8 comments/ 34211 views/ 15 favorites Mrs Peason 01 By: merf68 Author's preamble. This story is a product of my imagination. The characters herein are similarly imaginary and any similarity to real people is purely accidental. All sexually active characters are over the age of 18. The story will contain aspects of cross dressing, BDSM and male and female bisexuality. If any of these aspects are not to your taste, may I respectfully suggest you look to other stories on the site. It is not my wish to offend my readers. If these aspects are illegal where you are viewing this material, please browse elsewhere. I welcome constructive criticism and comments and encourage you to enter your vote if you like my story. Enjoy. Chapter One. I had spent the evening in the business of getting myself rat-arse drunk. My regular girlfriend of two years standing had ditched me for my brother. Oblivion was at the bottom of a pint pot, or so I hoped. "How could she?" and, "With him?" were the two phrases circling round my head when a loud, familiar, voice penetrated my blue melancholic haze. "Jimmy here will buy us a drink, won't you Jimmy?" A gorilla-sized hand landed on my shoulder and squeezed painfully just as I was lifting the glass to my mouth, causing me to spill it down the front of my shirt and in my lap. Without looking, I knew the hand belonged to Billy Toogoode and never did a man bear such an inapt name. Billy had been the terror of the schoolyard for as long as I could remember. Unfortunately, we had been in the same class and I was often the butt of his 'humour' which usually involved humiliation or pain and, just as often, I went hungry at dinner time as he smoked away my dinner money behind the gymnasium. Payday was a week away so I barely had enough for my planned binge but that great paw of his was grinding the crap out of my shoulder. I was groping for my wallet when another familiar voice clearly and precisely intoned, "I'm sure you have business elsewhere, Mr Toogoode. Now!" That excruciating pain was immediately relieved as Billy snatched his hand from my shoulder and backed away from the pocket battleship standing before him. He turned and lurched his way to the nearest exit at an impressive rate of knots with his two cohorts trailing in tandem. Watching them go was Mrs Peason. Mrs Peason was our sixth form maths teacher. She stood at a scant inch over five feet but in perfect proportion, from her jet black hair set in a large tight bun to the dainty points of shoes. And she was absolute ruler of her classroom: just a glance from her would stop even Billy Toogoode's shenanigans. She was there to teach us maths and would permit no interruptions to her regime. How did she do it? She was tiny but she had such a force of command about her that none would stand against her. Mrs Peason is one of those teachers in a million who can radiate her enthusiasm for her chosen subject. In two years she managed to drag me up from a probable 'D' to a creditable 'B' grade in maths and I was even beginning to enjoy looking for 'the patterns in the numbers,' as she called them, "Can you see the pattern, James?" was her frequent question. Not that grades had done me any good, I was stuck in a boring McJob. At school, her 'uniform' had always been the same: a crisp white shirt tucked into slim black skirt, which fell to just above her knees. Her legs were always clad in opaque black hosiery and her shoes were 'sensible' black leather. Her hair must have been quite long as she piled a thick braid on top of her head, which gave her a few extra inches. I guess she was in her mid thirties. For all she was very attractive, you just never thought of her as sexy. Not Mrs Peason, you didn't. She never even seemed to come up when we lads were discussing the various merits of our teachers. Now, when I focussed on her with some difficulty, I saw she was wearing a smart figure-hugging red suit with black 'trimmings', black accessories and a black winter coat open all down the front. Mrs Peason looked me up and down for a minute and spoke briskly, "Look at the state you're in James, beer all down you. I've been watching you for the past half hour and you've just been getting drunk. You'll never make it home in that state; you had better come with us." I peered at her, trying to see past the double vision and let her words penetrate through the alcoholic haze. "Now," she snapped and helped me off the bar stool as I tried to stand at her command. "Quentin, help him. Grab his other arm." Her companion was a giant of a man. The top of his shaved head towered a good 15 inches over my 5'2". Built like the proverbial outhouse, his suit was tailored to fit his frame but it failed to hide the man's bulging muscles: no wonder Billy's mates fled as fast as he had done. But Quentin held me gently and I was guided out of the pub and into the back seat of a Jaguar Sovereign. I assumed it was his as she normally drives