The Worm Turns free porn video
THE WORM TURNS
I'm an easy going sort of person, a bit too laid back according to my
friends. They have always assumed that I have allowed myself to be put
under the thumb of my wife Jean, but I see it as accommodating the woman
I love.
She doesn't see it entirely that way. If I ever have strong feelings on
a subject and put my foot down, she calls me stubborn and pig headed,
among many other names. However, during the three years we have been
married, this has seldom happened and she has increasingly decided on
when we should go shopping, what we buy, where we take our holidays, and
a myriad of other day to day choices we all make.
Just as in our sex life, it has been her who has preferred to take the
lead, but I have always tried to be a gentle, considerate lover, usually
managing to give her two or three orgasms before cumming myself. Even
then, if I detected her wanting more, I got down and ate her out, giving
her further satisfaction. She told me that it was this attentive action
that persuaded her to marry me.
Financially we have always been secure. I was a bit of a nerd at
school, discovering that I had a knack for designing computer games,
managing to sell two while I was still studying, then developed software
and other games as a business into my early twenties. Without doing
anything more, and allowing for the royalties on earlier games to dry
up, we still had sufficient investments to last our lifetimes, even
allowing for my indulgence for buying the latest gadgets.
When we married, Jean worked in a bank, but I was proud that I was able
to tell her that we no longer need her comparatively small income and
she could be a full time housewife. What I hadn't reckoned on was what
someone later described to me as 'housewife's syndrome'. Women, or men
come to that, who have too much time on their hands, for example; when
doing mundane housework, think of all their problems and magnify them in
their minds. Let me make this clear; it's not because they are women
but it more frequently is because they are the ones who more often look
after the house work, but the if men do it they are just as likely to
start nit picking problems. I'm not being sexist.
Complaining of boredom to me, I suggested that there were plenty of
voluntary organisations, self improvement groups, social women's clubs,
etc., that she could join if she wanted to. Money wasn't holding her
back, even if she wanted to attend fancy lunches every day. To try to
help her I started to work part time at home, away from my office and
half dozen employees, just to keep her company. This proved to be a
mistake.
* * *
Last year we bought a beautiful house, not large but in good size
grounds, about an hour's drive from my office in the city. We were
especially taken by two extra rooms on the ground floor, one I could use
as a study, the other, just off the kitchen, Jean would have to be a
sewing and craft room. She was quite proud that, while in her teens,
she made most of her own clothes.
Even though the house was easily manageable, I asked my wife if she
wanted to employ a housekeeper, perhaps even a cook a few nights a week,
but she insisted that she would have nothing to do if she did that.
Anyway, I enjoyed cooking three or four times a week, so it wasn't
exactly onerous.
This was our life for three years, until my wife decided to join a
'women's group', rather a mystery to me as she was quite vague as to
what they actually did.
"Well, we talk about men mostly," was all she told me with a smile, as
she went off to one of their morning meetings. Whatever they did, it
was quite convenient as that was when I worked in my office.
"Would you help me to become more confident?" she asked me a couple of
weeks later.
"Why Jean?" I replied. "I can't imagine a more confident woman than
you."
"You're wrong David. You don't realise how much I lean on you as a
strong and clever man. I know you let me make most of the day to day
decisions, but without your agreement and support I would be lost. As
Chrissie in my group says, 'most married women use their husbands as a
crutch, take that away and they fall over.' It's like that for me I
realise."
"But Jean, don't you realise that it's like that for me as well, without
you I'd fall."
"No you wouldn't. You have your business and employees, almost your
entire life if I wasn't here. The concept of it has frightened me."
"My darling," I took hold of her and pulled her to me, "that's not going
to happen until we're old and grey, you mustn't get upset now about it.
We have our lives ahead of us."
"Oh yes, what about Margie?" That was a mutual friend of ours whose
husband was killed by a drunk driver. "What about Chrissie and Janet
and Helen in my group, their husbands just upped and left them for other
women? I have to prepare my mental capacity to deal with that sort of
event, even though you say now that you would never leave me, you don't
know what the future holds any more than I do."
"OK, let me put your mind at rest. What can I do to help you?"
"I don't know what we do exactly, but we had a talk by a world renowned
psychologist at the group yesterday, and she was talking about this. The
trouble is that every couple is different, so she runs sessions with
them to find out the best way of re-assuring the wives of each couple.
If you agree, I could make an appointment with her."
"If it makes you happy, it makes me happy," I reassured her.
I had almost forgotten this conversation the following week when Jean
told me that she had made the appointment for that Friday afternoon.
