Mr Dona had sex with me before marriage

Dona" is a Portuguese honorific for women, usually of a certain age or social standing

Unlike "Mrs", it doesn't imply marriage. Some unmarried women are addressed as "Dona", and some married women remain "Menina" (roughly equivalent to "Miss") their whole lives. Both titles have more to do with respect, age and social perception than marital status. Sofia, for instance, would qualify as "Dona" by age, but as a teacher, she'll be "Menina" for life. In Portugal, female teachers are almost always "Miss", no matter how old they get, probably due to the rule that until the 1974 Revolution, female teachers could only marry if the prospective husband earned more, so many stayed single their whole lives.

The term "headmistress" is used throughout this chapter, the American term "Principal" was used in previous chapters.

In the Portuguese system, a school Director is more of an administrative role than the authority figure the word suggests in British or American English. "headmistress" was chosen for its naughty tone rather than its accuracy.

"Cantinho da Nonô" is an excellent African restaurant, though it's not in Benfica but in the Damaia neighbourhood. I recommend the fish platter and the micotó caipirinha. The owner herself is quite a character, which is why I thought she'd fit perfectly in the story. As for Café Califa, it's a Lisbon landmark and sits exactly where I describe it.

English is not my mothers language. I kept the translated text close to the Portuguese original in tone and structure. Some things that look off are on purpose, others are just honest mistakes. Neither should get in the way of understanding.

All characters are over 18. I respect the rule and it has no real impact on my stories, 18 year olds were never my thing anyway.

If you enjoy it, please give it 5 stars, and leave a comment. If you don't, also tell me why.

#############################################################

Lost in Lisbon-The Ghost Pt. 05

Miguel's POV

Buzz ring buzz ring!

The phone wouldn't stop. I looked at the screen 6:25, João Messias, Sara's father. Christ. I answered.

"Mr Miguel! Sara didn't run away, she's with us!" The man was shitting himself.

"Good morning..." I started to say good morning, but he steamrolled me.

"She still has her key... she went straight to her room... We've only just found out..." He was panicking. "Can I come to your house? She says... please don't send her back to prison... she... we didn't..."

My eyes rolled while he vented his panic, then Sofia poked her head out from under the duvet. "What's going on?" She was still half asleep.

"Sara's parents," I whispered while the man kept going on the other end.

"...she turned up here last night..."

In the background, I could hear the mother crying and Sara's voice, "Dad, let me, don't..." The mother must have taken the phone from her husband. "She... don't punish her..." Then Mr João must have grabbed the phone back. "My wife... I'm sorry..."

My fault. I'd sent Sara to her parents' house without any formal authorisation. Stupid. Without the authentication codes in the collar, she was a fugitive slave, and they were harbouring her. If reported, her sentence could be reopened. The original sentence was death by boiling.

"Mr João, Sara didn't run away. I sent her home," I explained. "I've got a situation with Sofia here, we need a few days."

"A situation?" His voice trembled. "Sara was crying, she said you were furious... My God, did you do something to Miss Sofia?"

"Miguel!" Sofia was sitting up now. "What's going on? Where's Sara?"

"I was a jerk, I'll tell you in a moment, let me calm them down," I whispered while the phone kept pouring out drama from the other end.

"Mr João, could you pass the phone to your daughter, please?" With the house in uproar in the background, Sara answered.

"Miguel, please tell me Miss Sofia is all right! My parents don't believe you sent me here... they're panicking... I don't understand anything either... what's going on?"

Of course they didn't believe her. She'd arrived crying, with a black eye, saying her owner was furious. What else would they think?

Sofia sat up straighter, the sheets falling to her waist, breasts bare. Any other morning, I'd have reached for her. Not today. She looked at me and took the phone from my hand.

"Sara, it's me, calm down. Miguel didn't do anything bad to me, quite the opposite, he saved me once again." She looked at me and whispered, "When do you want Sara back?"

I breathed out. "We'll go and fetch her."

Her greenish eyes met mine for a moment, then she spoke to Sara again.

"Sara, as your head-slave, I'm passing on our owner's orders for you to stay with your parents." Then she gave the authentication code and finished with "I've got good news, don't worry."

