Domestic Obedience

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.

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.

'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.

Sandra leant over him, adjusted the light above his head, and started to pluck his eyebrows, one by one, with a delicate pair of tweezers. Mrs Martin sat on the edge of the bed, looking around the room with a satisfied smile, watching Sandra busily shaping Polly's eyebrows into pencil thin lines.

An hour later, still lying in the same position Sandra finally finished painting Polly's toes in shocking pink, and stood back to admire her work. Polly had new nails grafted on to her fingernails, making her slender hands look even more graceful and elegant. Polly couldn't help looking down, and saw just how beautiful her hands were.

"There. Nearly finished for today Mrs Martin. Tomorrow we will cut Polly's hair into a neat, simple bob until it has grown long enough for ringlets and pigtails, and dye it a pretty strawberry blonde."

"You may wish to hold Polly's hands for the next procedure Mrs Martin. "

Sandra dabbed each ear with some topical anesthetic and few minutes later lifted a piercing gun up so Polly Anna could clearly see it.

"How pretty you will look with lots of lovely dangly earrings Polly. But first, two simple pearls until the wounds settle down, I think."

Polly closed her eyes as the gun clamped her earlobe, and heard a loud click as each ear pierced. It was a strangely pleasant experience, and she found herself day dreaming, standing tippy toe in a jewellers pointing eagerly at all manner of beautiful earrings on display, excitedly holding on to Mrs Martin's arm.

After an age, Mrs Martin and Sandra gently lifted an exhausted Polly to her feet and guided her to the edge of the bed.

"You may sleep now Polly. Tomorrow we need to make you look gorgeous because....because... Mrs Edwards is coming to visit."

Poor Polly. She just couldn't think straight. Her eyes welled up and she started to weep quietly in small delicate sobs whilst Sandra and Mrs Martin quietly left the room.

'Wake-up Polly. Wakey wakey" Polly sat up with a start from the bed to see Mrs Martin open the ruffled blinds and turn smiling at her pretty, naked husband. Polly rubbed her eyes sleepily as the dreadful enormity of her predicament slowly dawned on her.. Sandra breezed in after Mrs Martin, opened the top drawer of the dressing table and took out the most gorgeous frilly pink panties imaginable.

"Now Polly. We are going to get dressed for Mrs Edwards."

Polly sat on the edge of the bed shaking nervously as Sandra knelt by the bed and gently guided these divine silky panties up Polly's smooth shaven legs. Polly tried to hide her feelings but it was no good. Her little dolly sprung to life and both ladies squealed with delight as it pushed against the soft satin panties. Poor Polly couldn't contain herself, she looked up from the bed at the two ladies and with tears flowing down his cheeks, shaking almost uncontrollably with embarrassment and excitement proceeded to fill her pretty silken panties with a river of sissy cum.

Mrs Martin smiled. "I wonder what Mrs Edwards will make of that little outburst Polly. You do realize that your dresses only just cover the top of your panties, and there is no way I am going let you wear another pair of precious panties today."

Polly looked down at the big damp patch and the small droplets oozing through the material and knew that her fate was truly sealed.

The front doorbell rang at exactly 4 0'clock. Polly sat neatly on her chair by the drawing room door listening to Sandra and Mrs Martin chatting happily on the sofa. "How thrilling Polly. You must be so happy to be seeing Mrs Edwards again. Run along and answer the door, there's a good girl."

Polly stopped briefly and looked at himself in the hall mirror. The skirts of her dress flared out dramatically from just below the shoulders, with folds and folds of lacy petticoats underneath, the hem barely covering her tummy. Her big frilly knickers were on full display and on her feet she had sparkly peep-toe stilettos over pink and white candy striped ankle socks edged in lace. Mrs Martin had applied just the subtlest tone of rouge to each cheek and a delicate pink lip-gloss. She looked just like a little fairy on the top of the Christmas tree.

As she opened the door Mrs Edwards breezed in and without batting an eyelid casually let her mink stole drop onto the floor. Polly curtsied deeply to pick it up and felt Mrs Edwards' gloves drop one by one on the back of her neck. Polly stood up holding the stole and immediately bobbed down again to pick up each glove. Again she felt flustered, inept and completely out-classed by this extraordinarily dominant woman.

"Sorry Mrs Edwards she whispered, almost inaudibly. Mrs Edwards looked at him in silence as he opened the cloakroom door fumbling to hang up her stole and gloves. When she turned around he curtsied neatly and asked if Mrs Edwards would kindly like to come into the drawing room.

"In a moment Polly. Firstly I wish you to explain to me why your panties are damp dear. "

"Mrs Martin and the beautician put them on me, and it was all so confusing. I just started to feel weak and lost control. It just happened Mrs Edwards, I just couldn't help myself at all."

Polly looked so helpless, and had offered such an honest response that Mrs Martin just couldn't feel angry. "Helpless is a good thing Polly. You will learn that soon enough. Resistance is a bad thing. You will learn that too. Now you may present me."

Coffee was a jolly affair. Polly sat meekly by the door after she had served Mrs Martin's guest and Sandra and, for a brief moment, felt almost comfortable dressed as she was, in this ridiculous frilly dress.

"Are you enjoying your new image Polly?" Mrs Edwards said out of the blue. Polly looked across the room, her head bowed. "I am not sure Miss. It feels strange."

"Strange? How quaint. I think that this is positively normal compared to the experiences you are shortly to endure." Mrs Edwards reply was as chilling at it was vague.

We shall start this afternoon Annie. Sandra has some work to do on Polly's hair, and I wish to educate Polly on basic feminine hygiene. I suggest we commence at 4.30 pm in Polly's new bedroom. I trust that is to your satisfaction?"

Mrs Edwards finished her coffee and gracefully placed the cup and saucer back onto the coffee table. As she rose she brushed the side of Sandra's knee purposefully with her fingers in a gentle caress.