Doctor Soames ran a clinic conveniently about half way between the city
and our home and we arrived a few minutes before our three o'clock
appointment. We checked in with her receptionist and sat for just a few
minutes in an expensively furnished waiting area.
Promptly at three she came to escort us into an even more luxuriously
decorated consulting room.
"Let me see." She glanced at a note pad. "Jean and David Walters, my
name is Dr. Soames, but please call me Daphne, and if I may, I will use
your given names, it makes the whole thing less formal." We nodded
assent.
"As I understand, Jean, my little talk the other day set you thinking
and approach your husband to help you gain more control of your life. I
would like to start with some general questions about your backgrounds,
then I will ask Jean to explain privately her situation, followed by a
one to one with David. That way we can ascertain where each of you
agree and differ in your views, that way we have a starting point."
There followed a mass of general questions concerning our health and
lifestyle. By about four o'clock we had finished that session, so I
waited outside while Jean with her one to one. I noticed the time as
six minutes past four as I entered for my interview. I had intended to
ask Jean what sort of questions she was asked, but there wasn't time
during the change over.
When I returned to the Doctor's room, the two visitors' chairs that Jean
and I had sat on were now facing each other and one was reclined back.
The Doc motioned for me to use that one while she sat in the other.
"I've found with these sessions that if clients are alone they tend to
become self conscious and a little stressed. With your permission I
would like to mildly hypnotise you, as I did with your wife, but only
with your permission of course?"
She obviously asked this as a question and I only hesitated briefly
before agreeing. After all, Jean had consented, so I could hardly wimp
out. In moments from her speaking to me for a few minutes in the most
soothing voice I had ever heard, I jerked awake, but feeling really
happy about myself.
"Thank you so much for your cooperation, David, I now need to go over
what you and your wife have told me in order to formulate a way to make
her more content but with the minimum upset. I would like to see you
both the same time next week."
As I returned to my wife, to my shock, I noticed the time; twenty five
past five. I had been with her for an hour and twenty minutes!
* * *
That night in bed my wife straddled me.
"I don't know what that Doctor will recommend," whispered my wife, "but
I know what I would like. You be the woman tonight and I'll ravish
you." She jumped off me and rummaged in one of her drawers. "Put these
on."
She threw me one of her baby doll nighties and matching panties. I felt
the silky material and my hard-on got even harder and I loved the feel
of the panties as I slid them up my legs. By the time my wife had
regained her dominant position she was just wearing a tight t-shirt that
flattened her cute 36B bust.
She pulled my penis out the side of the panties, impaled herself on it,
then massaged my nipples through the thin material of the nighty. I
found the whole episode the most erotic experience of my life.
The next morning my wife asked me how I enjoyed my first experience of
cross dressing. I had to tell her how good it had been.
"Try wearing these?" she asked, pulling undies from drawers and a skirt
and blouse from her walk in wardrobe.
With some difficulty I dressed, finding that the feel of stockings on my
legs incredible and I told her.
"If you like that," she told me, "get back naked and I'll give you
sensations that you'll love."
With the application of a depilatory cream, and a few minutes wait
before showering it off, I was devoid of hair from my neck down. It did
vaguely cross my mind at this stage that I should be complaining about
this in some way, but all that was forgotten when the delicious feel of
nylons on my legs overcame me.
Another moment of doubt worried me as I stood looking at myself in the
mirror, fully dressed in my wife's skirt, blouse and underclothes,
including a waist cincher with suspenders to hold up my stockings. I
was given a small bust, courtesy of some rolled up socks. She even
found me a pair of her shoes, with open toes and an ankle strap they had
three inch heels, but these were of the wedge type, which made walking
easier, she told me, that stilettos.
'Why was I dressing like this?' I thought to myself. I had never had
the slightest inclination in my life before. 'But,' I thought again,
'I'm enjoying myself, what's the harm? Why worry?'
I spent the rest of the weekend dressed, helping my wife with the
chores, something I would normally done anyway, just not dressed in her
clothes. I did notice that there seemed to be more to do than usual at
a weekend, but she explained that she had been a little busy last week
and had got behind.
At work on Monday I still wore a pair of her panties and missed the rest
of the clothes that seemed so comfortable. I had just finished writing
a new game which was our most complex and cutting edge yet, the next
stage being finishing writing some of the backgrounds and then the
normal six or eight weeks of final in house testing. None of this
required my presence in the office, barring a disaster, any small
adjustments could be made by my programmers or even myself from home. I
therefore told the staff that I would be working from home for some
time, they knew to contact me with progress or problems, and with that I
left my office less than an hour from when I arrived.
