Husbands Should Be Seen And Not Heard free porn video

HUSBANDS SHOULD BE SEEN AND NOT HEARD My problems started when my wife's Great Aunt Sarah died. Not financially, I hasten to add, we inherited nearly thirty million pounds after taxes, together with her large, make that very large house and grounds, in the country. Marjorie, my wife, could hardly contain herself with excitement, as the nearly two months taken to sort out the paperwork and comply with the law, passed agonisingly slowly. At last all the hoops were jumped through and she opened the post to find that the firm of solicitors, who were dealing with it, advised that the keys were hers to collect. "I can't wait, Bill," she told me, "I know that you wanted to spend another week with the guy that's taking over from you, but you've worked out your notice, so lets go to the house this weekend, you can always tell him to ring you if he has a problem." I couldn't say no, she was too elated to delay our trip any longer, I didn't even stop to have the hair cut I promised myself, I normally used the barbers near work, but had been so busy that last month, I hadn't had time. I left my job early on the Friday, the other staff giving me a big farewell, and just caught the lawyer before he went home for the weekend. Marjorie agreed that, as the house was so large, she had already aranged to keep on the housekeeper, and only had to confirm that she would use the same accountants to prepare wages and other financial matters. After signing a few more forms, we set off to 'Yeldon Manor', the name of our new home. I knew that the old woman was known in the family as paranoid, but I hadn't realised that she had protected the property so thoroughly. We first passed through a twelve feet high electrically operated gate in the same height wall capped with glass, which ran all the way round the grounds, then we went through a second twelve feet wall and gate protected with barbed wire and electrified lines. No way was an unauthorised person going to find it easy to beak into the property, or out of it, for that matter. Inside the inner boundary was just a shallow bowl of grassland with what amounted to a stately home in the middle, about half a mile away down a long drive. As we pulled up at the huge double font door, it opened and a middle aged woman walked out to the car. She was dressed in a voluminous plain black dress with a full white apron over it. Her hair was drawn back into a severe bun, topped with a small white cap, but in contrast to her austere appearance, her face was fully made up and her hands sported long, red painted nails. "Madam, welcome to your home, I'm pleased to be of your service," she spoke first, "my name is Joyce Phillimoor, we spoke briefly on the phone. I have had the pleasure of serving Madam Green for fourteen years, until she passed. I hope to serve yourself to the same standards." she promptly followed this with a polite curtsey. I noticed the expression on my wife's face. Treated as the lady of the manor obviously appealed to her and I felt that, in that minute, she gained an aura of confidence and authority, that I had never known in the three years we had been married. I expected her to reply with something like 'don't be so formal' or please call me Marjorie', what I didn't expect was what she actually said. "Ms Phillimoor, I'm so pleased to meet you in person, I'm sure your service will maintain its high standard, however, I would like to discuss future staffing with you. I'm sure that I will have occasions when you will need assistance and I understand you have contacts with a number of potential assistants." "Thank you Madam, but I expect that you would wish to freshen up for dinner, so perhaps we can discuss that this evening. If you would care to follow me, I will show you to the master suite." After another curtsey, we followed, me struggling with our two suitcases, crossing a great entrance hall and up the sweeping staircase to the upper floor. At the top, corridors led off right, left and centre, we were led to the left, walking past about four doors both to left and right to one directly ahead. This she opened and followed my wife in, crossing the large room in the corner of the Manor, pointing out the two walls which were mainly windows looking out on the estate. Against the right hand wall was the biggest four poster bed I've ever seen, and to each side of that were doors. The one on the window side of the headboard led to a small study with period French desk and filing cabinets, she also mentioned that it contained a small safe, but didn't say where. The other side door led to a dressing room with vanity and mirrors and a further chest of drawers, but beyond that was a huge walk-in clothes closet. "Madam Green's things have been boxed but not yet disposed of, Madam. They include her furs and several other antique items which Madam may interested in." A third door was to the left of the entry, between the corridor and the windows on the front of the house, was a modern bath and shower room. "If it meets Madam's approval, I will conduct a tour of the house later, but I will return in thirty minutes to escort you to the private dining room. "You have beef Wellington for the main course, Madam, would a Claret or a Burgundy be preferred?" "The Burgundy please, why a private dining room?" my wife queried. "If it meets with Madam's approval, the private dining room has a table for only eight settings, the main dining room is known as the banqueting hall and can seat up to around eighty persons." After that explanation my wife dismissed her, and with a curtsey, she left the room. "What do you make of that?" I jovially asked her. "Obviously a woman who knows her place," she replied rather coldly. "You have to realise that we are no longer ordinary, common people. We have responsibilities to staff and so on, formality is now part of our lives." "What on earth are you talking about, Marjorie, we're no different from what we have always been, we've just got a bit more money, that's all." "You're wrong Bill, you need to support me in this. I have many more responsibilities, I am now a leading light in the community round here and I have to set a standard, just the same as Ms Phillimoor has to do, within her sphere of course." I was flabbergasted at her attitude. I would never have put Marjorie down as a snob, but here she was , now saying that we were better than our neighbours. A few days ago she was an ordinary housewife, a homemaker for me in my ordinary, if quite well paid job, and now the money and house had gone to her head. I was going to have none of it. "Another thing," I pointed out, "Ms Phillimoor completely ignored me, you aren't Lady of the Manor in some feudal village, we are a married couple who do things together and live ordinary lives. She seems to be trying to encourage you to take this Empress image and all the while we are no better than her, or anyone come to that." At this point I was talking to a door, as my wife had gone into the dressing room to change the casual clothes we had travelled in, for a longer evening gown she came out wearing. "Aren't you going to change?" She asked. All I did was to take my jacket off and slip a very comfortable cardigan on, it was something I did almost every evening when I got home from work. Just as I was deciding whether to put on my slippers, when there was a knock and the housekeeper returned. "I'm