As Jules set about his chores on that fateful afternoon, his image of the dominatrix sent to train him became more and more embellished in his mind. Even when ironing Damon’s shirts so firmly they were crisply prepared for the Bull, Jules realised that the dominatrix might well be black.

How about that?

He pictured a tall, dark skinned Goddess of a woman in a skintight catsuit of shiny black leather, flailing a long coiled whip. Of course, then the simple minded maid could no longer continue her chores. She held the steaming iron above the shirt, eyes closed, his little dick filling out like a beach ball in its tiny chastity confines.

Maybe maid training could be fun. Obviously, he wouldn’t wish to suffer the humiliation of being trained in front of a man, especially one as masculine as Damon, but nevertheless, if she educated him when the Bull was out of the house, then he’d love to know how to be a better maid.

You are right, observant reader, not for one moment did this foolish sissy think that perhaps the trainer might be male. In fact, not just male, but 6’4”, sturdy and one of those men who are full of masculine energy. Like a gale in full force.

But sadly, that is sissy maids for you.

A happy, distracted Marianne came downstairs yet, oddly for her, didn’t check the ironing.

Her eyes were sleepy from being shagged silly. She filled a glass with water and took a long draught before saying, with her back still to her husband:

“Maid, tonight, do your salmon salad. Everyone loves that.”

She gulped down the water as if she hadn’t drunk for a week, then refilled the glass.

Jules placed the iron carefully into its holder.

“Mistress,” he began.

She swallowed, turned and stared at him vacantly.

“Yes, maid?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about this maid training for me, and well, I think I might give it a go. It might be fun.”

She giggled, “It’s very nice that you are happy to follow our instructions, maid. I am very pleased for you.”

Being too aroused and too anxious to make his own point, Jules didn’t hear the sarcasm in his wife’s words as he continued. “Thank you , Mistress. But the thing is, I think, and I’m sure you agree, that it would be nice if I did it with her in my bedroom, upstairs. Or perhaps when you’re both out. Well, at least when Sir is not here.”

Marianne appeared even more cute, with her wayward blonde hair and a furrowed expression. “She, maid? Who?”

Jules smiled patiently. “She, Mistress. The maid trainer!”

Obviously, his wife had so enjoyed the sex with the Bull that she had forgotten the conversation they had held just an hour previously. He thought it wise not to mention her foolishness.

Suddenly Jules was concerned. “There is a maid trainer coming isn’t there?”

Horrible thought, Damon could have been pulling a prank on him. There was no maid trainer after all! Suddenly he felt a gnawing of bitter disappointment.

Laughing, Marianne filled a second glass and carried them both back to the hallway.

“Don’t worry maid. There is a maid trainer. That’ll happen this evening.” She pecked her maid on the nose with a light kiss of amusement.

“She,” Marianne emphasised the ‘she’, “She, will be here tonight. As for training you in private, I’m sure that Sir has more important things to do than to watch you scrub the kitchen floor under the direction of an expert.”

“Scrub the kitchen floor?” Jules was shocked.

“Oh, you are so cute when you are trying to think!”

Marianne put her arms loosely around her foolish maid, careful not to spill any water.

“Maid. Swanning around looking cute is only part of your job. You have so much to learn.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” Jules said, overjoyed at the compliment.

“Oh,” she said as she headed for the stairs, “chill a nice white for the dinner, but also get out a red. Your maid trainer prefers red.”

“Yes Mistress.”

Marianne was full of herself as she left her gorgeously, dumb maid of a husband in the kitchen. Did she have a story that would make Damon laugh! The dumb maid thinking her trainer was female. She’d love telling it and she knew he’d love hearing it.

While Marianne entertained the Bull with her tale, and her tail, Jules had an idea.

Knowing the couple upstairs would be busy for a while he quickly ironed the final shirts, and hung them on hangers as instructed, before tip toeing upstairs.

“Fuck me! Fuck me, you Bastard!”

It never failed to amaze Jules how his wife would play act for her lover like that. He had known her for over ten years and she never screamed out anything when they had sex. Nor would she use a profanity, Marianne was just too nice.

“Fuck! Fuck. Oh my God!”

Obviously, she said it to make the Bull happy. One day Jules would ask her to do it for him.

Once in his temporary maid bedroom near the rear of the house, he turned on his laptop. When ever he wasn’t busy he would settle down and go to his favourite porn channels.

The reason on this occasion was to look up the dominatrix stories he so loved. Whilst idolizing their erotic videos and pictures.

Misty was one of his favourites. She was so tall! Maybe, over six foot in bare feet, without heels. Often leather clad though some of the hottest pix were of her in basques, tights and thigh high boots, with heels that would require precision balancing capabilities.

Oh my!

Perhaps it was because he hadn’t cum for so long, but now, in his stirred imagination Misty would be his maid trainer.

He groaned, closing his eyes, his fingers slipping beneath his short skirt and petticoats. He rubbed at the steel object through the soft panties.

He didn’t know how long he played, nor how many little playlets flooded through his mind as Misty dealt with him, each time in a more savage manner than the last. All he knew was that by the time  he heard the loo flush on the landing his hand was soaked, and he was as frustrated as an alcoholic standing outside a liquor store.

In a flurry of movement, he shut down all the web pages and quickly stood near his closed door, breathing as quietly as he could.

The last thing he wanted was for Damon and Marianne to catch him avoiding doing his chores. Especially after his horrible punishment earlier.

He heard Marianne moan and giggle. Clearly they were cuddling in the hallway. One having been to the loo and meeting the other on their way back.

“You are an incredible lover!” Marianne giggled.

Jules heard them kissing.

“The best,” she said breathlessly.

“And you’re a wanton slut,” he said in a  low voice.

More kissing.

Jules would love to be able to fling open the door and tell Damon, that Marianne often complimented him on his love making. It was just that he couldn’t ever recall when exactly. She did once say that he lasted 5 minutes, so must be getting better. And he was sure that she orgasmed for him, just not in the big overly dramatic way she always did for Damon. But Jules knew all those noises and shouts were just to feed the Bull’s ego. Just pure pantomime to fluff the Bull’s fragile ego.

A few minutes later, it grew quiet, so Jules charily opened his door and peered out into an empty landing area. He noted that the main bedroom’s door was shut. Phew. Excellent.

He slipped out of his room, and as slowly and quietly as he could, he closed his bedroom door.

It shut with a satisfyingly barely audible pair of clicks.

Good. Now just sneak back downstairs and start preparations for the dinner.

“Hello, maid.”

Yipes!

Naked, save for his grey boxers, Damon was standing holding a barely dressed Marianne, who burst in to schoolgirl giggles.

Had they been watching him come out all the time? He closed his eyes feeling a complete idiot. Why hadn’t they said something? He knew why! They’d both enjoy surprising him. Making him jump.