"This afternoon then. I am looking forward to it."

When Polly closed the front door Mrs Martin and Sandra were standing behind him. "Hair time!' exclaimed Sandra holding up a bottle of hair dye in one hand and a pair of scissors and a brush in the other. "Because you are worth it, dear."

Upstairs Mrs Martin helped her husband gently out of his pretty dress and led him to the bathroom, still wearing her sweet little shoes and panties. She walked daintily, one foot in front of the other. "Good girl. I am impressed Polly. How well you mince along. Now raise your arms each side, and pinch your forefingers and thumbs together like this.'' Mrs Martin looked incredibly dainty with her elbows bent, close to her side and each hand held out almost at right-angles . Polly copied the pose and continued to mince into the bathroom slowly. She could feel Mrs Martin's hand on her bottom, giving it an encouraging little pat, and something stirred, pressing tightly against her satin panties.

Sandra beckoned Polly to sit on the floor with her back to the side of the bath and leaning her head back washed her hair with the most fragrant apple blossom shampoo. Sandra then helped Polly up onto the bathroom stool, and with her hair still wet, carefully snipped away at Polly's locks, creating a simple bob, with the cutest little fringe at the front, and cut high at the back. The sides curled prettily down each side of her cheeks.

"This will be lovely cut until your hair grows Polly. You will constantly have to pull the sides back from your face, but you will never be allowed to hook your hair behind your ears. It will be constant reminder of how feminine you are."

Sandra led Polly back to the bath, and with a wicked smile pulled on pink rubber gloves ready to apply the peroxide and dyes. An hour later Sandra put the blow dryer down and stood back. "My my. What a gorgeous creature you are'" exclaimed Mrs Martin.

Polly's bottom lip trembled slightly, and then she turned to look at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her hair was blonde, really blonde, with streaks of strawberry blonde, and curled softly over each cheek. She truly looked beautiful. Completely feminine and very attractive.

"Now Sandra, we have three hours left until we start. Just time enough to dress and make-up Polly properly, and teach her some exercises."

Sandra spent ages applying mascara, foundation, lipstick, lip-gloss, eyeliner and rouge until she was completely happy. Then the ladies chose the sweetest white and pink party gown, which billowed out from the shoulders, making a rustling sound every time Polly moved. Then the sweetest lacy suspender belt and pale pink stockings with lacy tops and white stilettos with pretty pink bows at the back. Fuss, fuss fuss, like bridesmaids preparing the bride for her wedding. Finally a tiny gold necklace with a delicate gold "P' pendant and they were finished.

"Now Polly . Fingers and thumbs please, o so delicately. Arms out. Good girl. Now I want you to walk down stairs as prettily as you can."

Polly felt completely different. All her maleness has evaporated, and she began to even think like a girl. She took a few steps towards the hall, as Sandra rushed up and dabbed a couple of drops of perfume behind each ear.

"Head up dear. Shoulders back, and wiggle that bottom" Mrs Martin snapped. Poor Polly's dress rustled as she wriggled her bottom and the dress shimmered and rustled around his waist. The hem came down just below the top of his panties and tickled his bottom mercilessly. Both ladies smiled at each other. Polly's humiliation reached a new level with this one tiny little wiggle, and all three of them knew, at that precise moment, that this was an important milestone in Simon's total transformation.

At exactly 4.30 the doorbell rang. Polly had been practicing her curtsies in the kitchen for 20 minutes and her heart stopped momentarily.

"Open the door dear, and ask Mrs Edwards to come upstairs. You stay in the kitchen Polly and keep practicing,'" Mrs Martin called from upstairs where she had been busy making final preparations with Sandra.

Polly once again wearily went through the routine of opening the front door, and let Mrs Martin in. She curtsied politely and quickly. "Mrs Martin would like you to join her in my bedroom." Polly whispered shyly. Taking off a thick black woolen coat, which she dropped to the floor, Polly could hardly believe her eyes. Mrs Edwards wore a pair of tight fitting black leather trousers, black ankle boots with a six inch steel heels and a tightly fitting black top with a plunging v- neck, showing her cleavage and the top of her black lace bra. She dropped both her gloves on the floor and in silence slowly climbed the stairs. Polly hurriedly picked up her coat and gloves and watched as Mrs Edwards curvaceous figure ascended the stairs to join the other ladies. She looked divine. A rounded bottom and slightly thickened waist just added to her mature, dominant appeal.

An hour passed. A dog barked somewhere in the street and the light outside began to fade. Outside dark black clouds organized themselves from the west and rumbled in the distance. Polly's delicate painted hand grasped the side of the kitchen worktop and she curtsied again, 65,66,67.

"Polly. Please come upstairs now, girl." It was Mrs Martin's voice. Someone walked over Polly's grave, and a shiver ran down her neck. The rain started, small drops on the patio and on the windows. The sky darkened and a crack of thunder boomed overhead.

Polly pinched her fingers and thumbs together, spread her arms and tiptoed upstairs, breathlessly. Her mouth was dry and she could feel her heart beating faster. The door was closed, so she knocked gingerly and waited. Mrs Edwards opened the door, and with a crooked finger beckoned Polly inside. The door closed behind her and he heard the key turn in the lock, click.

Sandra stood by the procedure table in a white coat, Mrs Martin sat on the corner of the bed. "Mince over to Sandra Polly. Let us see your bum wiggle". Mrs Edward's voice was quiet and determined. Polly crossed the room slowly. Sandra took her gently by the hand and sat her down on the chair. "Take your panties off Polly," Sandra whispered, helping her slide her silky panties over her knees and shoes, and placed them on the bed. A few moments later and Polly was safely secured to the chair. Sandra picked up the remote control and lowered the backrest into the horizontal position. Another button lifted her legs and spread them wide, exposing herself vulgarly to the room.