sorry Madam, hasn't your companion had time to change for dinner?" "No it's alright, Ms Phillimoor, he won't be changing just for this evening, is dinner ready to be served?" "Yes, Madam, would you be so kind as to follow me?" She led us back down the sweeping staircase, turning to the left at the bottom, away from the entrance, to a very expensively furnished dining room. She pointed out that from the stairs, straight across the other side of the front door was the banqueting room, but we didn't stop to explore. As we got to the table, Ms Phillimoor pulled the chair out that was at the head of the table for Marjorie to sit, then turned to pull out mine, to my wife's right, but I beat her to it, pulled it out myself and sat down, smiling at her. Her face responded with a scowl. "Why didn't you get your dinner jacket out of the suitcase?" my wife asked when she'd gone off to the kitchen. "Because at home, I've never dressed for dinner in my life." I had to break off with the discussion as Ms Phillimoor knocked and entered with a tray with our soup, in a tureen, and fresh bread rolls. In the manner of the best books on etiquette, she placed the tray on the side table designed for service, placed the rolls on our bread plates with silver tongs, then served the soup into the bowls placed in front of us, all the crockery being an elegant bone china. As we started on the soup, the housekeeper splashed a little red wine into my wife's glass. She tasted it and approved. I found this a bit rich. My wife had never been asked to check a wine's quality before, she wouldn't even have known the difference if there was something wrong. She thought that 'corked' wine was a drink that had bits of cork floating in it! As it was, the wine was excellent, a Nuits-St-Georges or similar, if I wasn't mistaken. As we were served, my natural politeness compelled me to thank, Ms P, as I was starting to think of her, but this didn't seem to be received well. My wife, by contrast, didn't acknowledge her at all. I was starting to think I had suddenly dropped into a parallel universe, where accepted norms of polite behaviour didn't exist. "I would like to go over some menus with you, perhaps tomorrow morning," Marjorie commented, almost to herself. "Of course, madam," another curtsey, "is everything this evening to your satisfaction?" "Yes Ms Phillimoor, everything is, especially as I know that until we get things going properly you are on your own. You are doing a splendid job." "I'll give you a hand if you like." Me and my big mouth. It was only what I would have, indeed had done, for others in the past, I really didn't think I could possibly be breaking the ten commandments. Ms P looked horrified, so did my wife. "It looks as if we have already recruited one new maid to assist you, Ms Phillimoor, but I take it you have strict uniform code?" My wife commented, a slight grin on her face. "I think my companion, as you put it, requires some lessons in the running of an efficient and happy house. He will report to you in the kitchen when we have finished eating." I continued my meal, unaware of what I had let myself in for, only knowing that I'd done the right thing, helping someone who needed a hand. "Go with Ms Phillimoor and do what she tells you, if you don't you'll be in more trouble than you can imagine. Don't come snivelling to me if you don't like it." My wife gave me the instruction as Ms P cleared away the last of the plates, saying that she would take a brandy up to bed with her. I followed the housekeeper towards the back of the house, then down a few steps into the kitchen, which turned out to be enormous and well equipped with modern appliances. We didn't stay there though. "Follow me," she ordered, and we went up four flights of narrow stair case, ending, I realised, at the top floor of the house, passing through a door. "These are the maids dormitories, I have the first room here on the right, opposite on the left the large room is the maids' common room. If you come into this room here," she indicated the one after hers, "I can fit you out with suitable clothes." We entered what appeared to be some sort of team changing room, with showers on one side and lockers or hand basins on the other. In front of the lockers was a table with a sewing machine and various items related to dressmaking, there was even a dressmakers' body form for fittings. "Take off your clothes," she asked. "Now!" She exclaimed when I hesitated. "But I only offered to help you clear up after the meal," I replied, trying to be forcible "No one works here without the proper attire. Now get undressed!" I turned to walk out, but she grabbed my arm, forcing it up my back. I suppose that at this point I should admit that I'm not the most butch person around. I was growing normally at school until I got to five feet five inches, then I stopped. My parents took me to doctors but there seemed to be no way to give me a growth spurt, so that was the height I stayed. Because of this problem, it was thought that I shouldn't strain myself doing sports, inevitably I only developed the physique to match my diminutive size, so it wasn't difficult for a woman used to doing manual things to be stronger than me. Ms P certainly was. "Stop. Please, you're hurting me." She ignored me, but picked up a pair of scissors and started cutting my clothes off me. Struggling and complaining only seemed to egg her on, so that very soon I was naked, she even cut the backs off my shoes so that they were no longer any use. With a final shove, she pushed me to the floor, opened one of the lockers and took out a spray can, liberally soaking my chin, arms, legs, eventually my whole body. "If you don't want a bald head, you'd better stand still," she warned. "Madam Green had no aversion to employing male maids, for some men round here there was no other employment, but she insisted that they be indistinguishable from the girls, and she took steps to avoid lewd behaviour. You're fortunate that we carry a good stock of all that is necessary, so fitting you out won't be a problem." She had me stand shivering, not with cold, but I think with shock that this could be happening. Just as the sprayed on substance was starting to burn, she told me to jump in the shower. In no time I felt the pleasant effect of the warm shower, but watched as what body hair I had washed down the drain. Less pleasant was that, as I was stepping out of the shower, she pushed me back into the stall and gave my lower body a good soaking with icy cold water. Once I was able to gain my feet, she turned off the water and held my legs down while she fitted something cold and metallic over my privates. "That will stop you getting fresh with any of the other maids, just in case you are interested, I don't have the key, Madam Travis is keeping it." I couldn't believe my ears, a chastity lock? What was my wife thinking? After I was dried off, she marked my chest, then stuck a pair of rubbery but heavy breast forms on me. They were extremely lifelike, there being hardly any difference between their colour and my own skin, they even had fake but realistic pointed nipples. After the glue had set, it only took a few minutes, she told me to stand with my back to her. She wrapped a garment round my middle, which at first I thought was a bra with an extension below it. It wasn't long before I realised that it was an old fashioned boned corset, high enough