When she hung up and got out of bed, it wasn't her naked body I noticed, but the way she'd handled the situation. And the explanations I was going to have to give my "head-slave".

#############################################################

Sofia's POV

I got up. My naked body was followed by his eyes as I left the bed. I wished I'd felt more than just his gaze, wished he'd grabbed my arse and dragged me back to bed. Instead, nothing. Just an emptiness. I ran my hands over my belly on the way to the bathroom.

My body still had to be ready to serve my owner. If he wanted it. I looked down at my belly again. Same routine as every morning: Microlax enema, Shower, oat milk moisturiser. I put on a camisole, but as per the rules, left my bottom and pussy exposed. Sara preferred to leave her breasts out, but... what could have happened between Miguel and Sara for him to send her to her parents' house?

I rubbed cream into my legs and then spent too long combing my hair, then my pubic hair. Men think we wake up looking like this. We don't.

While I made breakfast, my mind was on the conversation I was going to have with Miguel. About Sara. About us.

When Miguel came to have breakfast, he got straight to the point.

"Yesterday when I brought you back from the hospital, the little terrorist wasn't home yet. You were still asleep because of the sedative, and I had a whisky, the good one my brother brought me, warmed it in my hand then drank it in one go, 'cause I failed you, I was scared... actually, I had two... maybe three. Then Sara arrived later and I... told her to undress, I was going to punish her for being late."

He stopped. Picked at the crust of his toast. "She... questioned my orders, I gave her a shock. Then another that made her fall to the floor. And then..." He stared at his plate. What the hell had he done to Sara?

"I... I hit her...Slapped her face." He couldn't face me. "She didn't deserve it... it was all me. So I sent her away. The poor little terrorist was so frightened..." Typical Miguel, joking his way out of it.

"Miguel..." I caught myself. A slave doesn't raise her voice. "You own us; you can do whatever you want. But Sara, she loves us. You shouldn't have taken it out on her."

"I know... I kinda like her too." The voice was more like that of one of my students. "I was a jerk, Dam! I already said I was sorry, didn't I?"

"So talk to her. Pick up the phone, talk to her."

"And say what? Sorry, I hit you, terrorist?"

"Say what you feel." God, the stubbornness of this man.

He spread butter on his toast and drank his milk stone-faced without answering.

"She's an annoying woke terrorist!" He vented. "Yeah... Guess you're right,I'll have to mend it. But for now, she stay with her parents."

I didn't reply. Sara and Miguel were like two magnets of the same pole, the more I tried to bring them closer, the harder they pushed apart. Of the few times we fought in the last year, half had been over Sara. I even got a shock once for trying to defend her. The arguments between them were almost daily. I looked at the toast in his hand, barely touched, the butter melting on it.

He ate the rest in silence and then, suddenly, looked at me and said, "Go and get dressed, you don't need to walk around half-naked anymore."

Walking around with my arse out at home had never been my thing. A small humiliation, one of his whims. But I knew Miguel took pride in me, in my body, in the effort I put into it. That look he gave me when I crossed the living room, when I bent down, and he could see all of me. It made me feel owned. Only his.

The gropes and the slaps on my bottom often led to quickies against the kitchen counter or on the sofa.

And now he wanted me to get dressed.

I put on my tracksuit and trainers and got ready for my usual 5 km walk to school. Now that I was headmistress, I couldn't be late.

I kissed Miguel properly today. A deep kiss, tongues and all. I didn't always do it, often he left for work before me or we just gave each other a peck. There had also been a few quickie before we left.

I got my rucksack and opened the front door. "Wait, I'll give you a lift. We can talk in the car," he said.

"Aren't you afraid I'll lose these hot, toned legs you like so much?" In my first days as a slave, the walks to work had been torture on many levels. But now it was an exercise I actually enjoyed.

Yesterday I'd already been pregnant, and the day before, and the week before. I said nothing and accepted the offer.

As we left the garage I didn't wait for Miguel to tell me. I pulled my breasts out before he said a word. He liked showing them off to other drivers, and I'd long lost the shame of those first months as a slave. Though I could do without the occasional accident.

"What are you doing?" he asked, but he was already smiling.

"The usual,tits out... don't you want me to?" I replied as I got my titties out. The AC hit my skin like ice. Hard nipples and goosebumps on my areolas.

