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.”

To entertain your wife, the Bull stops their screwing at his place and orders you to send a video to show you are carrying out his instructions in your own home. You need your phone and a tall mirror to reveal complete obedience. This will make you feel good, and make your wife laugh and relax more in the Bull’s strong controlling arms.

Damon, Jules and Marianna Part One by Deborah Ford

 

“No!”

Jules folded his arms over the silky, sky blue front of his maid’s dress, just below his enhanced, bouncy boobs.

Pressing his lips tight together he stared hard at his wife Marianna, until she looked away with raised eyebrows.

Without looking at her husband-maid, she said, “Honey, look …”

“And don’t honey me!” He barked back.

Marianna tapped at the sofa arms with her long pink fingernails, breathing deeply so that her tight dress rose and fell with breasts.

Jules bowed one knee the way he did when he sought to take pressure off one of his aching, high heeled feet. He felt his stockings rasp together at the thighs and instantly his willy filled the tiny steel cage locked securely to his person.

It had been time to take a stand. His wife and her thick, thug of a Bull, Damon, were having the time of their lives with all their sex and date nights, while he had a never ending list of miserable chores about the house.

The wife crossed her bare, brown legs and smiled. Time to try another approach.

“Honey,” she paused as her husband’s eyes widened in rage at the term. “Ok. Jules. Jules, I’d really like this to happen. You know my friends all know about you and your position in the house right now. You only have to serve them for an hour, two hours tops. They just want to see you …”

“Angela is a mouthy bitch and Venessa is cruel. She makes fun of me all the time. Even before she knew about me going to be a maid for two weeks she would always make others laugh at me. So. No. Fucking. Way!”

With that Jules stormed from the sitting room, head held high, point made, feeling  pleased with himself.

That told her!

Sadly, he didn’t get very far. For some bizarre reason he walked straight into an unyielding wall.

In shock, he stepped back in his heels to see the physical presence of Damon, his wife’s bull filling the doorway. He wore a dark grey suit, crisp white shirt, ironed that morning by Jules and a blue tie, that was slightly off kilter.

“Oh, Sir!” Jules swallowed.

In a panic, Jules performed half a scruffy curtsey before taking another step back. He needed Damon to enter the room so that he, Jules, could flee it. Right now his bedroom would offer some safety.

But Damon remained in place, his balding head tilting back as he took in the dismayed Marianna.

“You ok?” The Bull asked.

Marianna sighed, saying, “Yes. I’m fine.”

She said it in that way women say ‘I’m fine’ when they want people to know everything is most certainly not fine.

Damon nodded, narrowing his eyes in thought.

“What was all that shouting?” Damon asked

“Oh, Sir,” Jules giggled. “No shouting. Not really. Just a slight misunderstanding. All sorted now.”

There were times when Damon spoke in a low, sotto voce manner, that carried the full weight of his authority in this household. As if he didn’t have to raise his voice to make a point. This was one of those times:

“Did I ask you maid?”

“Well, erm, no, not exactly, it’s just that …..”

Damon nodded. “Then wait until you are spoken to.”

“Yes Sir.” Jules attempted another awkward curtsey. “Of course, Sir.”

When Damon finally entered, with his full six foot two height ,and full chest and wide shoulders, it was like an ocean liner rolling into a small harbour.

He settled himself on the arm of Marianna’s chair and ran his fingers through her hair.

“What’s happened?” he asked the downcast wife.

These are always difficult situations for maids. No longer part of the conversation and not yet dismissed. Jules felt the best path forward was to edge slowly towards the hallway and then, when he was completely unnoticed, to flee.

“Nothing,” Marianna then shook her head and looked up at the hot Bull she and Jules had acquired from the meeting App. “Well, the maid tells me she isn’t going to serve my friends when they come here this afternoon. I’d invited them because they had heard all about Jules now being our maid for a couple of weeks. They just wanted to see it. That’s all. But Miss high and mighty maid here, tells me that’s not happening!”

Jules’ tummy felt as if all the air had been sucked from it. He was only a couple of steps from the safety of the hall now. If he had the courage to walk, he could be out in seconds, but he simply kept advancing forwards, inch by unnoticed inch.

Damon nodded sympathetically and spoke softly,  “Yeh, well, I guess we did all agree not to involve others from outside the household.”

The maid gasped and stopped moving right next to the door, ready to escape. “Exactly! Yes. That’s right. We did!”

He had forgotten that precondition about this being between the three of them, to which they all agreed. In fact, since he had been locked up in his chastity cage for five days, he was so much in sexual need that he could barely remember anything anyway.

“Maid?”

The Bull spoke quietly, without emphasis. “Be a good girl and stand in the corner.”

Oh!

No!

Jules was so close to escaping the wrath of the Bull.

“Erm Sir. I haven’t ironed your shirt for tomorrow yet. And the dishwasher needs emptying and …”

Damon smiled, “Good girl for being so eager, maid. But they can all wait for now. Be an extra special good girl and go and stand in the corner, like you’ve been told.”