to support, although not cover, my 'breasts', and extending down to nearly my crotch. It was black with a white lace trim, looking quite delicate, until she started to tighten the laces. How something that looked so pretty and feminine could inflict such pain on the wearer, I'll never know. I begged her to stop tightening it, but she kept on until I could barely breath. By the time she had finished I also noticed, looking down, that the pressure on my phoney breasts pushed up what was just a little flesh on my chest to look like a pretty convincing cleavage. "Come with me." She took me out of the locker room to the next door down the corridor. It was a very feminine bedroom, decorated in pink, white and lavender, the bed was satin and lace, and the room was equipped with a vanity, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe. It included an en-suite bathroom and a bedside table with an alarm clock and a couple of women's magazines. Do your business, ready for bed and I will prepare you. I duly went into the bathroom and did my business, wondering all the time whatever had I got into? "Come and lie on the bed," she ordered. She had me put my legs out straight, fitting a sort of wrought iron cage over my legs, forcing my feet to point straight down, with only my toes bent at right angles. They closed round my ankles with an ominous click. "These will help you walk in the uniform shoes," she told me. "You'll notice that there is a little box, built into the alarm clock, that holds the key to unlock these. You may take them off when you wake, but use the mules under the bed to walk about in, until I come to get you." She gave me a tablet and a glass of water. "Take this, you'll have trouble sleeping if you don't." I'm sure she was correct in that assumption, but with the tablet taken, almost the next I knew, the alarm was going off. It was five thirty the next morning. I felt a little as if I had a hangover, and couldn't remember drinking the previous night, then it all came back to me. I went to stand up, but realised it would be next to impossible with the contraptions on my legs and that was when I found the key, fallen out of a compartment in the side of the clock. I had just freed myself when I heard a key turning in the lock on my door and Ms P entered. "See to your business, hurry." She chivvied me along, making sure that I made use of a pair of fluffy mule slippers with four inch heels. I did what I needed to, more aware now of the corset that I was still wearing, I also noticed in the small bathroom mirror, that I had no need to shave. Ms P then led me back to the locker room, where now a salon type hair drier was set up. She sat me down in a chair next to a hand basin and put some smelly lotion on my hair, rubbing it in with latex gloved hands., then covering my head in a plastic cap. After that she moved on, taking off the gloves, she had me spread my fingers out on my thighs, making them accessible, so she could glue on false nails so long they extended to some three quarters of an inch beyond my finger tips. These were then painted bright red and my toenails were made to match. By the time she had done this, she seemed satisfied with my hair was ready to be washed, after which she roughly towel dried it, then put all of it, section by section, in rollers. Once that job was completed, she squirted another fowl smelling liquid from a small squeezy-bottle over each hair roller, replaced the plastic cap, and again got on with other things. "Good thing you have long hair," she commented, noticing that I was long overdue for a haircut. The next job she did was to attach suspender garters to the corset, hooking each on through loops along its base that I wouldn't have noticed because they were so small, there were three above each leg. Then she bunched a stocking and drew it up my leg, for once I discovered a very pleasant feel against my hairless leg, the pain inflicted by the chastity device making itself felt for the first of many times. When she put the second on me, she pointed out that they had little reinforcement at the toe, but a seem up the back that, if she ever saw me without straight seems I would be punished. She finished the look with a pair of rumba panties, with frills on its frills, holding the chastity device up between my legs. This confirmed what I already knew from the other preparations, I was going to be a maid for some time. So much for offering to help her. She looked critically at my face, then started plucking at my eye brows. Once satisfied, it had taken a long and painful ten minutes I would guess, she painted my eyelids with what looked like a purple paint. Once done, she checked my hair and, satisfied, she washed it again as she was removing the curlers, then placed me under the hair drier. Accompanied by the hum of the drier, she spent some considerable time gluing long lashes to my own, one or two at a time, both on the eyelid and enhancing the others underneath. Then it was out with the paint brush again, drawing lines on my eyebrows, and outlining my eyes where she had placed the lashes, she changed brushes and I could see that she used a bright red on my lips. What felt like heated pads were strapped round my head, covering my eyes and mouth, and I was left in the warmth of those and the hair drier, for what seemed like a long time, but was probably only another ten minutes or so. "Time to get you dressed," she commented. "Stand up, face away from me." Much to my relief, she undid the knot of my corset laces only, to my horror, to pull them tighter still. Retying them she checked my waist with a tape measure, seemed satisfied, and took a black dress out of the locker. Once I stepped into it I realised that it was many men's wet dream, a French maid's costume, silky black with white lace trim. She did up what must have been numerous buttons up the back, tied a frilly white half apron round my waist and placed a silly little lace cap with two black ribbons on my head, fastening it with bobby pins. As the finishing touch, she exchanged my mules with a pair of black shoes, open toed to show my toenails, but with five inch heels. The ankle strap closed with a click. She guided me over to a full length mirror, but it took a second or two to recognise myself. The first thing was that my mousey hair was now a curly white blonde, my vividly made up face was a girl's, my waist and legs were what many women would kill for, but above all, there was a servant in the mirror. One, perhaps out of a men's magazine, but a servant, nevertheless. "You will be unable to dress or undress yourself for the time being, so I will help you, but once the other maids are employed you will help each other. Now come with me." She unlocked the door at the top of the stairs, then led me back down to the kitchen, tottering along on the stupid heels, although managing better than I would have thought. I guess that the frames I wore all last night must have helped. Once there my first job was to put on a very practical coverall apron so that I didn't dirty my 'uniform', then unload the dishwasher, finding out where all the different plates and utensils were kept, followed by washing down all the kitchen surfaces. Then, under supervision I had to look in the extensive fridges and freezers, remarking on any ingredients that I knew how to cook in interesting ways. That was not very difficult for me, I often liked to cook