The Tutor (Part 2) free porn video

The Tutor - Part 2 Introduction "I need your help, please, My Lady," I stammered, looking at the floor. "Why Miss Clarke, whatever is the problem?" Mrs. Roberts, the tall, well endowed, matron of the Roberts Mansion and her impish 17-year-old daughter Denise were finishing breakfast at the dining-room table. Both were wearing sleepwear from the night before under their robes. I shifted my weight back and forth, unsure of how to begin. "I seem unable to control myself, My Lady. You know... my accidents? And I was hoping that you and Miss Denise would be able to help me. I really need to complete my service and work off my demerits so I can return to school to complete my doctoral dissertation. Please?" I pleaded. "Why of course we will help," Mrs. Roberts said, warmly. "Mother?" Miss Denise's voice betrayed a hint of alarm. "Hush Denise. Miss Clarke has made us a simple and heartfelt request. If she wants our help to prevent accidents, then I think we should do everything we can to help. Don't you?" A look of shared understanding passed between them. "Of course," Denise said, brightening. "Miss Clarke! I promise I will help you maintain control in any way that I can. No matter what it takes! It will my pleasure!" * * * 'Whew!' I thought to myself, as I cleared the table. 'That went well.' My name is Jason Clarke and I am a graduate student just about to finish my PhD in English Literature. To make a little extra cash, I've taken a one-week assignment as a tutor to help Miss Denise prepare for her college entrance examinations to Cleavage University. Only somehow I have found myself dressed from head to toe in a maid's uniform, complete with frilly underwear, a slip, a bra, breast forms (devilish devices with suction cups and nipple stimulators built in!), garters, and stockings. The uniform itself is in an old-fashioned English Manor style, black with a white apron and collar trimmed in eyelet lace. How had I got into this position? Why was I, a highly educated graduate student, working as a maid for this old-fashioned matron and her mischievous daughter? Oh, it was all a big mix-up, of course. They wanted me to start right away, but I didn't have any clothes with me. So, no problem, Miss Denise gave me some of her panties to wear. I should have put a stop to it right away! After all, a student giving me - her teacher (!) - a pair of panties to wear? I should have just walked out of the house right then and there. Only I didn't. I should have, but I didn't. The reasons are complicated, and I'm not even sure I understand them all myself. I realize now that had been my only real chance to set boundaries. After that, it seems like it's been one more thing after another. Don't get me wrong, Mrs. Roberts and Miss Denise are wonderful employers. The problem is that I'm just a few weeks from completing my doctorate - a goal which I have been working towards all my life! What would my parents say if I just let it go? I wondered. They were always saying 'Just be yourself', but I could tell from the very beginning that they wanted me to be in academia just like them. They had both been so pleased when I was accepted at University and my Dad kept going on and on about how it would be 'so nice to have another professor in the family'. What if I called him right now and said, 'Dad, I've decided I'm going to quit University and become a lady's maid? I will dedicate my life to household chores such as sewing, cleaning, serving the guests, dressing Miss Denise and Mrs. Roberts--" "Stop that!" I angrily said to myself. "That's not for me! I want to become an man of letters and education. I want to join the academic elite filling young minds with my wisdom on all of the latest concepts in the world of literature." Of course I did. And all it would take is to control my urges for just one week. Then I could work off my demerits and I would leave with a nice tutoring paycheck and that would be that. And now that I knew that My Lady and Miss Denise were on my side, I knew that everything would be okay. Chapter 1: "I'm so glad that you asked for our help," said Mrs. Roberts, as she stepped out of the shower. I gulped, seeing her fully naked body for the first time. She was a large, well-rounded, woman, but her body was firm and perfectly proportioned, every bit the proud matriarch of the Roberts clan. "Thank you, My Lady," I said. Trying to avert my eyes I somehow ended up staring at her dark brown, furry triangle. "Look all you want, my dear," Mrs. Roberts said, with a chuckle in her voice. "It's just us girls here. Now fetch a towel and dry me off. That will be another one of your duties while you're my lady's maid." Mrs. Roberts held out her arms and I did my best. I started with her back and arms and then, with a couple of deep breaths, moved to her front. "Sorry my dear!" Mrs. Roberts said, suddenly stumbling forward. "Hold on a second," she placed an arm on my shoulder, pulling me into her naked body. "Just give me a second to figure this out." She held me there as she shifted back and forth. "Ahh, I see," she said, finally releasing me. "It was the floor mat. The edge had folded over and that tripped me. You can continue now. But please don't be shy about 'down there'. Pay close attention and make sure everything's nice and dry." 'Crap,' I realized. I was hard already! 'Concentrate on your work!' I scolded myself. I knelt down, running the towel between her legs and drying 'back there' as well. As I did, Mrs. Roberts would turn one way or the other which always seemed to result in my face being pressed into her in her crotch or her soft, yielding bottom. "Oh dear," she kept saying. "Don't be shy, dear. This sort of thing happens all the time. I'm sure you'll get better with practice." Finally she was dry. My next chore was to spread baby powder through all the folds of her body. This included under her arms, between her legs, and (*gulp*) under her breasts and between her bottom cheeks. Just being in such close proximity, not to mention stroking her body with my hands, almost caused me to lose control right then and there. And if I thought I was going to get a break, I was sorely mistaken. My Lady gave me a personal tour of her drawers and closets, and I was instructed on how to choose her underwear for the day. "My body armor," she said smiling, as I helped her into a long-line bra, doing up the hooks in back and then reaching into each cup (!) to adjust her breasts. Next was a simple pair of nylon panties followed by a girdle, which took no small amount of tugging and pulling as she held my shoulder for support. And oh-my-god did she smell good. I lost myself in smells of potpourri, lady's lingerie, baby powder, and her own body odor. When asked to fetch a slip from the closet, I chose a pretty, nylon, peach-colored one which I placed over her outstretched arms and then smoothed down her body. This was followed by a classic grey skirt and stylish white blouse. "Almost done," she said with a smile, sitting down on a chair and placing a pillow on the floor before her. "Now just stockings and shoes." The stockings were simple, thigh-high, and with a band at the top to keep them in place (no garter belt required). I knelt on the pillow, rolled up the first stocking and slipped it over her toes. But then, somehow, I got tangled up in her legs! I have no idea how it happened. Maybe the pillow was too far away? I was leaning forward rather awkwardly, and then something slipped and I found myself lunging forward with my head in her lap! "Miss Clarke!" Mrs. Roberts exclaimed, shocked. And if that weren't bad enough (I was already blushing beet red from head to toe), My Lady tried to stand up to get away (I guess), but that just made me stumble again, with the end result that I ended up fully under her skirts! What a mess! And then, when she was finally