18 comments/ 92223 views/ 15 favorites Domestic Obedience By: Effie100 Chapter 1. An ordinary detached house in a plain, unremarkable suburb, 65 miles from London. 44 Green Meadows was built, along with hundreds of others after the war. Rows and rows of neat, adequately maintained windows and neatly manicured lawns. Apple blossom trees evenly spaced outside every other house, and a post-box on the corner. You can hear the blackbirds on the telegraph wires and the odd crow on the tops of the Douglas firs down in the valley by the local newsagent. At exactly one minute to ten an unremarkable event took place. The doorbell of No.44 rang, ding dong, pressed by the finger of a handsome 23 year old man. Slight of figure, shy and with a flop of black hair over his eyes. A minute passed, two, a robin landed on a fence, bobbed and flew away over the rooftops and the lines of washing and neat little patios and acres of decking. Three minutes. Inside, Mrs Eleanora Martin smoothed down her plain cotton dress, checked her hair in the mirror, with a quick upward pat at the back and opened the door. 'Come in Simon'. Silently and with head bowed Simon entered the hall, and stood there, unable to move, holding his suitcase in front of him like a shield, staring into mid-space at the light, well vacuumed powder blue carpet that smothered the floor and stairs in a sweetly scented veil of feminine control. This was the first time they had met. The air was full of anticipation. An electric atmosphere of expectation. Simon breathed in the warm, almost stale air of the place. The radiators were on, all the double-glazed, hermetically sealed windows were shut, locked, with their little keys hung on tiny brass hooks high above each curtain pole. The house was filled with dainty objects. Neat clean little porcelain figurines on intricately carved mahogany veneer shelving. The house looked like a page from the back of a Sunday paper colour supplement. You half expected to see a glamorous granny wrapped in a towel emerge from a side entry bath, or be offered a set of commemorative mugs depicting some deeply depressing memory from a bygone age. Silence screamed in the hallway. "I will show you to our bedroom, Simon.' The word 'our' tore through Simon's brain, and a sudden rush of adrenalin and near panic made him glance almost imperceptibly behind him, as if trying to map out his escape route. He need not have bothered. Mrs Martin had already shut the door, put across the chain, locked both the bottom and top bolts and pulled across the thick curtains. The house was now sealed. Locked down, airless, oppressive and silent. 'Yes Mrs Martin", Simon whispered, following her up the staircase to the first floor landing. Mrs Martin wore a neat mid-blue lined cotton skirt, a flared hem just below the knee, plain tan tights and beige court shoes, with a modest heel. On top a cotton blouse with sleeves locked tightly down with a neat row of satin buttons, and a high frilled neck. At the top of the stairs Simon noticed every room was shut. The powder blue carpet continued to create a uniform feel of feminine control and each identical door, painted white, with small brass handles gave away nothing. Mrs Martin opened the door to her bedroom. Neat, clean and orderly. A double bed dominated the room. Plain, sturdy with a padded pink headboard. Simon noticed the bedclothes immediately. Not a duvet but an old fashioned eiderdown neatly tucked over traditional pink blankets and cotton sheets. Every sheet perfectly tucked in, ironed, wrinkle free. Each pillow perfectly aligned. The curtains were open. Pink, ruffled and tied back with large satin ribbons. Heavy net curtains obscured the view of the rear garden. The windows tightly shut, locked. Silence. The ticking of an alarm clock by the bed. A long cotton nightdress neatly arranged on the left-hand pillow. Casting his eyes around the room, a plain oak dressing table with an assortment of stiff wooden hairbrushes and clothes brushes. A matching wardrobe. Locked. The key missing, presumably in the possession of Mrs Martin. Everything was in it's place. Simon had been in the house less than 5 minutes, but could already feel the control that Mrs Martin exerted on him. It felt as if everything that was happening had been carefully choreographed, arranged, it almost felt as if the house itself had rules. 'As we discussed Simon, you will live with me for 6 weeks as my...... 'husband', and we will see whether you really do want to live in a household where every detail of your life is controlled by your..... 'wife'. Indeed we will see if you suit my needs as well." 'Oh, I do, Mrs Martin, I do", Simon whispered, and he meant it too. His feelings of nervousness completely overwhelmed by the erotic pleasure of this domestic scene. For months they had corresponded on the Internet. A chance meeting on a dating chat-room where Simon had admitted to this lady, late at night, intimate admissions of his submissive feelings. They flirted with each other. Became more confident with each other. They revealed their fantasies to each other. Layer by layer they peeled away their inhibitions, and slowly, in thrilling whispered prose, their desires were laid bare. Two weeks ago it became clear that both of them were really able to test their desires in reality. Simon had 6 weeks gardening leave between jobs. A perfect time for this young, single man to go travelling. Pack a bag, and drive away from his anonymous London flat. A few e-mails to family. Vague ideas of a summer in Europe. 'Keep in touch?', said his mother. ' I will.' It had been so easy, so thrilling. He packed with a dry mouth and a sense of extraordinary anticipation. His mind raced with all manner of ideas. He had been sent very specific orders by Mrs Martin. Bring very few things. A wash-bag and indoor clothes. You will not be going outside, so you will not need a coat. Make sure you are fit and well. You will be working very hard. You will need to concentrate hard, and you will need to understand that my standards are extremely high. None of this worried him at all. Not at all. He knew this was what he wanted. A small thought in his head told him that his excitement was entirely sexual, and he wondered whether this would be the same for Mrs Martin. Or, was she really looking for a domesticated house husband who would simply do exactly as he was told. A servant. Even that thrilled him. Mrs Martin had been a widow for 10 years. She had lived alone since then, moved to a new town and settled comfortably into her new home. She had few friends and even fewer visitors. She kept her own counsel. A neat, attractive woman in her late 50's. Always smartly dressed with impeccable manners and a pleasant personality. This would be her first relationship of any kind since her husband was alive, and she had many years to understand both her own desires, and more importantly exactly what she expected from her husband. "Never compromise on absolute perfection' she would say to herself often, whilst re-positioning a figurine, or cleaning her lavatory seat. She had many sayings, all similar. "A clean house is a happy house". They stood for a moment in the bedroom in silence. "Obedience is everything Simon. I do not expect you to know anything, but I do expect you to listen to me, and to obey every command I give you. This you will do promptly, brightly and with application and enthusiasm. Is that clearly understood Simon?" she