Jules’ eyes took in the white ceiling seeking a further excuse to leave. Sadly, there wasn’t one.

“Yes, Sir. Very well Sir.”

The troubled maid walked slowly to the corner, his bottom wiggling, still seeking a  reason to be elsewhere.

Damon said, “Hands on head, like the good girl I know you can be.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Jules complied, eager to show his deference in an attempt to mitigate the trouble he felt he was in.

But Damon’s attention was fixed on his slut as he noticed her staring hard at her sissy husband. A smile  was finally breaking on her face. The Bull was always amazed at the way wives enjoyed seeing their hubbies being put in their place, taken down a peg or two. And in this case, it had broken her mood, so he was already looking forward to fucking her stupid.

Damon kept his attention on the wife as he said to the maid, “And nose fully in the corner, girl.”

Oh! Bastard, Jules thought. Damon knew how much he hated that part! When you press your nose into the corner, your cheeks touch both the walls. Your feet scoot forward but nevertheless your arse sticks out in an embarrassing manner.

“Yes, Sir.”

Jules complied, feeling the cold plaster touch his cheeks. How uncomfortable. He hoped the Bull wouldn’t keep him here long. He had told him about his shirt and dishwasher and there was much else he had on his chores list.

Damon ran his thick fingers through the wife’s delicate hair. She had relaxed visibly since the maid had been sent for corner time.

She pushed up her head so that she could enjoy his bear paw of a hand cradling her chin.

“I know you’re right,” she smiled at the masculine presence hanging protectively over her.

“Do you want me to have a word with the maid?” Damon asked.

A word? Jules gasped. Did that mean a punishment? A spanking? Would the Bull use the crop? He knew how Jules detested that! He maintained his position, barely wiggling his outstretched bottom even at the thought of physical punishment.

The wife shook her head with a sigh. “There’s no point is there? I mean the maid is right. It is what we all agreed. No one else to be involved.”

“Maid!” Damon announced.

Jules jumped. Had he been summoned?

“Maid,” Damon called out a second time.

“Yes, Sir.”

Jules broke position and feeling a stone lighter clip clopped back into the Bull’s presence. He felt joyful inside. Damon had backed him up, and even his wife was in agreement.

“Keep your hands on your head, girl.” Damon’s tone was even. A man with so much authority he didn’t need to shout.

Jules giggled, still in good spirits. “Oh yes, Sir. Sorry Sir.”

The maid took in his wife’s countenance. She clearly was not happy at the outcome and appeared to be resigned to losing.

“Maid,” Damon announced, like a C.E.O. taking control of a boardroom, “you are quite right to point out that condition in our agreement. We all approved the notion of keeping our arrangement under this roof.”

Maintaining his palms in his hair, the maid said, “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

“Now be a good girl, take your hands off your head and fetch the crop from my office.”

The maid’s eyes grew as large as a lighthouse beam.

“Erm, Sir? I thought you said I …”

“Are you still here?”

“No!” the maid felt confused. His usual feeling these days. “Well, yes, I am. Sir …”

There is a way that Damon tilts back his head that terrifies Jules. There isn’t much of a change in the features, but it is a warning signal every bit as terrifying as a Cobra’s rasp or a tiger’s roar.

Now the Bull raised his eyebrows and with that signal Jules raced to the downstairs office.

Odd thoughts fill some foolish minds of sissies before they are due a punishment. No doubt a natural mechanism to help them cope with the terror they feel. In Jules’ case he suddenly realised that the Bull was going to punish Marianna for suggesting an action outside their agreement. Yes, that was it!

Even as he opened the long drawer containing a variety of implements, such as handcuffs and paddles, Jules was convincing himself that his wife was about to be spanked.

As an act of nobility, he would plead in her defence, tell Damon that he wasn’t upset by her inept instructions.

Yet even as he walked back holding the short thin crop, with the tassel at the end, Jule’s heart raced. Of course, it would be Marianna suffering. I mean, what had he one wrong? The Bull had sided with him after all.

So it was with a nervous smile, that Jules re entered the room.

 

 

 

 

 

Look how hard the guy works to educate the sissy into pleasing him. You can see from her bottom that he has been determined to get her score a full A for sucking. I hope she is grateful.

Obviously, your new friend’s bull and wife will have them locked and dressed too.

So long as you are both tucked up in bed, no later than 9.30.

So you agreed to let the Bull put the humbler on you. After all it would be humiliating before your wife.

 

But you didn’t agree to them disappearing upstairs to screw for hours while you’re left to crawl around with your arse in the air. Why did your wife giggle so much after he locked the Humbler on you? Didn’t she realise you’d be humiliated until he freed you?

You cannot even crawl up onto the sofa, so you best wait until he returns. And then you’ll have to swallow your anger and pride and thank him for your ‘treat’. After all, you don’t want to upset him and have him leave you like this all night!