The Battered Wives' Refuge free porn video

THE BATTERED WIVE'S REFUGE My wife was born very comfortably off. That was what I always thought, but after we were married when I was eighteen and she was twenty two, her parents were killed. Then I realised she had suddenly become the richest person in our region, including the city some thirty miles to the north of us. It mattered nothing to me, I just loved her and didn't think twice before signing a pre-nuptial agreement. I had been a worker in one of her father's many businesses, but now she decided that she would need more support at home, so insisted that I hand in my notice. This didn't mean that I had nothing to do. For the nearly two years since we had been married, we had both decided that we didn't want a stranger coming into our home to do the housework. I say 'we', but Jessica had laid down the law. "Glen Barker, I will not have some random person sifting through my things," she told me. "I'm not working, and so long as you give me a hand, we can quite easily manage to look after ourselves." The regime worked well until a while after my wife received her inheritance. Then she decided, with my complete agreement, that she should set up, and help run a charitable fund. We clearly had more money than we could spend in three lifetimes, so it appealed to what I thought of as her altruistic nature, to do some good with it. I was pleased that she wasn't the sort of person that had a vast amount of money and still wanted more. We had a firm of accountants act as managers to our main funds, a series of investments that would ensure us a good living for life, then placed half the rest into our own Charitable Trust. My wife appointed four trustees in addition to a very sensible lady from our accountants, Hilary Jones by name, and herself. They started off by meeting every Monday and Thursday, with the idea of reducing that, over time to once a week, then hopefully, just once a month. Unfortunately, it didn't quite work like that. Once her charity work became known, through the county network of 'do-gooders' as I once, and only once, called them, she started to get invitations to all sorts of other community works. I had no objection, but I found that I was taking on more and more of the household chores. Jessica spent almost longer hours on her voluntary posts than I had working full time. I didn't mind. I was always a reasonable cook and I took the opportunity to expand my skills, trying to produce a really nice meal every night for us to enjoy together. I even did a meal for her fellow trustees one night. Jessica arranged for me to cook it before she left in the morning, and came home on time with her friends, Roni (Veronica) Lewis, Arthur Southern and, I guess, the youngest and certainly the fittest of any of us, Lucas d'Attain. Pippa (Phillippa) Marchant and Hilary Jones followed them shortly afterwards. Jess then took me to one side and asked me to remove my dinner place setting at the table, as they had a number of confidential items concerning the Charitable Trust to discuss. Of course I was disappointed to only be serving them our meal and it wasn't a simple one. I had pre-prepared potted shrimps, salad with Melba toast as a starter; a roasted goose with just a touch of Chinese five spice and honey, red cabbage and a tower of mashed potato and Swede, with a truffle and red wine sauce; and a dessert of strawberry Eton mess. For wines they started with an unusually light Picpoul de Pinet, moved on to a Pomerol (picking out the flavour of truffles), a Ch(teau de Monbazillac with the sweet, then cheese, biscuits and a 1977 Gould Campbell port, decanted and served in the sitting room after they had finished at the table. I was in the room long enough to receive high praise for the meal, Arthur even commenting that he thought his friend, Santacruzman, an online food critic, would have enjoyed it. As the meal had gone on, though, I had become ever more upset at being treated more like a waiter, and I made sure that Jess was made aware of that when her guests had left. She told me that I should have been proud to have given guests a culinary experience she was sure they would never have had, outside an expensive restaurant. My problems though, really started one night as I was serving up our food, when I spilled some hot fat down myself. I wasn't hurt, fortunately, but when Jess saw it, she told me how silly she thought I was, not to wear an apron when I was cooking. She went to our spare room and found two full length, old fashioned cooks aprons, trimmed with frilly lace round the edge of the material. When I asked her if she didn't think they were too feminine for me to wear, she simply told me that no one would see them and in any case, I was doing a woman's work, so it wasn't odd. The next day, when she saw I was wearing one of the garments, she said that she had been thinking that I should be more adventurous with my life. I asked her what she meant. "You should find out how