Oh!

“Shouldn’t you be downstairs, preparing dinner, maid?” Damon asked in that relaxed easy manner of his.

“Well, yes. Yes. Er, Sir. Yes, Sir. Exactly! But I forgot ….” Why did his brain always refuse to work when he most needed it? Why didn’t he think up his lie before he started speaking.

Jules looked hopefully at his wife, but she was finding it all too amusing for words. She started giggling again.

Damon gently asked, “Have you forgotten what you forgot?”

“Erm, yes Sir.”

Marianne guffawed a huge laugh and slapped Damon’s arm, “Oh stop it. You’re being mean.”

Jules didn’t want to look silly again in his wife’s eyes, so quickly cut in with, “No! No, Sir. I do remember. Of course, I remember.”

What could he have forgotten? Oh my God. He was too aroused to perceive any object he might have forgotten upstairs.

“Have you forgotten again, maid?” Damon asked innocently. “Forgotten, what you forgot, what you forgot.”

Marianne threw her hands over face as she laughed loudly.

“Sir, please,” she spluttered. “You’re killing me.”

“Coat hangers!” Jules announced, shocking himself.

Marianne straightened in the bare arms of her hunk lover, tears still running down her cheeks. “Coat hangers, maid?”

“Oh yes, Mistress. I need them for Sir’s shirts.” He turned to Damon and added, “I have ironed all the shirts you asked me to iron.”

Damon would be so pleased with him. Jules hoped to get his wig ruffled or a pat and the bottom. Perhaps lose some of the spankings he had in his suspended sentence.

So standing in his favourite maid’s uniform, Jules smiled winningly up at the Bull awaiting the praise.

“Well,” Damon said in his slow easy manner, “looks like you’ve forgotten them again.”

Eh?

Jules actually looked at his empty palms with incredulity. It was almost as if he thought he could wish something into existence. Of course, they weren’t in his hands! He hadn’t picked them up, because he had only just made up the story.

His wife laughed so much, she was finding it hard to catch her breath.

“Oh yes Sir. Yes. Sir I’m just going to fetch them now.”

Damon swept Marianne’s nearly naked body up into his brawny arms and squeezed her. In return she ran her arms about his neck and within seconds they were in the zone.

Though Jules knew he hadn’t been told he couldn’t watch, he also realised he hadn’t been given permission to do so either. So he slunk back into his room, grabbed a few coat hangers.

Back in the hall he had to step over the two lovers grappling on the floor, who could have been two animals fighting in a woodland. When Jules reached the top of the stairs, he shook his head at the couple so amorously caught up in each other. Yet again his cock filled its confines and spurted into his damp panties.

It was Damon’s fault for making him feel so nervous.

More than anything else Jules needed to be released for at least a quick wank merely to clear his poor overstuffed brain. But he knew that wasn’t to be. So he prepped the meal, laid the dinning room table, all with his head swimming with sexual need.

An hour or so later, Marianne stepped into the steamy busy kitchen in a body suffocating, short grey dress, that flared around her amazing boobs and hips as if the material flowed over her skin.

“Something smells good,” she said, giving her maid a peck on the cheek.

“Mistress! You look amazing!” Jules eyes grew extra large to take in the sexy visage before him.

She laughed, pulling the lid from the veg pan to peer past the vapour at the vegetables.

“A quick shower, some lippy and I’m good to go. Now don’t let the veg get soggy. You know Sir won’t like that.” She put the lid back on the saucepan and grinned at the maid. “You know what will happen if Sir isn’t happy!”

“Mistress, this maid trainer. Is she nice? Or mean? I mean does she do corporal punishment or …”

She laughed easily, relaxed and cuddled her adorable maid.

“Oh maid, you are so amusing. Don’t you trouble that silly little head of yours …”

The doorbell sounded and Jules straightened with shock. She is here!

“Mistress!”

“Oh, look at you. My delectable maid, so flustered. You don’t need to trouble yourself about anything. Sir will sort out what he wants done with you and no doubt the trainer will also have some suggestions.”

“Yes Mistress, but …”

The doorbell sounded again, and Marianne shouted, “I’ll get it!” She then turned back to a flummoxed maid and said, now just be yourself. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Make sure the wine goes into the glass! Just stay at attention near the cupboards with the drinks. For refills.”

She patted her finger on his nose. “You look like a terrified puppy. You are going to love it!”

Then she was gone, closing door on the steamy kitchen.

An immobile maid stood, with mouth gaping, staring at the closed door. He heard the twang of blues guitar music start in the dining room. But he couldn’t make out what the voices at the front door were saying.

The timer tinged and the maid brought the warm plates out of the lower oven and reached in the main oven for the salmon fillets.

He laid it all carefully on the plates, used a tea towel to pick up two of the plates and set forward for the dining room.

What would this dominatrix look like? Tall and black like Misty on his favourite videos? Or a middle aged chubby woman you might see queuing at the post office?

Well, he was right about one thing: The maid trainer was indeed, black.

 

r wife is happy you

 

 

 

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.

Oh God!

“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.”

“Yes, Sir.”

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.

“Yes, Sir.”

“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.

Whack!

Jules squealed. The pain burnt as a line across the fullness of his backside. He stamped a foot.

Whack!

“Owwwwch!”

In pain, he crouched down on the step, shaking his arse. “Please, Sir. I am so sorry!”

As soon as he straightened his legs …

Whack!

“Ooooh!”

Jules wailed. This was too much! The pain was ghastly.

Damon lowered the crop. “Maid. Your eyes were closed. That spank will not count.”

No!

“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.”

“Yes Sir!”

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.

Whack!

“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.

Whack!

Jules screamed. No longer caring if the neighbours could hear his cries.

He opened his eyes quickly but could only see a blur now.

Whack!

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.

 

We will start this part with a moment of horror for which the reader should prepare themselves.

There is always the danger of a maid inadvertently being disobedient, and here is what befell poor Jules as he stood so fearfully on the naughty girl’s step staring with anxiety at the exposed windows at the front of the house. Though large hedges obscured the view to the neighbours and the main road, Jules feared that at any moment a delivery person would walk passed the front room and see the maid in all her humiliating pose, with rear of skirt raised in the air. His delightful pink lacy panties remained around his knees, where he had been instructed to pull them.

Jules had explained this possible expose to Damon, his wife’s Bull, but Damon was more interested in getting up to the bedroom with Jules’ wife, Marianne. Where currently, they both having sex nosily above the head of the terrified maid.

Which brings us to the terrible, ill judged moment for the maid.

Though he had no concept of time while standing on the step, after a while his ankles throbbed, as you might expect when wearing heels and being stuck in such a set position for so long. So he took to pulling up each heeled foot in turn so that foot was up on its toes, with the associated knee folding cutely over the standing leg.