our meals, so it was slow progress as I could envisage dishes made from nearly all the items stored. For the first time I noticed a clock, it was eight forty, I had been up for over three hours and it was time to get breakfast for my 'Mistress', as I now had to call her. To emphasise that point Ms P went to a back door cloakroom and came back with a riding crop. "Bend over," she commanded, then hit me once across the backs of my legs three times. I screamed with each sudden pain. "Remember that," she told me, "if you speak to your Mistress without permission, you will get that across your bare backside, twelve times. The same applies if you complain to her about anything, if you don't curtsey going in and coming out of the room, or don't call her Mistress. Remember, if she gives you an order, you don't speak, you curtsey to acknowledge it, husbands should be seen and not heard. I will be listening the other side of the door while you serve her breakfast, every infringement will earn twelve stokes. Go now." I tottered up the two flights of stairs from the back of the kitchen (the servants' stairs) to reach the bedroom floor, then along the corridor to the master, or was that the Mistress, bedroom, knocked on the door and was told to enter. I can't describe in a way that adequately explains the extent of the humiliation that followed. When she first looked at me, curtsey and bring over the four legged breakfast tray to place on the bed, I honestly don't think she recognised me. Suddenly, just as she was about to start eating, recognition dawned. She started to laugh so violently that I had to remove the tray temporarily so that her convulsions didn't result in an accident. "My God!" she exclaimed. "Is that really you Bill?" "Yes, Mistress." I curtseyed again. "Turn around so I can get a good look at you. You're so pretty, such a small waist and your legs are so long and shapely. Ms Phillimoor told me she could do it, but I barely dared to believe her, now she's exceeded all my expectations. Now we are in our proper place, I'm the Lady and you are my personal servant, or perhaps I should call you my slave, because I've no expectation of having to pay you. I have the freedom now without all the trouble and cost of a divorce. And you're so cute, and so ready to serve as if your life depends on it, as I'm assured by Ms Phillimoor it really does. She's a real sadist, thinking she could probably flog you to death." While she went into more fits of laughter, I couldn't help tears running down my cheeks. "Oh, my," she laughed even more, "the slave girl is crying, don't worry about your make up, it's as near permanent as you can get without tattooing. Have you realised that even if you escaped from the house, there is no way of getting out of the grounds, so there's just nowhere to go. You haven't even got any unsuitable man-clothes, they've all been destroyed, so you're my little maid 'till the end of your days." "I knew," she was more serious suddenly "right from the first moment that I heard of the legacy, that you wouldn't be suited to the lifestyle I can now lead. As I explained to Ms Phillimoor, I couldn't risk a divorce where you might divide this estate between the two of us. She came up with the perfect solution, and you even gave her the cover of an excuse. Now you can be nice to everybody, the way you've always been, and I can get on with running the estate the way I want to, without you being 'holier than thou' all the time. Now, we can't call you Bill from now on, can we? What will it be? Perhaps it ought to be a bit French, I know, Juliette, it might be a good idea to have the figure to match." I can hardly remember the rest of that day, I vaguely remember serving her lunch, cleaning some rooms and serving her dinner, I think that I was in clinical shock. I couldn't imagine anyone doing this to someone else, let alone my wife doing it to me. That evening I had to attend my wife, undressing her, cleaning her make up, brushing her hair, massaging a cream all over her body and finally helping her into her nightdress. I think that she was disappointed that I showed no pain from getting an erection, I'm afraid she no longer had anything attractive to me. Then I was dismissed. That night Ms P helped me undress, except for my corset, unlocked my shoes, but replaced them with the steel frames. I was grateful for the tablet she gave me that night, although I was aware of something strange in the middle of the night. I was disturbed by the noise of several vehicles, but had no idea what they were doing. The next day started much like the previous one, except that I was helped off with my corset to shower, then laced into an identical one, which was tightened more than the first. I served breakfast to my wife, this time without much further comment from her, cleaned the kitchen and emptied and started reloading the dishwasher, etc., so much hum drum for a slave. I can't remember what I ate yesterday, but today I was given what I suppose were meals with enough calorific content to keep me alive and functioning. It didn't matter, I wasn't hungry and I only responded as a reflex action. One thing that was different was that two more maids were hired and were due to start the next day. I was warned that if I told them who I was, Ms P would punish me severely. They were two girls in their late teens, and they were full of excitement at starting a live in job with their own rooms. This meant that the following morning the three of us helped each other into our corsets and uniforms. I was surprised that they were issued with the same fancy dress costume as me, although a little longer in the skirt and only three inch heels. When Ms P gave her welcome talk to them in the morning, with me present, she explained that I had asked for a sexier uniform. They already had been told that I was male, and was transitioning to female gender. I was still required to personally serve my wife with her meals and help her undress in the evening. That night I again heard vehicular movements. The following day, two more maids started; the first two were Lucy and Molly, these were Jean and Tanya. Tanya was a little older but Jean was really the exception. Rather than a teenager or early twenties, she was about thirty, and seemed quite a lot less dizzy than the others. They were told that they each worked four days a week, long ones but three days off to make up. When Jean quietly asked me which days I had off, I wasn't sure how to answer at first, as I knew it would raise questions, but decided that I had nothing to be shameful for, and told her the truth, none, this was my home. On Friday and Saturday that first week, my wife went to London to do some shopping, but on Sunday, of all the hypocrisy, she had me help dress her for church. She mentioned to me, gloating I suppose, that in her position, she had to maintain a certain discipline and it was her duty to allow herself to be seen by the local populous. That night I got the idea in my head that it would be a good thing if these new arrivals were acquainted with the fact that I wasn't there voluntarily. I waited until Mistress had gone to bed, and the others, less Molly who was off, were all in the 'Common Room'. I waited outside, having left the door only slightly open, so that Ms P wouldn't see that there were witnesses and waited for her to come up the stairs. "Ms Phillimoor," I asked, "I've done everything