In the mind of poor Jules, he may have been standing for days on the naughty girl’s step with his maid’s skirt raised revealing his naked rear.
Upstairs in the master bedroom, it took Damon and Jules’ wife, Marianne less than thirty minutes to satisfy their sexual hunger for each other – twice.
Normally, Jules would fret about the ease with which his wife orgasmed as soon as the Bull entered her. Not least the fact that she would hang onto his muscular frame is if he were saving her from drowning. Why was she never like that for him? Jules worked hard to be considerate and caring in his lovemaking, and he was certain his wife appreciated that concern when compared to Damon, who behaved like a rabid dog once on top of Marianne.
But right now, Jules was petrified. Not so much of the gaping windows at the front of the house, where he felt that at any moment, someone would pass by and look in, but by fear of him accidently dropping the back of the skirt in a moment of madness.
Even if he quickly retrieved the skirt, he felt certain Damon would notice that it was held slightly differently, and would add to his six strokes of the crop. He felt like crying. All that work he had done to lower his beating from an horrific 24 to a comparatively meagre six. Now he could receive all of them plus an additional six for dropping the skirt.
His tummy whirred as if it an eddy was building inside it.
So worried was he that when Damon and Marianne eventually came down stairs, poor Jules literally jumped on the small naughty girl’s step.
“Hey maid,” Damon said good humouredly. “Good girl for staying in position. What do you think slut?”
Marianne giggled. “I think her good behaviour is down to your hard work, Sir.”
Closing his eyes, Jules took in a deep breath, just waiting for Damon to notice the skirt was held in the wrong place. Marianne resumed her place on her padded armchair. She was now wearing one of her short, bathrobes, the sky blue, fluffy one. Her legs were still bare, and her hair was tousled as if she had been running.
For his part, Damon was now minus his suit jacket and tie, simply in shirt and suit pants minus the shoes.
“So, maid. Can you remember where we left this?”
Oh my God. Abject fear! Jules knew it! He had noticed the skirt’s different position already.
“Sir!” Jules shifted around on the step in his heels, his knees held together by his lowered panties. “Sir. Sir. It wasn’t my fault. Really!”
Damon stared back as if he didn’t understand what he was saying!
Oh! Why did the bull have to tease the cuckold husband in this way.
Rolling his eyes to the ceiling and trying to keep a grip on his hysteria, Jules finally blurted out. “It just fell. Nothing I could do!”
Marianne tried to soothe her frantic husband, “Maid. Did you get down from the step and try to close the curtains?”
Clearly, they were endeavouring to trap him. “You know full well,” he swallowed before adding, “Mistress. I dropped my skirt. I mean what do you both expect. How long was I up here on this stupid naughty girl’s step? An hour? Two hours?” he stamped a heeled foot. “I couldn’t help it. I just sort of dropped the skirt and then the petticoats were heavy and then it all fell down .” He sniffled up a tear. “Then I couldn’t grab it back in place. It fell back. Don’t blame me. It’s not my fault!”
Damon raised his eyebrows slightly.
“Oh,” Jules cried, “Sir. Sir!”
Suddenly, Marianne bent forward with laughter, her hand over her mouth.
What on earth was so funny? Jules would have a word with his wife later, when the Bull went home and left them some ‘me’ time together.
“I see,” Damon spoke evenly, as ever, s if totally at ease with the world. “So you dropped your skirt?”
“Yes!” Said Jules, as it were obvious. “But not deliberately. It just, sort of, fell.”
Again, the Bull waited until Jules added, “Sir. Yes, Sir. I dropped my skirt. But I’m not to blame!”
The Bull nodded as if understanding the situation, having sympathy for the plight of the unfortunate maid.
Marianne said, “Aw, don’t be too harsh on the maid. She said she couldn’t help it.”
“True,” Damon nodded.
Jules relaxed and was as close to smiling as he had been all afternoon. They empathised with his dilemma!
“Thank you, Sir. I knew you’d understand.”
“So, let’s see,” mused the broad man as he pondered the maid’s predicament. “Firstly, you have only stood there for just over a half an hour. One or two hours is the sort of flight of fantasy I’d expect from a silly maid.”
Jules groaned, and his distress increased when he heard his wife giggling. Why did Damon always make him look foolish in front of his wife?
“Secondly,” Damon said quietly, “There is a clock on the mantle piece so you should have known that.”
What? Oh God. He had forgotten about his mother in law’s clock. Why hadn’t he checked it? How dumb did he look now?
“Thirdly, all you had to do was remain in position while I fucked all sense out of my slut. No more. You didn’t have to learn another language, do a difficulty sum or mow the lawn. Just simply stand there.”