Then this position was swapped.

Now chastity caged maids are in constant sexual arousal. And he hadn’t had any release for three days. So it was that the consequent rubbing of his stockinged thighs, beneath his short skirt, led to Jules’ brain disappearing into a cloud of subby, sexual desire.

With the perpetual act of juggling the foot on which he stood, there was a brief moment when he lost grip of his skirt and petticoats. He instinctively sought to use his free hand to grab at the falling garment but in so doing dropped the entire skirt.

So it was that the short skirt, fell back into its natural position.

“Oh!” Jules squealed in horror. “No, no, no!”

In desperation he grabbed at the hem behind him but got it all wrong and the skirt became enmeshed in his small hands.

Panic flooded through his mind.

Deep breaths, he told himself.

He dipped down a little, took hold of the rear hem and eased it slowly back up high above his pretty stocking tops.  

A manoeuvre made more tricky by his knees being held together by his pretty pink panties.

But once panic washes through the mind, it never recedes quickly.

Oh my God!

With himself, back in the position he had been ordered, holding up the rear of his skirt, exposing his naked bottom, a new terror took hold.

Surely Damon will notice that the skirt is held differently! Just as Jules had his crop strokes reduced by Damon in a moment of kindness, now they could well be reintroduced!

Worse, Damon had said the suspended sentence would be added to any fresh corporal punishment. Originally, he was told he was going to have 24 spanks with the crop, that was reduced to 12 and Damon, as ever being thoughtful , promised Jules it could be reduced to just six if he apologised with sufficient sincerity to Marianne.

He felt like crying. All his good work to please the Bull and Marianne had flown out of the window because of a single moment of inattentiveness.

Damon was right to call him scatty!

He stamped his heeled foot on the naughty girl’s step-in frustration at his own silliness.

Then total dread. Suppose the full 24 strikes of the crop were to be reintroduced and then more added for this fresh disaster of dropping his skirt!

He hated the crop and could never survive a mere six without blubbing like a child.

Suddenly the uncovered windows were not upmost in the naughty maid’s mind.

As we leave Jules to his self-inflicted suffering we journey upstairs.

Damon lay on the bed with his muscular arms under his head looking thoughtfully at the ceiling.

Marianne was trying to pull the bed sheets back into some level of order. Right now, it looked as though an explosion had occurred.

She gave up when much of it was in sufficient order for her to pull a sheet over her naked shoulders and fall into the arms of the manly Damon beside her.

“You are amazing!” She said, knowing he loved being praised. But, as on most occasions, it was warranted.

Damon was one of those guys who excelled at whatever he tried. Top of the local squash table, playing for the local rugby team, his business pulling in revenue, yet at all times he was relaxed and at ease with the world.

As if he had nothing to prove. Unlike of course, Jules who tried to brag about any minor success.

He kissed her sweat covered forehead, “I love fucking the sense out of you.”

She giggled, loving his coarseness.

“You know?” Damon said, narrowing his eyes in thought. “I have a mate. Funny guy. He loves teasing sissies.”

She slapped his hair chest playfully. “Oh, Sir, you are awful!” And giggled.

“No seriously. Loves them. Thing is, I could get him to call around and pass the window downstairs. He’d see your maid, and the maid would shit herself!”

Marianne giggled so much she thought she’d pass wind, which would be awful in front of Damon.

“Sir, you have a wicked mind.” She nibbled at his strong jaw line.

“Don’t give me that,” he grinned. “We both know you love seeing your hubby taken down a peg or two. It makes you wet.”

He pushed his fingers into her sopping pussy, and she blushed at the evidence of her arousal, hiding her head in his masculine scented armpit, with a long groan of pleasure.

Her fingers slid over his hips until she found what she sought. It was already semi erect and just by rubbing her fingers around it, his penis enlarged with incredible ease.

“Wow,” she mumbled. “You’re always ready for action.”

“So, what do you think, slut? Shall I give him a call?”

“Noooo,” she said, as his fingers tapped erotically on her clitoris.

He rolled onto his side as her hand lightly took hold of his cock, which was already firmly extended. He kissed her gasping head and forced a couple of his beefy fingers into her wet mound.

The results were electric. Her back arched and she mewed out loud.

“Come on, Slut. It’ll be funny. You’ll love seeing your maid stammering and shaking. You love seeing her submitting.”

“Oooo, God yes!”

Her mind was now half baked, and she was aware of saying yes, – but was that her arousal or did she want her husband to be humiliated under her direction?

He was whispering in her ear, and she couldn’t take any more. Her insides were pounding, despite having only just orgasmed.

He whispered, “I’ll look after your maid. You know I will.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” She screamed.

With his free hand, Damon pulled his phone from the bedside table and pushed some buttons, whilst saying to his slut: “Beg to come, like the slut you are.”

“Yes, Sir. Oh Sir. Yes Sir. Please let me ….” Her back arched and she scrunched up her knees. This was too much!

She could hear her lover’s voice as if he was coming from a radio, a million miles away.

“Hey, Darius. Yeh, hey! It’s me.” He watched with sensual delight as he controlled the gorgeous blonde writhing beneath him.

Marianne tried to open her eyes. She needed to say ‘No, stop it’, But she also knew she didn’t want to prevent Damon. She wanted to see what would happen.  And, anyway, it made her sopping wet to think of the maid being pushed outside her comfort zone. It would be so hot to see him squirming. Learn that he wasn’t in control of the situation like he thought.

Damon continued, “Listen I’ve got a little sissy for you to play with. No. No, she’s totally innocent. Has never performed for anyone other than his wife and just recently me. Oh yeh. That’s it. I’m playing with the sissy’s wife right now. And she’s loving it. The Slut.”

Marianne laughed out loud, loving that someone would be told how slutty she could be. She had spent her life being so staid and proper and here she could be empowered by this hot gorgeous, trustworthy man who took her to heights she had never before known.

“Oh,” Damon was contemplative. “That’s up to the wife really, how far you go.” He laughed. “yes, she’ll let you spank him. Of course.” He looked down at his hot wife, “Isn’t that right slut?”

Marianne nodded her head, her perspiring matted hair clinging to her face as if it was glued there.

Damon put the phone to her gaping mouth. “Then tell Darius, yourself.”

In a dream, feeling like someone else, someone more powerful and far stronger than she had ever before been, she gasped, “Yes. Yes. Spank the dumb sissy as hard as you like!”

She heard a laugh over the phone and a voice so velvety deep that it was mellifluous. “Slut. I love it. Nothing without your say so, ok?”