an MGB-GT to school but I was surprised to see Mrs Peason settle behind the wheel and drive away. Maybe ten minutes later she turned into the drive of a large house into which I was led. Standing in the middle of the hall, I swayed a little as Mrs Peason turned to face me while Quentin removed her coat and hung it up. She looked me up and down disdainfully. "You stink of beer." She turned me towards a door and instructed, "Go in there and get those wet clothes off. You'd better have a shower because you're obviously soaked right through." Quentin opened the door and ushered me through. He stayed outside but kept a foot in the door so I couldn't close it, "Just in case you have an accident," he told me in his deep cultured voice. The layout of the luxurious bathroom meant that he couldn't see me so I thought nothing much of it. I had to sit down to get undressed then clambered into the shower. I turned it on and my face was hit by a powered blast of ice-cold water. I ducked under the spray and found the temperature controls and turned them up until it was just about as hot as I could bear. I looked around and discovered that there were only female shower toiletries. After sniffing them all, I chose the least 'feminine' of them. It had a lavender perfume with heavy musky overtones and I've always liked musk anyway. My blue-black hair normally lies in a ponytail halfway down my back: it's my pride and joy but my now-ex came from a remote rural area which hadn't caught on to PC matters and was suspicious of the inclinations of a man with long hair. That was one of the reasons why she left me in spite of the fact that we had good sex together. Anyway, I took the opportunity of using a good quality shampoo. There was a shelf full of fluffy white bath sheets so I wrapped one round my shoulders and started the long process of drying my hair. I never heard nor saw Mrs Peason enter but suddenly she was there looking at my almost naked body, her eyes resting on my tool. I gasped in surprise and pulled the damp towel off my head and over my crotch. "Sorry," she said, with a grin that said she wasn't too sorry at all, "but you have a lovely body and I couldn't resist peeking. Come on James, finish drying yourself then come and join me and Quentin in the library, last door on the left." Still smiling, she left me alone in the bathroom, scooping up my beer-stained clothes as she went. I dried myself off but then I was stuck. Was I supposed to go to the library naked? Looking around and thinking I could preserve my decency maybe with a towel, I noticed some clothes on top of a cabinet near the door. I crossed over and saw a pair of white woman's shorts which looked very small to me but they had a lot of stretch in them. The only other garment was a red silk woman's housecoat. Underneath them was a pair of fluffy red mules with inch-high heels. Definitely not my style of clothing, I thought. "Will I be OK with a towel round me?" I asked Quentin, who was still just outside. "I believe my wife left you some clothes to wear." "All I can see is these." I reached round the door to show him. "If my wife left them for you, I would think you should wear them. Anyway, the only other clothes in the house are mine and I think they may be just a tad too big." He chuckled to himself, probably imagining me in his clothes. Into my own mind came the picture of my little sister 'dressing up' in her Mummy's clothes with her skirt trailing half a yard behind, sleeves within inches of the floor and clumping around in her mummy's shoes. My chuckle joined Quentin's but I was still faced with those shorts. I shrugged and pulled the shorts up my legs. Sure enough, they stretched enough to go all the way but they were so tight as to be almost non-existent and no matter where I 'parked' them my cock and balls were detailed bulges under the thin material. Almost indecent, but then, I thought, they weren't made for a man with standard equipment. I slipped into the housecoat, feeling the luxury of that material against my skin, and pushed my feet into the mules. I opened the door and stepped into the hall. Quentin didn't stare or in any way embarrass me he just smiled a little and showed me to the library. Mrs Peason was sitting on a sofa with her jacket unbuttoned showing her black silk shirt. She smiled when I came in and patted the sofa next to her. I shuffled over and sat by her side, my hands clenched in my lap, looking at the floor. She took out a packet of cigarettes, took one out for herself and offered one to me. "No thanks," I said. "I don't smoke." But she continued to hold it out. There was an embarrassed (on my side) silence but her eyes were adamant and would brook no dissent. I felt my resistance weaken and hesitantly accepted the offer. She lit her own and then mine. It made me cough and splutter and feel dizzy. She smiled and told me, "You will get used to it," She said, emphasising the 'will', then