able to stand, I swear I have no idea how this happened, one leg ended up _behind_ me, and one in front with the effect that my face was pressed directly into her girdled and pantied crotch. "Don't move, Miss Clarke," Mrs. Roberts said, now laughing heartily. "Hold still while I figure this out." Thank goodness she's not offended! Surrounded by satin, silk, foundation wear, and lace... I'm ashamed to admit I was in a certain kind of heaven, and so perhaps I didn't mind letting her take her time to figure this out. Mrs. Roberts placed a hand on the back of my head and pushed it forward, as she tried to work her legs around me, my face pressed now more firmly into her crotch as her legs clamped around my head. "Okay, I think I've got it," My Lady said, finally lifting her skirt and stepping free. "I'm so sorry, My Lady!" I said, standing up to face her, my face hot with embarrassment. "Miss Clarke," she responded. "If you wanted to spend some time between my legs, all you had to do was ask! No need to 'pretend' to slip and fall and have a fake 'accident'." "But My Lady!" I sputtered. "I certainly didn't mean to, I mean... the pillow was just placed too far away, and I must have slipped somehow..." "Why didn't you just move the pillow closer, then?" "I... I guess..." I was at a loss, caught off guard by her teasing accusations. "I don't know..." "Well, as I said," Mrs. Roberts put a hand on my cheek and looked me straight in the eyes. "If you want to spend some quality time between my legs, all you have to do is ask. After all, it seems like you spent an abnormally long amount of time in Madam Gounod's bedroom. I wonder what you were doing there, hmmm? Is it just possible that there were some intimate moments between the two of you?" "I... I... I cannot say," I finally got out. "Very good, my dear. Discretion is a lady's maid's most important asset. I approve. But I know Madam Gounod. Oh yes, I know her *very* well. And I can well imagine what she would do with a delicious little thing like you in her bedroom for hours at a time!" Blushing even more furiously, I could do nothing but toe the ground. "But enough about that. You seem flustered, so I think now might be a good time to check on your level of excitement. To take your temperature, so to speak." "My Lady?" "Here." Rather than explaining, My Lady pulled my hips forward and reached a hand under my skirts. "Oh dear, this feels dangerous," she said, grasping my achingly hard penis. "Very dangerous indeed. In fact, I might say that you are almost on the verge!" "Yes, My Lady," I admitted, through gritted teeth, as she manipulated me through my nylon panties and half skirt. "Please..." "I understand my dear. But do not fear, for I have the perfect solution to keep you out of trouble." "Yes, My Lady. Thank you, My Lady!" Mrs. Roberts reached into her dresser drawers and pulled out a spare pair of stockings. Pulling my hands behind my back, she first tied my wrists together, and then my elbows! Each one was wrapped several times around, and then cinched. The result was snug, not uncomfortable, but completely secure. "My Lady!" I said, shocked, struggling against my bonds. "I haven't finished putting on your stockings and shoes! "Oh pish-tush. I can finish all that myself." "But with my hands and arms bound behind my back, how will I be able to help around the house? How will I be able to do my chores?" I rolled my shoulders, trying to escape. "I agree, that is a problem. But we can't very well have you touching yourself, can we? This way, your hands will be out of the way. And no matter how excited you get, you will not be able to cause yourself to have an accident. This is the best way to keep little girls with no self-control, like yourself, out of trouble." "But... but..." I sputtered, as I bent over struggling uselessly. How had she known? I wondered, panting and sweating. Far from easing my excitements and cooling my ardor, being put into bondage added fuel to the fire! "You're most welcome, my dear. Anything I can do," she said, smiling indulgently. "Now I think you should head right over to Denise, don't you? Time to begin her lessons for the day. After all, the exams are just days away! But before you go..." Mrs. Roberts put her arms around me and pulled me into a deep kiss, pressing her body full against me. Her hands reached up to my breasts where they squeezed and kneaded them. Thanks to Madam Gounod's evil invention, this caused suction cups built into the forms to pull on my own chest. She then took the nipples and pinched and tweaked them, compressing a hidden mechanism which caused my own nipples beneath the forms to be pinched and tweaked making me moan and whimper. I struggled to pull free of my bounds so I could push her away, but could do no more than merely squirm as she had her way with me. "That was your reward for doing such a good job this morning," My Lady said, breathing heavy. "Did you enjoy it?" "Oh yes," I said, swooning. "Uh... I mean, thank you, My Lady, for being so kind with your clumsy employee..." "Lady's maid," Mrs. Roberts corrected me. "Sorry, Lady's Maid, thank you for my reward, I enjoyed it very much, and I will always work as hard as I can to earn it." "Very good," she said, swatting me on the bottom, "now scoot." * * * HERE HERE Chapter 2: I stumbled into the hall thinking 'Oh my god'. I was so horny and so turned on it felt like a huge steel spring, wrapped in velvet, was coiled up inside of me, about to burst. 'The bathroom!' I thought, walking gingerly up the stairs, trying not to make my breasts bounce. I wasn't sure exactly what I was planning to do in the bathroom. I suppose I had a vague idea of somehow achieving release without soiling the clothes... but how would I do that with my hands bound behind my back? Every step caused the evil breast forms to tug and pull, causing bolts of pleasure to shoot through my body. Could I even make it upstairs without an accident? Finally I made it to the bathroom door. I stared at the door knob for a second, before turning away and grasping it with my hands from behind. Locked! What the fuck? I groaned, feelings of lust and frustration washing over me. What was I going to do? I pressed my face against the door jamb and gently started to hump it - completely overcome with lust. "Miss Clarke!" Miss Denise said, opening the door. "What are you doing??" She grabbed me by the upper arms and frog-marched me down the hall and into the library where her books were already set out for studying. "I'm so glad I found you!" she said. "One moment later and you might have had an accident! And what's this? Did Mother bind your arms?" "Yes," I gasped, my whole body on a hair trigger, having been interrupted at the very last second from having another accident. "She wanted to make sure I couldn't play with myself." "Well, looks like she was only partly successful, doesn't it? I can see that stronger measures are required! Sit right here and don't move!" Denise sat me down and draped my arms over the back of the library chair. She rummaged through some cabinets on the far side of the room as I stared at her through heavy lidded eyes, my hips still thrusting, just seconds away from losing it. "I think this will work," Miss Denise said, holding up a roll of wide pink ribbon. "Now let's make sure that there's no way you can get yourself into trouble. Okay?" "What are you doing?" I asked, alarmed as she tied a pink ribbon around my ankle. "You asked Mother and me to make sure that you don't have an accident, right?" she said. Denise threaded the ribbon around a rear chair leg, through the stockings holding my wrists together, around the chair leg on the other side, and then around my other ankle. Pulling it taught, she forced my legs apart, lifting my feet up off the floor and to either side of the chair. "There!" she said, triumphantly as she tied it off. I