whispered. "Yes Mrs Martin. Completely. I am really looking forward to the next few weeks. I am really excited by the opportunity." "This is not an opportunity Simon. This is trial. You are on trial, and you will be judged on how you behave over the next six weeks. Now place your bag on the bottom of the bed, and join me in the bathroom." Later that evening they sat opposite each other in the dining room. A small plate of clear soup in front of them and a neatly cut square of plain white bread, the crusts removed. . Silence. Mrs Martin sat impassively, her back straight, her chin up, shoulders back. A small napkin tucked into the top button of her blouse. Half an hour passed. Every 5 minutes or so Mrs Martin raised her spoon and sipped her soup. Then replaced it on the side of the plate and looked at Simon. An hour passed. Simon sat, not moving, looking at his soup as he had been instructed to do. Not moving. Eventually Mrs Martin broke the silence, making Simon jump. "Now then Simon. When I ask you to join me in the bathroom, I am giving you an order. I am giving you an order to join me in a room. Every time I ask you to join me in a room you will be expected to close the door behind you and carry out whatever order I give you within that room. Is that clearly understood?" "Yes Mrs Martin. It is clearly understood. I......I....just panicked." "Simon," Mrs Martin said softly and kindly, 'You have no need to panic. This is an ordinary house in an ordinary street. A simple domestic scene. Everything is safe here. You are in suburbia, in England, with your..... 'wife'. There is no need for you to panic. That is ridiculous. You simply obey my orders. That is all I require you to do. Has this not been made absolutely clear to you Simon?' 'I am sorry Mrs Martin, I am truly sorry." 'Well Simon. I have finished my soup. You shall not eat your soup tonight because you have disobeyed me. You shall retire to our room now in disgrace. I require you to prepare for bed and stand by the bottom of the bed until you receive a further order. Dismissed'. Simon stood, leaving the room and wearily crept upstairs to his miserable ablutions. He knew that he now faced a serious punishment, and he was amazed at just how humiliated and how upset he felt. Not at all erotic. Just fear and an awful feeling that he had let Mrs Martin down. He heard the clatter of plates being loaded into the dishwasher downstairs, and could tell that Mrs Martin was both cross and disappointed. He vowed that he would never ever again question anything that Mrs Martin ordered him to do. As directed, he stood at the bottom of the bed in his pajamas, hands behind his back, waiting for their first night together as a couple. The anticipation was incredible. The next morning, at 5am, Mrs Martin got up and putting on her dressing gown told Simon to join her in the bathroom. Barely awake, Simon joined her and closed the door behind him. Kneeling in front of her as instructed he pulled her panties down to her ankles and watched her sit down and let a thin pale stream silently run onto the side of the bowl and trickle into the water below. This went on for ages. Mrs Martin then stood up and waited for Simon to lick the few drops of dew from her pubic hair, and slowly pulled her panties back up, over her bottom and back around her waist. He flushed the chain and moved back, still on his knees. Mrs Martin washed her hands as he fetched a small towel from the rack and handed it to her. Drying her hands she dropped the towel on the floor and left the room. No orders. He just carried on kneeling. An hour passed. The door opened as Mrs Martin came in, stretching her hands over her head. 'I must have fallen asleep again. Pick that towel up Simon and come into our bedroom. You may stand". ''This is our first full day together Simon.' Mrs Martin's voice was soft and kindly. Simon's heart melted. This beautiful middle-aged woman stood before him in a toweling robe, in the perfect domestic scene. He felt enclosed in love and understanding, and yet there was an electric atmosphere in the room, in the house, between them. He was going to be totally controlled. Every action, everything he did would be an act of obedience to Mrs Martin's will. The feelings were almost unbearably erotic. On the floor around the bed lay strewn Mrs Martin's underwear. A large plain pair of cream coloured panties, a matching bra and barely black, silky tights. "Every morning Simon, you will pick my things up and wash them by hand in the laundry room. You will then bring the clothes from the previous morning up to our bedroom and place them in the underwear drawers in the dressing table. If we have guests you will offer to do the same for them. Do you understand Simon?' Simon nodded, and watching Mrs Martin's hand gesture towards the floor, he carefully picked up her things and took them downstairs. He held them tightly, the feeling of humiliation was unbearable. Delicious. He was going to wash his 'wife's' most intimate clothes, every day, as an act of total servitude to her. Simon thought to himself that Mrs Martin was quite right when she said there was no need to panic. On the face of it, everything was very ordinary, banal even. People do wash clothes. People do as they are told on occasions. The difference here though was the context, and it was incredibly erotic, and felt both dangerous and deeply appealing. Mrs Martin's knickers were large, elasticated and with a slightly pearly, almost shiny finish. They had a small neat white bow at the front, a diamond shaped panel across the tummy and a deep, white cotton gusset. They were divine. Turning them inside out Simon touched the gusset with the tips of his fingers. Lifting them to his nose he breathed in the musty scent of Mrs Martin, feeling his penis swell with excitement. After a few moments he hastily filled the sink with warm water and lovingly, carefully washed his wife's knickers, her matching bra and her tights. Then he hung them on a small clotheshorse over the sink to drip dry and went back upstairs. Mrs Martin sat at her dressing table, still wearing her dressing gown. She carefully brushed her hair, and applied moisturiser to her face, shoulders and arms. On the bed behind her she had laid out a rose-pink and white flowery summer dress, some light coloured tights and on the floor a pair of white, open toe court shoes, with straps at the back. Her clothes were never sexy. Just stylish, conservative and slightly middle-aged. She liked it that way. She wanted everything to look normal. For anyone seeing her to consider her to be a perfectly normal wife in a happy relationship, living comfortably in a neat suburban town. This was far more erotic than any silly ideas of Dominatrix's or Madams in dungeons, dressed in leather, wielding exotic whips. Mrs Martin knew that she could cause pain, really terrible pain, with a simple hairbrush, or a bamboo cane from the potting shed, even a simple bedroom slipper. She also knew about humiliation and embarrassment. To her these were the two angels that sat on each shoulder. She loved them. She knew all their nuances, all their power, and she knew how combining them could cause unbearable suffering in her victims. In short, Mrs Martin could completely emasculate any man irreversibly, and at this moment in her life this is precisely what she intended to do. Poor Simon. Day one, and he had no idea how carefully his 6 weeks with Mrs Martin had been planned. Mrs Martin could see his eagerness, see his excitement, how titillating this was. She amused herself thinking about how terrifying, how complete and irreversible her intentions were. Mrs Martin glanced at his reflection in her dresser mirror, caught this look in his eye. She carried on combing her hair, smiling to herself. 