took a deep drag on her own cigarette and, a few seconds later allowed the smoke to trickle slowly out of her nostrils, encouraging me to take a drag. I felt her hand brush lightly over my damp hair. I hadn't found a comb or brush in the bathroom so it wasn't tidy. "Quentin, please pull up a chair behind us and brush James' lovely hair. Now, James, lean back and let him do it. He loves brushing mine and he's ever so gentle with the snags. Do you know, he even trained as a hairdresser just so he could look after mine." With that, she pulled the pins out of her bun and shook her hair free. It was as long as mine and was in beautiful condition. I felt Quentin lifting my hair free of the sofa so I sat back and surrendered myself to his ministrations. While Quentin busied himself with a brush and comb, she made sure I finished the cigarette. I was almost finished when I felt my stomach heave. "Quick," I was ordered, "to the toilet." I lurched out of the room and only just made it to the toilet where the contents of my stomach spewed into the pot so much that my abdominal muscles ached. When I was finished I searched the cupboards until I found a mouthwash and rinsed my mouth out a couple of times until it no longer tasted sour and then rinsed my face. I returned to my seat beside Mrs Peason who remarked, "Well, that got rid the all that beer, you'll feel better in a minute. Now just relax, James," she said when her husband had restarted his task, "and listen to what I have to say. "I'm retiring at the end of this term. I love teaching but conditions make it impossible to teach children these days. There are too many of the likes of yon Mr Toogoode coming through. They have no intention of learning and go out of their way to disrupt. They spoil it for people like you who are struggling but willing. Nor do the authorities help: they are just in thrall to the PC brigade who think the likes of Toogoode are just misunderstood. "I am a teacher because I love it: I'm proud to have nurtured a few pearls in my career, some who have progressed to high places, and helped so many more into successful futures. You were never a high flyer, James, but you gave it an honest try in difficult circumstances, especially with your home life. For various reasons, I have kept my eye on you for three or four years and I like what I see. You are a kind and caring boy/man and sensitive to others. "Now let me digress ... Oh, sorry, James, I should have offered earlier would you like a coffee? I'd offer you something stronger but I think you have had enough of that, don't you?" My throat was dry from the beer and retching, and still a little sour so I was happy to accept a coffee. "Quentin, do be a darling. Leave his hair for a minute and bring us some coffee please. I promise you won't miss anything." I missed him when he left the room; his touch on my hair was very soothing. Mrs Peason told me to stand up and face her. Automatically I obeyed. "May I?" she asked, and went for the belt of my housecoat. I didn't resist so she opened it up and looked again at my body. "I like you in those shorts. Full cover but so revealing." She said after concentrating her vision on my package for a while, her gaze causing the blood to start pumping into my prick: it was growing visibly within its tight mould. The pointed nail of her index finger traced round the contours of my tool, making it swell and grow even more. "Yes, so revealing, isn't it? But I mustn't get you too excited." She closed the silk wrap around me the opposite way to how I had it. "It's a lady's garment so it was designed to fold this way. Do you like the feel of silk on your skin?" She ran her hand up and down the material on my arm. "I love it: so soft, so sensual. Do you like it James?" I mumbled that I did like it to which she replied, "Then you'll have to start wearing it more often, won't you?" At that point, Quentin returned pushing a trolley loaded with coffee pots and so on. He poured us all a cup of coffee then took his to his chair behind the sofa. Mrs Peason indicated we should resume our places so Quentin could get back to his task. I was happy to let him do his thing as Mrs Peason continued. "So, I'm retiring – I don't need the money, Quentin and I are individually quite wealthy. Now for several years Quentin has promised me I can have a companion but she's got to be very special because I also want her as my best friend, my Personal Assistant to go everywhere with me, even sleep with me. I love Quentin to bits but he knows I have other needs and he's happy to let me pursue them, aren't you Quentin?" "Yes, Ivy. Just be happy." It was obviously said with a great deal of affection and love. She reached out to touch his hand and they shared a brief intimate touch. She passed me her packet of cigarettes and told me to light one for each of us. I did as I was told and passed hers over then took small puffs on my own. "And I also want another