A BREEDER’S TALE

Volume I

Chapter 2

Four days had passed since my attempt to get pregnant for Mistress. It had me going crazy wondering if I’d succeeded. I promised myself, however, that I would wait ten days before testing, because even with the best EPT, any earlier would make a false negative far too likely

Mistress had noticed my distraction, and mercifully suggested that I go shopping for a gift for myself. She had never done that before, never trusting me to pick out anything appropriate. She surprised me with a Platinum Card with my name on it and told me I could have her convertible for the afternoon

I eschewed the obvious, and did not visit the leather shop Mistress had taken me to a few times before. Instead, I found my way to a Petsmart on Paxton Avenue. I knew exactly what I wanted, and found my way to the pet beds. I knew once I started showing, Mistress would probably not let me sleep in the dog cage at the end of her bed. Never the less, an expectant mother should have a good mattress

I honestly didn’t feel I deserved anything extravagant, so I bought the generic kennel pad

I don’t think Mistress expected me to know so immediately what I wanted. I had a few hours before I needed to return home. I headed to the Barnes & Noble on the riverwalk downtown. I thought I should get myself some books on prenatal and neonatal health

I picked out a few promising titles and sat with a caffè latte to decide which to buy. In one baby raising book, I came across a bit in the preface about the importance that, regardless of the composition of its family, a child needed and deserved to be raised in an emotionally healthy household. I looked up and saw a cute little goth reading The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas. I knew I was cheating by picking her as my test, but I needed the reassurance. Besides, given the nature of my question, anyone might have given an answer I wouldn’t like

“That’s an excellent book,” I offered by way of introduction. “I read it some years ago. I love reading about such bohemian lifestyles.”

The conversation progressed from there as you would expect. When it had wended its way to BDSM, I figured we had gotten as close as I could hope to the only subject I cared about, I simply posed the question without preamble

“What would you think of this?” I started as quietly as I could, so only she would hear me. “What if a Domme had her sub become pregnant by a stranger with the intent that any daughter by this anonymous union would be raised to one day, after she turns 18, become the Domme's new slave.”

“Would the daughter have a choice?” the girl asked as if I had suggested sending the hypothetical daughter to summer camp. “I mean, she could refuse if she wanted.”

“Of course,” I replied automatically. Then immediately realized Mistress had never said anything about that

“Then I think it would be an awesome idea!” she said enthusiastically. “As best I can tell, I’m submissive. I know I’m happiest when my partner takes control, both in and out of bed. But then I feel ashamed, I think because nowadays women are supposed to assert their strength and independence. I have to think if I’d been raised from birth to consider submission as legitimate a lifestyle choice as any other — which I believe it is — then maybe I would be able to fully revel in it.”

I sat speechless for a moment. It all made such perfect sense. I knew exactly what she meant about the shame that came from submission. I could spare my daughter that and leave her a legacy of absolute contentment in the effortless joy of pure submission

“Thank you,” I whispered with tears and a sincere smile

“You’re welcome, sweetie.” I think I saw a tear in her eye, too, as she glanced down at the books on my lap. “And best of luck.”