Jean was delighted to hear my car come back through our locked gates,
there was a warning sound in the house when the remote for the
electronic gates were opened, so she knew of my arrival. By the time I
had parked and entered the house she had a change of clothes ready for
me in the bedroom.
"How did you know I would want to dress up?" I asked.
"Easy. From the way you were acting yesterday and Saturday I could tell
that you wouldn't be able to resist, my love."
I put on a new set of undies when I noticed two significant additions to
my range of clothes. First was a pair of very realistic breast forms
that my wife glued to my chest. The other was a pair of brand new
stiletto heeled court shoes with what looked like four inch heels.
"Don't worry about the height," my wife told me as she saw my expression
of surprise, "You'll soon get the hang of them and they will make your
legs look terrific. As you can see, I've done a bit of shopping for you,
I was convinced that you would like them."
Gingerly I stood up on these stilts and took a few paces. After only a
little coaching and advice like, "Short paces, one foot in front of the
other." I soon had the skill to walk in them.
I might point out at this time that at only five feet seven inches, I
was actually only an inch taller than my wife, so I still looked a
reasonable height for a woman.
What followed was my first lesson in applying make up, and by the time
Jean was satisfied with my work and used curling tongs on my longish
hair, I was looking at a woman's reflection. It was amazing.
The finished product looked back at me from the full length mirror. I
was wearing a tight black mini skirt that only just covered my stocking
tops with a white frilly blouse so sheer that my bra was clearly
visible. On my legs were sheer black stockings down to my high heels and
as I watched, my wife tied a gauzy white half apron round my waist.
From the amount of frills round its edge it was obvious that it was
decorative rather than practical.
"There!" my wife exclaimed with a wink. "My new maid can help me to do
a few little jobs before we have to have an afternoon nap."
She had me vacuuming the upstairs rooms, making the bed and cleaning the
bathroom while she put the washing in the machine and prepared a light
late lunch. After that we retired to the bedroom where we enjoyed more
wonderful sex, somehow enhanced by Jean working round my clothes rather
than undressing me. I realised, as I came for the third time, that I
hadn't performed like that since I was a young teenager, trying to beat
myself off for a record number of times in a day.
The result was that I raised no objections when Jean started to call me
'Abigail'.
"Why Abigail?" I asked.
"She was my best friend at school for years and I just think it suits
you."
Once we got up Jean went to her craft room and I busied myself making
dinner. With my new found leisure time I made it a three course meal
with soup, main and desert. When it was ready I called Jean for hors
d'oeuvres, cheesy puff pastry twists that I made, and an aperitif of
dry sherry.
"I could get used to having a marvellous housewife around." she
commented and we both laughed.
Tuesday saw me get up at my usual time, I normally would have gone to
work, but then I dressed in clean underwear and apron although with the
same skirt and blouse and bought Jean her breakfast in bed. She was so
delighted that she declared that her life could hardly be any better. I
preened myself with her appreciation.
For a few minutes I checked the report to me from the office, but as all
seemed well I got on with the housework. As Jean was busy on a
'project' in her room I cleaned all the house, made the bed and was
ironing when she reappeared to enquire about lunch.
I quickly put together a sandwich and we each had a glass of milk. Jean
told me that she was making something for me, but that she would have to
go out tomorrow morning to get some things to go with it. I had to
promise not to go into her craft room to peak before it was ready.
"I won't have finished it before the weekend, so you have to be
patient."
After lunch we had another session in bed. It was great!
Wednesday and Thursday were a repeat of Tuesday, except that Jean was
gone for a large part of the day on her secret mission, so I had to
practice my make up and deportment on my own. When she returned it was
with a number of bags most of which she took straight to her room. Two
others she unpacked to show me dresses she had bought for herself.
Friday came and it was time to prepare for our appointment with Dr.
Daphne. For the first time for days I was back in my male clothes and
we left early in the morning at Jean's request. Although our
appointment wasn't until the afternoon, she wanted to make a day of it,
shopping and have lunch out.
"Besides," she told me, "I have a surprise for you when we get home."
While having the first, joint session, Jean explained that she had
persuaded me to wear female clothes. I squirmed in my seat for a while,
until the Doctor explained to me that she was the one who suggested
that I explored my feminine side. She apologised for not discussing it
with me, but she felt that I would be less pressured if I didn't know
that she recommended it.
