Due to the means of conception, we couldn’t have a son, and that would spoil the surprise at the moment of birth. It would also have been nice for Mistress to be able to pass on her family name to the next generation, but once her daughters get married; if they get married; their children would get their fathers’ names.
For a couple of weeks after I freed them, my own parents tried every trick they could think of to destroy my relationship with Mistress, but I simply wouldn’t let them, until it finally sank in that they couldn’t split us up. I ended up tearing a strip off them, in private, because I was genuinely ashamed of them. Mistress had bought them, freed them, given them a two hundred thousand dollar house, and an allowance to live on, for as long as they lived, and how did they repay that generosity?
They tried to get me to abandon Mistress, despite the fact that she was three months pregnant with my baby, and find a boyfriend! What sort of parents did I have? For the only time I can think of in my life, I swore at my parents. I told them that I simply wasn’t going to take that sort of shit from them, and gave them an ultimatum; they could either accept my partner for who and what she was, or they could fuck right off, and back out of my life again; I would have nothing more to do with them if they couldn’t! Oh, and they could forget about seeing their biological granddaughter, too; they’d never see her; I’d tell my own daughter that she had no grandparents; her family consisted of just Mistress, myself, and her half-sister! My sister would probably disown me, too, for that, but what did I care; I had what I needed in my ‘wife’ and our children. What need did I have for a man in my life, when I had a woman who loved me enough to have a baby to me, regardless of what she had to go through to get it? I couldn’t leave Mistress, and I especially couldn’t be an absentee father!
Mistress had a far easier time in the delivery room the second time, and her labor was much less unpleasant. We christened our second daughter ‘Silvi,’ and despite how happy I had been holding Emma, I was even happier with Silvi in my arms, because she was mine. I hadn’t thought it possible that I could be happier, but I guess it must be something to do with the biological bond between father and daughter.
That was three years ago, now, and I still haven’t gotten over the incongruity of being addressed as ‘daddy’ by my daughter. Daddies should definitely not have smoothly shaven pussies and forty inch D-cup tits, although I got mine boosted during the early stages of Mistress’ pregnancy! While Silvi’s still a little girl, it’s obvious to both her parents that she’s going to be a proper little madam when she grows up!
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