The painwas building. But her hands in my hair kept my head where it belonged.And then it happened. I felt the tip of the crop catch my little eggs. I...ensed. I cried out. And she shuddered in delight."Dear, whatever you just did, do it again," she said.I tried shaking my head no. I tried begging silently. With every fiber ofmy being I tried to beg for mercy without actually saying the words.My poor little eggs, my "sissy ovaries" as Mistress called them, lockedin place by the humbler were. They give their kids a lot of latitude and freedom to make their own decisions. And, for the most part, they let the kids run their lives once they get to be teenagers. I plan to do that.”“Isn’t that dangerous?” she asked.“For whom? For me? Or for the kids? It’s only dangerous if you don’t teach your kids how to be responsible and make good decisions. I’m not talking about letting them do anything and everything, but decisions about what to wear, how to fix their hair, that kind of thing, start. More

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