"It's far better if you can work these things out between you than if
you feel you have to do something just because I think it a good idea,"
she explained.
Our individual sessions followed, and again, although I was with her for
a similar tine, I still couldn't remember anything about what was said.
When I returned to Jean in the waiting room, she was on her phone. All
I heard was that she was pleased someone had finished work on something.
As soon as we got home, Jean suggested that I change into nicer clothes
up in our bedroom, telling me that she had that surprise for me.
Firstly she glued the breast forms on me again, then produced a black
satin French maid's costume from her wardrobe, complete with micro skirt
held out at right angles by dense net petticoats. She placed two more
black ones, a pink and a lilac one on the bed.
"Try it on for size first dear. This, and some more like it have been my
last projects in my workroom. I'm not going to use it again, I'm afraid
that nowadays it bores me and I can just go out and buy designer
labels."
Unfortunately the dress was too tight round the waist.
"Oh dear, I seem to have slipped up my love," she appeared to admit.
"Never mind, I've got an idea. It's some things I bought a couple of
years ago and never wore."
She dug in her drawers and came over to me with four corsets in her
arms, by sheer coincidence two black, one pink and one lilac. Fastening
one of the black ones by the eyelets on the busk front, she went to my
back and started tightening the laces, not stopping until I could barely
breathe.
"I know it's a bit uncomfortable to start with, but, like your shoes,
you'll soon get used to it, and it pushes your bust up convincingly."
In short time I had on my stockings, a new pair of black stilettos with
five inch heels, a frilly white half apron, even a small pancake of a
hat, matching my dress with white frills and two black ribbons hanging
down my back.
"Oh, Madam," I joked. "This is such a beautiful uniform, thank you so
much." I even managed a little curtsey.
"Darling that's a marvellous idea." I could tell my wife was over the
moon "Whenever you are dressed in your maid's uniform, you should call
me 'Madam'."
"Yes, Madam." Grinning, I gave another small bobbing curtsey.
"We have a small problem, Abigail."
"Yes, Madam?" I queried.
"I'm afraid that with all your clothes and shoes, there isn't enough
room in the closets up here. Never mind, you can have my old room, and
that's handy to the kitchen for you, especially when you get up earlier
than me to make my breakfast. You will have more time to get up, dress
and do your make up and not disturb me."
"Yes, Madam." Another curtsey.
Together we carried all my new uniforms downstairs and through to Jean's
old craft room which was an annex off the kitchen. The whole thing was
a revelation.
On the door was a nameplate that read 'Maid's Room', and inside it had
been completely altered into a small bedroom, with wardrobe and dresser
a shower and toilet. On the dresser, in front of the mirror, were all
the things a girl would expect in the way of cosmetics, hair drier,
curlers etc.. Already in the drawers were panties and stockings and at
the bottom of the wardrobe were shoes in pink and lilac with the same
five inch heels, there were even a spare pair of black ones. Jean had a
dozen people in while we were out to do all this for me. I couldn't
thank her enough.
The only non-feminine thing in the room was a sheet stuck to the door
which, I joked, in the army would have been called 'Standing Orders'.
It was instructions of what I should do each day as routine, but
advising that other instructions would be given on a day to day basis.
"I'll leave you to put your things away, Abigail. I will have dinner at
seven thirty so an aperitif at seven will be in order."
I curtseyed until she had left, then sat on the bed. Something at the
back of my mind was wrong, but try as I might, I couldn't think what.
In the end I decided that it couldn't have been important, so, humming a
little tune to myself, I put all my lovely new clothes away, then tried
to catch up on a little cleaning, while the dinner I had put in the oven
was cooking.
At seven on the dot I served my wife with a dry sherry with some
nibbles, on a silver platter, returning to the kitchen to continue with
the preparations, smiling to myself, thinking how much fun I was having.
At seven thirty I escorted her to the dining room, pulled out, then slid
in her chair for her to sit, served the soup and a glass of wine, then
stood slightly behind and one side of her as she spooned it. I bought
the main course in on our 'hostess trolley', which kept the various
items warm and enabled me to dish up the meat and vegetables to the
plate in front of her. Again, I stood in the same place, pouring a
second then a third glass of wine when she indicated with her finger.
After the dessert I enquired whether Madam would care for cheese and
biscuits with a glass of port. Madam did and by the time she had two
refills of her glass, she was obviously tipsy.
"Come with me to my bedroom Abigail," she ordered. I wondered what new
treat she would have for me.