struggled against my bonds but could do nothing but squirm. The feeling of helplessness and bondage, before this gorgeous teenage girl did nothing to calm me down. I looked up at Miss Denise, desperately horny. "Now, let's make sure that you're nice and secure," Miss Denise said, standing in front of me. "Miss Denise!" I said, shocked, as she unbuttoned her shirt, exposing a lacy bra holding her very large breasts together. "Miss Clarke," she breathed. "I'm just making sure that you're nice and safe. That no matter how, -uh- 'excited' you get, you won't be able to play with yourself." "Miss Denise, please, no--" I moaned as she pulling my head forward into her perfumed cleavage, my face caressed by her silk and lace bra. To emphasize her point, Miss Denise reached down and started massaging my chest and pinching the nipples through that infernal breast form. "How's that?" she would ask, each pinch causing me to jerk beneath her. "Are you nice and safe from accidents? All trussed up and unable to escape? No matter how horny you get you'll be unable to touch yourself, isn't that right? Unable to bring yourself the relief that you so desperately need?" "Miss Denise!" I gasped, trying to free myself, feeling the point of no return approaching fast. "Please..." I whimpered, trapped between wanting her to continue and wanting her to stop. But there was nothing I could do! I could only move a few inches one way or the other with my arms and ankles trussed to the chair legs. And no matter what I did, Miss Denise continued to press her generous breasts into my face and her devilish hands continued their evil teasing of my bosom. "Isn't this fun?" Denise asked, gleefully. "You all tied up with nowhere to go. Unable to get in any sort of trouble, and unable to get away from me. It's like Christmas!" "But you promised..." I gasped when she pulled back. "Promised what?" she asked, wickedly. Denise placed a knee between my legs and pressed it forward, into my crotch. "Ohhhh god..." I shuddered. "Please... you promised..." was all I could get out. "I can't help you if you can't say what you need help with," Denise breathed, pressing my face deep into her soft chest again. "Please!" I moaned, my words muffled. My hips started jerking forward, uncontrollably. I could tell I was just moments away. "Oh, no!" I gasped, feeling myself tip in to the inevitable. "Oh!!!" "DENISE! What are you doing to poor Miss Clarke!!" "Mother!" Denise cried out, jumping away from me as if electrocuted. "I... I..." "Noooooooo!!" I was almost there! My hips desperately thrust forward and I rolled my shoulders desperately trying to gain enough friction to make it happen. I was so overcome with lust that nothing registered except my need for release. The world around me was a haze of incomprehensible sounds and images. "I see that I showed up just in time!" Mrs. Roberts exclaimed. "You're torturing the poor girl! You know that she's trying to maintain control. Some, ah... intimacy is fine, of course. But if you keep that up, the poor dear will have an accident no matter how careful you are! Don't you remember what happened yesterday?" "I'm sorry, Mother, I just thought..." "Well you thought wrongly! I expect more of you, Denise. You're a lady! Not some common strumpet with no self-control," Mrs. Roberts glanced at me as she said this. "And you must live to a higher standard. That's what it means to be born with respected status. I know it has been years since you were disciplined, but unusually bad behavior calls for unusually harsh punishment. Lean over the table for a spanking." The room instantly fell silent. I looked from mother to daughter, shocked. "Mother! No!" Miss Denise pleaded, glancing towards me and then back to her mother. "Not in front of Miss Clarke, surely!" "I see no reason why Miss Clarke should not be here. After all, it is because of your wicked treatment of her you are being punished. Now I will not tell you a second time. Lean over the table and bare your bottom. I do not want to do this, but neither do I want you growing up into an arrogant, insensitive creature who abuses those beneath her." "Please! Mother, no!! I'm so sorry! I... I'll never do it again, I swear!" Denise burst into tears. I was shocked by this turn of events. Miss Denise, crying! Mrs. Roberts, unmoved by her daughter's display, went to a library cabinet and extracted a vicious looking cane. "Lean over the table," she instructed, her voice hard and uncompromising. Denise, visibly shaking, slowly leaned over the library table across our work books and study notes. "Bare your bottom," Mrs. Roberts said. "Please..." Denise pleaded one last time. As she unzipped her blue jeans and pushed them down, exposing her bottom in a simple cream- colored nylon panty. "Your panties too." Breaking into fresh sobs, Denise slowly lowered her panties as well, then hid her face in her arms. "10 strokes, I think," said Mrs. Roberts, firmly. "10 strokes?" Denise wailed, breaking into fresh sobs. "My Lady!" I cried out. Miss Denise's crying stopped and both ladies looked at me. "Yes, Miss Clarke?" Her question confused me. Had I really spoken? I looked back and forth between Miss Denise and her mother, suddenly realizing what it was I was going to do. Consciously realizing what my subconscious was telling me I _had_ to do. I couldn't bear to see Miss Denise punished. Her crying was breaking my heart. But here I was, tied up. What could I possibly do to convince Mrs. Roberts, My Lady, not to punish her? "Please," I said, gulping. "Puh-punish me instead. Let me take the punishment for Miss Denise's transgression." "Why..." My Lady looked at me with astonishment. "Why would you do that?" "Because she... I..." I struggled to put my feelings into words. "Because I don't want to see Miss Denise hurt. Because I'm afraid she'll change if she is punished so severely - that she'll become less fun. Have less _Joie de vivre_? But mostly because--" I took a deep breath. "Mostly because it would hurt me more to see her punished than it would be to take the punishment myself." "Miss Clarke!" exclaimed My Lady. "I am astonished. Some days I feel that I am so old and jaded that I can never be surprised by anything in this world, but here I am, again, surprised by you and your generous nature. Is this how you really feel?" "Yes, My Lady," I said, humbly. "This is how I really feel. Please let me take the punishment in place of Miss Denise. Please let me be her... whipping girl?" Miss Denise was looking just as startled as her mother. She stood and pulled her panties and blue jeans back up. "Do you really mean it?" Denise asked. "When you said that it would be hurt you more to see me punished, than to be punished yourself?" "Yes, Miss Denise," I said, looking down, embarrassed all of a sudden. "I really do. I..." I stopped myself. "You what?" Miss Denise prompted. "I care for you," I finished, lamely. "Deeply." I blushed. "You understand that this will not be a gentle spanking, like we give you when you've had an accident?" Mrs. Roberts asked. "Yes," I said. "You will not enjoy this spanking. It will hurt very much." "I understand." "There may be marks. They may take some time to fully heal." I took a couple of deep breaths to settle my pounding heart. "I understand, My Lady." "And you know that you're setting a precedent?" "A precedent, My Lady?" I looked up. "Exactly, a precedent. What if Denise behaves poorly tomorrow? What if she requires further punishment? Will you accept all of her punishments, from now on? Are you willing to be her whipping girl, not just now, but whenever it may be required in the future?" "I... I... uh..." Both women were looking at me with intense fascination and curiosity. But then I saw Miss Denise's bloodshot eyes and knew my answer. "Yes," I whispered. "I would gladly take all of her punishments for her. To be her... whipping