other people live, Glen," she expanded on the subject. "I meet all sorts of different men and women during my work. Take the other day, I visited the battered women's refuge that I've supported as it has been low on funds ever since it was set up. It's terrible the stories that I hear, how men have beaten these women, physically and mentally, sometimes to the point you could call torture. Don't you ever think of becoming dominating in the home." I had to laugh. There I was, dressed in a woman's apron, having cleaned the house almost top to bottom, and started to iron the laundry that I'd done the day before. I was serving her the meal that I'd cooked while she was out, and she was suggesting that it was possible I would be domineering. "I don't think it's funny, Glen," she replied tartly, "you haven't seen the way these women have been treated, and I intend to make sure that it never happens to me." The next night when she came home, she was carrying a package. "I've bought you something," she said, "go and put it on in the bedroom, then come back down and show me." Mystified, I took the parcel up to our bedroom and undid it. "I can't wear this," I shouted down the stairs. "Then don't bother coming back down," she called back. I looked at the item of clothing more closely. It was a black dress, the sort that might be worn by a Victorian maid servant, with high neck and long sleeves and a very full skirt. Wrapped up with it was a pair of black panties, elasticised like a girdle, so they would pull in a lady's stomach, but would also, I realised, be very uncomfortable holding the extra man bits I was equipped with. In spite of this, I didn't see that it was worth a major falling out, so I stripped off my clothes, put on the panties and dress, then replaced the apron I had been wearing over the top. "That's much better, darling," she commented, "even the apron looks better now." "The panties are uncomfortable," I complained. "Have you tucked?" she asked me, and I had no idea what she meant and told her so. "Come here, let me show you. One of the groups we support caters for transsexuals and cross dressers. The other day one of them explained to me how they got a nice flat front." She both told me and showed me how, by pushing my balls up and my penis back, it was not only less irritating but also looked better. I pointed out that I had no intention of either cross dressing, or going even further, so that I didn't really have to know all about it. She made no further comment. The next morning, she gave me another of those panties, telling me that one pair was no good, they had to be washed and that I'd find some more pairs in my underpants drawer. After she'd left the house I checked. Nor only were there several more pairs, in assorted colours and some with long legs, all my underclothes were gone. Of course, I protested strongly when she got home, but with a smug look, she told me to lump it or leave, or words to that effect. You must realise that my wife had always a bit on the bossy side, but I don't mind that, always having been happy to let her have her little ways. After a great deal of internal fuming, I decided that it wasn't that big a deal. After all, no-one was going to see me, so what did it matter what I wore? I opted to keep wearing what she had chosen and somehow wasn't really surprised when all my socks were replaced overnight with assorted pairs of tights. There was a compensation. Sex became more frequent and somehow more exciting. Jess had always been rather passive in bed, but as soon as I started to wear the tights, she became very nearly a sex maniac. OK, not that much to most people, but certainly compared with how she was. She ran me dry, and I've always been happy with my performance. When I had gone limp, she actually worked me up again using her mouth, something that I'd sort of hinted at in the past, to get a very short rejection. Of course, I had to reciprocated, I had often done that for her before, but now she practically insisted on it. Enjoying our nightly exercise more than at any time during our marriage, I didn't object too strongly when, some time later, she decided that my 'cooking clothes' needed a better shape and glued breast forms onto my chest and fitted a bra on me. The only point I did make was that I couldn't possibly go shopping, or any other errands with these breasts, because my shirts and jackets would be pushed out of shape and make my apparel obvious to other people. Jessica simply told me that I should just order what we needed on the internet or the telephone, and have it delivered, then there would be only a brief glimpse by the delivery person, and she was sure I could live with that. Then, in bed one night that night, when she gave me a very short, sheer nighty, with a shaped section round the top to hold my breasts, I couldn't wait to wear it. We spent a large proportion of that night making love, she even suggesting other positions, including 'doggy fashion', something the