Without her say so? Her orgasm erupted. She truly was the mistress of the poor sap of the maid. It was what she said that mattered. Yet she was at the beck and call of this effortlessly dominant man who could give her climaxes the likes of which she had only ever read about previously. And recall with some level of disbelief.

She screamed out loud. “Yes Sir. Yes Sir. Sir, fuck me. For fuck’s sake I need you inside me!”

Damon quickly said into the phone. “Darius, I’ll text you the address. Call around later. You’re in for a great time!”

He turned off the phone and found his cock was so erect that it ached. There was only one place it was going, and Jules’ wife came yet again as he entered her.

In his home gym, Darius picked up a towel and mopped the perspiration form his muscular body. He had been exercising when Damon had phoned, but he’d never pass up a call from his shagging buddy.  The sadistic experiences they had shared with women, usually married and their tiny cocked, sissy hubbies, could fill a book.

Yes, tonight was going to be a good ‘un.

Of course, in the front room of his house, poor Jules was ignorant of the waves crashing above his head. He had more immediate worries.

His grip on his skirt and petticoats didn’t waver, nor did he let his mind roam. He stuck firmly to his hope that Damon wouldn’t ask if his skirt had fallen, as then Jules would always be honest with the masterful Bull.

A minimum of twenty-four swipes of the abhorrent crop made him breathe in deeply.

But Damon was often generous to him. So if he kept the suspended sentence then maybe Jules could put up with the full twelve slices. Oh!

It all seemed so unfair. But there again he, as usual, didn’t have a clue as to what was actually happening in what once had been his own home.

 

 

So it was, that a brain frozen Jules, stood on the naughty girl step in his short maid’s uniform avoiding eye contact with his wife, whilst his wife’s Bull, Damon, stood before him.

With pussy damping interest, Jules’ wife Marianne was engrossed in the spectacle of her maid attired husband being placed on the naughty girl step by her hot Bull. She endured sexual need like never before. Her pussy actually felt empty, needing to be filled by the quietly powerful Bull.

For his part, the Bull, Damon was concerned for the maid’s welfare.

“I think we’re looking at over 24 spanks with the cane. I know you hate the crop, maid. So, I think I have a way forward.”

Relief. Jules closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose. His legs weakened as he could see a reprieve coming. He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment. What could be worse than being spanked by a vicious crop while standing on the humiliating naughty girl’s step?

“You see,” the Bull said thoughtfully, “the way I see it, is that you just got a little bit over excited earlier. Carried away. Is that fair?”

Jules immediately grabbed at the gift on offer.

“Oh yes, Sir. Yes. Quite right.”

“What is right, maid?” Damon asked innocently.

After a quick glance at his wife, who Jules could see was trying not to laugh, he closed his eyes, and said what he had to in order to escape punishment.

“Well, Sir, that I,” inside shame was tearing him apart as he said the words, “I think I, well, yes, that I got a little bit over excited and carried away.”

He opened his eyes and added with desperation, “But I am really sorry now, Sir.”

Damon nodded, “That is really good to hear maid. You’ve learnt your lesson then?”

Knowing he would have to play the Bull’s game, Jules said, “Yes Sir. I have definitely learnt my lesson.”

“Excellent,” Damon announced. “I always think the world is in its correct orbit when maids know their place.”

The Bull paused, with Jules realising that was a cue for him to speak.

“Oh yes, Sir. Quite right.”

“In which case, I feel like being generous,” Damon smiled, as if his liberal kindness was a gift to the planet. “You will only be given 12 spanks of the crop.”

What!

“Sir, I thought you said …”

“Quiet, maid, when someone is speaking.” Damon paused, staring so hard at the maid, that Jules had to lower his head. Before continuing, “I thought you said you had learnt your lesson?”

Jules’ face opened up like a pleading child. “Well, yes, Sir. Really!”

For a horrible age, Damon pondered the maid’s sincerity before finally, grinning and splaying out his arms. “Excellent. I think you have. So now I will finish my thoughts without further interruptions, I hope.”

Lowering his chin to his frilly maid’s uniform, Jules said quietly, “Yes, Sir.”

“So, 12 spanks for raising your voice and failing to address us properly. But,” he paused with one of his winning smiles, “a suspended sentence for the remaining 12 for arguing and behaving like a spoiled brat. There! How does that sound?”

Jules was dumbfounded. He was going to be beaten 12 times and the remaining 12 would be added to a future punishment if he was naughty again? He had to object. He would live in fear of doing even the slightest wrong action knowing that he would get additional spanks.

Before the maid found the pluck to speak, Marianne, his wife, looked up dreamily to her lover.

“Oh Sir. You are so kind and thoughtful. So considerate and fair.”

She placed her hand on his suited arm and he leaned down to give her a noisy, long, tongue dancing kiss.

Jules was furious that his wife would throw herself at the Bull. Jules knew Damon was trying to be helpful, in his own inept way, but even so 12 strikes of the crop was simply too much. Surely, his wife should stand up for her husband.

As Damon leaned stiffly back from the kiss, so Marianne, reached up and curled her arms around his neck, dragging him back into the deep smooch, her naked thighs rubbing against each other beneath her short, light dress.

And Jules suffered in pouty silence. He understood Marianne’s needs for a ‘real man’ as she put it. Someone to whom she could fully submit. And yes, Jules had always fantasied about a powerful male dominating them both and him being the maid. But right now, he needed her support if he was to avoid a horrible spanking with the crop.

His wife groaned in that way she always did before orgasming. A deep roaring noise, that came from her tummy.

Her Bull wasn’t even inside her! A few times he had asked her why she orgasmed when she was merely being cuddled and kissing with the Bull. She would merely just flip her fingers at him, “you wouldn’t understand.”

So, a frustrated maid stood, holding up the back of his skirt awaiting irritably some attention from either Sir or the Mistress.

At last!

Damon had pushed back from Marianne, but they kept their eyes locked together. He too was now breathing hard.

Jules cleared his throat for attention whilst glancing innocently up to the ceiling.

“Ah, maid!” Damon said, pulling his jacket together as he stood with the dreaded crop.

Jules could see the thick bulge, lying sideways in Damon’s trousers. Both he and Jules’ wife were alive with sexual need. They couldn’t take their eyes off of each other.

For all his inner fury and humiliation, Jules’ member spurted in its cage as he became light headed in his fizzing subspace.

“I’ve decided to postpone your beating,” a breathless Damon said, not taking his eyes from the curvy woman with the naked legs. “Even the first twelve.”

A sense of release floated up through Jules. “Thank you, Sir. I’ll get on with the ironing and …”

“No.” Damon maintained his relaxed manner, even when giving a command. “Remain there in position like the good maid you want to be.”

In position? Did he mean that Jules should remain on the naughty girl’s step? Or that he should stay on the step and keep his skirt pulled high above his waist at the rear?