girl... whenever it's required." "Well then. Denise, untie Miss Clarke." I stood up slowly, rubbing my wrists. "Now Miss Clarke, lean over the table, pull up your skirts and pull down your panties, and prepare to be caned for Denise's poor behavior." "Yes, My Lady." I did as instructed, feeling a flush of embarrassment as I exposed my bare bottom to Mrs. Roberts and Denise. I lay down on the table and placed my face on a textbook. I reached back to hold up my skirts. Soon I felt the cane tap gently on my buttocks, as My Lady measured the length of her stroke. Then with a vicious *swish*, she began the punishment. Oh my god, it hurt!! I stoically held my composure as long as I could, but after the first five strokes I began to cry out, and by the end I was openly sobbing - a wreck. I had no idea I could feel such pain! - more pain than I had ever felt in my life. But somehow, knowing that I was doing it for someone - for Miss Denise - made all the difference. Knowing it was for her made it easier to bear. "Oh, Miss Clarke!" Denise said, when it was all over, pulling me into a hug as I sobbed. "You are so brave! So much braver than I would have been! Thank you so much for taking that punishment for me!" "You continue to amaze, Miss Clarke," My Lady said, stroking my hair as I gradually calmed down. "How we ever got so lucky as to find you, I will never know." - - - - I thought a lot about what I had just done, becoming Miss Denise's 'whipping girl', as I sat tied up in the library chair all afternoon. Miss Denise was back to being a good girl, studying hard for her upcoming entrance exam to Cleavage University. I directed her as best I could, trussed up as I was (with the same pink ribbon), and gradually we worked through the material and the exercises. Afterwards, I felt foolish about it. So taken with Miss Denise's obvious distress at being caned, I gallantly stepped in and offered to take the punishment 'for her'. What a fool I was! What a shmuck! Not only did I take the spanking for her just now, but I also committed to be punished for all of her future sins as well! What an idiot! But then I looked over at her, studying away, twirling her hair with one finger while she tapped the pencil on her book, deep in thought trying to solve a problem with logarithms, and I felt something melt inside of me. 'Why?' I asked myself, furiously. 'Why do I feel this way? I should hate her! And her mother too! I should just stomp out of this house and just leave, and then worry about all of my clothes and wallet and everything later! Just leave!' But I knew that I wouldn't, and not just because I was tied to a chair with pink ribbon. Analyzing my feelings more carefully, I realized something. I really did care deeply for Denise. In fact I almost might say that I... No. I stopped that thought before it could fully form. There was no way I was going to finish that sentence. Not even to myself. 'But it makes no sense!' I shook my head in disbelief. 'All she has done is manipulate me, and make me wear women's clothing and make me clean up her room and brush her hair... and now here I am being punished for things that _she_ did wrong! I should hate her!' 'But isn't it precisely _because_ she does those things to you that you like her so much?' said a little voice in my head. 'And her mother too,' the voice continued. 'Don't you care for them so much precisely because they control you, and manipulate you, and turn you into their obedient maid? Isn't that _exactly_ why you stay? To be put under their thumb?' And just then I was struck by a sudden insight. "So that's why I had to take the punishment for her," I said, out loud. "What was that, Miss Clarke?" Denise looked up, her eyes bright and innocent. "Nothing, Miss Denise," I said. "Go back to studying." "Are you sure? You said something about punishment." "Really, it's nothing." "Okay." 'You understand now, don't you?' said the little voice in my head. It was because I needed Miss Denise to be, simply, 'Miss Denise'. I lov-- no! I mean I felt such great _affection_ for her precisely because of who she was, and how she controlled me. 'And if she had been spanked in front of you...' prompted the little voice. 'Then her position would have been lowered,' I realized, and then suddenly everything made sense. She would have been embarrassed and humiliated and punished in front of me. And so I had to take the spanking for her. I _had_ to be the one who was punished. Because that's the _only_ way in which I would have been able to maintain our relationship. With her as my superior. With her as my better, and with me as her humble, adoring, subservient maid! I was floored by this revelation. "Are you _sure_ you're okay?" Miss Denise looked at me with concern. "Of course, Miss Denise," I said brightly, my heart suddenly filled with sunshine. "Thank you, but I am fine. Now let's take a look at your answer, could you hold it up so I can read it?" - - - - - Chapter 3: "Now I have a number of nice feminine things for you to wear to bed tonight, to keep you as snug as a bug," said My Lady, gesturing to a mound of cream-colored silk lingerie. I stood before Mrs. Roberts, naked except for a bra and my breast forms, feeling *very* exposed with my hands tied behind my back by a simple ribbon. I was both thrilled and dreading what My Lady had in store for me. I was of two minds. On the one hand, I was glad I had (so far) avoided an accident. But on the other hand, I prayed that I might be allowed some relief since the entire day had been pure, unending, sexual torture. Which is ironic, actually, because it was Miss Denise who was doing the teasing by constantly hugging me, playing with my breasts, or stroking my legs - all with me tied up in "pink ribbon bondage" in one position or another. "Just to keep you safe," she would say with a giggle, as she untied me then tied me up again, in some other awkward position, like with my arms behind my head, or kneeling on the floor with my wrists tied to my ankles, or standing with the ribbon looped over an ornamental post high up on the bookshelf. 'Why me?' I wondered for the eighth time, as her mother looked in on the two of us. "Looks like you two are having fun!" Mrs. Roberts would say, during her occasional visits. 'But wait a second!' I kept thinking. 'Wasn't Miss Denise supposed to be punished for teasing me earlier?' 'And then what did you do?' asked the little voice in my head. 'I became her whipping girl,' I admitted. 'I took the punishment for her.' 'So wait,' continued the little voice in my head. 'Are you saying that she was going to be punished for sexually teasing you, and instead you took the punishment? That means that *you* were punished because *she* was teasing *you*?' 