"Thank you Sandra. Now Polly, to begin with, we are going to prepare you for Mrs Edwards. Mrs Edwards has a gift for you, but you need to be able to accommodate this gift. Do you understand me?"

Polly did not understand at all. She attempted to lift her head up to make eye contact, but she couldn't. Rather than risk any 'unpleasantness', she nodded, and whispered, "Yes, I think so."

Sandra pulled on a pair of surgical gloves, and snapped them against her wrists. She then applied a generous squeeze of lubricant and began to press her fingers against Polly's rosebud. Nothing could have shocked Polly more. She cried out and struggled, but it made no difference. "Hush girl, try to relax. If you are not properly stretched your gift will hurt you very much and you will not enjoy it. We wouldn't want that to happen now, would we?"

Polly cried out again, a scream this time, as Sandra twisted and pushed four fingers inside of her and twisted them around, rolling her fingers and thumb deeper inside. The sensations were incredible. Polly felt violated, invaded, humiliated and couldn't understand how she could ever recover from this awful, awful experience. She had nowhere to hide. Sandra pushed harder, knuckles now, then she was in, Polly 's muscle tightly gripping Sandra's wrists as she slid further inside. Then, up and down, twisting and turning, opening her hand. Polly's screams turned to sobs; she had never felt anything like this before. After five agonising minutes it was over. Sandra carefully extracted her hand and pulled off her gloves.

"Excellent. Now Sandra kindly release Polly and stand her at the bottom of the bed, facing forward."

Polly could hardly walk, her bottom felt hot and painful. She felt like she had something alive inside of her. As she was led over to the bed she saw Mrs Edwards stepping into a harness, which she pulled up each leg and secured around the waist. "What on earth is going on," she thought to herself. Then Polly saw it. The largest dildo she had ever seen. Black and shiny, 15 inches long and as fat as a marrow. It was dripping with lubricant and had large round knobs in rows running up each side. She started to back away but Mrs Martin and Sandra grabbed her arms roughly and pressed him down onto the bed face first.

"Oh no you don't, little lady. You will accept your gift from our guest gracefully. Is that understood?" Mrs Martin bent her arm back and repeated, "Is that understood girl?"

Polly nodded. "Good. Now beg for it girl". Mrs Martin twisted his arm further up his back. "I can't hear you Polly."

"Please, please Mrs Edwards, may I have my gift please." Polly's voice was trembling with fear. She could hardly control herself and began to wet the bed, rivulets running down her legs and onto her pretty candy socks and shoes. Mrs Edwards approached her from behind, holding the fat, shiny phallus with both hands, and bending her knees slightly let it thump onto the bed between Polly's thighs.

"I am really going to enjoy this," she said, her voice thick with lust. She looked incredibly powerful. Her legs parted and she squatted forward pushing her bottom backwards in her tight leather trousers. Sandra and Mrs Martin gripped Polly tightly as the end of this monstrous object pressed hard up against her rosebud. "Beg for it Girl, now". Polly was on the brink of losing all emotional control now, any shred of dignity had vanished, and she lay there, held down, feminised, broken and about to broken in two. She didn't care anymore. All emotional control disappeared, all her dignity. For the first time in her life she truly let go and allowed her desires to control her completely. She just wanted to go further and further. She felt giddy and faint, and started to lose connection with the room. "I want it inside me. I really do. Please, please fuck me, please."

"Well, well, finally we have stripped you down to reach the true slut inside you Polly. How refreshing. I am going to fuck you Polly, and it is going to change you forever." The ladies pushed her down further onto the bed and with one hard effort the phallus slowly started to enter Polly. The room span, she had never felt such a joyful feeling of absolute submission. Nothing close. Further and further inside, it felt like giving birth in reverse. She yielded slowly, the pain was intense, but miraculously she managed to let it in. Then Mrs Edwards started to pump and grind her hips thrusting in and out. Polly screamed.

"More, more, I want more please". Mrs Edwards increased her speed, pushing deeper until she just couldn't go any further. Polly's eyed rolled back in her head, she let out a primeval scream and starting with a tight, fluttering sensation in her stomach she had never felt before, experienced for the first time in her life a perfect female orgasm that smashed through her entire body in a long, slow roll. Polly moaned and cried out with pleasure. Mrs Edwards increased her pace, frantically now, until she too let out a lustful cry and climaxed herself, pressing her soaking pussy against the bottom of the dildo.

It was over. Polly lay motionless on the bed breathing heavily as the thing was slowly extracted. The room fell silent. There was nothing to say. Polly had been ruined, completely. Broken, humiliated, corrupted and violated. Sandra came up behind Mrs Edwards kissing her neck softly. "You were magnificent", she whispered, and her hands stroked her leather-clad bottom as she helped her unstrapped her harness and step out of the leg straps one by one. "Thank you Sandra. I felt magnificent." Sandra couldn't help herself. She turned Mrs Edwards around and kissed her on the lips tenderly. Mrs Martin looked on from the bed, and smiled knowingly. "So many scenarios, so little time," she thought dreamily. The three women filed out of the room one by one in silence. Polly just lay there. For the first time in her life she had been completely honest with herself about her inner desires, and despite the pain in her bottom she felt wonderfully satisfied.

"Polly. Polly!" Someone was calling her name far far away. Still flying through the air in a dreamy wedding dress, spinning through the clouds, wheeeeee, and up again,, and loop the loop.

"Polly! " Again, someone called her name. Then a sensation of falling through the clouds, no longer able to fly. Falling towards earth. "POLLY, come here now!".

Polly sat up with a start. A dream. Looking at the fluffy pink clock by her bed it said 0540. Rubbing her face and brushing her hair back she hurriedly pushed back the pink duvet and both of her slim, smooth legs together, slipped out of bed and into her kitten slippers. She rushed to Mrs Martin's bedroom, her baby-doll nighty decorated with skipping lambs clinging, wrinkled to her slender body.