man in my bed at times," she took up where she had left off, "but don't want to go around picking up men in bars or anything distasteful. "Anyway," she continued, "I believe you're not happy with your job or your home life. I think you deserve better than that. James, I want you to leave your job, leave your home and come here and work for me. As my girlfriend!" She mentioned a salary I could never dream about. I was shocked rigid by this offer out of the blue but eventually blurted out, "There's one obvious snag, Mrs Peason: I'm not a girl so how could I be your girlfriend?" Quentin had finished brushing my hair and had started pulling gently until I realised what he was doing. He was braiding my ponytail but starting very high near the crown of my head. But Mrs Peason's answer had my full attention. "You could be a very pretty girl, James, in some nice clothes." She was dead serious. OK, in the maelstrom of pubescent hormones I had tried lots of things, one of them being borrowing my Mum's panties and wearing them but I was always afraid of getting caught so I moved on to other exciting things. But dressing up as a girl, all the way? Two cups of strong, black coffee had cleared my brain so I was beginning to think more normally. My mind wasn't repulsed by the idea, just thrown off-track for a minute. That salary would end my money worries, for one massive plus. I took a couple of deep breaths and said nervously, "What if you can't turn me into your pretty girl?" "I'm sure we can, Quentin and me. He has exquisite dress sense and is a wizard in the makeup department. Will you let us at least try?" "OK, I'll go along with that, so what exactly do I do for that salary, Mrs Peason?" "Well, you will live in our house – your own room - and will be on duty 24/7 to do whatever I need you to do. That would include everything!" She paused to let that sink in. "Let me be clear about this, James, Quentin and I will train you to be a lady but our discipline will be strict and we both believe in corporal punishment. You'll have to agree to that before we go any further. What I'm saying is, trust me and put yourself completely in my hands. "We would start with a one month trial period at the end of which either of us could terminate. After that, should we both be happy to continue, you will be sent to a school for maids for a four week crash course in the arts and skills you will need as a maid now and again. You will also learn cooking skills. Officially you will be my Personal Assistant and girlfriend who also doubles as my maid. Unofficially I'm asking you to be my slave, mine to use as I see fit. You see, James, I'm saying it straight. Do you want the job?" That last bit scared me more than somewhat. "I'm not so sure about the slave bit." "It does have other perks, James. As my PA you would certainly travel with me and I intend to go with Quentin on some of his easier business trips and I want to see more of the world now I'm no longer going to be tied to school timetables. Not many slaves get to do that." It was a big fat carrot for her to wave in my face. Another massive plus. Mrs Peason could see my hesitation but said nothing, just looked at me with those piercing eyes of hers and a smile on her face. Meanwhile, Quentin had finished on my hair and shuffled his chair behind his wife and was almost finished braiding Mrs Peason's hair in the same way as mine. As soon as Quentin had finished her hair she stood up and had me stand up too. "Come, I want to show you something." She took my hand and led me to the bathroom with Quentin bringing up the rear. I liked the sound and feel of the silk passing over my skin. She had us both standing in three-quarter profile to the ceiling-to-floor wall mirror as Quentin flipped both our braided ponytails over our left shoulders. They were tied off with identical bright yellow ribbons. "Look," she said, pointing at our images. "You could be my daughter." Now she pointed it out, we looked very similar and could easily taken for close relatives. "That's why I'm sure we can turn you into a very pretty girl. And a beautiful woman." "And a very sexy maid," added Quentin and I could see his caricature lecherous grin reflecting in the mirror. "Don't worry about him, he has a penchant for pretty maids," she half-whispered. "OK," I said after another moment of hesitation. "Let's see if you can make a pretty girl of me. We can take it from there." "Then let us begin," said Mrs Peason. "I want you to get undressed and stand before me." Had it just been her there I would have done it with no hesitation but I was dubious because Quentin was also with us. However, I did go as far as removing the silk robe and I stood there wearing just those very tight shorts. Mrs Peason stood in front of me, gave me a no-nonsense slap on my face and said, "I told you to get undressed. From now on you will strip whenever, wherever, I tell you to, no matter who is watching. You