'Uh...' Damn it! Everything had become so complicated! How did I get into this position? And then to make matters worse, Miss Denise got it into her head that she needed a 'reward' every time she got a problem correct. "And for my reward, I want a kiss!" she proclaimed, gleefully. "A kiss?" I asked, eyes wide. "Yes, a kiss! I love kissing! And you like it too, don't you?" "Well yes, of course, but..." "So it's a reward for you too, isn't it? And that makes sense, doesn't it? After all, you're the tutor, and so if I get a problem correct, then it's as much thanks to your awesome tutoring skills as my efforts, isn't it?" And so, every time she got a problem correct, Miss Denise would sit in my lap and give me a long, deep, soul-kiss which would leave us both breathless. And it seemed that every time I was able to settle down, to cool my excitement a bit, she would successfully complete another problem and we'd be kissing again. It was insane. Pure, blissful, and exquisitely frustrating. But then she got a problem wrong. "Oh my gosh," she said, "I never thought about what to do when I got a problem wrong. Shouldn't there be some sort of punishment for that?" Miss Denise asked, thinking hard. "Well I don't know about that..." I started, wondering what she had in mind. "But wait, you're my whipping girl, isn't that right? That means that I should be punishing *you* every time I get a problem wrong. Shouldn't I?" "Now hold on--" "But what kind of punishment? I can't cane you. First off, Mother's the only one allowed to do that, and second it would take too much time to untie you all the time. How about I just pinch your nipples?" "My nipples?" "Great!" And so just like that, every time Miss Denise got a problem wrong, she would reach over and give my nipples a pinch. First they were light pinches, making me moan in frustration and then later hard painful pinches which caused me to squirm in my bonds. Something about having your nipples pinched and being given kisses while tied up just emphasizes the fact that you're in bondage. Every time Miss Denise completed a problem, I would struggle against my bonds, squirming and submitting to her kisses and pinches until I was panting and on the very edge of having another accident. But somehow she always knew when to pull back and stop before I lost control. It was an excruciating day of endless torment. And I loved it. - - - - - "My Lady, may I ask a question?" "Why yes, Miss Clarke. You may ask any question you like." "Why did you let Miss Denise tease me all day long? You know, especially since the first time you caught her you were so angry?" Mrs. Roberts blinked a couple of times as if confused by the question. "Why Miss Clarke, I just assumed that you were okay with it. After all, why else would you have asked to be her whipping girl? Why else would you have taken the punishment for her? A very admirable thing to do! But I had just assumed that you didn't mind being teased, by her, or me for that matter," she grinned, "and that's why you so graciously agreed to be caned in her place. Was I wrong?" "Well... ah... " "So you *are* okay with how she teased you all day long? You wouldn't mind if I did it? Or one of our guests?" "No! Well, I mean..." "Because I rather thought you were enjoying our attentions," My Lady said, as she pulled me into a hug, her satin skirts and linen and lace blouse pressed against my naked body. "You do enjoy them, don't you? Our attentions?" She asked, softly, in my ear as her hand drifted down to cup my naked bottom. "Yes..." I sighed, melting into her arms. "Yes, I do... " "Good! I'm so glad we have this all straightened out. You are such a sweet, sweet girl!" "I am?" "Yes, of course! To allow Denise and me to tease you and play with you to our heart's content? It must be terribly frustrating for you! Especially since you've asked us to take steps to ensure that you don't have any more accidents. Only a rare and wonderful girl would agree to be placed into such a compromising position, to endure such unending torture, to be used for the amusement and delight of her employer." "But that's not..." I tried to interject. "Shush," My Lady put a finger on my lips. "What's done is done. Now let's get you dressed for bed. I have something special planned for you tonight." "Special?" I asked, tremulously. "Yes, special. Not only to help you prevent accidents, but also some pretty and delicious things to wear. It's a 'thank you' for being so nice to my Denise today." "That's not necessary," I demurred. "No, no, I insist! But first, let's bundle you up, down there." My lady first pulled out a single sheer silk stocking which she then proceeded to slip over my penis. "My lady!" I said, shocked. I struggled to push her hands away, but of course they were tied behind my back. "Now dear, just hold still." Mrs. Roberts worked the stocking over my growing hardness, rolling up the cuffs to remove the slack. "I want to be sure you are nice and 'enclosed' down there." Elastic in the stockings gripped me snug at the base such that my penis and balls were firmly gathered up into a tight little package. "And now a second one, for added security." The second stocking joined the first, covering my private bits in a second layer of pretty, sheer silk stocking. "But is that enough? I wonder." Mrs. Roberts went over to my dresser drawers and rummaged around. "Ah, here we go." Mrs. Roberts held up a pair of pink, ankle socks. "Let's put one of these on and I'll feel better." She slipped one of the socks over my member and pushed it down all the way. "Now I'm not expecting that you'll have an accident, but if you do, since girls like you often have a hard time controlling themselves, even in their sleep(!), then you'll be fully protected. Especially since I also have this pi?ce de r?sistance!" Mrs. Roberts pulled out a cream-colored silk bag with a drawstring. It was small, the kind you might see at wedding receptions to hold small favors. She slipped it over my bundle, made sure to push it all the way down, and then tied the drawstring closed, firmly at the base, so my balls and penis were now trapped inside. The draw string was arranged such that everything was now held firmly in place: the stockings, the sock, and the silk bag itself. "How does that feel?" she asked, running her hands over my penis, now encased in four (!) layers of slippery fabric. "Oh..." I moaned, as her fingers moved back and forth, gliding the outer layer of silk smoothly over socks and the silk stockings underneath, all of it wrapped around my (now fully hard) member. "That's... very nice," I gasped, leaning into the bed post to steady myself. "Good, glad you like it," Mrs. Roberts grinned, stopping before things went too far. "Now let's get you in some stockings." "More stockings?" "For your legs this time. Just simple ones. They'll caress your legs all night and make them nice and slippery. You'll love it." "I will?" "Oh, I'm sure you will." And so my legs were soon encased in a pair of "Sheer Caress" stockings with a rubberized elastic band that gripped my thighs firmly and held them on nice and tight. "Nice," I said. "But do I really need to wear these to bed?" "Of course not. But that's not the point, now is it? This is supposed to be a special treat. Now for the 'Directoire Knickers'." "What are they?" "Here you go," she held them out for my inspection. They were long- legged bloomers, made of a slippery, silky nylon fabric, with lace panels down the side and lace around the leg holes. I stepped into them, thrilled at how they felt around my legs. Mrs Roberts pulled them up . They were loose, and soft, and delicious with a bit of elastic at the cuff. "And now, how about some ballet slippers?" "But My Lady," I said, now completely confused. "Aren't I dressing to go to bed? Why would I wear ballet slippers to bed?" "Why, to keep your feet all nice and bound." she said with a warm smile. "But why?" "This is not about what makes sense. It's about an experience. An experience that is my gift to you." "Your gift?" "Yes, my gift. You were so brave today, to become Miss Denise's whipping girl and to take that first caning. I was so impressed that I wanted to do something extra nice for you." "Extra nice? Ballet slippers?" "Yes, dear. I think I know you very well by now, my dear Miss Clarke. Very well indeed. You see, I see many similarities between you and other servants I've had." "Other servants, My Lady?" My mind boggled at the thought. "Yes indeed. Including a maid that I had growing up as a girl. Clara. A lovely girl who was found by my mother and then groomed to be my servant. She used to be a boy, like you, before she discovered that her true place in life was in serving others as a girl." "What happened to her?" "Oh, life, I suppose. She fell in love with a Turkish diplomat and is now with him." "Did they get married?" "Oh no, of course not. He has a wife and family. She's their household maid now, and blissfully happy, I hear. She and the wife are best friends. Maybe more." "Oh