strict 'missionary position' woman, had never wanted previously. A month after that, two more of my 'uniforms' appeared in my wardrobe, on a day when she had brought in some packages and sent me to clean the pool house. That night, when I looked, all my male clothing had disappeared, including my shoes, replaced by girl's T-bar shoes with two inch block heels. I suppose I could have been stronger, but my wife simply told me that as I wasn't going out, who was to see me except her, and as it made her happy, why not? Sex again ramped up a notch. Our lives continued with almost the same, but not quite, sumptuous sex for another couple of months. With winter moving into spring and with the weather changing appropriately, I was starting to find my 'cooking and serving uniform', as it had become, too hot. Of course I suggested that I go back to wearing more casual clothes, men's clothes. Jess didn't answer directly, but a little later agreed that my uniform had to be changed. Thinking that I had won, I went about my tasks with an extra spring in my step. I planned that as a first foray into public once more, I would go to get my hair cut. I always liked it long, but by now it had reached my shoulders and, in spite of mentioning it to Jessica several times, she just kept putting me off, telling me that there was nothing wrong with it. My hopes were not just dashed the next day when a delivery for me arrived; they were shattered. I had been told by Jess that morning to expect my new clothes to be delivered, so I took the parcels straight up to our bedroom to unpack them. These were lightweight maids' dresses, black, with whiter lace trim round the cuffs and collars, what's more, I could see that they would fit my body tightly by having to be zipped up the back. To accompany them were lacy white panties, a waist cincher suspender belt, black seemed stockings, a little lace cap, a small frilly apron, and black patent shoes with three inch stiletto heels. I couldn't reach Jessica, her phone was switched off, so while I waited to call again, I experimented by trying on the uniform set. The skirt part, barely came half way down my thigh, meaning that my stocking tops would show if I so much as bent over. It only fitted round my waist by dint of the cincher. Jess was out of touch until she came home that evening and she was annoyed that I was wearing on of the old voluminous dresses. "Why aren't you in one of your new uniforms?" she demanded. "I went to a great deal of trouble and expense to get you them quickly, because I thought you weren't comfortable." "I can't wear those," I complained. "I know these are dresses, but they are just too much." "Well, if you don't want to wear them you can just carry on wearing your old ones. See if I care." There was a stony silence the rest of the evening, and definitely no sex that night. The next day was warmer still, I looked at the new uniforms. Apart from the waist cincher, they were going to be much cooler than the big old, much heavier ones. I agonised for some time before I gave in. I wasn't ready to admit that the stockings and several other things about the new uniform made me feel quite sexy, but I certainly didn't find the sensations unpleasant, even the shoes were not as difficult to get used to as I had feared. I suppose I'd already got used to wearing two inch high heels before, although these new ones were rather thinner. When Jess arrived home, she was over the moon how I looked, and was duly rewarded by a return to a prolonged sexual interlude in bed that night. The next morning I felt emboldened enough to ask her about clothes for getting my hair cut. "Don't worry about that, darling," she replied, "I've arranged for my hairdresser to stop by this morning to sort you out. She'll be along about ten o'clock, so you be ready, and do as she tells you, I'll see you for a special night when I get home." The smile on her face left me in no doubt that we would again have a great deal of pleasure as a reward later, in spite of my feeling of humiliation that another person would see me like this. Kelly, the hairdresser, made me feel at ease from the moment she entered the house. There was no surprise when she saw who she was dealing with, just a pleasant smile and a cheery 'hello', then a business-like but friendly attitude while she set up in our kitchen. She made another trip out to her car to bring in a heavy duty lowish table that she set up with a little difficulty, as it had so many locks and legs on it. "Now then, have you noticed how hairy your legs look in those sheer stockings?" I hadn't, but now she had drawn my attention to it, I had to agree. "Mrs Barker has told me that you're worrying that people will see you as a man in a dress. It's my job to make sure they see nothing wrong with the way you present yourself. The first thing I'm going to do is to tidy up all that nasty hair. Now strip off and lie face down on the table please dear." I thought about refusing this most embarrassing