Mindy The Quiet Housemaid free porn video

It's a drab, nondescript little room hardly worth describing except it plays a key part in our story. It was not Martin's in any propertied sense. Nor was it his in the sense that it was the room his wife Cindy consigned to him. He had in fact chosen it on his own months before, as we will learn. Today it's his to live in when he's off duty. In mockery after a few martinis, Cindy refers to it as the "formal maid quarters." Never refurbished or remodeled like the rest of the house and never examined for its possibility as an entryway to the alley, the room remained for many years empty and forgotten, unused even for storage. She called it "a poor cousin to the rest of the house." Today that harsh assessment needs to be altered a bit. The room we are about to describe, though still drab, has an emotional centrality to Cindy's Victorian mansion it never had before. The reader will soon understand why. The room's only access is the door at the end of a dimly-lit, narrow hallway off the pantry. The room itself is partly below street level, with water stains above the base boards from flooding in the days before the City's drain system was improved. The window opposite the door has attractive muttons like the other windows in the house, but the window itself is likewise their poor cousin since it is nailed shut, painted an ugly olive green, and stays forever grimy and streaked, which is actually a god-send since there are no curtains for privacy and the view it offers is a murky, cloudy, indistinct one. To the brick outside there is bolted over the window, and further obscuring the view, a black iron grating with wire mesh to prevent unauthorized entry. It makes the room darker and gives it a distinctly prison-like feel. The scene outside, we might add, is unsightly. It's a narrow alley always dark and dank because it receives no sunlight. It smells of engine oil, cat shit and rotted garbage. The latter results when dented dustbins, their tops scattered higgledy-piggledy after Monday pick-up, lie on their sides for days until righted and filled by Sunday night, often without their tops reattached---a feast for rats and the stray cats that feed on them. Martin is fine with his window being nailed shut because he has no incentive to ever open it. The room itself is a cube and was whitewashed years ago with a dull white stain leaving the walls streaked and long since faded to an even duller grey. It features a single bulb-and-chain in the ceiling's center that provides the room's only light except for the lights on Martin's make-up table. (Cindy never bothered buying floor lamps considering them an unnecessary extravagance). The mansion has central air-conditioning and the house stays refreshingly cool in summer except for Martin's room whose vents don't connect to the system. Steamy summer nights in a closed room are not ideal for a good night's rest so Cindy has provided her husband with a small table fan. Unfortunately, winter offers no improvement in comfort because the room stays excessively warm, the hottest in the house, even on the coldest days. This is because there's no way to regulate the heat---no working thermostat for the room---and Cindy sees no good reason to install one. In addition, the vents are rusty and bent and so don't close properly to shut off the furnace's heat flow. Martin complains but Cindy's response is dismissive. "Use your fan if you're hot; pretend it's summer." On the other hand, Shirley, his mother-in-law, is downright derisive calling him a "whiner," "spoiled" and "coddled," and snorts that many maids in cold, drafty quarters in the winter would gladly switch places with him. Though not spacious the room is of ample size for a single occupant. Yet there's a cramped feel to it after Cindy and her mother haunted thrift stores and pawn shops to furnish it with cheap, functional furniture, including the room's largest piece, an ugly, dented tin armoire whose doors won't close properly. It contains Martin's two casual outfits, both of them pinafore dresses for off-duty wear, as well as his several uniforms, both the traditional workplace grey-and-whites for daily wear, like the one he's currently wearing, and the three sexy, above-the-knee, black-and-whites, all lacey and frilly, for Cindy's occasional dinner parties or for when his mother-in-law visits. (Shirley insists Martin dress formally at all times when she's there on the grounds that "a maid dressed slovenly will perform slovenly" and "a sharp dress means a sharp performance.") At the bottom of the armoire is a single rack for Martin's two pair of functional white Keds, which he uses for daily work due to their comfort, and for his two pair of heels, one with a two-inch wedge that Shirley expects him to wear, along with his French maid's uniform, for her visits, and the other a pair of three-inch stilettos meant for the most formal occasions like the dinner parties just mentioned. As for the rest of the furniture, we provide a brief summary. There's a narrow twin-bed with a thin, stained, and unpleasantly odorous mattress that Cindy jokes may have survived the Great War. A table and single wooden chair, both much the worse for wear, are where Martin takes his meals. (Cindy has made it a house rule that no "help" consume meals in the kitchen and since her husband is the only "help" the meaning is clear). A garish make-up table, suitable for a circus performer, takes up one corner and comes complete with concave mirror, two bulbs to a side, and an attached swivel stool. A cavernous, over-sized arm chair---the kind you sink into as your knees raise level to your chin---with its ugly floral-print fabric and the stuffing sticking out of it in several places, graces the opposite corner from the make-up table. Martin finds it uncomfortable and doesn't use it. Next to it is a low, unfinished two-drawer dresser made of cheap pressed wood. The top drawer has towels and wash cloths, as well the few items suitable for off-duty wear (three white tops and a cardigan sweater Cindy bought him last Xmas) while the lower drawer contains his intimate wear-- - hose, panties, training bras, two chemises, three beige waist slips and a white, above-the-knee one with lacey hem and over-the-shoulder straps he wears with the French maid outfit. In the back corner, hidden from view---as though Martin would like to forget its existence---is the nasty, dreaded hip-hugging, below-the-chest ribbed corset-girdle he is required to don on formal occasions under his French maid's uniform. (It's so tight, he used to complain, that it reduces his waist size by a few inches at the cost of inhibiting his bending and breathing. Martin, however, wisely zipped his lip when his wife lost patience and threatened to tell his mother-in-law; he rightly feared that, on hearing of his "bitching," Shirley would likely make him wear this diabolical instrument full-time in her presence). Since the well-stocked kitchen is a quick step down the hall, there's no need in the room for a hot plate or miniature refrigerator. On the wall to the right of the door there is what once may have been a small kitchen area that has long since been torn out and replaced with three bathroom fixtures. They stand in a row open to view: On the left is the tinny- sounding shower stall that barely accommodates a single adult. On the right and angled in the corner is the rust-stained wash basin whose hot water works intermittently. Between these two and immodestly facing the room is the small stained porcelain loo. It makes an odd, even jarring sight by today's fastidious standards. Whoever installed these fixtures had no sense of modesty. Perhaps he felt, with the room having only a single occupant, there was no need. But more likely it reflected a 19th century class bias. The servant who would have then occupied the room would have likely been a girl not out of her teens. The wealthy owner of the house must have reasoned thusly: 'Why go to the