will have no hang-ups about bodily modesty. Now, I tell you for the last time: strip!" Mrs Peason 02 Author's preamble. This story is a product of my imagination. The characters herein are similarly imaginary and any similarity to real people is purely accidental. All sexually active characters are over the age of 18. The story will contain aspects of cross dressing, BDSM and male and female bisexuality. If any of these aspects are not to your taste, may I respectfully suggest you look to other stories on the site. It is not my wish to offend my readers. If these aspects are illegal where you are viewing this material, please browse elsewhere. I welcome constructive criticism and comments and encourage you to enter your vote if you like my story. Enjoy. ***** Chapter Seven. Two minutes later, or so it seemed, I was woken with a start by the alarm telling me to get up. Fortunately I'm one of those people who doesn't laze around in bed. It took me a few seconds to realize where I was but when I opened my eyes to my huge new bedroom I remembered my new life. I flung back the covers and went into my bathroom. I did the necessary then started the slightly distasteful business of getting myself clean inside but even that wasn't too bad. When I was done I treated myself to a long, luxurious shower. I was towelling myself dry when an attractive buxom young blonde entered the bathroom. "Good morning, Miss Jemma," she said, apparently oblivious to the fact there I was, a man, naked except for a towel which I quickly dropped to cover my genitalia and the false tits sticking to my chest. "I'm Penny. Mrs Peason has told me that I'm to help you get dressed and teach you to put on your makeup. When you are ready, Miss Jemma." She retrieved a bottle of some concoction from one of the many cupboards - I determined I would have to explore all the cupboards and drawers both here and the bedroom - saying, "You should use this moisturiser every day. We don't want your skin to dry up, do we?" She poured a creamy liquid into my hand, poured some more into her own and told me, "Smooth this into your skin." She knelt in front of me, snatched the towel and threw it away, eying my tool for a brief second before spreading the cream onto my legs, encouraging me to do my arms and upper body. I did as I was told, revelling in how it made me feel nice and smooth. Penny finished my legs and feet from the front, not neglecting my scrotum and semi-erect cock. She giggled conspiratorially, giving it a very quick kiss, before having me to turn around while she did my buttocks. "Oh, you poor dear," she sympathised on seeing my bum. I turned to see in the mirror what she was talking about and noticed the red streaks across my buttocks and upper thighs. "Mrs Peason really hurts, doesn't she?" I looked over my shoulder at her kneeling and, very tenderly, coating my bottom with cream. She looked up with a twinkle in her eye. "You, too?" I asked incredulously. "If I do anything wrong, particularly if I disobey her. And sometimes just for fun!" Her smile was wistful, as if remembering some previous punishment with pleasure. "Then why do you continue to work for her?" I felt almost disloyal to Ma'am when I said this. "Because she pays me very well. And besides," her voice dropped to a whisper, "it makes me feel randy even though it hurts." She had a lovely dimple in her cheeks when she smiled. She stood up and started to do my back where I couldn't reach. Pointing over my shoulder to my semi-erect cock. "That excites you, doesn't it Miss Jemma, the thought of me getting caned?" Now she mentioned it, my cock grew a bit more! "You'll do," she said, slapping my sore bum and turning back into the bedroom. As I followed her she said, "I think you have something to hide those away," pointing back to my groin. "You'd better get one out and wear it." I tried to remember which drawer my caches sexes were. I got it right second time and strapped myself in. It seemed like every time I put it on I was fighting an erection which made it quite a painful operation. I stood up to see Penny pointing to my pillow which wore some of my old makeup. "Oh, Miss Jemma, you should never sleep in your makeup." She went into the bathroom and returned with a pot of cleansing cream. "Before you go to bed, use this to clean off all that makeup. It can ruin a girl's complexion. This will also help to keep your skin moist." She let me see where she returned the cream so I would know for tonight. "Mrs Peason suggested you should wear a business suit today, as you both have a lot of business to get through. But there's no reason not to wear some sexy undies." Penny looked through my wardrobe and selected a very smart navy suit and a white silk shirt with a wide collar. I found a matching set of white lace undies, including another cruel corset, with pretty little red hearts between the breasts, over the navel and on the waist band. Penny fished out