my gosh," I said, my mind unable to comprehend what she was saying. A boy, now a household maid in Turkey? Did such things really happen in real life? Was it possible? "Of course I was devastated to have to let her go and never really found a good replacement." Mrs. Roberts looked me straight in the eye. "That is, until now. But I have other plans for you." "What plans?" I asked, trembling. "All in good time, my dear. Now I'm thinking that you'll just love having your pretty little feet in a pair of ballet slippers for the night. Don't you agree? They're satin and have lovely pink ribbons which will be wrapped around your calves to keep them nice and secure. Doesn't the thought of having this beautiful footwear wrapped around your feet just seem delicious?" I looked at the ballet slippers in her hands and swallowed hard. "Yes, My Lady," I said, my entire body tingling. "Yes, it does seem delicious." "Well then, let's put them on." Mrs. Roberts slipped the pink ballet slippers on my feet. They were made of soft satin and molded to my feet perfectly. She then crisscrossed and wrapped the wide satin ribbons around my ankles and calves, pulling them snug and tying them off in a knot in such a way that everything looked nice and neat. I looked down at my feet in astonishment. They looked exactly like a professional ballet dancer feet! They felt wrapped, embraced, and _bound_ by the intimate satin of the slippers and ribbons. I took a few tentative steps and grinned up at My Lady. "I knew you'd love them. Now remember, this is a special occasion. My gift to you." "Thank you, My Lady," I said, humbly. "You're most welcome, Miss Clark. Let's continue, shall we?" I was already wearing my bra and breast forms, and so next up was a long, clingy slip. After (finally!) untying my hands, Mrs. Roberts helped to slip it over my head, pulled it over my breasts (causing the breast forms to squeeze and suction my chest, of course!) and smoothed it out. It had a form-fitted bodice with bra-cups built in that enclosed my upper body in a sheath of shiny satin. "That's gorgeous," Mrs. Roberts said, admiringly. "I'd forgotten how beautiful that slip was. I'm glad it's finally getting some use! And for such a good girl," she said, lightly pinching my cheek. "Opera gloves?" she continued. "Yes, I think it would be best if we did your 'special opera gloves' tonight. Here we are. 16 button length with a little special something of my own." Mrs. Roberts grinned slyly as she helped me to slip each one on. It soon became apparent what the "little special something" was: the fingertips were all sewn together! Mrs. Roberts carefully worked each of my fingers into its little satin prison, did up the buttons at the wrist, and then did an extra button ("for security, dear") at the hem which was fastened about four inches above the elbow. "But why are the fingers sewn together?" I asked, thrilled that I was being further bound but curious as to where this was all headed. "You did ask for us to help you avoid accidents, didn't you?" "Yes..." "Well then, I think the answer is obvious. We don't want these little fingers to get in trouble, now do we?" "No, I guess not, but..." "Hush now, too many questions. Would you like to put on the gown now?" "Yes, My Lady," I said, nervous but excited, eyeing the huge pile of delicate fabric on the bed. I was so overcome by tingles now that I could barely breath. "This is one of my all-time favorites. I guess it's vintage now." Mrs. Roberts held it up for me and I slipped into it. It was a beautiful, flowing nightgown with gauzy chiffon outer layer and a sumptuous nylon inner layer. It had a high, square neckline and long sleeves. The sleeves, the neckline and the hem were all trimmed in multiple rows of lace. "Oh, My Lady," I gushed, twirling around and admiring how it floated around me. "It's beautiful! I'm... I'm... _honored_ to be wearing it." "Tell me what you're feeling. "What I'm feeling? My Lady?" "Yes, I want to know exactly how you feel right now. How do these clothes feel and how do they make you feel?" "I don't know if I can say." "Aren't you an English Literature major?" "Yes, My Lady. Okay. I'll try." I took a moment to connect with my thoughts and my body. "I feel the gloves first, My Lady," I began. "Being unable to separate my fingertips feels so... unnatural. So constraining. And then the glove itself is so tight, it compresses my arms all the way up. It's not uncomfortable, just very noticeably tight. I can't bend my wrist or elbow very much." "And how does that make you feel?" My Lady prompted. "Helpless," I said, looking at the floor. "Dependent. A little like a mannequin who cannot do anything for herself, but must depend on others to do things for her." "Excellent. And do you enjoy this feeling?" I blushed. "Yes, My Lady," I finally admitted. "Yes, I like it very much." "Do you really?" My Lady asked, arching her eyebrows. "Are you saying that you enjoying feeling helpless and dependent?" "Yes, My Lady." "I'm sorry, Miss Clarke, I couldn't hear you. Could you speak up?" "Yes, My Lady," I said, louder this time. " 'Yes, My Lady,' what?" she asked, mercilessly. "Yes, My Lady, I enjoy feeling helpless and dependent," I admitted. Somehow, having to admit this to Mrs. Roberts out loud made me feel even more helpless and dependent. "I can tell that you do," say My Lady, with a satisfied smile. "Now tell me more. What else are you feeling?" "I feel the weight of my breast forms, and how they sway and bounce whenever I move. Those built-in suction cups are tugging at my chest. I feel how the bra cups squeeze them and how my nipples are pulled into that small cavity deep inside. I feel my bra straps digging into my shoulders. And when I roll my shoulders I feel how the bra lifts and moves my breasts around." "How delicious! And do you enjoy that feeling? Does it make you feel... womanly?" "They..." I thought about it for a second. "It does feel like I have real breasts, not just forms." I placed my hands, bound up by the fingertips in the opera gloves, on my breasts and gently massaged them as best I could. "They're so sensitive, it's amazing really. They do make me feel womanly. More than anything else, actually. Like I'm a woman with a woman's body. It's... it's... really nice." "How wonderful. I'm so glad you have a nice curvy body. It suits you, don't you agree?" I looked away blushing all over again. "Yes, My Lady." Mrs. Roberts stepped close to me and caressed my body through all of the slippery layers of chiffon, nylon, satin, and silk. "And don't you just love how _this_ feels?" she asked, her voice husky. "Yes, My Lady," I breathed. "I'm so glad you," she said. "It's so important for you to want this. Want this with all your heart. To want to be a woman with a woman's body and a woman's curves. You do want it, don't you?" "I... I..." "Now Miss Clarke! You must be honest with me." "Yes... My Lady," I sighed. "Yes, what?" "Yes... I do want to be a woman... with a woman's body and a woman's curves." A little something inside of me clicked into place when I said that. "Now tell me more," she prompted, taking a step back. "What else are you feeling?" "My feet," I said. "The ballet slippers are less flexible than I thought they would be. They are wrapped so snugly so that I can't flex my feet much at all! And I can feel the ribbons all the way up my calves. Like bindings." "And how does that feel?" "Nice, My Lady," I said, taking a few steps, pretending to be as graceful a ballerina. I looked up at Mrs. Roberts, beaming. "Very nice." "Oh, I'm so glad! I just knew you'd like your gift. And can you feel the stockings? And the slip? And the dress?" "Mmmm, yes, My Lady," I said, as I ran my hands (bound in opera gloves) over my body, feeling the layers of chiffon, nylon, and satin all slipping against each other. "I can feel the hem of the dress tickling