"When I call you girl, I expect you to come to me immediately." Do I make my self absolutely clear?" Mrs Martin sat at her dressing table in a plain white bra, a large white panty-girdle and barely black seemed stockings. She leant forward, applying her bright red lipstick, and Polly could see the graceful curve of her back and the way her hair sat just touching the top of her neck.

Polly, still feeling whoozy from her deep sleep curtsied as deep as she could and whispered. "Yes Mrs Martin. I am very sorry."

"Why is my underwear strewn all over the floor Polly?" Looking around, Polly could see a beige bra, beige knickers and a crumpled pair of tights lying by the side of the bed. She hurriedly scooped them up and held them tightly to her chest like a comfort blanket. They felt soft, and it took all her concentration not to lift them to her face and breathe in deeply. Mrs Martin saw Polly's erection push the front of her nightie forward and up, the hem lying over the top like a veil.

"You have been disobedient Polly, and yet you consider the situation to be arousing. "Polly blushed scarlet with embarrassment."

Mrs Martin told Polly to stand by her side, and holding her hand gently looked up into her eyes.

"How I love to dominate you Polly. How I love to see you cry. How I loved seeing you broken open yesterday" Her fingers found his swollen penis, and she gave a little squeeze. "We have a doctor's appointment today Polly. How exciting is that?"

Polly opened her mouth slightly, and with a gentle delicate stroke of Mrs Martin's clever fingers Polly's head flew back and fat droplets of sissy cream spurted and spattered all over her little lambs, for the very last time, ever.

Polly looked down at Mrs Martin with panic in her eyes, as she whispered.

"There, there Polly. Don't look so frightened. Everything is safe here. You are in suburbia, in England, with your wife. An ordinary house in an ordinary street, what could you possibly fear?"

............................

Domestic Obedience. Chapter 3

Mrs Martin wanted Polly to look especially lovely for their appointment with the doctor. She fussed endlessly, making Polly try on different dresses and stockings, until she found the perfect combination. A huge powder pink party dress, with puff sleeves, and acres of petticoats that fell in ruffled layers below the hem. The dress flared out from Polly's chest, almost horizontally and only just covered her bellybutton. Underneath Mrs Martin chose a gorgeous pair of pink and white frilly party panties, covered in pink and cream hearts with a neat row of tiny pink bows around the seams, and the most lovely pair of hooped pink and lemon tights, with little pink high heeled booties and ankle socks. On her head she tied a large pink bonnet with a huge pink bow under the chin.

"There, how gorgeous you look Polly. The sweetest, most innocent little flower imaginable. Butter wouldn't melt in your pretty little mouth, now would it diddums." Mrs Martin pouted as she spoke these words, trumming her fingers against Polly's lips, and patting her bottom firmly. Polly, just stood there, with a glazed expression, unable to find any words to describe her total sense of entrapment and humiliation.

"Fingers, Polly. Let me see your pretty arms up." Mrs Martin clapped her hands as she spoke, and Polly, lifted her hands up as he had been taught, elbows tightly by his side and forefinger and thumb pinched together.

"Good girl. Such an obedient girl," Mrs Martin purred, placing a tiny pink, heart shaped purse on a gold chain over Polly's wrist, and leading her downstairs. How her petticoats rustled. How daintily she walked, one foot in front of the other, like a delicate little bird. She pouted, her lips quivering invitingly, as she glanced across at Mrs Martin with big wet puppy-dog eyes. She had never felt so gloriously feminine in her whole life, and it made her panties swell with excitement.

Downstairs Mrs Martin looked at herself in the mirror. This was a very special day and she wanted to look her best. She wore a well tailored charcoal wool suit, with a tight pencil skirt cut just above her knees with a high waist, and a matching jacket cinched in at the waist with pleats between the vents. It was lined in pink silk matching Polly's dress. She wore her highest heels, black patent formal shoes with barely black tights. She was happy with her appearance, and grabbing her clutch bag from the hall table she turned to look once again at her frilly-puff perfumed husband standing helplessly, with her feet neatly placed one in front of the other.

"Right. We are ready. How thrilling this is. Polly had no idea why she was going to a doctor, she felt quite well. Perhaps Mrs Martin was unwell. This was not however her main anxiety. It was the dreadful thought of going outside dressed up like a huge pink fairy.

Mrs Martin clearly sensed her anxiety, and smiled lovingly at her husband. Taking both her pretty hands in hers she sighed. "You look completely lovely Polly. Delicate, feminine, submissive and adorable. I will have you like this always."

Polly found the choice of Mrs Martin's word sometimes quite ambiguous, and confusing. He thought over Mrs Martin's choice of words carefully, but couldn't quite understand exactly what she meant.

Mrs Martin drove carefully into central London, ensuring that her precious Polly did not get anxious or upset. She allowed her to sit in the back where she looked out of the window at the bustling people going about their business. She felt a strange detachment from the world outside Mrs Martin's house. She was surprised how quickly she had succumbed to her extraordinary influence, and how powerful her hold was on him. Or was it her. He looked forward, catching a glimpse of himself in the rear view mirror. He looked every inch a young woman. For the second time that day he felt a powerful feeling of femininity rush though him, and it made him blush with a thrilling excitement. He looked down at his legs. Held tightly together, at a slight angle, with his hands placed neatly on each knee. It felt so natural. How did he learn to sit so prettily? He tried not to think, it made his head spin, and he didn't want to cry and spoil his make-up. It may upset Mrs Martin.

They were lucky. A van pulled out at speed from a parking space outside the clinic, in Devonshire Street, just off Harley Street, south of Regent's Park. The clinic was marked with a discreet brass plaque next to the door of an imposing Victorian Villa, part of a terrace facing south.

