubbing it to disappear in a rush of inflation. "But for now," and she yawned, "I've got that late afternoon sleepy feeling, so I'm going to take a short nap. And when I wake up...if you know what's good for you...you'll be just as hard as you are now," and she directed the tip of my penis into her cleavage. (The Teacup was on the wall at just the right height so that my penis was at the same height as her boobs.) "Because, when I wake up, I'm going to be wanting a good fucking....But it should be easy for you to stay hard," and she stepped back, and my penis popped free of her boobs; "because," and she sauntered away from me to the top of the bed; where, keeping her bottom facing me, she turned her upper body to give me a good look at her bra-encased side boob, at the same time, "well...I mean...look at me...how could you not stay hard with nothing to do but watch this ass, and these tits" I pulled like a madman at the wrist straps, and I tried to kick my feet out of the ankle straps. No dice. I threw myself around trying to dislodge the whole teacup-thing from the wall. No dice. I was helpless and had no alternative but to watch as Janey flopped down on to the bed on her back, cupped one breast, and gently put her other hand into her panties...where she clearly inserted at least one finger into herself, closed her eyes, and went to work. And for the next ten minutes, I was in absolute agony, as she went from heavy breathing, to gasping sobs, to deep moaning, and finally to screaming my name, as she brought herself to as shattering a climax as I have ever seen. I thought my penis was going to explode. And after it was over, and her breathing had calmed to what was clearly sleep, I could do nothing but helplessly hang there and watch as my wife's massive chest rose and feel rhythmically, and peacefully. ***** Continued in our Amy's Conquest (www.amysconquest.com) Exclusive, Member's Only Section OR purchase it individually in our site's Updated Format! *****