"Pull your panties to your knees girl," she told me. She looked for a
moment at my engorged penis and for a moment I thought we were going to
have a tumble in bed. Instead she smack the end of it hard with the
shoe in her hand, which had the predictable effect of turning it into a
disinterested spectator. From her bedside table she produced what I
thought was a chastity device, but she called it a 'panty guard', which
she pushed my shrivelled prick into then fastened it round my balls,
locking it with a small padlock.
"I'm sure you'll agree, Abigail, that little thing has no place in a
maid's panties."
"No madam, thank you Madam. Will that be all Madam?" I pulled my
panties up then did a curtsey.
"No Abigail, first help me undress and put my nightie on."
Once she was laying on the bed she pulled up her night dress and pointed
between her legs.
"I need to have some relaxation girl." I went down on her and gave her
three good oral climaxes. Once she was satisfied, I went back to the
kitchen, ate, and cleaned up before retiring.
As per my standing orders, I woke my wife with her breakfast at eight
thirty. She took a moment to inspect me, complemented me on my make up
skills and my neat turn out, took the tray and didn't say another word
as I stood at the bedside while she ate.
"I shan't be out for lunch today, Abigail, but dinner at the usual
time."
Then she had me help bathe then dress her before leaving without saying
another word. I spent the day changing my wife's bed, cleaning, doing a
load in the washing machine, ironing and remaking the bed with fresh
sheets.
At seven sharp I served Jean with her sherry and dinner proceeded as
before, even down to my serving her in bed, although I did notice that
that only one glass of port was consumed, and one glass less of wine,
the poor dear must have had a hangover this morning.
"Tomorrow at midday there will be two guests for lunch," my wife told me
before I left her for the night. "make provision accordingly as I want a
proper Sunday meal and you will wear your pink uniform."
The lunch guests turned out to be Chrissie and Helen from my wife's
women's group. I was so proud that Jean had obviously invited them to
show me off so I ran ragged with all sorts of demands throughout the
time they were here, making sure everything was perfect. The oddest
thing happened as they were sitting sipping their digestifs of brandy's
after the meal.
My wife pointed under the table and told me that she needed relaxing.
Well of course I knew what that meant and when I got on my hands and
knees I found that she had taken off the panties I put on her that
morning. She climaxed quickly, I assume that my obedience helped her,
but then, as I stood up, she told me that her guests also needed
relaxing.
Now I had vaguely thought about my interaction with someone else, not, I
admit, a woman. Something was wrong with this, although I couldn't
think what, and I became confused. Then it dawned on me.
"I'm sorry madam, but I'm married." When I replied it completely floored
all three women. It was obviously not what they expected or what I felt
I should do. My confusion grew and I started to panic a little in my
head.
"You are the maid and I am your mistress, girl. You will do as I order
you and I order you to relax my guests the same way as you do me." She
was furious.
"I'm sorry Madam, I don't wish to be disobedient, but I have taken a vow
to forsake all others and I cannot break it." I knew this was correct,
so why was Jean trying to tell me something different?
At that point she dismissed me, but, against all the rules, I stood at
the door listening. I was so worried that I had disobeyed her and
couldn't work out in my mind firstly why I had, but also why she had
asked me to. She knew I trusted and loved her, so why had she asked me?
I put my ear to the door to find out, perhaps it was another
demonstration to show the ladies how much I loved her.
"My God, you've got a good one there," was Helen's comment.
"That's amazing," said Chrissie
"I don't understand it," my wife commented, "Daphne told me that
wouldn't happen. She did say that it would be the third or fourth week
before he would accept sex elsewhere, but that wasn't sex he was asked
to do."
"It obviously was being unfaithful in his mind." Helen added. "Are you
sure you want to carry on with this? I would have given my eye teeth
for someone as faithful as that and you even admit that he's good in
bed."
"You know the problem is my pre-nup. but I don't want to discuss it any
further here." I didn't understand any of what was said, but my wife
must have her reasons and I loved and trusted her.
The next day, Monday, Jean went out after breakfast, so I sat down with
a cup of coffee and while there my mind drifted back to yesterday's
lunch. While I was doing that I gave my new hobby quite a bit of
thought, and I realised what the catalyst to all these changes had been.
In some ways I am naive and easy going, but I'm not stupid. While
researching games, particularly ones aimed at adults I had read up about
many subjects, including transvestism and transgenderism, following that
through to stories about forced feminisation. I knew that before my
appointments with Doctor Soames for the last two weeks, these stories
did absolutely nothing for me, in fact I couldn't understand what
pleasure could be derived from dressing in women's clothes. My head
starting buzzing with these thoughts, it was making me confused, so I
got on line.