"Here we are dear," Mrs Martin pulled off her white leather driving gloves and rang the bell.

A clipped Sloaney voice answered through the entrance phone.

"Good morning Mrs Martin. Do come up, we are on the second floor. "

Inside the place smelt of beeswax and money. As the door closed behind them with a heavy click of expensive ironmongery they stood momentarily in the hall, their heels sinking almost visibly into the thick navy blue carpet. A huge Grandfather clock ticked in the corner, let out a long deep whirr and then chimed nine times, with a deep resonance that spoke of reassurance and capability. Mrs Martin took Polly's hand and led her upstairs, past the gilded frames displaying improbably shaped horses and idyllic country scenes from a distant age.

Sophie stood up as they entered, greeting Mrs Martin with the casual ease of an expensively educated girl, and they kissed each on each cheek happily.

"How nice to see you again, and this must be Polly. How do you do Polly?" Sophie smiled at Polly, showing her perfect white teeth and her flawless complexion. Her voice, just a little hoarse from quite a few late nights and too many Marlboro Lights, was confident and open. Polly felt totally outclassed, totally humiliated just being in the presence of this girl. He felt a panic of mixed emotions. She looked incredible, this girl. He wished he could be the sort of person that she would look at admiringly, romantically even, and they could exchange e-mails and text each other flirtily between dates and there fabulous circle of friends and hectic social life. The he realized how many million miles from that ever being reality he had come, in just a few short days.

Instead of feeling confident, he felt crushed by her charm. He wore a huge pink dolly dress and striped tights. His panties were clearly on display, nothing was hidden. Completely exposed as a big sissy girl standing in a doctor's reception in front of a complete stranger who eyed him with the cool detachment of a woman who saw him as just a silly girl dressed up like meringue. What really puzzled him was how pleasant it felt, and why was he pouting. "God, what is happening to me?" she thought, unable to think clearly again.

"Please do take a seat. I will let Mrs Edward's know you are here."

Polly's blood froze.

"Thank you dear." Mrs Martin sat on the Chesterfield sofa and patted the cushion next to her, summoning Polly to sit next to her."

A moment later the double doors at the end of the reception flung open and Mrs Edward's breezed in, cool, confidant and in complete control.

"Eleanora, how lovely to see you." The two women embraced each other warmly whilst Polly sat staring at the floor, in shock and disbelief. The last time he had seen Mrs Edward's she had crushed him like a cockroach physically and psychologically, and just being in her presence left him feeling terrified, inadequate and foolish.

"Stand up Polly. Manners girl, manners," Mrs Martin snapped, clicking her fingers sharply and crooking her finger.

Polly stood up slowly and blushing scarlet whispered "Good morning Mrs Edward's." he looked at her lips, he simply couldn't make eye contact, he just couldn't do it.

"Shy little thing today, isn't she just," Mrs Edward's quipped, raising her arm to herd the party proprietarily into her surgery. Sitting herself behind a huge leather desk, she peered over her half rim tortoiseshell spectacles at her guests and smiled.

"How different you look Polly," Mrs Edwards said, looking at the pink puffball that sat pensively across the desk next to Mrs Martin. Polly blushed scarlet and her bottom lip momentarily dropped and quivered almost imperceptibly. But Mrs Edwards noticed. She so enjoyed the absolute power she commanded over Polly, and loved watching him wriggle and squirm in her presence.

"How she simpers." Mrs Edwards whispered. Polly didn't know what to do, not even where to put her arms. She could barely bring himself to look across the desk. This was the woman who beat him so hard and so mercilessly that his mind turned into a haze of blue agony. This is the woman who forced him to consume her most intimate underwear in an act so humiliating, so degrading, so erotic that reliving the moment consumed him, no her, her her, her, with so most joyous feelings of submission. This is the woman who split her in two only a few hours earlier.

"Well now, everything is ready. I assume that Polly has not eaten for at least 8 hours Eleanora?'

"No, she hasn't Annie. Just a few sips of water this morning in the car."

Polly looked across at Mrs Martin. The pretty bow under her chin rustled and she neatly placed her hands together on her petticoats trying to push them down to cover her pretty panties.

"What is going to happen? Why am I here?" he thought, looking into his wife's eyes for some clue, some compassion, some understanding. But there was nothing. She stared back at him, expressionless, and turned her attention back to Mrs Edwards.

Good. Then Sophie will take her down to theatre. The procedure normally takes a few hours, but I will want Polly to stay here in the clinic for at least four days afterwards. I understand you are staying nearby Eleanora?

"Yes, indeed, just around the corner in New Cavendish Street." The two ladies looked at each other. They both had the identical thought, and the subsequent adrenalin rush made both of them blush.

Mrs Edwards, composing her, looked up at Eleanora and said "Then we must meet for dinner, perhaps tomorrow night? The L'Illusionniste is a popular French restaurant, and is close to both of us. I will get Sophie to book, say for eight?"

Eleanora stood up brightly. Eight it is. She stood behind Polly, resting her gloved hands on her shoulders and gave a little squeeze. "Be a good girl for Doctor Edwards" and with that she was gone.

"What is this about Mrs Edwards." Simon asked pleadingly, and close to tears. Are you a doctor? Is there something the matter with me?"

"Shh, shh, girl. No more questions. We don't want you upsetting your pretty little head with silly worries. I am indeed a Doctor, a surgeon, and this is my practice. Your wife wishes you to become more, more female, and I have agreed to undertake the procedure to achieve that result for her."

"But I don't understand Mrs Edwards. What 'procedure'. Why hasn't anyone told me about this?"

"Shhhhh, shhhh. You have to learn to enjoy being completely out of control. Mrs Martin requires you to be in a permanent state of confusion and anxiety, on the brink of panic, helpless giddy and close to the point of losing your ability to control your emotions. You are to become a silly, vacuous girl with no thoughts in your head except to be pretty and dainty and very very feminine.