request, but what with her pleasant demeanour and my wife's decree before she left, I decided to comply, but left my bra and panties on. As I lay down, she laughed and told me that I didn't have anything she hadn't seen lots of times before, and pulled the panties off down my legs. She commented that I didn't have enough chest hair to worry about. I've heard about the pain women have when getting a waxing, but experiencing it for the first time, I couldn't believe how bad it was, and I yelled with the shock of the first strip being removed and when she did my crack. "It's always worse the first time, dear," she told me. "Next time there won't so much hair, so it won't be as bad. Now turn over and let me do your front." If I thought what had gone on before was bad, you can't imagine what it was like when she got to my genitals and while they were shrivelled, reacting to the pain, she fixed a small, curved metal tube on my penis, locking it on round the back of my balls. When she finally told me that she was finished 'down there', I was so relieved that I hardly noticed when she started to put tiny rollers in my hair. Once my head was covered, she pushed a thick rope of cotton wool round the edge of my hair, then sprayed on a foul smelling liquid from a little squirting bottle. She covered my head with a plastic cap, then started on my hands, gluing long false nails onto my own, they stuck out about half an inch beyond my fingertips. A bright red nail polish followed both for my toenails and hands, put on in three coats then covered in the same number of clear varnish coats. By the time she had finished that job, she rinsed my hair under the tap, towel dried it, and with the rollers still in, sponged on another very cold liquid. After the cap had gone back on, she painted a red colouring onto my lips with a brush, again several coats, then rinsed my hair again and removed the rollers and washed it thoroughly with shampoo. Again it was towel dried, before another stinky liquid was painted on my hair with a wide brush. While that was doing whatever it did, she started to paint my eyelids. I asked her what all these things were several times, but all she would say was that it was a surprise, and that I would see soon. Next was to wash my hair yet again, and place a cap connected to a hairdryer on me, then continued to work on my face, this time plucking my eyebrows, then drawing lines on them, and above and immediately below my eyes. "You are so lucky to have such a good complexion," she told me as she rubbed something into each of my cheeks. The last thing she did was obvious to me. She pierced each of my ears in three places, one normal place, one a bit higher, and the other nearly at the top. She placed studs in the top, a small ring in the middle, and a larger gold ring holding a bell in the lowest. The rings with the bells, she told me, were fixed in, so that I wouldn't lose them. I had assumed that she had placed what was presumably a chastity devise on me, because she didn't want any funny business from me, but when I asked her not to forget to take it off, she laughed. "Oh, no dear, I haven't got the key, your wife holds that. Now come out to the hallway with me and have a look at the overall effect, you're going to be so pleased." Dressed only now in bra and panties, the latter showing little bulge thanks to the chastity, she guided me out of the kitchen and into our entrance hall, the little bells in my ears ringing away. She placed me in front of the mirror. I was horrified at my appearance. "What's the matter?" she asked, seeing my face. "I've done everything you wanted." I tried to take in the blonde, curly headed woman looking back at me in the mirror. I had the brightest red lips and nails, and my eyes screamed a sexy sultriness, while at the same time I had a coyness in the blush to my cheeks. "I didn't want this!" I yelled at her. She was totally confused. "Help me get it off." "I've got the list here of everything, look." She showed me a piece of paper with a list, as far as I could see, of all the things done to me. It was in my wife's handwriting. "That's not my writing," I told her. "I need all this make up off now." "B..B..But sir, it won't come off for months. It's called a permanent make up, see, on the order here. It's not really permanent, as I say, it needs to be refreshed after about three our four months." "Three or four months!" I exclaimed. "I won't be able to go out or do anything until it's all gone, how long will that be?" The girl was obviously quite upset. "Well it won't be completely gone for maybe a year, I don't know, I've never had anyone who wanted it all gone, they've all been so pleased," she was now in tears. In spite of my frame of mind, I made my peace with her, after all she was as much taken in by my wife as I was. She left with all her equipment, and I could only dress myself in one of the wretched maid's uniforms. I did the little housework that was possible in the time I had