By doing a little research on the internet I learned that no one can be
forced by hypnosis to do something against their will. From this I
gathered that there must have been some desire to dress up in my
background. Further research gave me the answer. Most boy children
love their parents, especially their mothers, and if the mother has a
strong personality the boy grows up admiring them. Admiration often
leads to mimicry but even if this isn't enacted upon, that willingness
to mimic can stay with the child. My mother certainly made most of the
decisions when I was young, so could have been called the dominant
partner.
The Doctor seemed to have tapped into my latent feelings and worked on
them in such a way that I was pretty much hooked. I knew that
transvestites can never be 'cured' of their yearnings, only hope to keep
it in control. I had to make some important judgements.
First of all, I was enjoying what I was doing, but I didn't feel in
control, I had to get that back. Not being in control meant that almost
certainly I would have further thoughts implanted in my mind which were
beyond what I was prepared to accept. I knew that this was going to
happen the next session. I found that I hated thinking all this, but I
couldn't stop.
Now you may not know this, but many computer games are devised with
advice from psychologists, in my case just to try to ensure that the
gamer gets the maximum enjoyment from the game. For that reason I have
a real expert, a man who had become a good friend, Ian, on speed dial.
It was rather embarrassing to describe to him what had happened, but I
got over that because of the potential importance of the coming session.
"If you're going back for another repeat session," he told me, "she has
almost certainly implanted, during the first session, a suggestion of
words that will send you under quickly the next time. That has
advantages and disadvantages. The disadvantage is that you would go
under quickly, the advantage is that she will not spend a lot of time
soothing you into acceptance. Once you can get over those words or
phrases, it will be easy to go through the rest of the session without
absorbing her instructions."
He helpfully talked me through what to think of, when she first started
talking to me, and how to act sleepy while I was supposedly 'under'. He
also suggested that I secretly record the session so that if anything
went wrong he could sort it out.
The rest of the week was mostly enjoyable for me, I loved my clothes and
my life. I was even comfortable wearing the high heels and corset,
although that may, I realised, be a result of post hypnotic suggestion.
so it was only occasionally that I felt the need for more control.
Friday afternoon saw me nervous but excited. I was back in my male
clothes for the second time in two weeks and this was convenient as I
had one of my 'boy's toys', a miniature recorder hidden in my jacket's
top pocket. As before there was a brief session together, during which
it was 'revealed' to me that the Doctor, after speaking to my wife had
been instrumental in me taking a turn at being my wife's servant for a
while.
As they had been honest about this, and I had to agree I enjoyed it, I
started to wonder if my suspicions were unjustified.
The session with just my wife lasted about forty minutes. Then I was
again called in, and, as suggested, I started to work out the square
roots of numbers over a hundred. Vaguely aware that she had said
something about "close your eyes" and "sleepy byes Abigail", I had just
got to one hundred and three when I realised that she thought I was
asleep. I could then listen to what she was telling me.
"You love being a girl, Don't you?"
"Yes."
Then a long series of positive questioning like that, re-enforcing my
love of feminine clothes. This was followed by another series giving me
the urge to obey my mistress above all other considerations. Then
further reinforcement of my love of the 'Maid's Room' together with all
my duties, including not eating with my mistress. If I did eat at the
wrong time it would make me sick.
Then, after another brief reinforcement of my position as my wife's maid
she started to try to remedy my reluctance to be unfaithful.
"When you married were you a man?"
"Yes."
"Are you a man now?"
"No."
"Do you want to be a good maid?"
"Yes."
"How much do you want to be a good maid?"
"Ever so much."
"Can a man be a good maid?"
"No."
"Did you marry a woman?"
"Yes."
"Can a woman marry a woman?"
"No." (at that time it was true.-ed)
"If a woman can't be married to a woman and you are a woman, can you be
married any more?"
"No."
"So are you still married?"
"No, I suppose not."
This conversation, or versions of it were repeated over until she could
sense that my answers were becoming automatic.
"Who is Jean now that she isn't your wife?" This was a new track.
"My mistress."
"Is she anything other than your mistress?"
"No."
"Do you obey your mistress?"
"Yes."
"Your mistress's guests are important to her, aren't they?"
"Yes."
"Should you obey her guests unless she tells you otherwise?"
"Yes."
"Tell me how you should treat her guests."
"I should obey them unless she tells me otherwise."
"Are you married?"
"No."
"Is Jean married?"
"No."
"Do you look after her?"
"Yes."