I have agreed to assist in this process. It amuses me. This afternoon I will remove your penis and testicles and replace it will a lovely new vagina, which you will grow to love and cherish as the very centre of your femininity."

Polly began to speak, but the words wouldn't come. He felt a clammy feeling of shock descend over him, and couldn't understand why his penis started to swell in his panties. What was it about the sheer authority of this woman that made him feel so completely aroused? He was about to be changed permanently into a woman, against his wishes, without even his knowledge until now, let alone his agreement, and yet he felt aroused? He just couldn't understand his emotions at all.

"Sophie will take you down to the prep area, and we can get you ready. Any questions Polly?"

Polly looked across the table and her eyes met Mrs Edward's. She could feel her head shaking slowly from side to side, against her every instinct. It was as if Mrs Edward's had taken over her very existence.

"No Ma'am" he whispered almost inaudibly.

"Good girl, then we shall get on with then" Mrs Edwards stood up, pushed her reading glasses up into her hair and left the room. A moment later Sophie came in.

"Come on Polly, let's get you out of that pretty dress and into something a little more appropriate for your procedure."

As she spoke she held out a hand to help Polly to her feet, and watched as this frightened kitten stood up, like a big pink dolly just on the verge of bursting into tears.

"Polly. Come on Polly, wake up. Wakey wakey".

Polly felt herself falling through space, hearing a voice above her. She looked up at the sky which spun around in a big silvery spiral of stars. Again a voice and a blurred vision. An angel perhaps, and still she felt herself falling.

'Polly, Polly, time to wake up dear."

The voice was familiar, clearer now and the vision came into focus.

"Good girl. It is all over now. Let's get you sitting up now, keep the circulation going." Mrs Edwards voice was reassuring, professional.

Polly felt herself being bodily lifted under her armpits and weakly allowed herself to be propped up against a pillow. She felt a tightness between her legs, and strange feeling of grief that she couldn't quite grasp.

"All done Polly. Everything went splendidly. You are going to be thrilled when you see how pretty you look. Mrs Martin will be so pleased."

Polly gradually began to come round and remembered what had happened to her. She looked down but her view was obscured by a large mound protruding from her chest, wrapped in bandages around her back. As she slowly woke up Polly realised that her operation entailed more than just the feminisation between her legs.

Polly looked up at Mrs Edwards who sat neatly on the edge of the bed gently caressing Polly's knee.

"How I love to control you Polly. I have given you a gift. Well, two actually. So now you can really enjoy your new female body, complete, perfect and curvaceous.

Polly could hardly move. The weight of her new breasts felt odd, and the feeling between her legs was really strange. A feeling that she had never experienced before, of vulnerability. She closed her eyes, drifting back into sleep. Her thoughts were gentle, pretty, and delicate. She could feel Mrs Edwards hand on her thigh, and the last words she heard before she slept were hers.

"We have such plans for you Polly. Such terrible plans."

Later that evening Eleanora raised her glass, and clinked it against Annie's.

Both ladies, beautifully dressed, sipped their champagne from long slim flutes, setting them down in unison on the crisp white linen tablecloth. L'Illusionniste was full, noisy and boisterous. The perfect place to celebrate and relax. The two ladies sat in a quiet booth, picking their way through a shared seafood platter, enjoying each other's company. Their eyes met. Later that evening they would make love and lying in each other's arms they would plan the next phase of Polly's transformation.

For now it was enough to know that in just a few short days they had succeeded in reducing an innocent young man to a quivering, confused, effeminate mess lying in a private clinic recovering from a transformation so complete that there was never ever going to be an any prospect of going back. Eleanora peeled a tiger prawn, her slim fingers expertly extracting the pink, plump flesh, and she placed it on Annie's tongue, then licked the garlic oil from her fingers. They smiled at each other wickedly.

Domestic Obedience. Chapter 4.

Two weeks are returning home Mrs Martin broke the news to Polly.

"Mrs Edward's is coming to live with us Polly. Isn't that thrilling?"

Polly sat at her dressing table. Her hair had grown down to the top of shoulders and had been styled in pretty ringlets, and she gently combed it as Mrs Martin opened her curtains, letting the morning light flood her room with light. Polly wore a beautiful ivory bra, underwired and delicate, with matching panties. She wore cream coloured stockings intricately embroidered at the top, held up with a pretty lace suspender belt. She curled her right foot behind her left and rubbed the back of her ankle. The news caused her to gasp audibly and she stared at herself in the mirror, still combing her hair. Her eyelashes cast a shadow on her face from the morning sun. She looked gorgeous. Vulnerable, feminine and adorable.

Polly nodded, and attempted a shy smile. Her heart stated to beat faster, and she could feel her breathing increase, pressing her breasts against her bra, pulling at the strap across her back. She felt, once again, a feeling of dread and excitement, a curious new emotion that she only felt in the company of Mrs Martin and Mrs Edwards.

Over the last few days she had tried to analyse her feelings. Time and time again Mrs Martin had said something, or given Polly an instruction and Polly felt this new emotion. It was like vertigo. Standing at the edge of a cliff and then looking up. God that always made her feel scared. But it was more than that. It was a compulsion to jump. Yes, and then coming to your senses and stepping back. That was it. That was how Mrs Martin made her feel.

Polly saw a lot of Mrs Edwards after she returned from the clinic. Lots of post procedure checks, as the bandages were slowly removed and her body healed. She had always been kind and gentle, introducing Polly to her new body. Watching her touch herself, fascinated by Polly's trembling curiosity as she brushed her hands between her cleavage, or felt the soft lips between her legs.