Marianne stepped up to the Bull, kissing him lightly on the cheek, before walking past him, dragging her hand across his crotch.

“I think you’ve done very well, maid,” Damon said to Jules, his eyes flicking back to the wife as she headed upstairs. “When we come down you may apologise to your Mistress and we’ll see if we can suspend another 6 spanks. How does that sound?”

A laugh came from Marianne as she reached upstairs.

She called back, “You spoil the maid, Sir.” Then she leaned over the banister with sleepy eyes, “come and spoil me.”

“Treat a maid with firmness but understanding. Isn’t that right, maid?”

Jules knew his cues by now, “Oh yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

Damon shouted back to the hot wife, “I’ll be straight up.”

The footsteps of Marianne tapped quickly up the stairs.

The Bull stood close to the maid, so that he had to slightly look up at her, due to her being raised almost a foot off the floor by the step. “I think you are learning your lessons well. I am here to help you improve your disposition as a maid.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Jules did feel grateful, especially about losing 6 more spankings with the crop. From 24 all the way down to 6!

“So you stay there, like a good girl, on the naughty girl’s step, holding up your skit, while you think of the wording for your apology for your Mistress. Now, how does that sound?”

“Erm, yes. Wonderful. I am so grateful, Sir. Really. I promise to be better behaved.”

“Excellent, maid. I can ask no more.”

The Bull patted the exposed pink lacy panties.

“Oh Sir,” Jules ventures, his mouth dry.

“Yes, maid?”

“Sir, please may I close the curtains on the windows. If anyone came up the drive, like the postman or a delivery guy, they would be seeing me plain as day.”

He swallowed hard, obviously the curtains needed to be shut if he was going to be stuck up here while his wife and her lover screwed upstairs.

Damon examined the various windows across the front of the house.

“Maid. All they would see is a naughty maid being chastised. That’s what befalls maids whose disputation is found wanting.”

What? Damon had made the statement with such meaningful sincerity that Jules was dumbfounded. It was as if the foolish Bull thought this would genuinely educate him as a maid!

“But Sir, clearly …”

Damon raised his eyebrows, “Is my maid arguing?”

Argh!

Another spurt into his in his chastity cage. Another burst of subspace in his silly head. Another feeling of light headed, scattiness through his mind.

Not only did the words fail to come for the shocked Jules, but even the thoughts refused to materialise.

The Bull patted the curvy arse of the maid, musing that it didn’t look too bad for a sissy, before leaving the maid. He was confident that when he returned, she’d be standing in exactly the same pose, though terrified of someone seeing her through the window.

How wonderfully amusing, Damon thought. And hot!

Damon called up the stairs, “Get your knickers off slut, I’m coming up.”

A laugh from upstairs and a shout back, “What makes you think I’m wearing any?”

Really! Suddenly Jules needed to drop the rear of his skirt and rub his chastity cage through the panties to seek some sexual release. He’d have to wait until Damon was safely upstairs.

Yet, oddly, even when Damon joined Jules’ wife upstairs, and the door to the bedroom closed, Jules didn’t move from his position. He shuffled his heels a little, trying to put more pressure on one foot than the other, to ease the discomfort from wearing heels. His eyes were often fixed on the windows looking onto the hedges, scanning them for any evidence of anyone who would see him in his predicament. But obediently he kept his skirt up, occasionally stretching his shoulders for comfort, but the skirt never once fell back over his pink lacy panties.

He smiled. I bet Sir will be impressed when he returns! Gosh! He might even lose the final six spanks from the crop.

 

 

Having opened the Amazon box, Jules could see the White legend clearly embedded on the pink hardened plastic still covered in the cellophane wrap.

In clear, large letters, it read: “Naughty Girl’s Step”.

Oh no! It would be so unfair to make his wife, Marianne stand on a naughty girl’s step. She would die of shame.

Patting his palms on the cardboard box, Jules straightened up, feeling his maid’s corset grip his waist.

“Are you sure?” he asked the Bull with wide, apprehensive eyes.

“I’m sure. Now be a good girl,” Damon said easily, “and unwrap your present and place it on the floor in front of the sofa.

With a regretful look at his intrigued wife, Jules snapped the cellophane apart before pulling out the plastic board, which he could now see was heavily folded.

“Unfold it,” Damon said, “and stand it up.”

Marianne giggled as soon as she saw the words on the top of the long board: “Naughty Girl’s Step”.

“Now be a good maid and tidy up the mess.” Damon said, “Take it to the recycling  area of the utility room.”

With a hard rock in his tummy, Jules obeyed. He was determined not to allow the Bull to torment his wife by making her stand on it.”

He scrunched up the cardboard and crushed the cellophane until he could dispose of them in the correct boxes.

Not having pockets on his maid’s dress, the only way he could deal with his nerves was to flatten out the frilly apron over the front of his skirt.

Once he was back in the room, he took a deep breath and bravely challenged the dominant man.

“I have to say, and I hope you don’t mind me pointing this out,” Jules began, with his head slightly bowed but bravely in the direction of Damon, “but we never said anything about punishing my wife.”

Jules stole an expectant glance at Marianne, hoping she’d be impressed by him standing up to the Bull for her benefit.”

Oddly she appeared half amused and half shocked.

“Thank you for you reminding me,” Damon said in his friendly manner.

Before Jules could say, ‘no problem’, Damon placed his hand in the small of the maid’s back and guided him forward towards the garish pink, plastic step.

Damon said, “just step up on it.” Seeing the shock on the sissy’s face he lowered his voice to add, confidentially, “Let’s just test it shall we?”

In a haze  of shock, and not quite knowing how to refuse, Jules felt the large hand press into the small of his back. In his precarious heels Jules warily stepped up onto the pink object. It was surprisingly firm. He thought his heels might push through the flimsy looking surface.

He smiled at the Bull, awaiting the instruction to get down.

“There,” Damon announced. “That wasn’t too hard, was it?”

“W-w-w-well, , er, no,” Jules said hoarsely.

“Do you know what a naughty girl’s step is for?” Damon asked.

Hules looked quizzical, “Well, yes, erm. I think so.”

All that was in Jules’ mind was to get back onto terra firma. He needed to get off this box. He felt ridiculous raised up a foot taller, as if he was on display. He was actually looking down on Damon now.

Jules pressed down the edges of his short skirt self-consciously. He hated how it flared out now he was up when elevated higher than everyone else in the room. He was totally on display, like a mannequin.

Damon settled back on the arm of the chair next to Marianne. “Remind us the purpose of a naughty girl’s step?”

Clearing his throat, and feeling his cheeks blush hot pink, Jules held his breath and said, “well if a child is naughty, then it is sent to the,” he struggled to say the word naughty, feeling absolute shame, “naughty step.”