expense providing her bathroom privacy? She never had it in the hovel she came from. So why bother now with a luxury she'll never miss?' The backdrop of this short story---which takes place in the room just described---is a stately, dignified old Victorian mansion in the section of the City called The Gallows. The young couple, Cindy and Martin Douglas, purchased it ten years ago and paid a surprisingly small portion of the generous inheritance Martin had recently come into just before the marriage. This is because The Gallows ten years ago was drug-infested and crime-ridden and property could be had at a song. Today, however, the area has received a facelift: The derelicts and drug-dealers have been driven out, poor tenements have been torn down, missions and shelters have been shuttered, and the homeless are gone. Boutiques have sprung up like mushrooms. Everything's upscale now. The old mansion on gentrified Tulip Street, one of several in a row on both sides of that famous street, has turned into a handsome investment for the Douglas couple--- or, more precisely (as we shall see), for Cindy Douglas. *** The grand tour of the house ends in the beautifully appointed kitchen, with its bright, modern appliances plated in silver-chrome and all the latest gadgets sitting on the marble counter tops. The late afternoon sun pours through the three windows that overlook a stone patio and small fenced-in backyard. Cindy's guest, Gayle Sanderson, twenty-three years old and quite pretty and winsome in her white sleeveless blouse and burgundy-coloured, pleated skirt, is relieved the tour is over. The tedium of tramping through three floors of room after room has taken its toll, and she is tired of this lavish display of nouveaux riche wealth. She wishes only to return to her studies at University of Diogenes Laertes and Plutarch. Suddenly, however, her hostess makes an unexpected detour down an obscure, dimly-lit hallway off the pantry signaling Gayle to follow. Oh, God, one more room to see... "Let me show you something interesting," Cindy says. Gayle is the daughter of a real estate agent Cindy regards as a good friend. The latter is dubious about her daughter's choice of studies at University and wants her experienced in Victorian restorations so one day, after completing her post-graduate work in classics, a field not known to be very remunerative, Gayle will be able to hawk restorations as successfully as her mother does. The hallway ends at a door. Cindy has a taste for the dramatic and so, with a flourish, swings it open and steps aside allowing the young woman to enter. There by the bed stands a strikingly attractive woman in her early thirties, with a face framed by a short fringe bang and a chin- length bob cut with its pointed ends curling about her cheeks. It's a surprisingly stylish and fetching hairdo, Gayle thinks, for such woman. For the grey uniform and the Keds give her status away as a domestic. It's the standard-issue grey-and-white smock dress common in hotels and restaurants and shows off the maid's slimness as well as her curves. It reaches just below the knee and buttons up the front; it has large side pockets, a cute breast pocket on the left for show, a rounded white collar closed at the neck and white cuffs on short, shoulder-length sleeves. The giveaway is the white apron resting on the front of the skirt and tied in back in a discrete bow. The girl wears the uniform well, thinks Gayle; she almost looks chic in it! The maid stands as if on alert, straight, motionless and silent, arms at her side, hands against her dress, fingers pointing down... She seemed to have been expecting visitors, but Gayle can't be sure. Apparently her pose is the maid's way of demonstrating deference and respect. Gayle feels like an intruder, blindsided by her hostess and therefore irritated. She doesn't like barging in on people without knocking, imposing on a poor maid who's clearly off-duty in her own quarters... Gayle shoots the girl a quick, shy 'I'm-sorry' smile hoping not to offend Cindy in the process. Cindy makes the introduction. "This is my husband Martin." Gayle does the classic double-take not sure she heard right. 'Husband, did she just say? She's a man?' runs through her head like a mental tsunami. She gasps slightly, and her eyes widen in astonishment; she stares transfixed at 'her'... him... whoever! If she felt blindsided before, this is blindsided taken to a new level! Meanwhile, the man dressed as a maid smiles and bobs a prim little curtsy! "Of course," Cindy adds. "I quit calling him that in front of strangers as it's a bit confusing and embarrassing. But make no mistake, he's a real maid and very effeminate." Wife Cindy tries to project an air of confidence she doesn't fully feel in front of young Gayle. She never feels at ease when these encounters with Mindy and strangers start. There's always the nagging doubt that the impression her husband makes---the cognitive dissonance he occasions--- may reflect badly on her. And Gayle is in her early twenties and hardly seems sophisticated or cosmopolitan. Regardless, Cindy presses on. "He goes by 'Mindy' now. 'Cindy' and 'Mindy'---cute matching names, don't you think? And this is her cozy little room where she stays when she's not doing service. You may sit now, Mindy." Cindy is her own best critic and finds her performance so far not very convincing. She wishes to come across as casual and light, even humorous, but suspects the command just issued her husband was perhaps a bit sharp and betrays tension, a lack of control over an underling, as though she suspects her husband may disobey. Cindy searches her guest's face for clues she's thinking the same---or, worse, feels sorry for Mindy, which sometimes happens with strangers who are convinced he's being coerced--- and is relieved to see nothing more on the girl's face than the same intense curiosity all women show when making Mindy's acquaintance. Cindy calms herself. 'I own Mindy. I need to project that. C'mon, girl... What's there to fear?' Martin, on the other hand and despite the surface calm he projects, is deeply self-conscious, a mass of nerves and anxiety. He never relaxes around Cindy's guests and for good reason. First of all, he never forgets he's "on duty" in his wife's presence. But even worse, he has to be prepared for the scorn and contempt he suspects is coming his way. It starts with Cindy's guest, now that she knows the truth, eyeing him critically while searching for "flaws" betraying his maleness, like the flat chest she hadn't noticed before. Are his knees a bit knobby? On second glance, are his hands and feet too large? Is that the start of five-o'clock shadow? He virtually hears Gayle mentally clicking off the standard male giveaways all women seem expert on and, interestingly enough, desire to find. Complying with his wife's suggestion, Martin lowers himself to the edge of the bed and feels the skirt of his dress ride over his knees. He crosses his left leg over the right and feels the skirt ride a bit further up his thigh. He wonders if Cindy's guest notices and what she thinks of his exposed thigh. He clasps his hands just below the knee and leans a bit forward. He remains silent, eyes averted as if not to appear to eavesdrop. Yet he's desperate for information, anything he might use to improve his situation. Now that it's been years since becoming his wife's 'domestic help,' he's not consulted anymore or even informed of her decisions except on a 'need-to-know' basis. Nor does Cindy share her thoughts. Meanwhile, Gayle's continues to struggle to picture him male, with limited success. "You mean, your husband works as your housemaid? How bizarre! Very kinky..." Gayle is over the reservations she felt about the intrusion; she even feels a bit silly. 