Polly began to look forward to these visits. She had begun to rely on Mrs Edwards for emotional support as she came to terms with the enormous change to her body. Perhaps it was their doctor-patient relationship. Perhaps something more basic. Mrs Edwards could see this clearly and encouraged Polly. Drawing Polly in emotionally was a very good thing indeed. "Oh yes", she mused, stroking Polly's hair, "a very good thing indeed."

Mrs Martin watched her 'husband' sitting at the dressing table. Her slender back straight. Perfect posture. The curve of her back and her pert bottom resting on the cushioned chair.

"You will be twice as busy with two of us to serve, my girl. Are you ready for that?"

Polly felt that emotion again. Why was it Mrs Martin chose words, new words, that pushed the boundaries just a tiny bit, and caused her to feel so on edge. Now she was expected to serve. But what did that mean. Was she a servant, a maid? Polly put the brush down carefully on the table and with her hands on the cushion gracefully turned around to face Mrs Martin. Her legs together, her feet extended, she placed her stockinged toes on the soft blue carpet.

"I think so. I hope so. I will try my best."

Mrs Martin smiled and handed a strappy pair of ivory satin heels to Polly, and watched in silence as Polly slipped them on, buckling the delicate straps around her ankle. It was time to dress. Polly walked towards the wardrobe, slowly, gracefully, placing one foot in front of the other, her elbows by her side, forearms extended either side, the painted nails on her forefinger and thumb just touching. Between her legs, she felt a tingle. How clever Mrs Edwards was to preserve her 'sensations'. How she so loved being Polly.

Mrs Edwards had placed a pale cream dress on a hangar on the outside the wardrobe. It was so short, and flared out in huge pleated ruffles with crinoline and lace petticoats. There was just the most enormous deep cream bow at the back and tiny matching bows stitched all around the hem. Polly took it off the hangar, feeling how substantial it felt. Stepping inside with great care, she pulled it up past her calves, past her thighs and passed her arms into the tight fitting sleeves. She was shocked at how short it was. It barely covered her ribs, leaving a huge expansive of her slim tummy and her suspender belt and panties on full display.

"What a pretty little slut you are becoming Polly. We will have to ensure that your behaviour matches your looks now, won't we." Mrs Martin's rhetorical tome ensured that Polly did not respond. Polly merely tuned to Mrs Martin and gave a deep formal curtsey, awaiting her orders for the day.

"My room first girl, then I will take breakfast downstairs in half and hour." Then she was gone.

Polly minced into her wife's bedroom and scooped up her underwear from the floor, holding it closely to her chest. She could smell her perfumes, feel the soft silky caress of her lingerie between her fingers, and it made her just a little moist. Her nipple hardened, and she felt them hard and tight against the inside of her bra. She could hardly put them down, but she did, making the bed as neatly as possible. How she busied herself around the bed, pulling the sheets tight and smoothing them down with her slender hands. Polly was conscious that her bottom was exposed, protruding rudely from under her dress as she bent down to tuck the blankets in. How she loved being a maid.

After breakfast the doorbell rang. Polly slipped off her pink rubber gloves and lay them by the sink, scampering to the door to pull back the curtains and undo all those silly locks.

Mrs Edwards walked straight passed her, dropping her keys onto the floor by her feet.

"Take everything upstairs Polly and unpack."

With that she disappeared into the drawing room and began to chatter with Mrs Martin like two long lost sisters.

Polly fetched and carried all manner of suitcases and boxes from Mrs Edwards's car and took them upstairs into Mrs Martin's bedroom. A new matching wardrobe and chest of drawers had been delivered whilst Polly was in hospital, and they both sat symmetrically up against the existing pair. Polly busied herself carefully lining each drawer with pink crepe paper and then very carefully laid out Mrs Edwards's expensive lingerie and clothes in each drawer. It took ages.

Then she carefully removed her dresses from their suit carriers and hung them in the new wardrobe, brushing them down carefully. Finally, each of Mrs Edwards shoes were neatly stacked, and her perfumes and make-up bag placed on top of the chest of drawers. As she finished she gave a sudden gasp. Mrs Edwards stood behind her, sliding her fingers down inside the back of her knickers and stroking down and around the top of Polly's legs. Polly dared not breathe.

"How sweet you are now, girl. A perfect little plaything for the ladies in your life."

Mrs Edwards hooked her middle finger inside Polly and gave a possessory tug. It could have felt like an outrageous violation, but to Polly it felt like love. She completed thrilled at the thought that she, little Polly, could give pleasure to two such beautiful people.

Mrs Martin stood at the door, watching her friend stand behind Polly, pressing her head onto the chest of drawers and groping her with the other hand.

"When Mrs Edwards has finished examining you Polly you will report to me downstairs. "

Polly bit her lip, and pushed her bottom back, longing to take Mrs Edwards finger deep inside her newly found orifice. The sensations were incredible. She felt wet, alive, tingling all over and a huge desire for this never to stop.

Mrs Edwards slid down onto her knees and Polly could feel her breath on her buttocks as she pulled Polly's panties down to her knees. Then four finger tips pressing against Polly's moist lips, and in. Polly gasped. But it didn't stop there. The fingers, held stiffly twisted round, then a thumb, and the moment came. Mrs Edwards pushed and turned her hand inside her, almost lifting Polly off the ground.

Polly stood on tiptoe.

"Come on girl, no cheating now. Give yourself to me."

Polly wanted to, she really did, but she wasn't sure she physically could. She could feel Mrs. Edwards hand rolling round, her fingers probing deeper. Polly lowered her heels back to the ground and with her weight, and hands holding the side of the drawer she forced herself down, over Mrs Edward's knuckles. She felt her hand slide inside, forming a fist. She screamed. Was this really happening? Mrs Edwards had moved in less than an hour ago and she was already fisting Polly hard and fast in her bedroom, and Polly was moaning with pleasure and pain.

Then it happened. Polly came. A long rising climax that made her lose control momentarily, and then rose and rose again until she thought she would just die from pleasure. Polly had been lifted off the ground with the sheer force of Mrs Edwards's efforts, shocking both of them.