“Excellent. Clever girl!” Damon pronounced.

Jules beamed. “Thank you.”

“Why is it useful maid?”

“I, erm, well. As punishment, I suppose,” an uncertain Jules said.

“Very close. Well done, maid.”

Feeling less positive, Jules smiled and nodded, no longer able to meet the eyes of his wife. How ridiculous must he look, stood up on the naughty girl’s step?

Damon continued, speaking softly. “It is an excellent alternative to corporal punishment. You don’t wish to be whipped with a cane or a crop when you’re errant. Do you?”

“Well. No. I guess not.”

“No. I used the crop on you yesterday and the day before. You told me how you hated it,” Damon continued as if speaking to a child.

“Well, of course. It really stung!”

Damon nodded his understanding with a smile. “Of course it did. Though that is what you agreed to when we discussed this plan wasn’t it? You said don’t be afraid of corporal punishment.”

How silly was Damon being! Jules felt so aggrieved he blurted out,  “How could I know it would hurt like that! When Marianne does it, it is fine. It hurts, but not as bad as that. And I really think you beat too hard. I mean honestly …”

“Hush, maid,” Damon said. “Shhh.”

Jules nodded and fell silent.

“Importantly that’s what we agreed, and do you remember you said, ‘please don’t let me back out of this at any time’?”

“Yes,” murmured Jules looking down at the carpet, which appeared far below.

In the heat of the moment, Jules can say and do anything. For him, arousal whips away any level of discernment.

Damon gently reminded Jules, “You said that I was to ensure you behaved as a perfect maid and you actually suggested using a crop. You also said I could use a cane or a paddle. In fact, whatever I deemed fit.”

This was preposterous.

Jules said, “If I may say. I didn’t know it hurt like that. I told you that. Can I get down now?”

“Not yet maid,” Damon said. “The agreement was that the maid should do as she is told. You have been told to stand on the naughty girl’s step. So what should you do?”

It was as if all the shame in the universe was being dragged from Jules’ soul and layered around him for all to see. He actually felt like crying.

His eyes grew large, pleading with the Bull not to have to answer his question.

Gently patting the maid’s bottom with the crop, Damon said, “Aw, sorry maid. Now I have said it, you have to do it. If you’ve been told to stand on the naughty girl’s step, what should you do?”

Oh God! Not in front of his wife. Not like this!

Jules mumbled, “I should stand on the step.”

“Sorry maid. A little more clearly please.”

Jules stole a glance at his wife, who must surely have been as mortified as him at what the Bull was doing to her husband.

She appeared shocked, but inquisitive. As if engrossed in the actions before her.

Clearing his throat, Jules said, “If I’ve been told to stand on the step, then I should stand on the step.”

“Hmmm,” Damon was clearly unsatisfied. “Sorry maid. I know it’s difficult for you.” By leaning down he put his arm around Marianne’s shoulders. “We both feel for you right now. Don’t we slut?”

Oh! How Jules hated the brute referring to his wife as a slut. She was anything but! Innocent and so nice and pure. She wouldn’t ever suck Jules’ cock for example, saying she was not that sort of girl.

However, this didn’t seem the right time to call Damon out on his rude reference.

Marianne for her part, snuggled into the arms of the Bull and kissed his cheek.

She said, “Yes, we do, maid. I feel really sorry for you, maid.”

“Thank you,” Jules said, shifting his heels on the small space of the pink plastic board, raised from the ground.

“I know,” Damon said helpfully. “Just try again. Forget about acting like a dumb, airhead …”

A Dumb, airhead! Jules pouted. He wasn’t! A s nice as Damon was, he could sometimes say very cruel things. Damon’s consideration was the reason that Jules and Marianne had selected him for the two week experiment.

“So once more,” the Bull tolerantly persisted, “If a maid is sent to the naughty girl’s step, what should she do?”

Now Jules felt sick. His head swirled with nausea. “The maid should go to the naughty girl’s step,” he muttered.

“Excellent,” Damon, announced. “Now be a good girl and say it louder.”

Licking his dry lips, Jules said, “The maid should go to the naughty girl’s step.”

Damon squeezed Marianne. “You see. She can learn things. Not so dumb after all.”

All Jules wanted in the entire world was to be allowed to step down from this infernal punishment step. He would do or say anything.

Worse, with so little room to manoeuvre on the step, it was difficult to lighten the load on each high heeled foot.

Damon rose from the arm of the chair and stood to the side of Jules, who swallowed with nerves.

“Now be a good girl and pull down your panties to your knees.”

A shocked Jules gasped. “Sorry?”

Closing his eyes with patience, Damon said, “Be a good girl and pull down your panties down to your knees.”

Jules took in his wife for her reaction. She was simply engrossed.

As if pulled by puppet strings, Jules fingers slid beneath his short skit and took hold of the side of his frilly, pink panties. Why was he obeying? Already he was gently, inch by inch, pulling them down over his suspenders, and then down over the stocking tops. The panties caught for a moment in the suspender catch but then sprang free until they were close to his knees.

No maid feels more vulnerable than when her panties are no longer covering her private parts beneath her flared skirt.

“Good girl,” Damon said breezily. “Now take hold of the back of your skirt and lift it up.”

About to protest, the frightened maid looked across at the hulk of a Bull but then couldn’t think of any words of protest. He took hold of the hem of the rear of the skirt and raised it, feeling his bottom becoming more and more exposed.

“Excellent. Well done,” Damon said. “Don’t you think so, slut?”

Marianne coughed and said ‘yes’ from the back of her throat.

Jules winced. There was the ‘slut’ word again, but this was certainly no time to remonstrate.

Oh! Jules felt the crop gently tapping on his uncovered cheeks. Not painful, like some of the beatings Damon had dished out over the last two days, but certainly hard enough to make Jules squeal, “Oooh”

The Bull maintained his unruffled voice, as if chatting in a quiet office, “Now then, should a maid raise her voice at the Mistress of the house?”

Jules’ own voice was now timorous and shaking. “Well, no. Nor would I usually. But I can’t be shown off to my wife’s friends. That’s not …”

The crop’s slap was slightly firmer, sufficient to stop the maid jabbering.

“So, quite right maid. No matter how upset you are, a maid should never raise her voice to her Mistress.”

All of a sudden that entirely made sense to Jules.

“Yes. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

“Well, that is good to hear. And a promise too. I will hold you to that promise, maid.”

The words were spoken matter of factly. There was no notion of a threat to be detected in his tone, yet Jules swallowed, knowing that Damon was the sort of guy who was true to his word and would hold him to that promise.

“Now maid, you were so over excited that you bad mouthed your Mistress’s friends, didn’t you?”