a slim silk slip and added it to the selection. When Sir had dressed me last night I had been too busy concentrating on what Ma'am was saying that I hadn't noticed just how lovely it felt to pull on stockings and stretch them up my thighs. The panties, as they snaked up my legs, felt altogether different from my old jockeys and, of course, putting a bra on and struggling to fasten it behind me was a new, delicious, sensation. The slip moulded itself around my stockings, a most sensual experience. Penny kept up a one-sided conversation, except for odd nods and grunts of assent from me, giving me various bits of advise on how to do things myself in future. Finally she rummaged through a drawer and fastened a navy velvet choker with ring of small pearls around my neck. Although I had not always been steady on my feet in two inch heels last night, I thought I should get used to heels as quickly as possible. Some of the shoes, I noticed as I looked them over, had heels that were ridiculously high. They would have me walking on my toes and looked quite cruel. I definitely needed to practice wearing heels. I found a pair of patent leather shoes which, matched my suit nicely. The three inch heels would get me started down the road to those six inch implements of torture. I wondered aloud what to do with my hair and Penny suggested that I twist it up and pin it high on the back of my head in a tight bun. With her help I did just that. I saw myself in the mirror and the smart, attractive image smiled back at me. Penny took a chair and sat beside me at the dressing table where she started to explain things I would need to know about makeup. She opened various drawers and showed me the amazing arrangement of cosmetics available, and the pads, brushes and pencils I would need to apply them. "As it's fairly formal today," she suggested, "your makeup should have a light touch. Save the glamour for more glamorous occasions. So we'll keep it simple. She explained what she was doing and why as she made my face with a delicate touch. When she had finished there was almost no sign of cosmetics but my face had been transformed. "Now clean it off," she fished out a jar of the same cleansing cream, "and you do it." Needless to say, my first effort was pretty ghastly so I had to wipe off and start again. It took me five tries to get it past Penny's inspection. It wasn't nearly as good as she had done but at least it wasn't the Space Witch staring at me from the mirror. When I was done she clipped pearls to my ears and pinned a pearl butterfly broach to my lapel and gave me a navy handbag. I checked inside it and found it empty. I stood up and checked myself out in the wall mirror. The suit hugged my enhanced figure tightly and I turned this way and that, pleased with what I saw. Penny glanced at her watch and said, "We've just got time for a quick coffee before Mrs Peason wants you to attend her in the dining room for breakfast. I'll pop out and get some." She suggested I practice walking in my shoes while she was gone. "You don't want to be stumbling about when you meet her, do you?" So I walked up and down the room in those shoes. They put a certain strain on my calf muscles and I learned I had to stay upright for better balance. The heel went over a couple of times but I found it got easier. Although not entirely comfortable, I was satisfied with my progress when Penny re-entered with two cups of coffee and we both sat down to drink it. I was told to keep my knees together, as befits a lady, and not to smudge my lipstick. Penny told me she would be staying all weekend, this being Saturday morning, mainly as my tutor. She was to help me if I needed to change my dress and anything else. She was an amiable soul with a friendly disposition. Although not plump, she filled her own tee shirt and tights, her bosom like a soft pillow. Her hair was that frizzy blonde that seems impossible to control and indeed there were wisps of it escaping her blue hair band. She had a habit of blowing the strays away from her face every now and then. I don't think she even noticed when she did it. She chatted away about her boyfriend as we sipped our coffee and I realised that this was 'girl talk' and I would need to learn how to do it. It was normal, I suppose, for her to talk nonchalantly about her boyfriend's intimate attributes. Men would happily discuss women but we tend to keep intimate details to ourselves. All too soon the clock crept round to 10:00 and it was time for me to go to Ma'am. Chapter Eight. Negotiating stairs is not as easy as walking round the bedroom on narrow heels but with Penny's help and coaching, I learned how. She led me to a door in the hall and told me it was the dining room where Mrs Peason was expecting me. Taking a deep breath, I turned the handle and pushed open the heavy wood door. "Oh, good morning, Jemma. Yes, you do look smart." Her eyes looked me up and down and she had me turn