Mrs. Martin had changed. She wanted to look middle-aged and just a little matronly. She wore a plain black A-line skirt to her knees, tan stockings and modestly heeled court shoes. On top she had a crisp, white cotton blouse, with a high ruffled collar, clasped tightly shut with a Cameo broche. Her hair was pinned up severely, and she had an air of quiet determination about her. As she placed Polly's chair in the middle of the drawing room she heard a primeval scream coming from an upstairs bedroom. She smiled quietly to herself, thinking how sensible it was for Polly to start her new regime passive and sated.

Twenty minutes later Mrs. Edwards came downstairs. She too had changed into a tight pencil line black skirt and heavily laced cream blouse, with a deep plunging neck revealing a beautiful cream bra. She wore barely black tights and 4-inch patent black court shoes with an open toe.

The two ladies sat on the sofa, allowing their hands to touch. They looked into each other's eyes knowingly and kissed. Just a simple kiss but it meant a great deal more than that.

"I think we should begin Annie."

Mrs. Edwards nodded in agreement. "Yes dear, we should begin."

Mrs. Martin clapped her hands twice in quick succession. Polly, sitting slightly flushed at her dressing table had just finished applying her pink lipstick, and was carefully applying her mascara when the call came. She wore a gorgeous powder blue party dress that just covered the top of her knickers, very pale blue stockings and white sandals over the sweetest little pop socks imaginable. She stood up carefully, and daintily walked downstairs like a bride emerging from her bedroom to go to her wedding.

The atmosphere in the drawing room was tense and serious. Polly curtsied in front of both ladies and stood silently, holding the sides of her dress out with her fingertips, one foot placed in front of the other like a pretty little ballerina. She felt incredibly vulnerable.

Mrs Martin spoke first.

"Stand on the chair Polly and lift your skirts up to display your knickers.'

Polly stepped up onto the chair, balancing her gloved hands on the back and then standing up and lifting her skirts out in front of her. She trembled slightly

"Good. Now Polly, I want you to listen very very carefully. I have decided that you will live with me permanently here in this house. So, in so far as your probation period is concerned, I can confirm that you have successfully achieved the standards that I had set you'.

Polly blushed with pride, and whispered a meek 'Thank you Mrs Martin."

Mrs Martin nodded in recognition of Polly's remark, but remained entirely expressionless as she continued.

'Mrs Edwards and I will require you to carry out any duties that we decide for you with diligence, application, grace and enthusiasm. You will be obedient at all times, and you will never ever question either of us, whatever you are told to do. Is this clear so far Polly?'

Polly nodded, still holding her skirts up as the two ladies, side by side looked at her, both sat neatly together on the sofa.

"If you please us we will be happy. If you displease us we will be unhappy. If we are unhappy then there will be consequences."

Mrs. Edwards then spoke.

"There will indeed be consequences Polly. Serious consequences. Now come and kneel here in front of me. "

Polly stepped down from the chair and kneeled down in front of Mrs. Edwards. She looked straight ahead, trying not to make eye contact, but could feel the warmth of her knees close to her chin. Mrs. Edwards started to pull the hem of her black skirt up first just below her knees, then slowly over the knees and up her thighs. Polly just kept looking straight ahead, trying not to look down, focusing on Mrs. Edwards's neck. Out of the corner of her eye Polly could see the bright white gusset of Mrs. Edwards panties and the pale skin of her thighs above her stocking tops. The concentration was almost unbearable. Then Mrs. Edwards raised her leg and placed her right foot on Polly's shoulder. Then the left.

"Now girl. As you have in the recent past demonstrated to me your fondness for my underwear, I have treat for you. Think of it as a homecoming present.

Polly froze as Mrs Edwards curled her stockinged legs around Polly's neck and pulled her forward. Polly looked down. She had no choice. She could see the huge gusset of Mrs Edwards panties, stretched tight over her pussy.

"Hands behind your back, Polly. Prepare for lunch".

The scent of Mrs. Edwards became stronger as she used her stockinged legs to pull Polly up towards her. Her nose touched first, then her lips. Mrs Edwards was wet, and the scent was strong, feminine, intoxicating. The material tasted slightly sweet. What was this? Not silk. Not satin, it was almost paper like. Then she realized. It was rice paper. Oh my god, edible panties.

"I am waiting Polly?"

Polly licked the gusset. A long wet salty sweet lick, softening the material more. Pushing her tongue against the gusset, gently at first and then harder it eventually yielded, and Polly's tongue pushed through the soft wet material into Mrs Edward's gorgeous being. She knew precisely what was required.

Quietly, methodically he bit and pulled at the material, salivating profusely as each shred came free, and melted in her mouth. As he worked down the scent and taste changed. Gorgeous earthy tastes filled her mouth and she swallowed them down, mouthful by mouthful. Up to the front panel, mouthful after sweet mouthful. Then the band at the top, pulling little sugary bows from the hem. Working around the sides, consuming every mouthful eagerly, savoring every mouthful. Mrs. Edwards lifted her buttocks from the sofa allowing Polly to work between her buttocks. Finally it was over. Everything had gone. Mrs. Edwards held him tightly, pressing her vulva against Polly's mouth. Wash it down girl. Open wide. Polly opened her mouth and moments later Mrs. Edward's let a long hot stream flow into Polly's mouth. Polly nearly gagged, but managed to swallow as the stream went on and on relentlessly. Then Mrs. Edwards started to rub against Polly's chin, harder and and harder, pulling her closer, faster and faster, until she let out a long low moan and came in a wet, scented mess into her mouth.

Mrs. Martin held her friends hand as she came, looking down at Polly in her sweet little dress. What a busy busy girl Polly would be, from the tips of her pink painted toes to the tip of her pointy tongue.