'The joke's on me!' She gives her hostess a friendly and assured grin to convey she's okay with the situation and has regained her composure. This is a typical reaction of insecure young women like Gayle on meeting Martin/Mindy: initial shock followed by an effort to over-compensate with a sangfroid that's not quite genuine. Nobody wants to be perceived as an uptight prude, and history is replete with atrocities committed by people afraid to be so seen. It always works to Cindy's advantage and against her husband's! There's another pattern Gayle assumes. Mindy notices it first, and it often portends the hail of derision to follow. She speaks about Mindy as if he's not present. Mindy knows it's as much a class thing as presenting female. Though Gayle, a liberal-minded person, may be loath to acknowledge it, Martin's a social inferior in three respects: he's subject to his wife's domination; he's a maid; and he's feminized by choice. Speaking as if someone's not there is a common form of disrespect. Children know it well but so do underlings of all sorts. Cindy is also quick to notice and takes it as another good sign. "Well, yes, I suppose it's kinky and bizarre to people, but we don't see it that way. We're well-off, as you can see, wealthy by most people's standards. No reason for either of us to work. But Mindy needs structure. She's not comfortable with lots of free time. I love doing what I want when I want to do it. But not Mindy! She's just the opposite. She gets all anxious with difficult decisions and too many choices. She likes thing kept simple. She likes it when I tell her what to do. And she actually enjoys maid's work. Hard to believe, I know... The repetition of it... the boredom... But she's made it her career. And she's quite good at it. Nothing takes much skill, nothing dirties her pretty uniforms; it's pretty much the same routine each week... Light work suitable for a girl in her position, nothing too taxing, nothing taking any deep thought or heavy lifting. She feels safe. No stress, no silly male posturing. Just 'do-as-I-say' and she does it. I evaluate her work. I criticize it. And she corrects her mistakes." "But in a maid's uniform? Does she scrub floors and clean toilets? Isn't it kind of degrading for a man?" "Well, she's hardly a man, is she? Just look at her. Slim arms and legs kept smooth, and that understated make-up she's wearing. She's really gotten good at applying it. I have a girl from my salon do her hair every month. It's long enough now that there are plenty of fun options. This month she's a '20's vamp. Next month maybe she'll try an Audrey Hepburn- look, with that cute swirl on top, or the Julie Andrews' look, you know what I mean, that boyish, pixie haircut she wore in 'Sound of Music'... It's up to Mindy. She loves to primp in front of the mirror... She's nothing very special, to be sure... She's certainly nothing very manly, or even very adult these days... She'd probably love it if I mounted a poster or two of some teenage girl's heart throb so she could ogle him at night ... It's up to her... She can dream all she wants... The thing is, there's not much left of my husband any more. Not that there was very much masculine about him before... But it's all gone now... And I don't think she really misses it, being a man... not really... What's left is Mindy, a pretty little tool anxious to be of use. She's damn good at what she does. There's no household task beneath her. She's better than any of the girls we were thinking of hiring back in the bad old days---modern girls, not much older than teenagers themselves, so unreliable, so sullen and surly and full of complaints, 'I-don't-do-this.' 'I-don't-do-that.' It was so tiresome. We don't have to worry about Mindy packing her bags and stomping out in a huff, do we, Mindy?" Both women chuckle and Mindy knows to nod affirmatively and smile as though she likes jokes at her expense. "But what about sex? He seems so... well... so 'girly'... so emasculated... so virginal and sexless, like he wouldn't even know what to do with a penis... A real turn-off, I would think, to a normal woman..." Gayle did not mean her comment to be gauche. She doesn't notice Cindy wince at the implication she may not be normal. Yet allowances have to be made for Gayle's age and immaturity. Besides, Cindy is pleased that this young woman, within minutes of meeting her sissified husband, can casually observe right in front of him so he can hear that he not only lacks erotic appeal but is actually repellant and repulsive. And Gayle doesn't even bother to camouflage her remark or care about his reaction to it. It's both a consequence of the young woman's growing contempt for Mindy and an exquisite expression of it. It's more than apparent that Cindy has won another convert. "Oh, yes, Mindy's quite sexless. Aren't you, dear?" Mindy blushes deeply and averts her eyes. "It was a bit of a problem in the beginning with her so excited in her pretty uniforms and panties masturbating all the time, but two years ago we found a German outfit that designs devices to lock away a man's penis. God-awfully expensive and delivery took two months, but it's quite clever and was well worth the wait. It's made-to-order and Mindy wears it full-time. "It consists of a thin locking titanium belt around the waist with an attached, flexible front piece, with curved edges to protect the skin. There's a tube behind it for the wee-wee to fit in, and it's so small---I mean, the tube, not Mindy's wee-wee, though that's tiny, too---there's no way it can get any bigger when she's excited. After Mindy inserts her wee-wee, I take the narrow end and gently work it between her legs and up her backside locking it to the belt. Voila! Bye-bye wee-wee and tiny baby testicles... Out-of-sight... No ugly bulge... Flat and smooth... Just like a real girl... Ten nubile girls crawling all over him can't make him hard. It's really quite sweet, a perfect fit and the tube's completely comfortable. Except for the gnawing frustration he must feel never getting to achieve even an occasional erection, he hardly knows he's wearing it. "Of course, a few of my girlfriends are skeptical. They've invented a kind of risqu? game, with Mindy as one contestant and they're the other. I don't mind. It's quite innocent and harmless. We call it 'Mindy's Romantic Interlude' or sometimes 'Tickle and Tease.' It's terribly frustrating for her, but I think she secretly enjoys it, all the attention. Shirley sometimes comes over and participates, and she certainly thinks so. Right, Mindy?" Mindy nods but does not reply. Gayle finds herself intensely interested, even a bit excited. "Do tell me! No secrets among us girls! I'll only tell my boyfriend tonight for a few laughs." "Well, the girls come over in the late afternoon. It's just women---no men, no husbands or boyfriends. Mindy does the serving dressed in her best black-and-whites, with her frillies underneath, while we talk and gossip and get a little tipsy. Not Mindy, of course, who's not permitted alcohol, but the rest of us... When her back's turned, the girls secretly size her up, undress her in their minds, imagine her naked and vulnerable.... Suddenly---if we're all in the mood and have agreed on it beforehand---we signal each other, and the one designated that day tells Mindy to go and get ready. She doesn't need to be told twice. She merrily minces and almost skips back to her room to touch up her hair and make- up, re-do her lipstick and exchange the wedges for her sexy stilettos. Meanwhile, we get the parlour ready---fluff up the couch pillows, move the coffee table out of the way, turn down the lights, light a fire, place lighted candles around, and spray a little perfume in the air... A perfect setting for a boy and girl to do some serious making-out... Hence the name, 'Mindy's Romantic Interlude'! Then we wait for our precious coquette to make her grand entrance. "Last time we added a little ceremony, which was so hilarious we've decided to do it every time. When she entered the kitchen all dolled up, two of the tallest women in our group, both of them a little butchy, were there waiting to accompany her. Mindy was placed between them---she looked so short and tiny against them---and slipped each of her slim, smooth forearms through the arm of the girl on each side. Then they led her in a kind of mock solemn procession through the long hallway from the kitchen to the parlour. Meanwhile, the rest of us had formed two lines in the hall and tried to keep a straight face as the three of them, Mindy in the middle, made their way between us. She was darling, a picture of femininity: She nodded to each of us as she went by, smiling sweetly, shy and self-conscious, exactly like a blushing bride. "Mindy's opponents for this night's game---there were two of them---had changed into little black dresses and were waiting in the parlour. Mindy is led to the couch and knows as always to situate herself in its center while the women approach and place themselves kneeling on each side of her. 