'Poor little thing. He has absolutely no idea what is in store for him, ' she thought. 'Mrs Edwards is coming over this morning for coffee Simon. You will serve us. Is that understood?' Yes, of course Mrs Martin,' Simon replied slightly nervously. He certainly had not expected visitors on their first day together. He was enjoying this claustrophobic adventure, and was hoping for a day together alone with his 'wife', to.... to, well he was not quite sure. But he felt that surely a visitor would somehow break the spell. At 1030 Mrs Martin sat neatly on her sofa. Her legs crossed, flicking casually through the Radio Times. Simon sat on an upright chair next to the sitting room door in silence, as instructed. He had been made to wear a very tight pair of white tennis shorts provided by Mrs Martin, a tiny polo shirt that barely covered his stomach and bright green jelly shoes, the sort that you buy at a beach hut in the summer and almost immediately regret your decision. He felt a bit ridiculous. Like a small boy who had promised to be on his best behaviour in front of 'guests'. He fidgeted and tried to tuck the shirt into his shorts, but it just kept springing out again. Then the doorbell rang. "Go and let Mrs Edwards in Simon. Take her coat, introduce yourself as Simon and bring her into the sitting room." Simon stood up and as he entered the hall he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He really did look ridiculous. He felt awkward and exposed. He prayed that Mrs Edwards would not take any notice of him and he could just sneak away and leave them to gossip over coffee. It took ages to open the front door. He had to grope behind the curtains to find the pulley string. Then he had to open both bolts, top and bottom, remove the chain and unlock the Yale lock. At last he was able to open the front door. 'Hello Mrs Edwards, I am Simon,' he said quietly. 'Please,...please, do come in'. Mrs Edwards was a slim, elegant woman in her mid-fifties. Her hair was cut short at the back and had been permed into a neat 'do' at the front. She was immaculately dressed in a neat tartan skirt cut below her knees, a soft pink top with a matching cardigan, both with pearl buttons that matched the string around her neck and her earrings. She had heavy make-up on and thin, cruel looking lips with deep scarlet lipstick. She could have been a librarian. Mrs Edwards entered the house gracefully in complete silence. Turning around she raised her arms and with a turn of her wrists gestured with her hands for Simon to take the shawl from her shoulders. She then turned to face him, and looking directly into his eyes she slowly plucked her black leather gloves, finger by finger from her hands. Simon Blushed. It felt like striptease, and yet he just could not break away from her eyes. "Close the door Simon. This is not a barn'. Her voice was soft, authoritative, clipped with a distinct upper class accent. A voice that made a statement. Simon broke away from her gaze and closed the door clumsily. Flustered he turned to watch Mrs Edwards drop her gloves one by one on the carpet, in an act of complete derision towards this little fool. Blushing scarlet, he knelt down to pick them up, still clutching Mrs Edwards shawl. He glanced at the sheer perfection of her stockings and her expensive shoes. He felt humiliated and useless. Like a junior under-servant who couldn't even let someone into the house properly. Dropping her gloves in front of him was her way of saying 'You really don't expect me to wait for you '. Simon felt flustered and embarrassed. He quickly opened the cloakroom door, tried to hang the shawl on a coat hanger, only for it fall on the ground. He then stuffed it through the centre of the coat hanger roughly, and balanced the gloves on top. Stepping back, Mrs Edwards gestured him to one side, and once again making eye contact with him, removed the coat hangar, handed him her gloves and proceeded to carefully and neatly drape the shawl around the hangar so it stayed in place, simply, elegantly and with no creases. She took the gloves from Simon, placed them on a shelf one by one and closed the closet door. 'I believe that I have come to visit Mrs Martin. As you are not her, perhaps you would be so kind as to present me to her Simon.' Simon still totally humiliated by his complete inability to greet a visitor to a house opened the sitting room door and entered. Mrs Edwards stood back raising her hands as if being pushed out of the way, adding to his feeling of abject misery and ineptitude. Domestic Obedience Mrs Martin rose from her chair and stepped forward with open arms. 'Darling, how lovely to see you. You look gorgeous, as always.' They embraced and stepping back, still holding her friends hands she looked her up at down, "Oh Annie, you have such style, come sit beside me'. Simon stood awkwardly by the door, completely ignored, whilst the ladies sat and chatted, occasionally touching each other on the knee. They were clearly very good friends and happy and relaxed in each other's company. This made Simon feel even more uncomfortable, even more isolated. Fifteen minutes passed. 'Simon, you may serve coffee now. ' 'Yes, Mrs Martin', he replied, and almost imperceptibly he felt his knees twitch, as if giving a little bob of a curtsey. He was sure he didn't, but it felt as if somehow that would have been the correct, the most polite response. He flushed and left the room, surprising himself by leaving the room backwards. Something in him said that turning his back on these ladies would be considered rude, and instinctively he knew that had to be avoided at all costs. Simon brought in a tray of coffee in a silver coffee pot, two cups and a neat double-stacked plate of fancy cakes and biscuits. The glass-topped coffee table was very low, so Simon had to bend his legs to carefully place the tray down. Again it felt like a curtsey, except he must have looked ridiculous dressed as he was. Mrs Martin looked at him impassively and then turned back to Annie, 'Coffee dear?' 'That would be nice', she responded brightly, sitting up straight with hands on her knees. Both ladies watched as Simon at first tried to serve the coffee standing up and stooping over, and then with legs bent. The table was just so low that neither position worked, and again he felt this embarrassing sense of ineptitude and failure. 'What is wrong with me?' he thought. I can't even pour a cup of coffee. 'Simon, please sit on the floor and serve. We wouldn't want any unpleasantness now, would we dear?' 'What did that mean?" What did she mean by unpleasantness? A spillage. A row, what.? His mind raced. He realized that he had no choice. He sat on the carpet in front of these two ladies, like a little boy with his Mummy and Aunt. He could feel them watching him, enjoying the moment. A seemingly innocent moment, pouring coffee, had become a moment of intense humiliation. Could it get any worse? Mrs Edwards crossed her legs and Simon saw in the reflection of the table the top of her stockings, and a glimpse of her suspender. His heart nearly stopped. He poured a cup of coffee for her and with both hands on the saucer handed it to her, like an offering. 