He drove on in silence, smiling to himself.

When we stopped at a light he grabbed my left breast and sucked hard on my nipple.

"Best drink in the world, mother's milk. Can't wait to have a taste."

"it will be for the baby," I retorted.

"Yes, for baby," he repeated with a mischievous smile.

After the suck and our exchange of words, he took my hand.

"We're going to have to find a gynaecologist who's competent and doesn't have a problem treating slaves."

The truth is I hadn't expected to get pregnant at this age, nor to be enslaved, and much less to fall in love with my owner.

"And Sofia, your legal status as a slave is something else that worries me. After the gynaecologist, I think we should consult a lawyer, maybe Sara's father."

Miguel was right. I wasn't free to decide. However much I wanted this child, the decision wasn't mine to make. And after? I pushed the thought away. Miguel was a good man. He loved me, and he would love our child too.

When we arrived at the school car park, before I got out, he pulled me towards him and kissed me. It was a long kiss while he fondled my breast under the tracksuit. Then he hugged me tightly.

"I'll pick you up at 5. I'll see if I can sort out the gynaecologist issue. Don't worry."

I smiled and got out of the car. Walked to the school gate.

Of course, I was worried. As soon as I got to my office, I turned on the computer, not to look at any activity plans or test results, but to Google "pregnancy in women over 40." I shouldn't have done it.

Work-wise, the morning went smoothly. But the images of malformed children and swollen women wouldn't leave my head, and no amount of work drowned them out.

Only when lunchtime arrived did I realise I hadn't changed into the more formal clothes I kept in my office. When I'd just finished getting dressed in what I called my uniform, a dark blue tailored suit and white silk blouse, my assistant headmistress knocked at the door.

"May I, headmistress?" asked Marta Albuquerque.

The scheming little slut was fully dressed. Normally, I would have reminded her of the rules made her strip before speaking to me. Today I didn't have the head for power games.

"Yes, what is it?"

"There's a lady here to see you," she replied.

"A lady? Who is it?" I asked. "I was just about to go out for lunch."

Marta handed me a business card. Classic. Classy. Expensive but simple: Maria Constança de Albergaria e Silveira.

My heart raced. I breathed in. What could she want?

"Show her in," I replied.

I tidied my desk and tried to steady myself.

Dona Constança entered my office. Something was different about her. She closed the door behind her carefully and stood upright, hands resting on her handbag.

"I apologise for appearing like this, without prior notice," she said in a confident voice. "I know you have your responsibilities."

I stood up from my chair, my legs trembling slightly. "Dona Constança, what brings you here? I wasn't expecting..."

What could she want? Of course, the whippings. My period should have been yesterday, and, just like every month for the past year, Miguel should have sent her the video of me being flogged. Was that it? My hands gripped the edge of the desk.

She seemed to guess my concern.

"I understand that my presence here may be... disconcerting," she began, her voice calm but firm. "However, there is a rather delicate matter I would like to discuss with you. Would it be possible for us to have lunch together? Naturally, if your schedule permits."

I called Miguel.

"Miguel, Dona Constança is here in my office. She wants to take me to lunch."

"I know, she already called me to ask permission."

"She already called you?" My stomach tightened. She'd planned this. "And... do you know what it's about?"

"No idea. She just said she needed to talk to you, that it was important." He paused. "I didn't tell her anything about... that matter."

"Are you sure?"

"Sofia, she didn't say anything. Go, have lunch with her. Call me if you need to."

"All right. See you at five."

I hung up and left the office. Dona Constança was waiting in the corridor, impassive.

"We can go," I said, trying to disguise my anxiety. As if having lunch with the mother of the boy I'd killed were something normal.

"I know a small family restaurant right next to Café Califa, Cantinho da Nonô," she said in that calm voice. "But if you prefer, we can go somewhere else."

"Yes, I know it. It's excellent," I replied.

I knew which restaurant she was referring to, but I'd never imagined someone like Dona Constança would know Cantinho da Nonô. It wasn't a "tasca", but it wasn't a fine dining place either.

When we entered, the smell of grilled meat, fish and spices hit us. Low voices, clinking knives and forks, Cape Verdean "Morna" playing softly.