'Stretch out a bit, Mindy. Relax. It's okay. You're with your girlfriends now, honey. We won't hurt you.' "Mindy is beside herself with arousal and quickly obeys. She lifts her heels off the carpet and by little twists and turns of her hips inches her butt forward to the edge of the seat cushion, enough to render her almost prone, her head nestling in the right angle formed by the cushion and the couch's back. Her skirt rides up her thighs and bunches nearly at her crotch revealing a peek at her pink panties. She digs her heels back into the carpet for leverage and, keeping her legs slightly bent at the knees, knows to part them slightly to leave easy access to the inside of her thighs. The girls coo like love birds and hover over Mindy---both tender and solicitous in a menacing kind of way. They await the rest of us as we congregate in the doorway and try not to laugh and destroy the mood. One of the girls gives us a quick grin and a conspirator's wink. "Let the game begin! "The contest is to see if Mindy can remain stoic---totally unresponsive, completely silent and still---no matter what the girls do to stimulate her. Any movement or sound, the least stir or audible sigh, and it's over---the girls win and Mindy has to get down on the floor, lie prone on a pillow, and lick their toes while humping the pillow in her chastity cage like a pervert. You should see it... It's hilarious!' "And if Mindy wins?" asks Gayle. "It's only happened once or twice, but when she wins we all holler and the girls give him a peck on the cheek and at the end of the night as they leave he stands there and they blow him air-kisses. It's sweet. It may not sound like much, I know, but what else can you do for a sissy locked away in chastity serving as a maid? "At any rate, the game begins. The two start by whispering seductive little insults they know he likes reminding him how 'weak' and 'girly' he is. They nibble on his ear lobes and tongue the inside. Then they both reach between his legs and stroke his thighs. 'Like that, Sissy?' they tease. Mindy tenses, quivering with delight and desire. He knows, though, to remain silent and make no movement lest the agonizing pleasure she's feeling end abruptly. The girls trace their fingertips along his thighs from his knees to his crotch, stroking and playfully pinching the smooth, soft skin, making sure to pay special attention to the sensitive area under his knees. They tease around the soft edges of the chastity cage and work their fingers underneath and explore his hairless pubes. 'Does that make you feel all girly, Mindy?' "It's all Martin can do to not scream. 'Bet you'd like to be free of that nasty, ole Miss Chastity Device, wouldn't you, Sissy? Cindy says your cock's about three-inches when hard, Is that right? Not too big, but we could stroke it and tickle underneath your balls... Wouldn't that just feel s-o-o-o-o good? Oh, to be hard and manly for just once! Bad ole Cindy's just so mean keeping you all locked up... And, with one stroke of my soft hand up and down around your proud baby-pole, I bet you'd explode your cream all over the place, wouldn't you, Baby?' "Then the other girl leans close and again sticks her tongue in his ear and just as quickly withdraws it, then jabs it back in, establishing a rhythm in and out. 'Bet you'd like to do this to my pussy, right, Sissy?' He smells her perfume as she licks inside his ear. At the same time she works her fingers from his narrow right shoulder down his uniform to her training bra and inches his nipple through the black velvet fabric. 'Are your tits sensitive, Sissy? Are your nipples huge tonight? Can I play with them?' Martin nearly swoons as she begins to fondle and twist the nipple through the fabric. 'Like that, Mindy? Want more of that? I can go underneath your pretty dress and strip off your bra. Just moan 'yes' if you want me to do that? Nobody'll hear. We won't tell... Promise...'' "Except for the strain on Mindy's face and that lost look in his eyes, he's on his game. The girls can't get a rise out of him or get him to make a sound. Who knows? He could be thinking of cleaning toilets! Yet the girls are confident. They have an ace up their sleeve. "Pretending to be giving up the contest, they suddenly stop and climb off the couch. Mindy thinks he's won and is secretly disappointed to see the game end so quickly. But, on a prearranged signal, the girls suddenly reach their arms under his knees, and in one fluid motion lift his bent legs effortlessly into the air. The effect is to spread his legs further apart and raise his midsection leaving his pink panties on full display to the audience in the doorway. Getting a better, firmer grip, they balance him in this position---his head still pinned into the space between the seat cushion and the couch's back---making sure he can't wiggle free. But Mindy has no intention of wiggling free. He delights in the helpless feeling of being unable to escape, the plaything of two young women too strong to resist. Weak and silly, he whines and whimpers and waves his limp-wristed hands, his arms tucked tight to his sides. It's the ultimate sissy gesture of effeminate futility. We hoot and sneer at him: These antics have cost him the game. Another game in the loss column! "But the girls are not finished! With both of them still balancing him in mid-air, the one on his right reaches down and removes a golden, mid- sized dildo out from under the cushion where it had been hidden. First, she flourishes it before us as we hoot and whistle. Then she shows Mindy, whose eyes grow large. 'No! No! Please, no!' The girl then throws Mindy's unresisting right leg over her shoulder and stoops to his exposed midsection. She works the dildo past the edge of his panties and up his backside until she feels the chastity device's butt hole designed to allow him to defecate without soiling himself. She inserts it through the hole and uses the palm of her hand to force it in. Mindy squeals. Once fully inserted, the girl grips its end and pulls it out, then back in. In and out! She establishes a leisurely, methodical rhythm. Mindy squeals and humps the air and squeals some more. Then it's over. The girl pulls the dildo out, and on cue they release his legs dropping his body back on the couch. In one final gesture of pure contempt, Dildo-Girl drops it in Mindy's lap, who horrified stares at the object in a kind of trance. Of course, the repugnant thing's been dirtied from being up Mindy's ass. "'Clean it up, Girl, and return it to your mistress for future use!' "The rest of us just laugh. "That's 'Mindy's Romantic Interlude.' Sordid and pathetic, I know, but I think Mindy really enjoys the attention and looks forward to playing, despite its humiliating aspects. I suspects she regrets when the girls are here with their husbands, or when they're too busy or sober or bored to play with her." "Does anyone besides you ever get to see Mindy naked?" It's a strange question, but Cindy's narrative has excited Gayle. "Not really... Why, are you interested?" Gayle blushes deeply, genuinely disgusted at the idea but secretly intrigued by it as well, which is why she asked. "Oh, god, no... I