demanded of me, when will I get a day off?" She dragged me into the locker room, found her riding crop, and laid into me. She pulled down my knickers and by bending my arm up with her left hand, had me pinned to a table. "How dare you question me!" She didn't shout loud, I assume because she thought the other maids might be asleep, but she was beating me so hard that it was drawing blood. I must admit that at that moment, I was in so much pain it occurred to me that I'd done the wrong thing. I don't know how many times she hit me, or how much longer she would have continued, but the door opened and Jean, Lucy and Tanya came in. I realised that at least to some extent my plan had worked, and they not only heard my question, they heard and saw the response. Only someone with the lowest intelligence wouldn't realise that there was something different about my position. Questions could only benefit me in the long term. I think that Ms P realised that somehow she'd been out manoeuvred, throwing the crop back in the locker where it was kept, she stormed out muttering something like 'let that be a lesson to you'. I, possibly over reacting/acting a little, collapsed on the floor, allowing the girls to take me to my bedroom where they bathed my wounds. "What was all that about Juliette?" Lucy asked. "Please, I can't tell you." I acted frantic. "Please don't mention it again here, I'll only be in more trouble than I already am." It wasn't difficult to play badly hurt; I was, in fact I would have scars for the rest of my life. The next morning we were told that there was to be a big event the following Saturday evening, a dinner followed by dancing. Tanya was told that it was 'one of those occasions' where her day off would have to be on a revised rota. All the week we spent cleaning, polishing and decorating the banqueting hall with buntings. We had to rehearse over again, removing the dining tables, and replacing them with smaller tables, so that the hall could be used for dancing. A small stage was built at one end so that a six piece band could play, and caterers were to come in to deal with the food. They were bringing four additional serving girls with them, so there would be eight of us all together to serve about fifty guests. I wasn't told any of this, as it wasn't thought any of my business, but I always kept my ears receptive, not knowing what was in store for me next. Speaking about observing things, I heard vehicles in the night again from time to time, and on a couple of occasions vehicles came to the house during the day, but only, it seemed, to pick up packages. In the event, there were only seven girls to serve. On the morning of the banquet, I was told to go to the library by Ms P, who followed behind me. There I found two men and a woman, all in white coats, the woman moved to my side and I felt a prick in the arm. The world started to spin and the next I knew I was being driven in the back of a large estate car through the gates of somewhere called 'The Greenwood Clinic'. When the woman, who was next to me realised that I was awake, she gave me another jab. I didn't wake from that until I was back in my room at the house. I was in pain from my chest, waist and my groin and I felt sick. Ms P was there. "In view of your outburst last Sunday, that caused me to punish you in front of others, it was decided that you needed to be taught a lesson. You now have no need to wear silicon breasts, you have your very own 'D' cup ones. It was decided that as you still have a rebellious streak, caused by too much testosterone, your testicles have therefore been cut off. You also have a nice trim figure, two of your ribs have been removed and that, with tissue abstraction, gives you an eighteen inch waist without a corset. There is now no need to wear a chastity device, with a couple of oestrogen long term implants, you will be much more girly and less macho and you certainly won't be a threat sexually to any woman again. Incidentally, you'll also sound like a girl very soon. Your vocal cords have been treated and will sound more feminine over the next few days, the more you talk the higher octave range you will have. If you continue to fight against us, the next steps will be to remove both your penis and all your vocal cords, which would solve the problem for good. Don't think we didn't plan to do that this time, but for some reason the doctor felt it was going too far, at least for now, she will certainly do it if we have more trouble." I think at that point I passed out. At any rate, the next thing I remember was Jean trying to get me to drink some soup. "What day is it?" I asked her with a croaky voice. "Monday, you were taken ill on Saturday morning," Jean replied. I remembered what I had been told and found a pencil and a piece of paper in my bedside drawer that I used to write down complicated orders. 'Tell me what happened at the dinner,' I wrote. "Oh, it was quite a do." She thought I wanted the gossip, and I suppose I did really. "Everybody that was anybody was here. Our Mistress got on especially well with Mr Clarkson, the gentleman farmer that has the land between here and the village, you'll never guess, I had to serve them both breakfast in bed on Sunday morning. She went over to his place last night as well, I think." She found the information amusing, and I think she was surprised that I didn't. So that was the reason she didn't want me here at the weekend. They were afraid I'd say something. Then I thought some more. If there were a large number of important people here, a few at least must be honest, so there must be some of whom my wife was afraid would find out what she's done. I wasn't sure, in spite of the friendship shown me, if all the new staff were women I could trust. One at least may be spying on me and would report back if I tried to get a message to the outside. I hated to think that Jean could be a plant, I liked her so much, but there was something about her, and I couldn't trust anyone. For the next two weeks my voice became quite a bit higher pitched, certainly that of a woman, not a man, although I got the impression that they had wanted me to sound like Minnie Mouse, and it wasn't as bad as that. I was on light duties, not carrying trays, etc., mainly just helping in the kitchen, even taking the lead cooking a few meals, but on that Monday, Ms P told me to go with her to the maids' common room. I was met by a woman I was told to call Ms Jane, I later found out that it was Ms P's sister. She had pushed back all the furniture in there to the walls, making a large, open space, and I notice a hand rail had been attached to the wall next to the door that hadn't been there before. I was shown later that it was actually a 'barr', used to do ballet exercises. "Take off all your clothes Juliette, except for your bra," she ordered. I was aware that the doctor had told them I must wear a support bra for my new breasts for at least four weeks. I wasn't expecting what came next. "Put these on." I was handed a pair of pink tights and a leotard. Mystified, I pulled on the tights, noticing that, apart from needing something to pull my penis back, I had a girl's crotch wearing just them, and the leotard completed the picture. "Your Mistress is concerned that your muscles may be atrophying through lack of exercise, so she has asked me to come in and teach you some dancing." I couldn't imagine anything that has happened