around. "Mmm, very nice. Come and give me a big kiss then sit down, dear." Ma'am was wearing a gorgeous cream coloured heavy silk robe edged with fluffy fur. She was seated to the right of the head of the table and indicated the seat opposite. I remembered Penny's instructions and seated myself as daintily as I could. At Ma'am's prompting I took two cigarettes from a jar on the table and lit them with the large table lighter next to the jar. I passed one to her and took a tentative puff on the other one, not yet having the courage to take a deeper blast of smoke. She put her elbows on the table and rested her chin, head tilted to one side, on one hand while in the other her cigarette dangled almost carelessly from her fingers. Her gown opened a little allowing me a tantalising glimpse of her unfettered breasts beneath it. I got the feeling that I was almost being checked out. I was determined not to let her see how nervous this made me so I sat there with my hands in my lap, unflinching for as long as it takes for three or four drags of tobacco smoke. Eventually Ma'am looked at my face and smiled. I returned her smile and her look, but not defiantly or anything like that, just to show her I was confident. I wasn't, of course. I had a swarm of butterflies - do they swarm? - in my tummy but I didn't let it show. Letting a thick dribble of smoke out of her nostrils and up past her eyes, she said, "Yes, Jemma. You're doing fine. Now let's have some breakfast and get down to work." She depressed a small bell push on the table in front of her then sat back. "OK, Jemma, we need some details about the new you. You're going to need a whole new identity, and that's what we must start creating today. Of course you'll be Jemma," she smiled at me, "You picked a perfect name." She scrutinised my face for a minute and remarked, "You really do look like a younger version of me, you could easily be my niece or something so that's what you shall be, a favourite niece working as my PA. So you should take my maiden name. It goes well with your new first name! How would you like to be Jemma Jones?" I turned the idea over, listening to the sound of it in my head. "Jemma Jones," I said. "Jemma Jones. Yes, I like it Ma'am, it has nice alliteration. And thank you for sharing your name." Just then there was a brief rap on a side door behind Ma'am and it opened without waiting for a reply. Carrying a coffee set was a plump, matronly woman with billowing bosom, maybe in her mid forties although it was hard to tell. She was wearing a paisley patterned dress and a big no-nonsense apron with a large frill all round the edges. "Mrs West, this is my niece, Jemma Jones. Mrs West is my precious Housekeeper and Cook. She runs the house and even I don't use her kitchen without permission. If you ever need anything, Mrs West will know where it is." "Good morning, Miss Jemma," her smile was friendly and seemed genuine and her voice carried only the merest hint of a Scottish accent, "I believe I'm to teach you to cook. It will be my pleasure." "Would you serve breakfast please, Mrs West?" instructed Ma'am. "Certainly, Mrs Peason." She bobbed her head briefly to Ma'am and then to me, backed off a pace then turned and left through the same door. "Pour the coffee, Jemma." I did as I was told and passed her cup over. "Do you want a middle name? Think about it. You had better keep the same date of birth then you can't be tripped up on that. Later this morning we'll walk down to Tesco and get some pictures for your passport and driving licence. Don't worry, Quentin has all the contacts we need to set you up with a cast iron identity. The documents will be genuine." I scarcely heard her last assurance. Did she mean I was to go out with her dressed like this? Scary! Mrs West arrived with jugs of milk and orange juice, served us cereal then left us alone again. Meanwhile I'd been mulling over her question about a middle name but couldn't think of anything. "I'm happy just to be Jemma Jones, Ma'am, I don't need a middle name." "That's fine." Ma'am smiled and wrote it down. As we ate, she talked about our trip out this morning, trying to allay my fears about my first public excursion. "Honestly, Jemma, nobody will know you're anything but a very pretty girl." I wasn't totally convinced. We discussed other items of my new identity. Ma'am suggested I keep my biographical details as close to my former life as possible as that would be much less likely to cause me problems with awkward, if casual, questions. Penny arrived and cleared away the used dishes then Mrs West brought us our hot meal and again retired, taking with her the sheet of paper on which Ma'am had noted the details of my new identity. She was to pass it on to Sir as soon as she saw him. We ate in silence then I had to light more cigarettes while we relaxed over a final coffee. Ma'am told me to come and help her dress so I followed her to her room and started