Oh God. Now his misdemeanour seemed even worse. Jules glanced with hope at his wife, but Marianne was clearly fighting the laughter she felt brimming up to the surface.
Jules swallowed, “I didn’t mean to, Sir.”
The Bull patted the maid’s exposed buttocks, “I know you didn’t. You can’t help being a dumb incompetent maid, can you?”
”Well…” Jules began, but there seemed no straightforward answer to that, so he fell silent.
“Let’s see,” Damon continued in his measured thoughtful manner. “You earned twenty four spanks with the crop.”
Jules gasped. He hated the crop.
“But then we brought that sentence down to twelve. We are retaining the additional twelve as part of a suspended sentence. If you are naughty in the future, then I will add them on.”
Jules groaned. He wasn’t going to be judged naughty merely for dropping his skirt, was he?
The Bull continued in his slow relaxed voice, as if weighing up all options. “But we dropped your twelve spanks to six, didn’t we? Depending up on your apology to your Mistress. Remember?”
“Yes Sir. We did, Sir. Thank you.”
Damon grinned at the maid’s eagerness. For all the masochism of sissy husbands they all hated a good beating with a crop or a cane. It became a serious instrument of punishment.
“So go ahead, maid,” offered Damon, waving a hand at the slut he had twice fucked in the last hour. “Apologise to her. And then we’ll see if she accepts your apology.”
“Yes, Sir,” a shocked Jules said.
Damon leaned close to the maid’s ear, “but better make it good. You only have one opportunity.”
Jules’ head swam. How was he supposed to form a cogent statement when so terrified, when humiliated by standing on the step with a skirt in his hands, and even worse, with his little dick throbbing with excitement at his humiliations?
His wife curled up her lovely bare legs beneath her on the deep-set armchair before staring curiously at her husband, wondering what he would say.
Jules’ eyes batted quickly, until he finally squeaked, “Mistress, may I say, er no, please may I say, how sorry I am about my behaviour earlier.”
Marianne stared back at him, and her husband knew more was expected.
“Yes,” Jules continued, “in failing to address you in the appropriate manner I realise that, erm, I, er, was rude. And that shouldn’t happen.”
Jules held his breath while his wife wrinkled her nose in thought.
Damon said, “Maid. Didn’t you also answer back and argue?”
“Oh yes!” Jules blurted out, thankful to be reminded. “Yes. So sorry, Sir. So Sorry Mistress. Yes, it was wrong of me to argue with you.” He noticed Marianne was still just looking at him in thought, rather than nodding her head as if satisfied. He continued quickly. “Indeed Mistress, I say that I will never again dispute, for any reason, anything you instruct me to do or say.”
At last, his wife looked back at the Bull, with her eyebrows raised, as if asking what he thought.
Damon tapped the crop against the maid’s bare bottom.
“Now maid,” he said, “How do I know you are being genuine and not just avoiding some well deserved spanks?”
“Ah yes, Sir. Good point Sir.” Jules’ mind raced. “Because Sir. I mean it. Promise. Honest.”
Marianne smiled, “I think the maid does mean it, Sir.”
Straightening his back, Damon reached a decision.
“Right maid. I will give you the six spanks with the crop and then see if you can convince me of your future behaviour.”
Jules closed his eyes. He hated the crop and the cane, they stang terribly. At least a hand spanking was merely just humiliating, but the crop often made him cry.
The shaking maid felt the crop pat threateningly against his bare buttocks as the Bull took aim.
“Open your eyes maid,” Damon said softly.
The last thing the Bull wanted was for the dumb arsed maid to hide her embarrassment behind closed eyes.
Jules opened his eyes, taking in the dreaded windows with the curtains drawn back.
“Now, maid, look at your Mistress.”
What? He would have to look into his wife’s eyes as he was being punished? Ooooh. Jules felt sick. If only he hadn’t become so angry that afternoon.
Reluctantly he fixed his gaze on his wife and held his breath.
Jules squealed. The pain burnt as a line across the fullness of his backside. He stamped a foot.
In pain, he crouched down on the step, shaking his arse. “Please, Sir. I am so sorry!”
As soon as he straightened his legs …
Jules wailed. This was too much! The pain was ghastly.
Damon lowered the crop. “Maid. Your eyes were closed. That spank will not count.”
“Please, Sir!” Jules’ eyes swam with tears. The pain, the humiliation of having to share his disgrace with his wife and now the injustice. It was so unfair. “Sir, I didn’t mean …”
Damon beat the crop gently against his sore arse. “Maid, eyes on your Mistress.”
On the naughty girl step, Jules looked down at his wife seeing an expression of curiosity. She was absorbed in his punishment, and his reaction to that punishment.