to me worrying my bitch of a wife. Even when that news was given to me, I knew that there must be another reason. My fears grew, when I was given a pair of ballet shoes, with block toes, which she helped me on with, showing me how to do up the long ribbon ties. They were again, pink. Two hours later I was able to do a number of the ballet moves, including very briefly getting up on my 'pointes', standing on tip toes occasionally while I danced. Every day for the next four weeks, I learned the steps, obviously only to an adequate standard, rather than very well, but even if I say so myself, I have a certain natural flowing movement. Believe it or not, I would have enjoyed the lessons if they hadn't gone on so long, sometimes four or five hours a day, and if Ms Jane hadn't been so liberal with a riding crop every time I did something that wasn't to her satisfaction. What is it with these sisters? She was every bit as cruel as Ms P. While this was going on it seems relevant to mention that I still heard vehicle movements at night, with no obvious explanation. Every day my legs ached, and I developed blisters on my feet. I believe it takes years of practice to be an accomplished ballet dancer, and I had only a little over four weeks before I was told that I would entertain my fellow maids. I learned two dances, the dying swan from Swan Lake, and the sugar plum fairy from the Nutcracker. The music for each was played via a customised CD. The small 'concert' was arranged at nine o'clock in the evening in the common room, after the maids had finished their evening meal. What I didn't realise was that I would be fitted out with a costume and all the trimmings. I was stripped of all my clothes and closely inspected by the two 'Ms' sisters to make sure I was completely devoid of any hairs on my face and body. They needn't have bothered, the hormones I was fed with dealt with that. Then my hair was done up into a tight bun, and Ms Jane put more dramatic make up over the top of my permanently painted face. I suppose a theatrical appearance was required. The costume would, I imagine, have sent a young girl wild. It was basically a leotard with string shoulder straps, but the bodice was very light, almost sheer, and was decorated with thousands of tiny cut crystals which sparkled as I moved. From my waist was a tutu skirt in netting, with more crystals, that stood out at ninety degrees, allowing the panty part to be on full view. Now I've been to ballets, and I happen to know that their gussets are cut rather wider than normal for panties, to allow for their movements, especially splits type jumps, with no danger of anything embarrassing being on view. Not in this case. The panty was almost as narrow as a g-string, just covering my shrunken penis and nothing else. If it wasn't for the fact that we were now almost 'all girls together' among the maids, I would have been horrified. The costume was all a dazzling white and was complimented by white tights and shoes. In view of the fact, I was told, that the dances were supposedly by a fairy and a swan, a pair of white wings were attached to my back, between my shoulder blades. I thought I could hear some more of the mysterious vehicles as I was being dressed, and rather surprisingly, Ms P went off and didn't come back to watch my little performance. I say surprising, because I didn't think she would miss an opportunity to see me humiliated. With the maids all gathered in the common room, the music started and I got straight into the 'sugar plum fairy'. I got a good round of applause when I'd finished so continued, much to the girls' amusement, with the 'dying swan'. They all thought my performance was very good, but then none of them had actually seen a ballet danced by professional artists. They were then ordered back to work, as there was to be a late supper in the banqueting hall. This intrigued me as I didn't think that there were any guests in the building. I was told to stay in costume until I was put to bed. I got myself a cup of hot chocolate and had just finished drinking it, when Ms Jane came for me, promptly refreshing my lipstick. "Follow me girl." I trailed behind her all the way down the stairs with a horrible nervous feeling. I just knew something bad was about to happen. It was worse that I could ever imagined. I was told that I had to do another performance. I was pushed into the banqueting hall just as my music was starting. I had no choice but to dance as before, it was better than thinking too much about the scene in front of me. Three long tables were set up for the diners. A top table with the others down each flank. All the guests were seated on the outside, so that they all looked into the central space, where I had to dance, as before, the sugar plum fairy. At the centre of the top table sat my wife, in an evening dress almost obscenely cut at the front, down to her waist. She was hanging on the arm of the man next to her, and obviously both laughing heartily at me. Each side of them were about fifteen or twenty people, mainly well built men, but a couple of women, all looking slightly puzzled. When my first piece of music finished, there was a sort of half hearted round of applause, then my wife stood up and turned towards her companion. "Kelvin, I'm terribly sorry," she said so that everyone could hear, "you must be awfully afraid, you see that thing used to be my husband, and now he knows you have been bedding me he will probably come over and beat you up!" Suddenly, everyone realised what was happening and the hall was filled with uproarious laughter. I noticed that the two Ms sisters had entered the hall, top right, and were making their way along the room to get a better look. They were followed shortly after by two of the maids, Jean and Tanya. My music started again, this time the dying swan, I had to continue, so that I didn't have to think. Suddenly a loud noise was drowning my music, it was one or more aircraft engines sounding like they were overhead. In turn the noise of them was momentarily lost by the ripple of four large explosions from some way off. The chaos in the room was brought to order by Jean shouting as loud as she could. "Remain in your seats, the first one to move gets shot." The noise of the engines died a little. I was shocked to see that both Jean and Tanya were waving pistols at the company. "We are police officers, you are all under arrest under the Misuse of Drugs Act. Place you hands on the table in front of you, palms up. Phillimoors; both of you get on the floor." Moments after that, I heard and then saw a number of heavily armed men dressed in black fatigues and balaclavas enter the building, then the room. They went round all the guests and my wife and the sisters, handcuffing each of them with nylon zip ties. Each of them was searched, but as Jean confirmed, if they had been carrying weapons, they had left them in their rooms. One of the newcomers came over to me, grabbed me and turned me round. "Not the dancer, Jim, she'd not involved." Jean walked over to me. "I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to get you out. You can probably realise that a lot of work has gone into this operation." I smiled back, but before I could say anything, the room was swamped with police, either in normal uniform or obviously plain clothes officers. Jean went over to report to the man in charge. I saw my wife, handcuffed and being led away