fear it would ruin any thought of sex with my boyfriend for weeks!" Cindy laughs at her guest's rejoinder. "I understand. And I agree. So does his mother-in-law, who's also seen him naked and finds it amusing though a little off-putting. As you say, Mindy's not much of a turn-on for any woman interested in guys... I keep her shaved down there so the device won't chafe. I suppose I'm a little biased being his wife, but I find her rather cute and dainty and vulnerable standing naked after a shower. You used the word 'virginal' a moment ago. That about sums it up... Adorably smooth and round and soft and tiny... de-sexed and harmless... Poor thing... he looks so... maidenly... So unlike a real man... "She's tinier now than when we got it. They say a man loses about a quarter-inch a year wearing a chastity device full-time. At that rate, Mindy'll be down to less than an inch in a year. Nowadays to get a grip on it I only use my thumb and forefinger; even when it's hard, I can't hold it in the hand anymore, it's too small, it just slips out... She's no bigger than a boy of three or four. But, of course, to me, that just makes her cuter and seem less threatening... And the device makes it so she has to pee sitting down, like any other girl. Of course, it took a lot of getting used to and Mindy still whines about it occasionally. But things are a lot better. She used to beg all the time for me to remove it so she could play with herself, but that only happens at the end of a month or two if she's been especially cooperative and obedient. Even then, I like to add a little spice by letting Mummy watch." Gayle speaks with open, biting contempt. "Quite appropriate, I'm sure, for Mindy, or your husband, or whatever you call him. She's undoubtedly very pleased with herself and has lots of fun masturbating in front of your mother at the end of the month when she's 'rewarded,' as you say. But what do you do for sex?" Cindy laughs delighted at the question and not in the least put off by its intimacy. "Oh, we have occasional male visitors. Don't we, Mindy?" Mindy blushes again and forces a smile. "And then there's Brad, a friend of mine at the firm I used to work at; we dated a lot before I married... He's here a lot now, a couple of nights a week and often the whole weekend. It's so nice for a change having a man around the house. And Mindy doesn't mind, I don't think... My mother's crazy about him. She's always advising me to get divorced and marry Brad. She calls Mindy 'extra baggage' and says she'll just be in the way. She's offered to take her, says she can come live with her and clean her house and she'll loan her out to friends so she'll never be idle. Mummy even says she'll pay 'rent' for Mindy. Can you imagine! She's got a little room, smaller than this one, off her attic and says it would be perfect. Cindy directs her question to Mindy. "Would you like that, Mindy, moving your stuff over to Mummy's and seeing me and Brad only on occasion? Brad and I have talked about it, more or less seriously. My solicitor tells me it could be wrapped up in a couple of days. Mindy has no funds for a solicitor, so mine would handle both ends. He'd tell the court about Mindy's situation. Technically, he tells me, it's a case of 'abandonment.' Not me abandoning Mindy, as you might guess, but the other way around... Legally Martin has abandoned me. Imagine that! He has 'abandoned his husbandly responsibilities' when he signed off on his little contract. "He contributes nothing; he refuses to earn a living; he insists I 'dominate' him as he stays at home cross-dressed and playacting at being some kind of 'slave,' at least in his own mind; he refuses to have children; and he moved out of the master bedroom into self-imposed exile off the kitchen and we haven't had sex in years. On hearing these facts, any court in the land would vacate the marriage, that is, annul it in a heartbeat, and there'd be no need for any lengthy divorce proceeding. Ironical, isn't it? I own everything now and Mindy sacrificed everything to give it to me. That's called 'legal abandonment.' And by doing that he lost his right to stay married to me... Quite weird but that's the law. Plus, I want kids now. It's time to start a family." Cindy's voice has a light, pleasant-sounding, even frivolous lilt to it and there is no mistaking how little regard she has for her husband. Gayle studies the maid for some emotional reaction to Cindy's soul- destroying threat to divorce him and marry someone else. She gazes at him as if he's a laboratory specimen pinned to a tray. Is that a worried look on his face? Are his hands shaking? Is he about to cry? Mindy stays silent eyes averted. If and when the axe falls she'll be the last to know. A maid deserves no better. "You don't mean children by Mindy, do you? Can she even sire a child? What kind of a father would he be mincing around in skirts and a duster?" "Oh, heavens no!" laughs Cindy. "Indeed, your question answers itself. I was thinking of Brad. He'd make a wonderful daddy, warm and strong and masculine, a wonderful role model for a little boy and a strong male figure to look up to for a 'Daddy's Little Girl.' Of course, Mindy would have a role to play, too, unless he preferred to live with Shirley. Mindy would make a marvelous nanny. Putting the children to bed each night and dressing them in the morning, changing their diapers and warming their bottles, and playing with them all day between her other assignments--- all the things a busy mother can't do every day... Can't you see Mindy taking them in a double-stroller to the park and letting them play in the sandbox while she chatters and gossips with the other nannies? And when they're older, she can babysit them while Brad and I go out for the night. Why, they'd call her 'Nana Mindy' and they'd regard her as much a part of the family as all the, doggies, gerbils and kitties we buy them over the years. "That sounds lovely. Mindy as a kind of over-sized toy poodle for the children to play with and grow up with and eventually outgrow... How charming! " "Yes," Cindy agrees loving Gayle's sarcasm, "in so many ways Mindy's a good little helper to me. I don't mind my mother taking her for a while but not full-time. I'd never want to lose her full-time. I'd miss her too much. And Brad feels the same way. When he stays over he appreciates Mindy pressing his pants, ironing his shirts, and polishing his shoes while we're busy upstairs. And she's such a good little cook and waitress. I don't know how I ever managed without her. Brad even had a clever little plaque made for her at Xmas two years ago. 'MINDY MINDS CINDY.' I had Brad mount it. There it is above Mindy's wash stand." "Very thoughtful... Yes, very clever... But isn't Mindy ashamed? Doesn't she ever get upset being on display in front of Brad and other men and women dressed as a maid and ordered about like one? Mocked and treated as an inferior? Isn't he humiliated being a cuckold?" Cindy grins and winks at her guest as they both notice how the question makes Mindy cringe. Both women are now playing off each other with striking cruelty. The tone Cindy set earlier---light, relaxed, amused, and mocking---has become her guest's. Women are crueler than men. It's because, being on the receiving end themselves so long, they've had plenty of time to fantasize what it would be like to turn the tables and dish it out. They are more inventive, creative, psychologically insightful, and cleverer than their male counterparts. They know men far better than men know them. Hegel put it this way: A 'master' doesn't need to bother about what a 'slave' is thinking, but a 'slave' ignores his 'master's' thoughts and wishes at his peril. It's a matter of survival... Furthermore, a certain type of woman enjoys a special cruel satisfaction- --often a kind of prurient, sadistic fascination---seeing Martin vulnerable and suffering dressed as he is and doing what he does. Martin once believed that watching Cindy effortlessly