'No milk for me dear.' Mrs Edwards gave a weak smile, as she saw the look of panic in Simon's eyes. Simon froze, holding the saucer in both hands, kneeling on the floor looking at the coffee cup. Simon looked across at Mrs Martin, almost as if asking what he should do next. His confidence had evaporated, he couldn't even find the words to express himself. 'I fail to see why looking at me will help Simon. Go to the kitchen and bring a fresh cup and pour our guest a cup of coffee without milk.' Mrs Martin's tone had just the merest hint of exasperation. Simon had to decide whether to put the coffee cup down, and then scrabble up from the floor, or try and rise with the cup still in his hand. Mrs Edwards uncrossed and crossed her legs again, still looking at him, and he was sure he saw a glimpse of her panties. This distracted him further, just for a second, and he still could not decide what to do. For some reason he felt tears welling up inside himself and could feel his dignity ebbing away. If he wet himself right there and then, he would not have felt more wretched. He put the cup down. A good decision he thought, held the table and pulled himself up and then lent down and picked up the cup. As he started to walk backwards out of the room, Mrs Edwards asked 'Have you pushed the rewind button Simon?' Blushing, and close to tears he turned round and started to walk towards the door properly, without responding. When he returned with a fresh cup he found Mrs Martin had moved his chair from beside the door to the centre of the room, directly facing Mrs Edwards. She stood behind it resting her hands on the backrest in silence. Simon stood there for a moment unsure what to do next. Mrs Edwards spoke first. 'My coffee please Simon. Black! After pouring the coffee, he stood up and watched his 'wife' take a seat on the chair. 'Pull down your shorts Simon. ' Now he knew it could get worse. A momentary pause, and then he did as he was told. 'Take them off, and your pants Simon, please. Now come over here across my lap, hands on the floor.' Simon lay across his wife's lap, feeling the cotton dress and her thighs and knees as his hands pressed flat down on the soft, warm carpet. His naked bottom presented to Mrs Martin. 'When I ask you a question Simon, I expect an answer. I do not expect you to ignore me and walk out of the room. That is rude. I will not tolerate rudeness, especially in front of my guests. Do you understand?' 'Yes, Mrs Martin. I am sorry Mrs Martin, I thought you were just being sarcastic." 'Simon. Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit. I do not use sarcasm. My instructions to you are, and always will be, clear, concise and unambiguous. This is because I wish you to understand me. I wish you to obey me. Is that clear Simon?' Her deliberate, cold tone, and her complete lack of any feeling, or humour made Simon feel quite frightened. This didn't feel like a sexy game at all. It felt very real. He felt controlled and he felt the real shame of a deserved reprimand. 'Yes, Mrs Martin. I do understand.' Simon could hear himself responding to Mrs Martin in the same quiet, deliberate tone. Little did he know that at the end of his six weeks here, his entire style of speaking would have changed out of all recognition. In fact, his style of speaking was the very least of the changes Mrs Martin had planned. But for the moment she was content to hear submissive, dull, lifeless responses to her commands, spoken clearly and without delay. 'Good. Then we are getting somewhere. ' Simon could see out of the corner of his eye Mrs Edwards, sitting impassively her legs crossed sipping coffee. He wanted the world to swallow him up. In just half an hour he had gone from a complete stranger to a silly little boy naked from the waist downwards, lying over his wife's knee about to be spanked. His humiliation was unbearable. The slaps were regular, every 5 seconds, and delivered with precision across both buttocks, firmly and with considerable power. They stung mercilessly, and caused Simon to wriggle and kick his legs just to try and find some relief from the hot stinging sensations. After 14 slaps Mrs Martin finished. 'Get up Simon. Put your chair by the door and sit down. You can put your shorts and pants back on. ' Simon got up first, and waited as Mrs Stanton straightened her skirt and stood up. Without a second glance she returned to her seat. 'Your husband looked up my skirt whilst you were punishing him for rudeness Eleanora. I am beginning to form an impression of you husband, which is most unsatisfactory'. Mrs Stanton looked shocked, appalled even, and brought her hands up to her face with a sharp intake of breath. 'My dear Annie, I cannot apologise enough. That is outrageous. I shall ensure that such a disgusting act of....of defilement is very heavily punished indeed. '. 'No Eleanora. This has been an act of defilement against me. This boy shall be punished by me I think, if you are in agreement?' 'Yes of course Annie. What did you have in mind? A spanking?' 'I think we can do better than that. We shall discuss it later, shall we? When I have had time to consider something that matches the sheer perverted audacity of Simon's behaviour. ' Both ladies nodded in agreement, and turned their thoughts to more pleasant matters. and local gossip. After another 20 minutes Mrs Edwards looked at her watch and made her excuses to leave. A hug, a kiss on both cheeks and it was time to go. 'Simon, show Mrs Edwards out please' she said brightly, and with a happy sigh sat down to finish her coffee. In the hall Simon didn't know where to look. His gaze was vacant and unfocused, tried not to look at Mrs Edwards, and to get this over with as quickly as before. Mrs Edwards shut the door between the hall and the sitting room and said slowly:- 'My shawl Simon, and my gloves'. Simon opened the cloakroom door and carefully removed Mrs Edward's shawl and gloves. As she turned her back to him he realized that she expected him to drape it over her shoulders. Then turning back to him she took one glove from him and meeting his eyes for the first time, she pulled it onto her hand, finger by finger, until it fitted tightly over her wrists. Again with the left hand. Simon was shaking with fear. 'We shall meet again soon Simon to deal with unfinished business. Now you may open the door for me". When Mrs Edwards had left he closed the door carefully, locked it and pulled the curtain. Mrs Martin stood behind him in the hall. 'Well Simon, soon it will be time for lunch', she said brightly, clapping her hands and smiling as if nothing had happened. and walking briskly into the kitchen. 'Come along, work to do.' Simon, his bottom still stinging, and completely humiliated by the events of the morning found this change of mood difficult to cope with. He felt like crying. He certainly felt confused and completely out of control. Perhaps that was the whole point. To take him out of his comfort zone, and confront him with emotional challenges that he had no way of anticipating. The desire to cry was almost unbearable, and he stifled a sob as he walked into the kitchen. Surprisingly, the afternoon went by quite pleasantly. After lunch they talked and washed up together like a happy couple. Then walking around the house together, Mrs Martin showed him some of her porcelain figurines, lightly dusting as she breezed from room to room confidently. Simon was happy to follow her, like a puppy dog, and was beginning to feel a real warmth for this incredibly attractive lady. At exactly 9pm Mrs Martin opened the bedroom door and entered. Simon stood at the bottom of the bed, as last night, hands behind his back, silent and nervous, trying to keep still and appear as unobtrusive as possible. 