my training as a maid. Even though it was a thrill for me to see and touch her lovely body again, a slapped hand told me I was not allowed to take any liberties so it was not long before she was dressed in a suit of a similar cut to my own but in a light grey. I had to sit and watch her apply her makeup as she explained what she was doing and why, some of it was reinforcing what Penny had told me earlier but I learned a couple of new tricks. She had me repair my own lipstick and then it was time for me to face the world. Ma'am handed me a few things to put in my handbag, my own mobile, a purse, a gold cigarette case loaded with Ma'am's favourites and a matching gold lighter. The purse contained a considerable sum of money. More than I had earned for a month." She took hold of my hand and led me to the front door. Penny happened to be passing through the hall as we did. She gave me a wink and wished me luck. Ma'am opened the door, squeezed my hand and led me like a lamb to the slaughter into the public domain. Chapter Nine. "We'll just take a slow walk to help you get used to your shoes. You're doing very well," Ma'am reassured me as we walked along the street, heels clacking simultaneously. "You watch, these two won't even spare you a second glance." Coming towards us were two young women, one of them pushing a baby carriage. We stepped to one side to allow them to pass. The mother smiled her thanks at us and they passed on their way, gossiping normally. "See? To them we're just a couple of business colleagues or two girls from the office. Now, you have money in your purse, spend it as you need and ask me when you want more. It's going to be a few days before your credit and bank cards come through. Your passport, driving licence and birth certificate will take a bit longer as we have to get them into the government databases but a friend of Sir's reckons their security is like a sieve. "Your old job: obviously you won't be going back there so when we get home you can phone your boss and tell her you quit and forego any outstanding wages in lieu of notice. She can send your papers to your old home." "I've got to phone Mum to let her know I'm OK or she'll worry." "Are you going to tell her why you're moving out?" queried Ma'am. "Do you think I should? Maybe I should just go see her and tell her I've got a live-in position. Oh, I think I'd need your permission to go back as James for the last time." "Just think of my cane before you even ask that question, Jemma." Ma'am sat in thought for a minute or two, looking at me closely. "What we'll do is this. You phone your mother and tell her your new employer and her PA are going to call on her. I'll tell her about your new position and what it entails and wait to see how long it takes her to recognise that it is her son sitting next to me. Don't you say anything because she'd recognise your voice." "I can't do that. She'd have a fit." "We'll see." There were more people on the streets as we approached the supermarket. None of them noticed I was anything but what they saw. We even heard a low whistle behind us after we'd just passed two youths. I felt myself blushing but walked on with an exaggerated sway to my bum. Ma'am started into a fit of the giggles and soon we walked along hugging and giggling together. "Oh, you saucy wench, Jemma," said Ma'am when we composed ourselves. "Now tell me you're not a pretty girl." She was right and suddenly I knew I enjoyed being a pretty girl. We used the photo kiosk and got three sheets of four for various I/Ds. The store restaurant was fairly quiet so we sat down for a coffee. "You will pay for everything when we're out together. That will be part of your job. What will your mother be doing now? Late Saturday morning?" "Most likely sitting in front of the telly doing her crosswords. Everywhere there's her old crossword magazines. I've never seen her finish one but she's addicted." "OK, let's get it over with. Phone her and tell her I'm coming to see her." The tone of her command made me key up my mother's mobile number. "Hi Mum, it's me." I held the phone away from my ear as she nagged back at me. Eventually I managed to get a word in and told her I had a new job and my new employer wanted to come and see her. Would she be OK to call in about 30 minutes? Nag, nag, nag, yes, she supposed so. I had to call us a cab then we finished our coffees and were out just as the cab pulled up. My carefree mood after the hip-swinging episode had vanished and now those butterflies put on their stomping boots. I paid off the cabbie and we walked up the path to the shabby council house. "Not a word, don't forget," she whispered as I pressed the bell push. Mum had made an effort to tidy herself up and was even wearing clean jeans and tee. Ma'am put out her hand to Mum and said with a smile, "Good morning Mrs Denton. My name's Ivy Peason, this is Miss Jones. Your son said you were expecting me. May we come in?"