exercise power over him awakens a desire in such a woman to do the same. But he's changed his mind. It's not power she seeks. For where's the power in mocking a sissy? Power is when an Omphale commands a Hercules, or when Macbeth's wife prods her husband to murder and mayhem. No, it's not about power. Resentment and revenge, seething at the deepest level, is the engine driving such a woman. Poor, harmless Mindy, weak and effeminate as he is, serves as a whipping boy---a symbol of, and stand-in for, all the men who have ever abused a woman of this kind, or threatened to. Think about it. Sitting on Uncle Charlie's knee and feeling his stiffy when she's seven... Touched by the pervert on the bus at thirteen... In the back seat of a boy's car at sixteen and he refuses to stop... Molested by the teacher or priest or cop or doctor or brother or father or boyfriend... Leered at in the streets... Whistled at... Barked at... Hit on at parties, bars, workplaces, wherever men ogle women... One night stands... She knows she's labeled 'cunt' or 'pussy,' the object of crude locker room banter. Why not a little payback against sissy prey too weak to fight back? The perfect victim to sharpen her claws on... Sure, the descriptor 'male' in Mindy's case is a stretch. Crushing a sissy is nothing like smashing a real guy with testicles. But if crushing a Mindy is the best a girl can do, then Mindy will have to do until, as the song goes, the real thing comes along. "Well, not everybody humiliates Mindy. A few girls pity her. But yes, she was devastated at first. What man, even a sissy, likes being cuckolded? But I have a story to tell you about that. Do you notice how her twin bed fits so nicely in this narrow walk-in closet? It used to be over there against the wall. So why is it in the closet now?" Gayle anticipates an interesting tale. She makes a motion to sit in the chair at Martin's table but glances at Cindy for permission, though its Mindy's room. Cindy nods in acknowledgment, and Gayle sinks into the chair as Cindy starts her narrative. "Well, once I caught Mindy upstairs listening and spying through the keyhole at Brad and me. I took her by the ear and led her squealing back downstairs. I had told her to stay in her room with the door closed while we had sex. I knew just what to do. I had planned it all out beforehand just in case Mindy started pulling stunts like this. I pointed to the bed and ordered her to move it into the closet. She didn't dare disobey. It was awkward and heavy, and she struggled with it, poor thing. I resisted the urge to help. I waited arms crossed 'til she finished. Then I lunged at her, grabbing and tossing her onto the bed. The sissy didn't fight back. She couldn't, she was so surprised and ashamed. Babbling stupid, vapid apologies, she let me tie her hands behind her back and her ankles together. She lay there bawling. She was terrified. "I didn't want Brad, who was waiting upstairs, to hear all the commotion and think something was wrong, or that I was hurting Mindy, or that I couldn't handle the situation. After all, it was my fight, it was between Mindy and me, and I didn't want him involved. I loomed over her bed wagging my finger like an irate mother at a naughty daughter. 'Shut up and stop that screaming!' But Mindy was hysterical and either wouldn't or couldn't stop, I wasn't sure which. But it pissed me off that when I told her to shut up, she got louder. Like maybe she actually wanted Brad to hear and take pity on her and come down and 'save' her... Like she was somehow 'calling' him for help against me... How crazy! Can you imagine! A cuckold wanting his wife's lover to come down and 'rescue' him from her... Laughable and disgusting at the same time! "Anyways, I lost patience. I wanted to slap the shit out of her, even punch her out. But I controlled myself. I seldom get angry with Mindy, she's so docile and obliging most of the time; and even when she's not it's more like dealing with a child. I'm never harsh and assign small punishments, like grounding her or confining her to her room... But this was different. It was embarrassing and it was open defiance. And I won't put up with that from a cheeky maid. I was rough. I turned her on her back and straddled her. Then I reached in my pocket and pulled out the ball-gag I didn't think I would have to use. I'm pretty sure she'd never seen one before so I let her stare at it for a few seconds so it would sink in what it was. Then I put it up to her lips to insert it but the silly bitch resisted and kept her lips sealed, like a little priss. I sneered. Poor thing, she had no idea how easy it is to insert a ball gag. "'Oh, Mindy," I said, "aren't you so brave and clever resisting your mistress!' Her mouth remained tight and firmly closed and she gave a prissy little shake of the head 'no.' There was determination in her eyes, even a bit pride in herself for taking a defiant stand against me. If I wasn't so pissed I would have laughed outright! "'Let's try this...' I reached up and pinched her nose and held it tight. 'Okay, Mindy,' I told her, "hold your breath now for as long as you can and when you can't hold it any longer just open up a little bit to get some air and I'll push the gag in. Don't hurt yourself trying to clench your teeth shut; I don't want to have to knock any of them out.' Of course, she caught my sarcastic gloating. The fight knocked out of her, she knew she was beaten. She opened her mouth wide to accept the gag and in it went! I secured the ends behind her neck and stared down at her in triumph. "'Comfy now, Mindy?' "It had taken less than a few seconds. Her shoulders sagged, she seemed to shrivel up in defeat and sink into the mattress, her resistance gone... The tenseness in her limbs melted away. Those big green saucer eyes, doe-like and lightly made up with mascara on the lashes, flashed in regret and anger but, along with those two, I noticed a subtle touch of admiration she secretly felt for my strength and ingenuity. Mindy's world was one in which she was more secure and comfortable feeling dominated by someone she saw as superior to herself. She might deny it. She might rail against it. But I saw it... I could tell... She had been taken by surprise and overwhelmed; she had been toyed with. Things were just as they should be and she had liked it! Totally, it was a rush! "It was not the way a man gets turned on, for sure, but then Mindy's hardly the standard man, is she? I just knew it. A woman knows... A wife can tell... She might not be able to get hard in her tube but she had, in a sense, wet her panties big time... Her arms pinned beneath her, moaning behind the gag, her eyes rolling, bouncing her head up and down and wagging it side to side trying to spit the gag out and knowing all the time she can't... Frustrated and angry at how puny and weak she is compared to me... But in denial, too, about how excited she feels and trying to conceal it from me... She started writhing and thrashing about beneath me wagging her head about even more wildly, like she was trying to free herself... Like a bitch in heat! She wasn't trying to escape--- just the reverse---she wasn't trying to throw me off or get me to stop. Christ no! She was hoping I'd never stop! She was loving it too much---me straddling her, the weight of her stud on top of her, her utter helplessness! Isn't that right, Mindy, you little slut?" Mindy doesn't reply or even look up. Her cheeks are crimson at the memory, and Cindy and Gayle both notice a smile cross her face and vanish. It's gone in an instant, but there was no mistaking its presence. "You see that smile? That smile tells it all. Pansy-Wamsy Mindy's still wetting her panties at the memory, aren't you, Bitch? My little sweetheart, my little bitch-maid, ball-gagged for the first time... She's still in heat thinking about it, aren't you, you slut-bitch? Her tiny, pathetic wee-wee throbbing in its tube... Awwww, so sad it has to stay so tiny and soft 'til Mummy says otherwise. P-o-o-o-o-o-r