over my stockings. I can feel the slip as an extra layer around my body and how it's wrapped around my breasts, and it's all the way down to my legs. And the dress, I can hear it and I love the way it tents out as I twirl and move. See?" I demonstrated by twirling around in place. "Very nice," Mrs. Roberts smiled. "I can tell you are enjoying yourself. And what about underneath? You know, under all those layers?" "Oh!" I blushed. "My Lady... it's... well, a little... how shall I say? I can feel how the stockings and socks, and you know, the fabric that's covering my... my..." "Passion?" Mrs. Roberts suggested. "Yes, thank you, My Lady, my... passion. It's very, uh, stretched right now, since my passion is so... well... _passionate_. And so things are a bit... compressed. But also, in a strange way, slippery with all of the silk and nylon slipping back and forth against each other. And the tie at the base of my... umm... _passion_, is well, a bit binding." "As well it should be," Mrs. Roberts grinned. "Okay. I think it's time to get you to bed. Hold out your hands." I did as instructed. Tugging and pulling, Mrs. Roberts put a very tight nylon sock (light pink) over each hand, effectively turning them into mittens. I tried to flex my fingers, but could only separate them just a smidgen. "There," she smiled, "just a little more security. We don't want those hands doing anything they shouldn't, now do we? Okay, let's have you lay down in bed so I can make everything nice and secure." "Secure, My Lady?" "Oh yes. Must keep little girls out of trouble, mustn't we, Miss Clarke?" she teased, helping me to arrange my nightgown and slip properly. "Now let's tie these on." Mrs. Roberts took four very long, wide ribbons, unrolled them and laid them over my stomach. She took the first one, tightly wrapped it several times around my right wrist, tied it off, and then tied it to the bed post in a big bow that hung down behind the bed, pulling my arm up and over my head in the process. "How's that feel?" she asked. "Too tight?" "It's not too tight, My Lady," I said. "Good. And is it secure? Will you be able to escape?" I tried my best to slip my hand free through the ribbon bondage, but it was impossible. The ribbon was wrapped too many times around my wrist and had no give whatsoever. "No, My Lady," I said. "There's no way that I'll be able to escape. It's nice and snug." "Excellent. No purpose in even trying then, is there? Might as well just be a good girl and just enjoy being our captive tonight. Isn't that right?" "Yes, My Lady," I said, my heart skipping a beat at the word 'captive'. Mrs. Roberts repeated the procedure on my other hand, wrapping the ribbon several times around my wrist, knotting it firmly and then tying the loose ends around the bed post, pulling my right arm up over my head. "And I'm sure you know what these are for, don't you?" she asked, pointing to the final two ribbons. "My legs, My Lady?" I asked. "Yes, indeed," she said with pleasure. After wrapping the ribbons around each ankle and then knotting them off, she pulled the loose ends down to the bedposts at the foot of the bed and pulled them (and my legs) taught before tying them off in loopy bows. I struggled a bit, testing the ribbons which held my arms and legs spread and extended, enjoying the feeling of being securely bound to the bed. After a moment I just lay back and let out a sigh of deep pleasure. "Thank you, My Lady," I purred. "I... I never expected..." Mrs. Roberts sat down next to me on the bed. Her hand stroked my cheek. "Never expected what, Miss Clarke?" she asked. "I never expected that you would be so nice to me," I admitted. "My Lady," I added. "So nice to you?" Mrs. Roberts said, with a mocking smile. "Tying you up hand and foot?" "Yes," I blushed, pulling on my bonds again to emphasize. "I love them. And letting me wear such pretty, feminine things. Thank you. How did you know?" "I used to play these sorts of games with my first maid. Oh, she just loved to be put into petticoats and bondage and would do just about anything for the pleasure! And since I just loved to have her like that, under my thumb..." Mrs. Roberts reached over and grasped one of my nipples, obscenely visible even through four layers of fabric, between her thumb and forefinger, slowly applying pressure until I was squirming and gasping. "My Lady!" "Oh don't be coy with me, _Miss_ Clarke," she retorted. "I saw you and Denise all day long. You loved being pinched and kissed as she got problems wrong on purpose." "On purpose?" I said, shocked. "Oh dear, you are such a darling girl, but so naive. Yes, on purpose. Denise is such a little manipulator. I wonder where she gets it from?" Mrs. Roberts moved to my other nipple. As she pinched the nipple on the breast form, the mechanism inside transmitted that pinch directly to my own nipple, sucked as it was into the special cavity lined with rubber rings. Trapped. "Ohhh..." I moaned, rocking back and forth, futilely trying to escape. After a few more moments of pinching and squeezing, Mrs. Roberts pulled away from my breasts. "Ohhhhh...." I moaned, struggling in my bonds, breathing hard but grateful for the respite. "Thank you, My Lady." "You are most welcome, Miss Clarke," Mrs. Roberts said, smiling indulgently. "Now there is one last thing I want to ask you before I leave you for the night." "What is that?" I asked. "Well, it's actually quite simple. Where do you belong?" "My Lady?" Mrs. Roberts traced a hand down my body. It came to rest on the bulge between my legs. "As you fall asleep tonight, I want you to think about what makes you happy. About where you feel most 'right'." "Yes, My Lady," I gasped as she gently squeezed and manipulated my silk and satin encased member, her fingers slipping sensually over the fabric. "Do you enjoy feeling trapped and helpless under the control of strong, domineering women? Do you feel most fulfilled in serving others? In being a servant? In doing what you're told?" "My Lady, I--" "No, don't answer right now," Mrs. Roberts said, placing a finger on my lips. "I want you to think about it. Think very hard all night long. Where do you belong? Where do you belong in life? What is your purpose in life? Is it to achieve greatness? Or is it to help others achieve greatness?" "Yes, My Lady," I said, through gritted teeth as Mrs. Roberts fondled my package even more aggressively, slowly jerking me off. "And then, when you feel you have your answer - when you feel, deep inside, that you know exactly where you belong and who you are, then I want you to come to me. And then, depending on your answer, of course, I may have another delightful surprise for you." "Another surprise? My Lady?" "Yes, another delicious, exquisite surprise for my darling lady's maid." "My Lady!" I cried out, feeling my orgasm building quickly. "I'm sorry, Miss Clarke?" Mrs. Roberts asked, slyly, manipulating me some more. "I... I..." But just then, moments away from release, as I thrust my hips desperately forward, she let go and pulled away. I continued thrusting, desperate to cum, but with all of the silk and satin surrounding everything, I could get no friction at all. Perched just on the edge, I slipped back, gasping for air, ultimately defeated and unfulfilled. Again. "Goodness, that was close, wasn't it?" Mrs. Roberts said, with a wicked grin. "Oh well, at least we avoided an accident. Just like you wanted! Now you go to sleep and think about what I said, and I'll see you in the morning." Mrs. Roberts gave me a gentle kiss on the cheek, and then got up and left the room, turning out the light as she went. - - - - - Chapter 4: I lay in bed that night, bound hand and foot and practically swimming in luxuriant fabrics, thinking about the questions that My Lady had posed to me. Where do I belong? Do I feel most fulfilled serving others? Do I enjoy feeling trapped and