Again, this was repeated many times in many ways, then;
"When you wake up you will not remember what we have discussed, but you
will act upon it. Now wake up Abigail, wake up, wake up."
I very theatrically opened my eyes, smiled and commented that I must
have dozed off. While she commented that we should return next week, I
was deciding what to do about these developments.
The weekend passed much as the previous days, but now my wife was barely
speaking to me, and she often referred to me as just 'girl'. Even
then she now didn't ask me to do things, she simply ordered me. My
enjoyment of the whole thing was starting to wear off. I assumed this
was because the suggestions hadn't been reinforced in the last session.
As was often the case now, Monday morning saw Jean tell me that she
would be out for the rest of the day, but to get dinner at the usual
time.
After I had cleared the breakfast things, I mailed my psychologist, Ian,
with the recording of my session then spoke on the phone to him,
explaining what had happened since. He found my actions hilarious, even
while he sympathised that something was seriously wrong with my
marriage. He decided to send me a recording to listen to before my next
session, to make sure I couldn't be influenced. He warned me that it
would take a couple of days but that I should listen to it at least
twenty times, ten of them within twenty four hours of Friday afternoon.
He warned me that although it wasn't possible to get someone to do
something immediately opposed to their morals, it is sometimes possible
to convince them of the action if they are given a logical progression
of events. For example, if someone is opposed to gambling, they may be
convinced to place a bet if they were told that the proceeds would be
used to help an injured child get treatment. Under hypnosis this would
impress the subject even more if the injuries to the child were
emphasised before the supposed remedy was even mentioned.
"For example," he said, "there is a child with her leg nearly torn off,
in agony. Do you want to help? There is no way to help the poor girl.
Think of her laying there, blood oozing from her wounds, just picture
her. What can you do? Nothing would help her and now she is screaming
with pain. Perhaps there is a chance. An ambulance just needs a full
tank of fuel to get to her. They are relying on the local bookmaker.
He says that just one more bet of ten pounds will give him profit enough
to get the ambulance there. Bearing in mind that belief is generated
under hypnosis, what would you do? See what I mean?"
"I nearly went out to place a bet myself," I replied laughing, but by
the time I came off the phone I was starting to worry if I should take
the risk of continuing my play acting.
As I was serving dinner that night Jean suddenly spoke to me:
"I will have a guest tomorrow evening, girl. Set two places for
dinner." It was as much as I could do not to react, but I quietly pride
myself on my acting skills.
That day she was out as usual, but when the evening came she made no
pretence and arrived home with a man. However, that was as far as it
went. She made no overt sexual gestures towards him, although she didn't
hide the fact that she had known him some time. Needless to say, she
didn't explain to a mere maid, how she knew him or anything about him.
After they had finished there drinks in the sitting room, he called a
cab and had left the house by eleven o'clock. As usual I was required
to 'relax' my wife, and for the first time I could tell that she had sex
during the day. It didn't take a genius to work out that she was never
that wet and that the taste was completely different. It took a great
deal of willpower to continue with my mouth, but I took the precaution
of saving some of my saliva afterwards in a plastic bag so that DNA
tests could be carried out later. The taste was repeated on Wednesday,
but she didn't invite him to diner again that week. I assume that after
my display of loyalty to her friends, she was taking no chances of me
reacting badly.
Once I got the antidote recordings from Ian I put them on my earpiece
player and listened to them whenever I was alone. Also when Jean was
out I installed one of my spy cams in her bedroom, just as insurance.
Friday came round and for only the third time I was in my man clothes,
together with my little witness in the pocket. The consultation
followed the same course, but when I went in I was doubly prepared with
the recording from Ian and his tip about thinking of something really
complicated. Obviously the doctor believed that I was well under her
influence.
The Doctor started off by recapping and therefore reinforcing my
previous sessions. She spent a long time going over the scenario that I
was no longer married, and my attitude to house guests. Then she
started on a slightly different tack, this time more emphasis on my
wife's marital status.
"If you are not married, who is Jean to you?"
"My Mistress."
"She isn't married is she?"
"No."
"Don't you think she will marry one day?"
"I expect so."
"Can she get married to a person she doesn't know?"
"No."
"Does she have to get to know a man before she can marry?"
"Yes."
"Will you always look after her, as long as she wants you to?"
"Yes."
"Will you look after her when she looks for a man?"
"Yes."
"When she finds a man will he be a guest in her house?"
"Yes."
"How do you treat guests of your wife?"
"I will obey them unless she tells me otherwise."