'I spoke to Mrs Edwards this evening Simon. She has decided to punish you at her house for your indiscretion this morning. You will report there tomorrow morning at 9am, and she will dismiss you at 4pm. Mrs Edwards is confident that 7 hours is enough to satisfactorily administer the appropriate punishment. Simon's blood ran cold. 'Unzip my dress Simon, carefully please.' The dress peeled apart as Simon gently pulled it down to the small of Mrs Martin's back. Raising her fingers she pulled it off each shoulder and let it fall to the floor. 'Pick it up and hang it in the wardrobe Simon. Use the loops, and pull the zip back up fully.' Simon knelt before Mrs Martin as she stepped out of her powder blue lined dress. Her scent was intoxicating, and he could see her lingerie. A panty corselet, white, with 8 suspenders, barely black seamed stockings, black patent court shoes. Neat, conservative, and incredibly sexy. Hanging the dress up he could feel a stirring in his pajamas.He was not sure whether he would be able to hide it, and he stood awkwardly, in a semi-stoop as he closed the wardrobe door. Mrs Martin was now sitting at the dressing table, brushing her hair. 'Come kneel beside me Simon', she said softly. Simon was pleased to do this, as he could hide his erection. He also wanted to breathe in her perfume, and feel the warmth of her body next to his. His feelings of desire were almost unbearable. "Do you like my clothes Simon?' 'O yes Mrs Martin, very much. ' Simon couldn't hide the slight quiver in his voice, which sounded thick with lust, and slightly nervous. "Tonight you will undress me Simon, and then we shall make love. I fear that we will not be making love for some time after your visitation tomorrow, and so early on in our 'marriage', I think that you should experience something beautiful. An hour later, after the sweetest most erotic kiss, wrapped lovingly in each others arms Simon ejaculated inside Mrs Martin, and seconds later, with a barely audible gasp Mrs Martin herself reached a climax that seemed to roll over her for ages before subsiding into a beautiful satisfied feeling of elation. Such sweet feelings. As they lay together, even deep down inside they both knew this was both what they wanted. In the morning whilst Mrs Martin bathed, Simon gathered up all her underwear from around the bed and holding it to his face, took it down to the laundry, determined that he would wash each piece, one by one, as soon as he had the time to give it his full attention. This was not going to be today. At 8.30 am he left for Mrs Edwards house. "You were not supposed to leave this house Simon. That was our deal. The fact that you are leaving so soon displeases me. But you have given me no choice. You must receive the punishment Mrs Edwards has prepared for you, and then I hope there will not be any other ....'incidents', and we can move forward as I intended." 'Yes Mrs Martin. I am sorry.' Simon said forlornly as he left the house. Mrs Edwards' house was only a few streets away. It was slightly larger than Green Meadows, and had a vaguely Gothic feel to it, on the outside at least. Simon noticed that all the curtains were closed, and that there was no car in the drive. At exactly 9 am he knocked on the large knocker, and waited. After a minute, he heard bolts being drawn back and the sound of a key being turned in a lock, followed by a chain. The door opened and Mrs Edwards beckoned Simon in with a single crooked finger. Her face was expressionless. She looked calm and serene and totally in control. The door closed behind him, and he stood there. The same awkwardness returned. The same feelings of ineptitude, of being completely out of his depth. In short, he felt completely overwhelmed with a sense of total inadequacy. 'Follow me Simon.'. Mrs Edwards walked trough the hall and into a large conservatory at the rear of the house. The room was beautiful. An elegant Victorian Orangery in wood, with ornate cast-iron windows and a vaulted ceiling. The floor was scrubbed York Stone and exotic plants in ornate china pots lined the walls. The morning sun began to flicker through the oak trees in the large lawned gardens, and you could still smell the dew on the grass. 'Take your clothes off Simon, and place them on the sofa'. Mrs Edwards hand waved to a large chesterfield in the corner. He didn't know what to do. The room had such a feeling of openness that it was like taking your clothes off in the street. He took his clothes off as instructed and stood awkwardly at the side of the room. In the centre of the room a sturdy pine kitchen table had been placed, about 8 ft long and 3ft wide. I want you to bend over the table Simon. Put your chest and stomach flat and your hands over the edge. Then open your legs about two feet apart. Simon did as he was instructed. It felt uncomfortable, as he rested his chin on the table, wondering what would happen next. Mrs Edwards walked around the table and put a large linen basket on the table next to his head. It was full of her dirty washing. On the table were four pieces of rope. Mrs Edwards secured Simon's feet to the two legs at the back, and his wrists to the two legs at the rear. 'Have you ever begged Simon?' Mrs Edwards asked Simon softly. 'No Mrs Edwards. I don't think so.' Simon's voice was unsteady and sounded too high. 'Well, Simon, today you are going to beg. You will beg for me to stop and you will beg for me to, to...well let us see shall we." 'I shall leave you to reflect for a while Simon. But first let me introduce you to a new scent. Mrs Edwards took a huge pair of beige panties from her washing and tuned them slowly inside out. Can you see how dirty the gusset of my panties is Simon. That is because I wore them all day yesterday, even for wiping myself after visiting the bathroom. You are going to spend the next 15 minutes sniffing and licking and sucking the gusset, until you are totally familiar with my scent. '. Mrs Martin then pushed the gusset into his mouth, pulling the knickers over his head. She held it in place with a thick elastic band, and left the room. The smell was overwhelming. A heady mixture of feminine smells and other bathroom odours. The foul musty smell took over his every thought, and the salty, sharp gritty taste on his tongue caused him to dribble, and swallow his saliva. He felt as if Mrs Martin's most intimate discharges were taking over his senses, and yet he couldn't help feeling incredibly turned on. His penis swelled and he could feel it throbbing against the bottom of the table. Fifteen minutes passed and Mrs Martin returned. "I see that my scents are exciting you Simon. So, now you must be punished for your indiscretion at Mrs Martin's house.' With that Simon felt his legs being gently spread further, and Mrs Martin's gloved hands gently stroked the inside of his thighs. 