Mindy-Pooh! Gayle chuckles at Cindy's performance demeaning Mindy---this woman who delights in directing such relentless scorn at her husband... Gayle feels an almost hypnotic exhilaration---a remarkable shamelessness. It's an intensely erotic sensation she's never felt before. Glancing at Mindy, she imagines straddling him as Cindy did; she'd love to pummel him---slap him---smash him like a bug... She can't wait to see her boyfriend tonight! "Mindy looked so cute, so like she wanted to be ravished---taken---held and tamed---fucked! Like a prissy little lady...in heat... a virginal sissy... A cunt in heat... She couldn't get enough... Ashamed but loving it! It was all fucked up. Everything mixed together... Mindy's a man--- not much of one, I know---but a man nonetheless, and he's lying there beneath me frustrated and deeply unsatisfied, pissed shitless not to be able to get hard and cum. It was really fucked up. All those personas struggling inside him for dominance and none able to take charge: lady, man, sissy, bitch, cunt... all mixed together... It was so fucking hot! "And it was so 'girly' how she turned off the hysterics. No more screaming, no more water works, not a peep out of her except for some sexy mewling behind the gag... And that innocent, puppy-dog look... like she was just so happy to be such an effeminate weakling worshipping at the altar of my stud-ness and begging me not to stop! Fuck, it was such a turn-on! I felt like a guy, her looking up at me like that, worshipping my power and knowing she'd never experience anything remotely like it as a sissy, and not caring she'd never be a man again and at the same time not caring she's a eunuch---happy as hell, in fact, to be turned into one! "She made me feel like a fuckin' guy!" Cindy pauses to catch her breath. She looks at Mindy, half in wonder, half in feigned exasperation. Gayle feels for the first time that Cindy's reaction is not part of a performance, and that the latter is in genuine awe of Mindy's effect on her that day. She notices Cindy address Mindy with a degree of respect, only to twist the knife at the end. "Where the fuck did you learn how to do that, Girl, you cock-less wonder? If Brad hadn't been upstairs I might have torn off your chastity, bent you double with your calves resting tight against my shoulders, your heels pointing skyward. I would have torn off your panties and fucked you on the spot, right up your fuckin' virgin butt hole with a massive strap- on... I don't think I've ever wanted you more. Certainly not in all the years we were married! But I had to stay in control. I was too horny. And I needed a man. I mean, a real one, not a sissy... I needed Brad! He was the only man in the house that day, right, Mindy?" Cindy is silent for a moment and stares at poor, emasculated Mindy. Gayle can't read her thoughts "Slowly, deliberately, I climbed off. I smiled down and patted her gently on the head like I would a child. She shook her head violently at that pat... hating what it signified... hating being patronized... knowing my passion for her was spent while hers was at its peak... knowing the felt limitations of being a sissy in the presence of a woman needing a real guy like Brad, who knew every one of my buttons and could drive me to ecstasy, a guy with something more than a three-inch dick... "Mindy knew in her sissy mind that no real woman would ever regard him as an object of lust, ever see him as manly or as 'male meat' hungered for and lusted after---not the way he dressed, not the way he lived his life, not the way his position in life was defined and perceived. Indeed, feminists object, with justice, to Mind's self-chosen lifestyle---he's a caricature, they say, of what sexist men prefer to see women as---namely, weak; frilly; flighty; silly; petty; relegated to trivial, menial, unrewarding drudgery a real man would refuse to do on principle. In other words, Mindy's a bad joke to women, an embarrassment, a freak, an object of scorn, a reminder of what modern women today are not anymore and a throw-back, in male disguise, of what they used to be and still are in many unenlightened parts of the world. "Mindy continued to wiggle about on the bed. But it was over. She knew it... We were done, the two of us... It was almost sad... Mindy might have ended up being the stallion-stud that day he had never been in his whole life... Just given the chance who knows how he might have performed... We?ll never know... And, to be honest, I really wasn?t trying to add to the poor girl?s distress as I heard her whimper. I simply needed to get upstairs to a real man and get fucked, I mean really fucked! ?But I had one more task to perform before leaving. I couldn?t ignore the breakdown in discipline, the threat to my authority. Mindy had to be punished. I knew it, and I think she did, too. We locked eyes for a few seconds, her the doe in the headlights and me the hunter, to switch metaphors. She was waiting for me to decide, and she was resigned to her fate. I felt it and so did she. It?s why she?s my maid. I could see it in her eyes, her complete submission. Just like her voice was calmly telling me through the gag, ?Go upstairs, Cindy, and be with your lover. I?m just a weak, lowly maid. I?ll be okay. It?s agony but I love being here while you?re upstairs getting fucked by Brad. I want it. I deserve it. Don?t give me a second thought. It?s okay! Go on now... I love you.? ?It?s all about sacrifice, Gayle. It was clear what Mindy needed. Her eyes told me. But I knew there was also a part of her that wanted me to stay and fuck her, to leave Brad and be hers alone, just like in the old days, except now it?s reversed---Mindy?s mine, I?m not his... But Mindy knows down deep, just like I do, the old days aren?t coming back... Maybe they were golden for her, but to me they?re stale, tedious, tired memories not worth bothering about. I shook my head ?no? as she looked up pleading with those beggar eyes, and then I closed the louvered doors leaving her in the dark. I slipped a chain through the handles and locked it with a padlock. It wasn?t really necessary, with her hands and feet tied. More ?symbolic,? a kind of ?statement,? a way of letting Mindy know how much she depended on me for everything. Only I had the key to the padlock, only I could release her. I wanted her in the dark, with a little afternoon light filtering through the louvres. Plus, I knew how much she liked it, poor thing. I can still hear her dim little whimpers. I left her there and went back upstairs to get my brains fucked out of me in the same bed Mindy used to share with me! ?Pathetic, isn?t it? Locked away dressed in his maid?s uniform, forgotten by his wife and her stud in the master bedroom, and preferring it that way! For any normal person, it?s hard to understand why such torment is so tantalizing and seductive. At any rate, it?s Mindy?s only erotic enjoyment these days. Pretty thin gruel, in my opinion, compared to what I get on a daily basis from Brad and a few other men. I left her there in the closet unattended to rub herself in her chastity futilely against the lumpy mattress while Brad and I spent the rest of that day and all of the next together. Neither of us heard her muffled cries, or would have cared if we had. She peed on herself and was achy and stiff, her wrists raw, when I freed her. It was cruel, I know, but at least it cured her of peeping through keyholes and eavesdropping on our fucking.? ?Wow! That?s a wild story, Cindy. You?re so tough!? Cindy smiles warmly at the praise. Gayle is deeply curious about the hapless man before her-- -and deeply excited by Cindy?s rich description of her maid?s broken sex life, as well as her description of her own much more rewarding one with Brad---and wants to know more. ?But I kind of feel a little sorry for Mindy. Does she ever get to have any fun? Does she get any time off?? Cindy?s quick to respond. ?One day every other week, usually Wednesdays are slow and I can let her go. Mindy?s