“Oh. Oh. Oh!”
Jules danced on the step, his cheeks on fire.
Looking through his watery eyes he could see Marianne was shocked. Her fingers over her mouth. Surely, she would put a stop to this.
Jules screamed. No longer caring if the neighbours could hear his cries.
He opened his eyes quickly but could only see a blur now.
Jules cried out while dipping so far down his hot arse was on his heels.
“That was six spanks with the crop,” Damon said. “Good maid.”
Was it over? It had to be. Jules couldn’t take any more.
For Damon there is no better sight than a dumb arsed husband, dressed as a girl, chastity caged and well spanked before his own wife. Damon’s dick was thickly erect in his pants.
“Now, maid, I would hate to have to give you the second batch of six strokes. Will you do all you can to be more obedient and better behaved.”
Somehow Jules was stood back in position and still holding up the rear of his skirt. Surely Damon and Marianne would be impressed at his ability to do that after such a fierce spanking.
Jules sniffed up some tears. “Oh, yes, I will, Sir.”
“Excellent, maid. So I am sure you will agree to a few maid lessons on behaviour.”
“Oh yes, indeed Sir. Whatever you say.” Jules would say anything to avoid enduring any more pain.
“Then I’ll ask over my friend. They’ll help you.”
Friend? Jules was staggered.
Damon was already tapping out numbers on his mobile.
“Erm, Sir. I thought, you know, when we started this, that we wouldn’t involve anyone else.”
Jules could already hear the ringing over the phone’s speaker.
“Yes,” Damon readily agreed, “but you just assented to some maid lessons. I’m sure they will help you.”
“But … but … but …”
As Jules sought the courage and the right words, Damon was already speaking into his phone.
“Oh hi. Me again. You still ok to help a maid improve her domestic skills?”
What? Jules’ jaw fell.
“No,” Damon said, easily, “she wants the education. She’s agreed” He held the phone out towards the maid’s mouth. “Maid, say that you want to be educated in the skills of a domestic maid.”
Was there really someone on the end of the phone? Or was the Bull teasing him, to make him look even more foolish before his own wife?
Jules stared with tearful horror at the Bull.
“Unless,” Damon said, patting the crop against the heated, sore backside of Jules, “you want to have the next six strokes?”
Hurriedly, Jules said into the phone, “Yes I want domestic maid lessons.”
“Please,” Damon said pointedly.
“Oh yes,” Jules added into the mic of the phone. “Please .”
Snatching back the phone, Damon said into it, “There you are. She will be an enthusiastic pupil. If not, let me know. So why not call round tonight for dinner. See the scale of the task you have.”
Dinner? Tonight? Jules was aghast.
Whoever this maid trainer was, Jules wanted nothing to do with her. No part of the deal they all made involved anyone else. Certainly not a dominant bitch who probably hated men and that’s why she did maid training! He envisaged a sexy middle-aged woman wielding a long coiled whip.
Damon put away his phone and looked triumphant. “Excellent. Maid. I can see how a few strokes of the crop can concentrate your wayward mind.”
“Yes Sir. But about this so called maid trainer ….”
“Now girl,” Damon said, “I know you have chores to do. You were telling me about them earlier. And now you have a dinner for three people to prep[are. So why not pull up your panties and set about your errands like the good girl I know you can be.”
Jules was already pulling up the flimsy tiny panties around his scorching bottom. He was eager to get down off the naughty girl step and escape any further punishment. But clearly no woman should be allowed to be involved in their game.
Damon turned to Marianne. “After all that I need to unwind with my cock in some slut’s mouth.”
Jules closed his eyes and shook his head at such obscenities. He knew Marianne would be offended.
Marianne leapt from her chair and spoke hoarsely, “Oh my God yes!”
Seconds later they were slamming the bedroom door upstairs.
With his heeled feet back on the floor, Jules extended his arms out before him with a soft moan. It was so good to be able to stretch and ease his aching muscles. Obviously, the ache from his arse would take a few hours to subside. But at least his ordeal was over.
Once they came back down Jules would explain to them how it would be unwise to involve a third party in their games. Particularly a dominant woman. Damon pictured a leather class dominatrix towering above him, which was hot, but it was clear to him that he needed to find the right person to involve in their past time. Not just some shrew Damon knew.
On the other side of the city, Jules notion of a dominatrix in black leather was actually preparing for his mid afternoon jog. But the thought of dealing with a sissy made him too aroused to think. He’d have to have a wank before leaving his home. Maybe pull together his paraphernalia of gags, cuffs and spreaders so he was ready for tonight.
He laughed out loud at the thought of the entertainment he was going to enjoy that evening. Life was good.