'I want you to prepare yourself Simon. I am going to administer 50 strokes of the cane. I will not stop until the punishment has been administered. There is no mercy. No safe word. You will simply endure the punishment'. Simon, for the first time attempted to struggle free, but he realised this was not going to be possible. A few moments later the first stroke cut across his buttocks. At first he heard just a swish and a loud crack. Then a split second later a huge violent searing pain spread across his backside causing him to yelp in pain. The pain intensified rapidly, and peaked after about 10 seconds. His vision turned purple and blue and he felt sick at the intensity of this exquisite agony. A branding would have been less painful, he thought to himself. Crack. Another stroke, this time across the top of his thighs. Even more painful this time. Simon struggled and cried out, much more loudly. 'O help. Please stop, I can't take this Mrs Martin. Please stop.' 'I will stop Simon after another 48 strokes. Until then, you may say as you wish. It will make no difference. You are going to be punished for looking up my skirt. If it helps you may beg. You may plead, but it will not make any difference. Simon began to panic. Seriously panic. This felt dangerous and he was certain he couldn't take this level of violence. He had never been subjected to pain like this. He thought it must be worse than anything. Crack, this time across his buttocks again, Crack, crack, crack. Then the tears started to flow. Simon's face went red and loud howling uncontrolled sobs echoed across the room. He could here himself barking and yelping like a dog. His voice hoarse and crippled with pain. 'O please Mrs Edwards's, please stop this'. The sound of his voice changed. From panic to total despair. He screamed in pain as the cane landed again and again across his legs and buttocks. After a while the pain became continuous, the agony just came in huge, sickening waves, and the tears rolled down his cheeks and dripped onto the stone floor. It seemed to go on forever. At long last he heard the word 48, and then two cracks later it was over. His legs were shaking uncontrollably, and he could hear himself whimpering and moaning in a high-pitched voice, squealing like a little pig. A few minutes later he managed to stop moaning, and could feel himself gaining back some control. He was conscious that he had completely lost all emotional control during the course of his punishment, and his screams for mercy and loud cries of pain were all witnessed by Mrs Edwards. Domestic Obedience 'Right, Simon. We have made a fair start to your punishment. Before we continue I will dress your wounds. '. Mrs Edwards went around the table untying his arms and legs, and then holding him by the arms she pulled him gently to his feet. His legs buckled momentarily, but he regained some strength and was able to stand unaided, holding on tightly with both hands to Mrs Edwards arm. He smelt her hair, as he stood in a puddle. His humiliation was complete. 'Come over here child. Let me help you. Now, have a look in the mirror first, so you can see what you have brought upon yourself by your moment of weakness." Simon could hardly believe his eyes. He looked shocked and went very pale. The whole of his backside and the top of his legs was a mass of angry purple and white weals, all raised and knotted. Some of the welts were weeping, and the overall effect was an angry mess. 'When I punish Simon. I do it properly. You have received 50 very hard strokes of my cane. These wounds will require attention daily for a week. You will not be able to sit down or put any pressure on your backside or legs for at least 5 days. Now come here and bend over my knees.' Simon did as he was told, and went limp as Mrs Edwards gently dabbed a cooling cream across the wounds with her fingers. 'Good boy. Now we shall continue with your punishment'. The word 'continue' echoed in Simon's head. Continue. Surely this was enough. More than enough. 'But, please, Mrs Edwards, surely......' 'Shhhhh, shhhh, dear. Don't waste your energy. Everything has been carefully planned. It is completely pointless making a fuss.' With this Mrs Edwards smiled kindly and stroked his back affectionately. 'You have felt my anger now. You now know that I will hurt you very much if your behaviour is inappropriate. Now you will learn how vindictive I can be when I have been wronged. Simon could not understand his emotions at all. This woman was, with her body language and tone of voice being so gentle and kind. But her words, softly spoken, talked of more awful things to come. Everything felt surreal, almost spiritual. He wondered if this woman could possibly be evil, or even insane. Mrs Edwards asked Simon to rise and follow her over to the table again. 'Now Simon, I wish you to take this basket of washing upstairs. Follow me. Simon picked up the basket and followed Mrs Edwards upstairs to her bedroom. Inside he was instructed to place the basket on the bed and kneel down on the floor. Mrs Edwards sat on the bed and picked up a pair of panties from the pile. Holding them up to his nose she told him to smell them and to kiss them. He did as he was instructed and instantly fell again under her spell, his erection swelling between his legs. 'Take them into you mouth Simon, everything, and close your mouth.' Fortunately these were much smaller than the pair he had tasted earlier, and he was able to take the whole pair into his mouth easily. He could taste the gusset and feel the silkiness against the roof of his mouth. He tried not to gag, but kept as still as possible so the material didn't slip backwards down his throat. It took huge concentration. 'Stand up Simon". He stood carefully and Mrs Edwards immediately saw his erection, stiff and hard up against his stomach, throbbing and red. 'Now Simon, I am going to make you swallow my panties. Go on now.' Simon knew that he could not argue. Mrs Edwards grasped his penis between her hands and started to stroke it up and down slowly. 'I know that you want to eat my panties Simon. I can see how excited the idea is to you. Go on now.' Simon could not believe that he could survive this. If he started to swallow the material would unfold and stick in his throat. He would surely suffocate. He looked at Mrs Edwards, but she just looked at him, expecting him to obey. Her fingers were rubbing up and down his cock, urging him to obey her order, which both of them knew could be fatal. He thought that she really wanted to see him die in front of her, choking on her dirty panties whilst she gave him one last orgasm, a perfect submissive act of sacrifice. Simon's mouth filled with saliva, his natural reaction to the delicious tastes and feelings in his mouth. He was about to consume Mrs Edward's dirty underwear. Actually consume her underwear. He started to dribble and his mouth became wetter and wetter. Until he had no choice. The flavours stated to run down his throat. He was forced to start swallowing. He tried not to panic and pushing his tongue upwards he felt the lacy lining and then the soft silk move backwards and start to slither down his throat. He must not gag. He must not gag. Their eyes met. Mrs Edwards carried on stroking him and smiled gently at him. He must not gag. He swallowed again and more of Mrs Edwards's panties went down, then, he felt the roughness of the lacey side panels, then more silk. He swallowed again and at last started to feel the panties move downwards. He was salivating heavily now, and this helped. He couldn't believe how the taste of Mrs Edwards was making him salivate so much. He felt perverted, the tastes of her most intimate discharges were just so delicious his mouth and throat filled with saliva. Then one hard swallow and they were gone. He kept swallowing, praying that they would stay down. He could breathe again. The relief was incredible. He thought he had survived this awful ordeal. 