not a slave and I?m not a slave driver. I try to be reasonable and compliant. It would never work if I weren?t. Of course, let?s be honest, too, this is not some kind of silly game we play, like a lot of couples do. So many couples are where we used to be. A little bored with each other, jaded by vanilla sex... They decide to spice things up with fantasy games followed by bang-bang sex and back to ?reality.? We tried that but it didn?t work. It wasn?t us. We wanted something different. ?Of course, all our joint energies were poured into renovating the house for so long, and when we were finally done, instead of feeling relieved and exhilarated, we felt a let-down, like we were actually sorry to have finished. We looked at each other and thought, ?What?s next? What?s our next project?? Here we had this beautifully restored Victorian mansion and we felt bored. Like it wasn?t enough just to live in it together ... Something was missing. Friends told us it was time to start a family, but neither of us wanted children. We wanted something else... something for the house... A kind of finishing touch, the crown jewel of all our efforts... And then it struck us, we needed a Victorian maid to go along with our Victorian house! So we advertised on the internet and in the newspaper. You should have seen the trash out there who applied. We wouldn?t have let them in the garage let alone the house. ?Finally, one night Martin had a really serious look on his face and summoned me into the parlour. He sat me down and told me he had been thinking of something---toying with it in his mind---and wanted to know what I thought. It was a wild suggestion but it turned out to be the idea that changed everything, the best idea, in fact, he ever had! ?Why don?t I do it! I could play the maid.? ?I looked at him amazed and could tell he was serious. He?d always been a little kinky in the bedroom, wearing my lingerie once in a while and wanting to be ?taken? like a woman, stuff like that, but this was way out there, way over the top! I studied him. I looked him up and down and imagined him faux-female, like the cross-dressers you see in the City?s night-life area. It wasn?t too much of a stretch even way back then, was it, Mindy? Both women giggle. ?We tried to see if he could pass. Not that it was all that critical because he?d be working in the house unseen, but we just wanted to know. He defoliated himself, underarms, legs, arms, even his pubes... He grew his hair, and I taught him the rudiments of make-up so he could apply his own. He learned to sit like a woman, make hand gestures like one, and walk in heels. We even hired a voice expert who taught him to use a higher range of pitch, and my OB/GYN recommended a doctor who specialized in transgender surgery. She told us about a procedure to cut a few vocal chords and shorten others, and she performed it in her office shaving his Adam?s apple at the same time to make his neck look more feminine. He had a sore throat for a week but Martin was able to modulate his voice to sound like a normal-speaking woman. He can?t shout like a man anymore and when he?s excited his voice cracks. In fact, over time he?s lost the ability to speak in the lower register most men can command and if he?s not careful his voice rises to an embarrassingly falsetto pitch. It?s kind of funny. Here, let me show you. Mindy, greet Gayle in your ?femmy? voice but don?t sound swishy.? Mindy performs like a circus seal. Gayle listens carefully and asks him to repeat himself. Not quite convinced, she asks him to say something less formulaic than a greeting. Mindy asks Gayle about her boyfriend, her family, her studies at University. Gayle marvels at the sound and says to Cindy, ?If you didn?t know he was a guy, you could never tell from his voice. No way does he sound like a man... And he doesn?t sound fruity, either. It?s even kinda sexy, like early Lauren Bacall talking to Bogie.? Cindy smiles, turns to her husband, and says in a treacle voice marinated in sarcasm, ?There, Mindy... Isn?t that nice? Miss Gayle gave you a compliment. It?s not every day a pretty young woman compares you to the beautiful Lauren Bacall. Say thank you? Mindy lisps a thank you. Both women smile and wink at one another. This is so much fun! ?At any rate, the dye was cast... Martin began dressing at home more or less fulltime like a girl. Taking orders... Being bossed around... I even brought my mother Shirley in on it... He stopped wearing slacks and man- shoes. It was skirts only... You should have seen him prancing about in our presence... I could tell he liked it. On some level he even appreciated his mother-in-law?s teasing but pretended not to. I knew he could pass. He was small boned and had little body hair. He wasn?t very tall, about my size, had an okay face and when he put on make-up he was downright pretty; he had small feet and hands, wide hips for a man---much wider than a typical guy?s, probably from lack of testosterone---and a cute, round butt. And he had great legs! Most important---let?s be frank- --he had the right-sized prick for it. Very small... Gayle giggles. It puts her in mind of her boyfriend. ?What would he do,? she wondered, ?if I acted like Cindy and dressed him in my clothes?? Gayle quickly shakes off the thought, but the seed has been planted. ?We talked it over a long time devising imaginary scenarios in our heads. ?What if this happens?? ?What if that happens?? ?What do we do in this case?? ?What about in that case?? and so on. We tried out slightly different scenarios, varying them a little, tweaking them, making them more interesting, sometimes for a day or two and sometimes for as long as a week. Mummy kept prompting us to go further, all the way... But we knew to start out slow and tentative and work out the any kinks and glitches. Gayle smiles at the unintended pun on the word ?kinks.? ?Since it included themes of masochism, domination, and forced cross- dressing, a central issue for me was ?What are the consequences if Martin ?disobeys??? To me, my being bossy and his being a maid had to move beyond role-playing and play-acting. There had to be a stiff price for ?disobedience? or ?bad attitude,? and it had to be real consequences if it was to work. It wasn?t a big issue for Martin. At first, he didn?t seem to care or pay it much heed, but he got used to it fast and accepted it. Either he ?plays by my rules,? I told him, or we quit playing. That was the way I felt about it, and Martin agreed. It was the only way it would work. He was not the least bit reluctant and became very compliant. In fact, he came to like the idea of my being dominant and bossy more than I did. It made the whole scene more realistic for him. ?So we were finally agreed, everything was worked out down to the smallest detail, the ground rules were set, and we decided to give it a try fulltime, no more experimenting. We were both pleasantly surprised, happily so. It went much better than either of us expected. Martin took to maid service like a fish to water and I enjoyed the increased leisure time with his doing all the menial chores. And he was very thorough, a perfectionist, a good cleaner and a good cook, even without supervision. He very obviously enjoyed being a housemaid and my personal servant. And he did it all without complaint. I barely ever had to raise my voice with him. ?An old Victorian mansion is massive. You?ve seen that yourself. It?s no ordinary big house, like the kind built to scale in the suburbs where a girl who?s quick and nimble can finish her cleaning and laundry in a day or two. A Victorian mansion is very different. Just think about your tour. First of all, there?re three floors, twenty-eight rooms in all, all furnished with lots of do-dahs and knick-knacks on the shelves requiring dusting not to mention throw-rugs and beds and chairs and vents to dust and vacuum under and around. Then there are the eight full bathrooms each with toilet, tub, and sink to keep clean. Next comes the first f