Then these interactions were repeated many times and with variations for
what I guess would have been about an hour. Then she came up with
something new, just as I was about to really drop off to sleep.
"When you wake up, your Mistress and I have some papers for you to sign.
They are not important, you read them the first time you were here and
they just related to your sessions here. They are not important at all,
so do you need to read them?"
"No."
"Are you sure? Why don't you need to read them?"
"They are not important, I read them before."
Again this was repeated several times in different ways until she felt
satisfied that everything was falling into place. Then I think she must
have buzzed as my wife came into the room.
I was woken up as before and my dear wife put a number of papers in
front of me without my being able to see what they were. I have my life
to thank Ian for, otherwise I would have been signing it away.
I managed to sign them all 'Dumb Waiter' instead of David Walters
without them seeming to notice. I was especially pleased to see that
the Doctor witnessed my signature for me.
As soon as we were home I changed into my maid's uniform. My wife
explained that she had bell buttons installed in each room, so she could
ring for me in both my room and the kitchen. She rang from the sitting
room.
"I have a guest coming to dinner this evening, girl, and I want you to
be extra attentive to him. Don't forget to obey my guest."
"Yes Madam," I replied with another curtsey.
At a few minutes to seven I heard the gate alarm and knew that someone
was headed to the house. My wife met him at the door then rang for me.
"This is Mr. Jameson he is my guest here. Fetch a sherry for me and a
beer for my guest."
It was the same man who had diner the week previous. But this time, when
I went to escort them to dinner, he already had his hand inside my
wife's blouse. Otherwise everything went like clockwork until they
decided to have brandies served in the bedroom. I was deliberately a
little tardy with them so that by the time I knocked on her door, they
were already in the throes of sex. In spite of that, or possibly
because of it, my wife called me in.
"You...were..too.. slow.... girl." She panted the words out between
thrusts by her boyfriend. "You need... to learn... to jump... to it
when... you're given ...aaannn... order."
They had obviously just climaxed together and I was told to wait at the
end of the bed. I would have been devastated by the scene if I hadn't
been so well prepared for it. After a few minutes my wife got out of
bed and walked to the corner of the room. I noticed that a few of her
things from the old craft room were there. Among them was a Christmas
wall hanging that she had made, complete with loops along the top, where
a cane was threaded through for it to hang by. She took out the cane.
"Bend over the end of the bed girl."
I realised that I would be no match for the two of them and could end up
in a serious position, camera or no, but I did feel I had to put up some
resistance.
"Please Madam, don't hit me?" I moved away from the bed a little.
As I suspected, her 'beau' crawled over to grab me, forcing me across
his lap he pulled down my panties, just in time for my wife to strike
the first blow. I had never been caned in my life and the pain of it
shocked me, causing me to yell. Further blows followed until I was
informed that I had only had a dozen stokes but the next time I was slow
serving anything, I would get a dozen from each of them. At least I
think that's what they said, I was sobbing with shock and pain.
At least, after that they just told me to bring up the bottle of brandy,
my fine cognac incidentally, and leave it with them. After telling me
to bring breakfasts at ten in the morning, they let me go to bed.
After breakfast, they told me they were going to spend the rest of the
week, until Thursday evening at the boyfriend's place so would be back
for our Friday appointment..
"B.b.but how can I find you if something goes wrong?" I stammered
pitifully. It worked, the idiot wrote down his name and address and
land line number.
* * *
By Sunday afternoon I had changed the house locks and the gate code, had
an injunction delivered to my wife at her boyfriend's house, together
with preliminary divorce papers. Of course my company lawyers had
received a change of ownership papers by courier on Friday afternoon,
but were mystified as to who 'Dumb Waiter' was.
They sent someone over quickly with a new will for me to sign, cutting
my wife out in case of problems. It's amazing what you can get done on
a Saturday and Sunday if you have the money.
Eventually I allowed my wife to collect her clothes and personal
belongings, but that was all she got. She tried to contest the pre-
nuptial agreement but after her lawyer had seen the evidence I had
accumulated even she realised she stood no chance.
I was especially gratified to receive a visit from her women's group,
including our lunch guests, who couldn't believe what Jean had thrown
away. As a postscript to that, in passing they mentioned that they
supported two homes for battered women, so I was able to give them a
very substantial donation, and a promise of future support.
A further postscript from a year later, I married Helen the day after we
heard that Dr Daphne Soames had been struck off for life, and, yes, I
still regularly dress up, sometimes even as a French maid as a treat for
my wife.
Leela
- 29.07.2022
- 6
- 0