'Good boy Simon. You obeyed me. You have consumed my dirty panties, and I am pleased. Now show me how lovely they were. Show me how much you wanted to eat my filthy knickers.' Simon looked at her, his face was bright red, he was dribbling uncontrollably. He felt happy that he had pleased Mrs Edwards. He enjoyed the total humiliation. He had actually enjoyed the experience. He felt broken and humiliated and totally content. He had never felt so aroused. Not ever before....looking into her eyes, he exploded into her hand. Wave after wave spluttered onto her soft caressing fingers. He could have died and gone to heaven. Nothing had ever felt so blissful before. She held her fingers out at arms length and Simon was amazed to see how much he had ejaculated. He willingly licked Mrs Edward's fingers clean and swallowed every drop. It soothed his throat and helped to ensure her panties remained in his stomach, ready for his body to start absorbing her underwear. 'Now you will work Simon. You have to pay for your indiscretion, and now you have to pay for my panties too. You will work until I am satisfied that you have been properly punished.'. Simon then spent the next 4 hours cleaning and washing and tidying and scrubbing floors. He remained naked throughout, feeling the burning sensations on his backside, and a curious knotted feeling in his stomach. He dared not stop. Following Mrs Edwards orders immediately. Clean this room. Polish this table. Wash these clothes. He did as he was instructed. Finished the task and then waited until a new task was put before him. It was incredibly easy to follow Mrs Edward's instructions. He didn't have to think. He just did exactly as he was told., and he felt a strange and lovely sense of fulfillment. At 4 pm Mrs Edwards's told him to dress and leave. She opened the door for him and as he left, he turned, as if to say something, but he couldn't. 'If you look up my skirt again Simon I will really punish you. Now I hope that you have learnt your lesson.' With that she closed the door. Simon stood there in total shock for a few moments and then started to walk back to his 'wife's house. It had been an extraordinary day. The walk was agonisingly slow, and Simon had to stop every 50 yards or so, and hold onto a garden wall until the tearing pain in his buttocks and the back of his thighs subsided. He felt as if he had been shredded, and there were tears in his eyes. He looked down the road, this ordinary street, and reflected on his day. He had been forced to consume this ladies dirty underwear, like a goat, and been subjected to the most violent beating imaginable. All because he happened to catch a glimpse of her stocking top when he was being spanked by his wife. He was almost at his limit of endurance, but he felt a strange inner calm, as if this was finally leading him to a place of huge happiness and contentment, but he just couldn't quite understand where that would eventually be. Something deep within him stirred as he focused on the far end of the road. Just a fleeting thought, but it was there. He pouted and with a graceful gesture tucked his hair behind his ears. He felt, not for the first time, quite feminine. The moment passed and he started his long journey home once again. When Simon arrived back at Mrs Martin's house he was greeted calmly, but coolly. 'I understand that you have paid the price for you moment of indiscretion Simon. Show me your backside.' Simon gingerly peeled off his clothes and turned round. His buttocks were purple and black, with long ridges running crossways. Some of the wounds glistened wet, and the whole area was a complete mess. 'You will need a week to recover from this Simon. I am going to send you to your room now, for 7 days. You may only leave to use the bathroom and you will spend the time reflecting carefully on your future. Do you understand?' 'But, but...I have only got 6 weeks before I have to leave. I was hoping to spend that time with you Mrs Martin. ' "You are with me Simon, at least I cannot see that you are otherwise. Now please do not squabble with me. I wish you to begin your convalescence now. ' With that she clapped her hands together smartly and pointed at the stairs'. It took three days for the wounds to stop weeping, and a further three days for the pain to properly subside and the colours to start fading. By the end of the week he was really bored, but could for the first time he could sit down without being in pain. It was clear that it would be at least another two weeks before he was back to normal. Mrs Martin visited his room, as she did every day, at around 6 pm to discuss her day and to check on his progress. 'Now Simon. I think that you are sufficiently recovered to continue where we left off a week ago. I am disappointed that we have had to delay your trial, but never mind. I have told your new employer that you are no longer available, and therefore we do not need to worry about time. As an additional incentive I have destroyed all your clothes. So if you are thinking about repeating your indiscretion, or misbehaving in any way, your trip to Mrs Edwards house will have to be in clothes that I have provide for you. Which leads me neatly on to the subject of attire. Mrs Martin clapped her hands briskly twice and started to leave his room. Now then, let us start by showing you your new clothes. I have set everything out on our bed. So, follow me and we can start to get acquainted with your new image.' In their bedroom Simon looked at four neat piles of clothes on the bed. Everything was pink or white. There were three very short frilly dresses with acres of petticoats. A pile of little pink and white ankle socks, two pairs of satin court shoes, and an assortment of pink and white bras, panties and little gloves. Even a tiny heart shaped purse on a gold chain, covered in sequins and lined in lace. There was also a blonde wig with curly ringlets and a pretty pink bow hairclip, and a big see-through bag full to the top with all sorts of make-up tubes, nail varnishes, mascara's and perfumes. Simon looked at everything and began to back away from the bed. 'Tchh tchh. Come back here Simon. ' Mrs Martin crooked her finger and beckoned him towards her. He dared not cross her, and meekly came and stood in front of her. Mrs Martin turned him round to face the bed, and with one hand firmly on his shoulder she rubbed the fingers of her right hand down his back and gently tickled him between his buttocks, up and down, teasingly. We will have to start to teach you to feel like a girl as well as look like ones he whispered, pressing her finger momentarily against his rose bud. Penetration is everything Simon, remember that. Soon you will beg for penetration, like a common little sissy slut.' Simon froze, but alarmingly he looked down to see his penis swelling and sticking up hard and throbbing pointing towards the bed. Mrs Martin looked down and smiled. 