helpless? That last question was easy. I pulled against the ribbons holding me tight to the bedframe and squirmed with pleasure. There was no doubt I was enjoying my current predicament. But was this merely fetish, or something deeper? Something lasting? "Be your own man!" my mother is always telling me. "Be independent! Make a name for yourself!" Why do all of her old exhortations feel hollow now? I've known since I was ten that I was a disappointment to her. I was never smart enough to really stand out and not enough of a leader to inspire. "Be the moth and not the flame," she told me one day. This was when I was in high school. Janice (my best friend) had just asked me to be her campaign manager as she ran for class president. "_You_ should be the one running for president," Mom declared. "Why would you go around helping others to be great? She should be helping you!" She forced me to say 'no' to Janice, which meant I had to watch from the sidelines as Janice went on to win and become the most popular girl in the school. It broke my heart. I wonder what my mother would say if she saw me now? "Don't you know that they're just using you for their own selfish needs?" she would most certainly say. "Don't you have an ounce of self- respect?" But then, why doesn't it _feel_ like abuse? Why am I having such a good time? After all, I was smart enough to understand exactly what was happening to me. I am almost a Doctor of Philosophy, after all. I know when I am being manipulated. And it's not just about being tied up. Not at all. It's about having my rights curtailed and my movements controlled. I can even feel them working to control my thoughts, as they gradually modify my speech patterns to say things like "My Lady" and "Miss Denise". I can feel myself giving up my freedom to these two strong women almost hour by hour. What will be next? Already they are telling me what to do and how to dress. My world is becoming narrower as well - focused entirely on the needs of these two amazing and demanding ladies and the household. It has been three days since I've watched TV, used the internet or read a paper. The outside world is becoming more remote. Worse, I am becoming more and more dependent on Mrs. Roberts and her largesse. I have no clothes of my own (none that I can access, anyway), my identity is locked up who knows where, and where the heck is my car? Do I even have a car anymore? It's funny that I hadn't wondered about that until now. But there is something so undeniably attractive about My Lady and Miss Denise. Their power, self-confidence, quick intelligence, and vivaciousness - these all draw me towards them, like an iron filling to a magnet. I am entranced. In their thrall. Will it wear off? If it does, would it then be too late? Such worries and fears gnaw at me. But then , every time My Lady enters the room, it is as if I feel this pull on my heart, as if gravity has shifted, lifting me up and depositing me in front of this majestic woman so that I can happily receive her next instructions. Until Mrs. Roberts, I had never really understood the word "charisma", but she has it. Maybe it doesn't work on anyone else but me? Am I especially prone to her type of magnetism? Is this some deep seated need of mine that had been dormant all this time, just waiting for the right person (or people) to unlock it? And then I thought about Miss Denise and how I had asked to become her whipping girl. All I had to do is say her name, "Miss Denise", and my heart would melt a little. She was just such a bright, mischievous, intelligent, open, friendly soul. How could anyone resist her? I thought about that for a while. After all, becoming her whipping girl - willingly accepting her punishment so that she wouldn't have to - that was already pretty extreme. How many people would do that for someone else? Not many, I imagine. But what more would I do for her? I was already letting her dress me in women's clothing and maid's uniforms. I was doing her laundry and brushing her hair, and now, apparently, helping her to dress in the mornings. Where would it all end? - - - - The door opened a crack. "Miss Clark?" "Miss Denise?" "Oh good," she said, "you're awake." Miss Denise slipped into the room, closing the door carefully behind her. "May I come snuggle with you?" "Uh..." I looked around, suddenly embarrassed to be trussed up. "Sure," I said, finally. "Oh good. Mother told me and I just had to see for myself. Oh-my-god! Mittens and ballet slippers and everything! I bet you can't move an inch!" "She told you...?" "Of course, silly," she said. "We tell each other _everything_. Are you comfortable?" "Yes, reasonably," I said honestly. "but my nose itches..." "Does this help?" "Other side." "Here?" "Ahhh...." I sighed. "Thank you." Denise snuggled in next to me, our noses touching. "I'm sorry to disturb you like this. It's been a long day, hasn't it?" "Oh my gosh, Miss Denise, it sure has." "When you spoke up and asked to take that punishment for me... wow, you could have knocked me over with a feather. That was so amazing." Denise's hand drifted down and started making gentle circles over my stomach. "I... well..." "Do you like me?" she asked, suddenly. "Yes, of course!" "I mean, really, really like me? Like best friends? Like Best Friends Forever who will do anything for each other, forever and forever?" "I... I...," I paused, hesitating. "Yes," I admitted. "I do." "Then why are you leaving me??" she said, a catch in her throat. "What? What do you mean?" "Well, here you are, trying to finish your demerits as quickly as possible, and I just don't understand. Aren't I a good student? Don't you like mother? Don't you like me?" "Of course I do! You're amazing. You both are." "But then why do you want to leave so bad?" I sighed. "It's my doctorate," I said, finally. "I've been working on it for six years now and I'm almost done. I've already submitted two drafts to my professor and I just have some cleanup on the bibliography and I'm done." "I see. I can understand that. I guess." "I'm sorry." We lay together like that for a while, Miss Denise's head on my shoulder. "It's stupid that a dumb doctorate is getting in the way of us being together." "Miss Denise..." "Mom wants you to work here full time. Did you know that?" "Really?" I was surprised. "Yeah." Denise's hand moved up and was now tracing light circles around and between my breasts - the breast forms somehow transmitting even this light touch to my own skin. "She called you a 'priceless gem', and said we'd never find anyone like you again." "Oh, well..." "If you didn't have to finish your doctorate, would you stay? Would you work for us... full time?" Denise switched to gently massaging my bosom, causing the suction- action in the breast forms to gently pull and grip on my own chest. "I... I guess so." "You would? Really?" Denise flicked my nipples, making me squirm "Well, I have no real plans after completing my degree. I guess I figured I would bum around the country or something for a few months, you know, enjoying my freedom before applying to be a teacher somewhere." "Do you like teaching?" "Not that much, to be honest. But what else does one do with a doctorate in English Literature? Maybe it will be different when I'm an actual professor and not just as a grad student." "But what about me? Do you like teaching me?" "Oh, Miss Denise, of course I do! You're amazing! I *love* teaching you." "Oh, I'm so glad," she said, snuggling in closer. "I was worried! But maybe if you like teaching me so much, then that's what you were meant to do? You know, being a tutor instead of a college professor?" "I don't know. Maybe." "What about being a _maid_?" she asked, boldly placing a hand on the satin bulge between my legs. "Do you think you would like being a maid more than being a stuffy old professor?" "Uh..." "Don't you like being a maid? A lady's