Dona Leonor, Nonô, came to greet Dona Constança with an effusive hug. Nonô was a black lady around 60, robust and energetic.

"Nonô!" exclaimed Constança, and the two began speaking in Creole, like old friends.

I didn't expect that. The aristocratic coldness had completely disappeared.

"And you too Miss Sofia!" said Nonô when she noticed me, with a broad smile. "Come, come. Got the best table for you."

She led us to the corner by the window. From there, I could see the school and the terrace of Café Califa.

As we sat down, Nonô said she would make cachupa, the one her mother used to make for the two of them when they were children.

"Like back in the day, Constança. Remember when you used to sneak into the kitchen?"

"I remember, Nonô. I always remember."

I couldn't think about the food. I just replied, "Yes, that would be fine," despite having no idea what the dish was.

When Dona Nonô served us the platter of cachupa, steaming and aromatic, Dona Constança made sure the best parts went to me. Corn, beans, blood sausage, pork ear, beef and chouriço, all slowly cooked with colorau, garlic, onion and piri-piri.

It was delicious. Not that I could taste much of it. Each forkful was hard to swallow.

My anxiety got the better of me. I put down my fork.

"Dona Constança, I..." I hesitated. "The food is delicious, but I can't help..."

"Of asking why I invited you to lunch?" she anticipated. She also put down her cutlery and looked out the window at the terrace of Café Califa. "I don't know if I did the right thing, but do you see that terrace?" She paused. "Tell me, my appearance..." She wanted to say something. "Do you notice anything familiar about my dress?" she finally blurted out.

"Yes..." I remembered where I had seen the dress. It was the same dress she wore in the dream. "But no, I don't know from where, perhaps I saw a similar one in a magazine."

She then reached into her handbag. It wasn't a Hermès or a Louis Vuitton, but it still looked like haute couture, something vintage, the kind of thing that gets passed from mother to daughter.

She took out a leather case. Inside was a necklace.

I knew it immediately. The same one I'd worn in the dream. She saw that I recognised it.

"Tell me the truth." Her voice trembled slightly, but she maintained her composure. "You had a dream, didn't you? In which you were with my son, at that table." She pointed to the terrace of Café Califa. "I need to know... if what I saw was real. If it wasn't just... my mind playing tricks on me."

"Yes." The word came out low, almost a whisper. "I had a dream like that about three days ago." Constança didn't move. Her face went pale.

"Please don't misunderstand; I was afraid you would consider me insane if I mentioned it." I breathed in slowly. "Your dress... It's identical to the one you were wearing in my dream. And that necklace..." I gestured toward the case, "I was wearing that necklace in my dream."

"No, I don't consider you insane." Constança set the necklace case on the table with care. "I have been dreaming of my Luís since..." I knew perfectly well when her dreams had begun. "...approximately a month ago, the dreams changed." She hesitated. "I hope you won't think me mad either." Another pause. Her hands were trembling.

"I dreamed of you, of Luís, always at the same time each month. Month after month. When I was about to receive the recordings of your punishments." Her voice grew lower. "Please, don't be frightened, you won't like this, but the dreams were always the same. You were naked, Sofia, tied to a post, and I was whipping you. Not with a whip like the one I sent you, but with steel chains, until I finally killed you."

She closed her eyes for a moment.

"And when you died, your body transformed into my boy's, his last breath was, 'Mother!'"

Her eyes welled up. She wiped them with her napkin, quick, almost angry at herself for it. "I...I apologise for my frankness."

I didn't know what to say. I myself also believed that the pain I felt during the whipping sessions the court had sentenced me to was insufficient to pay for the suffering I had caused. At the same time, I feared the punishment.

I decided to be honest. "Dona Constança, I deserved more than those lashes. I deserved everything you dreamed of doing to me." The words came out with difficulty. "But even knowing my guilt, I feared the pain. The guilt eased when I accepted my punishment, but I continued to fear it would never be enough for you."

We looked at each other. Something passed between us that I can't name.

"And I understand that nothing would be sufficient. Not for me, not for you, because no punishment will bring Luís back."

"I know, my boy told me that too... death cannot be repaid with death..." She looked at my belly, her hand reaching toward it. "Are you with child, Sofia?" The words were more a statement than a question...