in tears. Jean brought her superior officer over to me. "This is the husband I told you about, sir." And to me "This is Chief Superintendent Weatherall, Juliette." "Is your real name William Travis sir?" He asked me. "Yes, that's right, although people used to call me Bill. Somehow it just doesn't feel appropriate any more." "Would you be prepared to make a statement about your wife's activities Bill, err, Juliette?" "I will certainly make a statement about the things she's done to me, but I'm afraid all this business is a bit of a shock. I heard unexplained vehicles usually at night and a couple of times in the day, but I had no idea what they were doing." The Chief Super wandered off to deal with someone else and Jean stayed by my side. "It's a shame you couldn't have done this before they turned me into a eunuch," I remarked rather bitterly. "I'm sorry Juliette, I didn't know anything about it until after you came back from the doctor's, even then I didn't know you'd been castrated, or they'd done something to your vocal cords." "Did you know that they've implanted slow release oestrogen hormone in my body?" "Oh, God, no I didn't," then to her boss, "Chief, can we get an ambulance for Bill? We need to get him to a doctor a.s.a.p." "Can I get some respectable clothes on? I can't go anywhere in either this or my uniform. My wife is about the same size as me, perhaps I could take something from her wardrobe?" Jean was told that as soon as I was ready, one of the police helicopters would take me direct to the main county hospital. She accompanied me upstairs, passing Lucy and Molly, who the police were taking to their homes. Both had been crying. My wife had accumulated dozens of obviously expensive dresses, but I picked out a blouse and skirt and while I was doing that, Jean did a quick run up to my bedroom to get some undies that would fit. After some trouble, I also found a pair of her sling backed shoes that fit comfortably and only had three inch heels. Eventually I was dressed respectably and we made our way over the lawn to a helicopter that was already running its engine. Jean had permission to come with me, so her debriefing would have to wait until the morning. There was very little journey time to the major hospital and it wasn't long before someone, I think it was Jean's boss had roused a consultant to examine me, I was even x-rayed while we were waiting. "Some very important people are quite worried about you." He told me. "I understand that all this was done to you without your permission?" I confirmed that not only was not with my permission, I didn't even know what was done until afterwards. I explained how a female doctor came to the Manor House, drugged me, but I was party woken as we arrived at somewhere called the Greenwood Clinic. He described the only woman he knew at the clinic and I added to the description, confirming that she was the one who had operated on me. Jean left the room for a few minutes, but when she came back she was delighted to be able to tell me that two police cars were at that moment headed for the doctor's home and she was going to be arrested. Jean was assured that they would call us on her cell phone when it was done. The x-ray found the location of my implants, and before very long they were removed by local anesthetic. The rest of the tests they carried out on me were less good news. "I'm sorry," said the consultant, "the results of the hormones' effects are not good. We could remove your breast implants, and give you doses of testosterone to make up for your castration, but you wouldn't be able to make children, and there's nothing we can do about your voice. It is not certain either, that your penis will return to its former size, and if it does it will be after a long period of treatment. Your so called 'permanent' make up can be removed by solvents, but it would take a while and will fade anyway." He could see that I looked downhearted, and was very sympathetic. "No further damage is being done at the moment, now we've removed the hormone feed, so I suggest that you sleep on it for a few days. There is an alternative, but it is a very serious step. That is, completing the job and have gender reassignment surgery. As I say, it's a very big step, but give it consideration, and perhaps in the meantime I can get you some appointments with our tame gender psychologist, she's very good." Now that no further damage was being done, there seemed little point in staying in the hospital for the rest of the night. Jean asked me if I wanted to go back to stay at the hall. I wasn't very keen but there didn't seem to be an alternative. "Yes there is," she told me, "you could come back and stay with me, I have a spare bedroom going begging." I jumped at the chance, and we grabbed a taxi. While in it, she had the call that the doctor from the clinic had been taken to the regional police HQ, and had already given them the names of the two male nurses involved. Also while we were travelling, Jean explained that she was actually a detective sergeant and Tanya was a detective constable both obviously working undercover. They had been investigating activity at the Manor when Marjorie's great aunt was alive, but they had no luck until my wife started hiring female staff. They knew that Ms Phillimoor was the organiser at the Manor house end, and she must have talked my wife into continuing with the business, it was my wife's self- aggrandisement that brought their scheme to ruin. Jean also told me that during the month prior to her taking over the Manor, Marjorie and Ms Phillimoor had met up twice at a coffee shop near where our old home was, presumably to find a way to get me out of the picture. They were pretty certain that, given my honest character, I wouldn't co-operate. We got to Jean's house as the sun was starting to break on the horizon, and quickly solved a small dilemma, her spare bed wasn't made up, so she suggested that I share her Queen sized double. She loaned me a nightie to wear, and I cleaned off the remains of my stage make up, leaving only the permanent type and I noticed that it was starting to fade. I gently kissed her goodnight and thanked her for all she'd done, we both settled for a solid five hour sleep. We travelled to the police station in the morning in Jean's car, I had to wear my wife's clothes again, arriving there at midday, by coincidence at the same time as Tanya, so the two ex maids walked in together. A couple of steps behind them, I was able to see the reception they received. Their colleagues all stood up and clapped and cheered their arrival, then they were given the news that they had been instrumental in catching a dozen of the biggest drug barons on the police wanted list at one go, and, the icing on the cake, more than ten tonnes of drugs that were in one of the Manor outbuildings. We were each taken into interview rooms to make our statements, obviously mine was largely about my experiences, but I gave them estimates of each occasion I had heard mystery vehicles at the Manor, it turned out that there was only one occasion when I was one day out. This, I was told, made great corroborative evidence. I waited for Jean afterwards in the canteen, where once she joined me was able to inform me that Marjorie, my soon to be ex-wife, was being charged with drug smuggling, racketeering, supplying drugs, money laundering, kidnap, false imprisonment, grievous bodily