'Well, well. It seems that this new life is going to be to your taste Simon. What a happy coincidence'. Chapter 2. The Emergence of Polly. Simon stared at the bed, and his eyes took in all the incredibly dainty and frilly dresses in front of him. Mrs Martin continued to caress his pert buttocks and whispered into his ear again. "You will have to earn your femininity Simon. The more submissive and respectful you are towards me, the more feminine I will make you." Simon leant back into Mrs Martin's arms letting out a delicate sigh of pleasure and nodded prettily. As they held each other in a moment of complete and utter loving devotion the doorbell rang. "Oh good. That will be Sandra, the beautician. She has so much work to do I have asked her to stay for three days. Now Simon, put on your new dressing gown and let Miss Sandra in. Come on, work to be done." Mrs Martin clapped her hands twice in her usual brisk fashion and watched happily as Simon picked up a bright pink and white satin negligee that barely covered his buttocks and reluctantly put his arms in each sleeve, tying the satin belt in a pretty bow at the front. When Simon opened the front door, he did so slowly peeping around the door so as to hide his clothing. Sandra saw his embarrassment and smiled broadly, her perfect white teeth flashing across her face, overly made-up in a way that only beauticians seem to be able to achieve. "Hello Polly. Help me with my bags, there's a good girl." With that she pushed the door wide open and taking Simon gently by the wrist she led him down the path to her van. Simon could hardly breathe, he felt so embarrassed. The breeze blew his negligee up and he tried in vain to hold it down. "Take those two boxes in please Polly I'll bring the rest". Simon almost ran into the house in his bare feet and placed two huge plastic boxes in the hall. "Why is this woman calling me Polly", he thought to himself. Mrs Martin came down the stairs as Sandra returned with another box and her overnight bag. "Hello Sandra. How nice to see you again. I see you have met Polly." Simon looked at Mrs Martin and he could see in her eyes that this was most definitely not the time to question her about his new name. Sandra was in her early thirties, tall, smartly dressed with blonde hair held up at the back in a tight bun with a dozen coloured hairclips. She had a bright, pleasant personality, but with a look of steely determination in her eyes, both of which were framed with impeccably applied mascara and a subtle, moody eye shadow. Her voice was pleasant, and she spoke slowly and precisely. "Now Polly, I wish you to take a long hot bath, and in a while I will come up and we will make a start." Sandra pointed up the stairs and gestured. "Off you go, and make sure the water is piping hot, it will make things so much easier." Simon had so many questions in his head, and felt so confused about everything that he started to feel quite giddy and helpless. He really had no idea who Sandra was, and why she turned up in a white coat over her suit, as if she had come straight from the make-up counter at John Lewis. Reluctantly, feeling wretched and vulnerable, he climbed the stairs and ran a hot bath as the two ladies chatted downstairs over tea. When the bathroom door opened Mrs Martin came in first and sat on a chair besides the sink. Sandra came in with a box and placed it beside the bath. "I am going to shave you Polly, absolutely all your hair will be removed from your neck to your toes. Then we have a real treat. A lovely pedicure and manicure. This afternoon we will finish off by plucking your eyebrows and piercing your ears. What a busy day we are going to have. " Mrs Martin looked across at Simon, as he sunk deeper into the bath, cowering away from the thought of it all. Sandra knelt beside the bath taking a pretty pink lady shave from her bag, lifted one slender limb after another from the water and gently, methodically and purposefully removed every hair from Polly's slim body. The tears rolled down Simon's face, but he did not resist. He allowed himself to experience this exquisite transformation calmly and peacefully. The surreal experience, the warm water, the gentle caresses made him feel soft and relaxed and he felt himself drifting into a far more feminine place. Sandra could see his resistance fading away, and when the task was completed she gently held his daintily presented hand, helping him step out of the bath. Mrs Martin passed Sandra a large fluffy pink towel and watched as she gently patted Polly's pink body dry. Simon stood up tall, graceful even, with one foot slightly forward like a model at the end of a catwalk. He felt himself pouting, almost imperceptibly, but looking up he could see Mrs Martin had noticed, and he blushed scarlet. The humiliation was exquisite. Mrs Martin picked up Simon's negligee and as she stood behind him he instinctive raised his arms to his shoulders, letting his wrists go limp, and felt the soft satin material slip effortlessly down his smooth arms and cling to his body, tickling his bottom and the top of his legs. Mrs Martin whispered in his ear. "Polly, your journey has started. There is no more Simon anymore. See how he is disappearing with the bath water, never to be seen again.' Polly opened her mouth momentarily, and lent back feeling Mrs Martin's hands on his lower back, and once again felt the trace of her fingers down between his cheeks, up and down, just once, before gently, kissing his cheek. "So much to learn. So many things to experience, pretty girl." Sandra stood before the couple with a warm smile, and led Polly from the bathroom, across the powder blue carpeted hall and into their bedroom. Mrs Martin followed them. Simon looked around and saw that all the dresses were gone. The room had reverted to its simple, plain furnishings, just as he had first seen it. The same oppressive controlling atmosphere. The curtains closed. "In future Polly, you will only enter this room by invitation. Is that understood? ". Polly looked confused, again, but nodded meekly at Mrs Martin. "Good girl. Now I wish you come with me, and I will show you your new room." The room was dark, and Mrs Martin took Polly's hand, gently leading her inside. A click, the light came on and poor Polly nearly fainted. The room had a thick pile pink carpet, almost fluffy in appearance, very pale pink walls and the most delicate pink ruffled curtains. The bed, heart shaped and covered in ribbons dominated the space. But all around the walls hang the most frilly, frothy dresses Polly had ever seen. They looked even more voluminous hanging on their hangars, and there were six of them. Two in pink, two in pale lemon, a white one and one in a powder blue. In the corner was a dressing table and chair, in a rococo style, in cream with gold highlights and the floor was peppered with darling little dolls and fluffy animals. In one corner Mrs Martin had placed a large white chair on a plinth, which could be adjusted almost to a horizontal position. It looked complicated and clinical, almost like a dentists' chair. "Now Polly, I want you to sit in the procedure chair .You may take off your negligee". Sandra clapped her hands together briskly. "Come on girl, we have an awful lot to do today. Poor Simon, close to tears, let his negligee fall to the floor and glided across the carpet to this huge contraption. Mrs Martin held out her hand to help him up onto the plinth, and both ladies then pushed him down on to chair, clipping his ankles and wrists to the foot and arm rests. Before he could say anything, the back of the chair started to move backwards, and he lay almost horizontal under a bright white light that illuminated his face.