Oh no! Damon didn’t know how cruel Venessa is. And Angela is always mouthy. Whenever they are around, they bullied Jules so much that he hid in his office. Even there he feared they might burst in and tease him. The thought of being presented to them as a maid was sickening.

“Well, I may have done,” Jules said, trying a winning smile. “But you don’t know what they are like and then they …”

Two harder slaps on the bottom.

“They are friends of your Mistress, aren’t they?”

“W-w-w well, I suppose so.”

“You suppose!” Damon was surprised.

“Well, yes, they are her friends. I promise I won’t say negative things about them again.”

“Excellent,” Damon announced. “Slut? Do you see how we are getting somewhere with your maid?”

Marianne giggled, “You are an excellent teacher, Sir.”

Jules closed his eyes, how he wished to climb down from the step and recover some level of dignity.

Damon continued, “Which brings me to the maid not addressing her Mistress appropriately.”

Eh? Jules was shocked. “I don’t understand.”

“You said that you wanted to call your Mistress by her title of Mistress. Remember our discussions last week?”

Oh! Jules groaned. Yes, he had!

“Ah. Yes. I understand. I did. I am sorry.”

Damon nodded  with sympathy. “And address me as Sir. You also agreed to that.”

Jules eyes flickered with fear. How had he forgotten?

“Oh yes, Sir.”

“Excellent! I do feel as if we are getting somewhere,” Damon said with pride. “You know Slut, they say that maids are dumb airheads, but do you see how quickly our maid is learning?”

Marianne laughed, “Oh Sir. You are cruel.”

“So then,” Damon said slowly as if thinking through his plans, “let us say six spanks for raising your voice. Six for bad mouthing your Mistress’ friends.”

Jules was shaken. That was twelve!

“But, Sir, I did promise not to …”

Again, the firm pat from the crop stopped the maid in her tracks.

“You did, like the good girl I know you can be when you try extra hard. But sadly, you didn’t, did you?”

Jules looked to his wife for support.

Marianne said, “Perhaps the maid has learnt her lesson, Sir.”

Jules felt his shoulders sag with relief. He closed his eyes with hope. He would be down from the step in seconds!

“I think you are right, Slut. But you know what, a little spanking never hurts. Helps a child or a maid remember why it is being punished.”

“Sir,” Jules said breathily, “I honestly promise not to be naughty again. Really. Truly. Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Did he really say such a  childish thing? Was he truly so desperate?

“Well maid. If your naughtiness ended there, then perhaps I might agree.”

“Oh?” Jules remained standing, holding up his skirt from his bare bottom. What on earth did the Bull mean?

“Didn’t you argue when I sent you down to the car to fetch your present?”

Oh no! Why hadn’t Jules just followed the instructions. With his eyes awash with tears the sissy looked to the Bull.

“Please Sir, I promise I won’t do any of those things again. Really.”

For a long while Damon studied the fearful maid and finally, nodded with a warm smile.

“Maid,” he said, “I think I have an answer to your dilemma. Listen carefully.”

 

Damon, Jules and Marianna Part Two

As sensitive readers of Deborah Ford tales will attest, maids rarely fully grasp any situation without firm guidance from the Master or Mistress in the house. Thus it was, that Jules’ confidence in his wife being punished by the Bull, and not him, was severely misplaced.

Although sitting in the same spots as when Jules had left the room to retrieve the punishment implement, Damon was now deeply kissing Jules’ wife, Marianne. The wife gripped the hefty shoulders of the Brute as he sat on the arm of the chair as if trying to drag him into her. She made gasping wheezing sounds that Jules only ever heard when she was in the yob’s arms.

Even when they made love, Marianne barely uttered a sound.

To attract attention and alert them to his presence, Jules ostentatiously cleared his throat.

The only response was for Damon to wave a hand indicating that Jules should remain quiet.

Rolling his eyes, Jules bent a knee to alleviate the pressure on his high heeled feet. He had been given three and a half inch heels that very morning by a giggling Marianne. “Let’s see how you get on with these, maid,” she said, loving his predicament.

So time passed with Jules not moving. Did he yet again need to remind the two lovers about how much work he had to do with ironing and tidying up?

Finally, Damon slid to his feet with surprising agility for a man of his mass, almost as if he were a dancer.

To the annoyance of Jules, his wife, Marianne’s eyes were fixed lovingly on the brute.

Did she ever look at me with such need, Jules wondered. He felt a little queasy at how her affections appeared to have transferred away from her husband to the guy they only brought in to screw her.

Tugging his suit jacket tidily into position, Damon held out his hand for the crop.

For a gleeful moment, Jules thought it would be a amusing to whap the Bull across his open palm, but he knew the Bull never found japes like that funny. So he placed the crop in the Bull’s open palm with great care.

“Good girl,” Damon said, fishing in his pocket for his car key. There was little inflection in his voice, as if he just expected to be listened to. “Now go to my car. Open the boot and take out the box in it.”

Jules’ mouth fell open. “Your car? Outside?”

“Well the car isn’t parked in the kitchen is it?”

Marianne giggled at the supposed joke from the Bull. Jules resisted rolling his eyes but was definitely not going to laugh.

Bringing his eyebrows to a vee shape to make a point, Jules said, as it were obvious, “Hel-lo! People will see me! The neighbours!”

Damon placed his bear paw of a hand on Jules’ shoulders. “Maid, there are bushes around your driveway. It’s unlikely anyone will see you.”

Pouting, Jules knew that to be true. But no way was he going outside the house attired like this. This maid uniform was one of the sexualised ones, its hem fell just below the stocking tops. There was another, more practical maid’s dress that fell to the knee, but he and Marianne preferred this shorter one.

Stepping around his wife grinning in her chair, on tip toes Jules peered out of the window. It was true. The Bull’s flash white Audi was parked well up the drive, away from the road.

“I don’t know …”, Jules ventured.

Damon flicked the crop so it made a threatening whoosh through the air.

Jules jumped, making Marianne guffaw out loud.

The husband maid didn’t want to be on the receiving end of any cuts from that punishment stick. He so pitied his wife, who, in his mind, was going to face corporal punishment for being naughty earlier. But that was her problem.

“Of course,” Damon continued, matter of factly, as if discussing the weather, “I could pick you up and carry you out there. Maybe bend you over the end wall by the street for a spanking.”

The wife’s giggling stopped as she took her in her poor hubbies’ predicament. What would he do?

For a long moment, Jules studied the huge guy filling their sitting room with a cold casual menace. Would he commit such a dreadful act? Before the eyes of the entire street?

Standing high on his heels, Jules said, “Alright. I have decided to go and fetch your silly box from your silly car!”

“Good maid,” nodded Damon ignoring the bratty attitude.