harm, slavery and accessory to murder. Apparently the drugs gang had discussed the murder of several of their competitors, in her presence. We just had time to go along to a firm of solicitors that Jean recommended, to get my civil suits issued against the Phillimoor sisters, the Greenwood Clinic, its doctor, and lastly my wife, in her case adding a divorce claim as well. I could almost see the lawyer rubbing his hands in pleasure. Jean had obtained a set of keys to the manor during the day, so we went over there to view the situation. The previously seeming impregnable double set of gates were blown off their hinges, replaced with a wooden gate with a polices issue lock, together with the warnings posted in several places : 'Crime Scene Do Not Enter'. They had obviously been removed forcibly to allow access to the multitude of police vehicles that followed the helicopters landing. They were one of the reasons that it had proved so difficult to raid the place before. Any drugs could have been destroyed before they reached the Manor. As we drove down the slope towards the big house that had seemed so special to me only a few weeks before, Jean told me: "I don't know what you're going to think about this, but several of the gang are under the impression that your wife had them all there for a meal, without their weapons, just to set them up. They think it's ridiculous to believe that the reason they were there was only to humiliate you. The net result is that a price has been put on her head. What do you think about that?" "Poetic justice," I replied. * * * * * The next few weeks passed by with further statements, blood tests, and me not able to make up my mind what I wanted to do. What we agreed, as our friendship continued was that Jean would call me Juliette, from the purely practical point of view as it was impossible for me to present myself as a man. Fairly quickly my wife's solicitors, through the divorce action, transferred the title deeds of the Manor to me, together with an interim payment of two million pounds. I stayed with Jean until I was able to organise re-employing Lucy and Molly together with a handyman, Molly's new husband, she had got married in the meantime. Lucy also knew a pleasant middle aged lady who could come in four or five days a week to keep the kitchen tidy and do a bit of cooking. Once I had the girls burn all the old bedding from the master bedroom, I felt I could move back in there, though not the maids' quarters. When it came time to move out of Jean's place, we were both in tears. "If I was still a man I would ask you to move in with me," I told her. "I have a confession to make," she replied, "if you were still a man I'd say no. I haven't mentioned this, firstly no one knows at work, but mainly I didn't want to influence you, but I'm not into men." "I love you Jean." "I love you Juliette." Needless to say, Jean moved in with me. Things on the legal front ground on. The gang and my ex-wife were sentenced. The men got between four and sixteen years, except two who got life with twenty five year minimums. Ms P got fourteen years increased to eighteen because of what she had done to me, her sister got four years. The doctor got eight years and struck off, her nurses got three and four years and also struck off. My ex-wife was sentenced to a whole array of different sentences for her various crimes, but it boiled down to sixteen years of concurrent sentence. With good behaviour that comes down to about nine, not nearly enough for me, but I did very well financially. The Crown took about twelve million from her as proceeds of crime, I was awarded the balance, about nineteen million in round figures plus the Manor. Even at the rate she was spending, my wife's legacy actually grew, with the interest and dividends on the capital. After lengthy negotiations, my ex-wife will come out of prison still with nearly a million pounds, mainly from the proceeds of our original home and various annuities etc.. I got two million from the clinic and doctor, and believe it or not, three million from Ms P, even after proceeds of crime had taken their share of her bank balance. The clinic also had to pay for my gender reassignment, not, I insisted, carried out on their premises. The first thing I did with the Estate was to speak to the staff and ask them if they wanted to continue wearing their uniforms. They decided that it was nice if there was an event or dinner at the Manor, but otherwise they were happier with smart casual. They were even happier when I gave them a generous clothing allowance. They decided not to live in as a matter of course, but to use the dormitory if they worked late. I raised their wages to take into account they were no longer provided with accommodation. I insisted that there was no longer any formality. In front of guests they should be a little circumspect, otherwise, I was Juliette (I changed my name legally) and Jean was Jean to them. I reinstated the double gates, but this time only making them animal proof. A local firm of landscapers came in and made the grounds into a much more user friendly parkland, and Jean did something she had dreamed of, and started collecting and breeding rare breeds of sheep. She continued with her job for a couple of years, but once we decided to adopt a family, she didn't want me to be the only full time mother. We still held the occasional event for the great and the good, subsequently I even invited Kelvin Clarkson, our neighbour, after all he didn't know I hadn't agreed to the changes my wife did to me, she told him that I had always had a kinky streak. Much more frequently, we held events for the local people, the scout troop, community groups, local fundraisers, over sixties club and many others. We quickly became the centre of village life. Our sex life was better than I could ever have imagined. It was a bit painful for a while after my operation, but I had been warned, so we took it slowly. My first female orgasm was out of this world. I think it took five minutes for Jean to get enough sense out of me, to be sure I wasn't hurt. "Quick, do that again," I reassured her. I splashed out on an Aston Martin sports car, which Jean seemed to spend more time driving, telling me that she was more capable, as a police advanced driver. It didn't take long to replace all the clothes Marjorie had bought, the local charity shop did very well, so they told me. We both loved the feel of silk undies and stockings, driving each other mad with lust for each other at the same time. My so called 'permanent' make up faded and after a year it had almost completely gone. It didn't cause any problems, I simply put normal make up on over the top. At Christmas the following year, we invited all our friends, the staff and their families, and Jean's Mother, brother and sister-in-law, who were with us for the holiday anyway, all to a Christmas Eve dinner. We had presents for everyone, but I surprised them by having costumes made for Jean and myself based on my French maid's outfit, but done in Santa style and coloured red with white fur. I can't begin to tell you what sex was like between us that night. We now have four children, two girls and two boys, they are two biological brothers and sisters. I was only thinking the other day how, if Marjorie had been more content with her life, perhaps allowing her husband to express his opinion now and then, I would have missed out on all this.