There are some journeys that have such foreboding that a person will amble as slowly as possible, in the hope that they will never reach their destination.

Jules’ mind was trying to get into gear. If only he wasn’t permanently aroused and denied sexual release by removing the chastity cage, surely then he would think of a reason not to follow this terrifying instruction.

He was now inching down the hallway.

For a long moment he held the cold handle of the front door. There must be some reason not to go outside.

“Need any help, maid?”

“Oh!” Jules jumped.

The Bull was standing in the hall with the dreaded crop in his hand.

“No. No. It was just that …”

The words petered out and Jules felt his eyes sting with the onset of tears. He had always been aroused by humiliation, hence him agreeing to be their maid for the week. But humiliation in a controlled way. Once he stepped outside, he would be in a whole new world of pain and subjugation. It was like admitting total defeat. It was similar to the feeling when Damon kissed Jules’ wife and made her react in ways he had never before witnessed.

“You know,” Damon started.

Jules shoulders relaxed. Phew. Damon wasn’t going to make him do this after all. He turned to face the Bull with as pretty a smile as he could muster. It was just another of the Bull’s japes.

Damon raised his eyebrows and continued, “a spanking over your wall might help improve your disposition.”

What? Was he serious? Jules giggled at the joke, but Damon wasn’t laughing.

Surely he wouldn’t …

A coldness washed down his spine so Jules turned the handle and stepped outside into the chill of the afternoon.

Wearing stockings and panties under a short dress around the house was sexy and fun, but out here in the open air it left him feeling wholly vulnerable. The cold goose-bumped his thighs, making him more aware of the pink lacey panties than ever.

He stepped down the tiles of the porch, each heel noise seeming to resonate through the entire world. He looked outside and could see nothing but the bushes. Walking down the path, he smoothed down the back of his skirt against a light wind’s attempts to expose him. How often had he seen girls do that and found it amusing?

He just felt so helpless. So exposed. He turned the corner to head down the curved drive, double checking that he again couldn’t be seen by neighbours either side of his home or from the road. He passed his wife’s sports Jaguar and reached his own Jaguar saloon.

He was trying not to cry from the mind numbing mortification. How had he lost so much power in a matter of two days? This was no longer a game. He was a scantily dressed maid obeying the instructions of the mindless brute who had seduced his own wife in his own home!

He was now near the bonnet of his Jaguar with Damon’s wide, ostentatious Audi just a few steps before him.

Oh my God! If he got close to the car then he could be seen through the gates at the end of the drive. For a full minute he stared, fully alert for the presence of anyone. No one around! But someone could appear the moment he stepped closer to Damon’s car!

He bleeped the car unlocked and then pressed the boot open button. The car was facing up the drive so the boot was another fifteen feet down the pathway. Fifteen feet closer to the gate. Fifteen feet closer to anyone passing.

With a sudden determined effort, he clip clopped as speedily as he could down his drive, fully aware of how ridiculous his movements looked in his heels. He had to keep his elbows by his waist but his arms outstretched for balance.

There in the boot was a brown cardboard box, about two foot square. The word Amazon was stamped along the tape securing it and Jules could see Damon’s address. Gosh, the bull lived in a very well heeled area of the city. Even more upmarket than their own.

That irritated Jules no end. The Bull not only made his wife react so sluttily, in a way he could never as her husband could create, not only did he have a monster flash car, but he also resided in a superior part of the city.

Jules felt small and intimidated.  – And angry!

He picked up the box and closed the boot. The slam echoed around the streets, freezing him to the spot in mortal fear of discovery.

Then he made his way back up the drive. If walking down a drive in high heels was precarious, then the return journey was even more laboured.

Panic overwhelmed him, it was all he could do to keep walking until he reached the flatter area of the path, near his house.

Despite now knowing he was definitely hidden by the thick bushes he quickened his pace and raced through the porch slamming the front door.

Before he knew it, he was standing in the sitting room holding the large box he had been ordered to bring to the Bull.

“Put it on the table,” Damon said evenly.

Jules complied automatically. His brain was dead, his heart was racing, and his breathing was running at the rate of a jack hammer.

Finally, he stood up and stared at the Bull with tears melting his eyes.

Damon smiled and said, “come here, silly maid.”

The large man held out his arms and the maid threw herself at his body feeling the welcoming muscled limbs fold protectively around him.

In the safe, hard warmth of the Bull’s body, Jules sobbed.

Resting his cheek on the blonde hair of the maid, Damon whispered, “There, there, maid. It’s all right now.”

The maid whispered, ‘thank you’, but the sobbing made her sound too squeaky to be readily understood.

The wife’s lover’s large hands slid down the back of the maid’s dress, feeling the extra tight and locked corset beneath the silk, until they reached the buttocks. Damon patted the distressed maid’s cute bum very firmly.

“It’s all over now, maid.”

Sitting up straight, Marianne was gobsmacked. Was that really her husband weeping like a child in the arms of her caring boyfriend?

“Now get a tissue and dry those eyes,” Damon said softly.

The maid nodded and took out a sheath of tissues from a box. She dabbed at her eyes, being careful not to blur the eye makeup before blowing her nose noisily.

When near enough composed she dropped the wet tissues into a bin, pressed down her little frilly apron at the front of the short dress and stood to attention.

“Better now, maid?”

The maid nodded, not wishing to reply for fear of opening the floodgate to the tears again. So he stood, head bowed, hands lightly held before his skirt as Marianne had shown him to stand when awaiting instructions.

“Not always easy being a maid, is it?” Damon smiled.

Jules shook his head and sniffed.

Nodding, Damon said, “Well don’t you worry your silly, sissy little brain, I am here to help you face up to your struggles.”

“Thank you,” Jules said, meaning every word.

“Ok.” Damon stood tall, “Open the box, maid. It is a present for you. I think your mistress will like it too.”

Marianne’s attention went from her snuffling maid to the brown cardboard box. She wondered if it was lingerie for her, or more sissy outfits for her husband.

The maid tore gently at the packing tape around the box, until the lid popped open. Jules looked at the Bull for further instructions.

“Good maid,” Damon smiled. “Now look inside the box. And take out the contents.”

The maid nodded, smiling. Being obedient felt so good. Somehow it felt safe to obey. Comforting.

Jules lifted up the packaging to see a mess of packing paper. She pulled it out, intending to neatly place it on the coffee table.

But she stopped and froze at the sight of the contents.

What?

Damon calmly said, “Maid. Take it out and place it on the floor before your Mistress.”

Now Marianne was intrigued. What was it that so shocked her husband that he appeared frozen in time. Apparently, she was going to like it. Very mysterious.

The maid’s huge eyes stared at Damon with pleading.

The Bull’s head lolled to one side. “Go on maid, it won’t bite you. Be a big girl and take it out.”