left to me before I had to start on the evening meal and open the wine for my wife and me. Nothing fancy tonight, that was for sure. I did think that I might have phoned her, but I realised that I needed to have it out face to face and all the while I had the tinkling of the bells in my ears. She breezed in at her usual time, about half past five, and showed her immediate pleasure at my new look. "Darling, you look beautiful," she smiled. "I'm a man, I should never look 'beautiful', why have you done this to me?" "Darling, you asked me to find a way that you could go to the shops and not look like a man in a dress, so that's what I've done. Why aren't you pleased?" "I'm not pleased, because if I step outside this house, I'll probably be arrested as some sort of pervert," I tried to show her how furious I was but I was close to tears. "Don't be ridiculous Darling, no one would ever guess that you aren't what you appear to be. Now, I'm not going to discuss this any more, what is done is done, I need a gin and tonic, get it for me, I'll be in the library, there's something I need to look up." "Get it yourself, Jessica, I'm not your maid." I stomped off back to the kitchen, but I didn't get as far as the door. I was crippled up with pain in my groin and fell to the floor gasping. "You will not talk to me like that!" she exclaimed. "I didn't think I would need this, but your little toy is top of the range and has a control function. Just for your attitude, you will be my maid. Now, Giselle, my lovely French maid, I require a gin and tonic in the library, get it and quickly, if you don't want me to use my little remote control again." I looked at her in disbelief, then as she slowly raised a small plastic device in her hand, I turned and rushed to get her drink. "Don't forget that if you give me a glass or anything, to bring it on a silver tray," she called after me. I did as I was told, then brought in her mail, served in the same fashion on a tray but couldn't stop myself from openly crying, tears streaming down my cheeks. "It's a good job I ordered permanent make up for you, Giselle, you can cry to your heart's content and it won't run, girl. Don't forget, servants eat after their betters have finished their meal. You know what they're trained to do." I wasn't able to reply, but went to the dining room and removed my place setting, returned to the kitchen to place just one steak on the griddle pan. I tossed the salad with a walnut oil dressing, placing it in a bowl on the serving counter in the dining room, then advise my wife that dinner was ready. She made her way from the library, when she arrived at the table she indicated that she was waiting for me to pull out her chair, which I did and she sat on it regally. I served her the plate with the steak, placed some of the salad on it, then offered her the condiments and I added each of her choices to her plate. I stood behind and one side of her as she ate topping up her wine and water as she consumed it. Once she had finished the steak, I cleared away and returned with fruit and cream for her dessert. As I watched her eat, wondering why she should suddenly decide to treat me like this. I'd tried to be a good husband and we'd celebrate soon what would be our third wedding anniversary, so I didn't believe that she'd got bored with me that quickly. "I'm going back to the library, Giselle," she told me. "I want you to move all your uniforms and undies up one floor to a bedroom in the old servants' quarters. At least one of them is equipped with a wardrobe and a bed you can make up from the linen cupboard. You will sleep there until I feel you can resume your former duties as my husband. The uniform you wear for housework is fine, but I will have a nicer one delivered tomorrow and I expect you to wear it for when I get home and for dinner service. You know what to expect if you disobey me. Two other things, Giselle. I want breakfast in bed at eight tomorrow morning, then you will help prepare me for the meeting I have at the Trust. If you try to leave this building, your little toy will automatically stop you electronically, and that wouldn't be pleasant for you. You may retire as soon as you have finished in the kitchen for the night." I placed the steak I was going to have that night into the freezer, and threw other food away, I just didn't have any appetite. As instructed, I moved the very meagre contents of my closet and drawers up to the loft rooms, and made up a bed to sleep in. I wondered where in hell's name 'Giselle' came from and what I was going to do to get out of this situation. 'Could it be that Jessica was ill?' I thought. I'd heard of people suddenly acting out of character, caused by a blood clot, or something, on the brain. Then I realised that this wasn't sudden. The signs had been there ever since she gave me the aprons to wear, and that was months ago. I got very little sleep that night, and was downstairs drinking coffee and getting the day started before six the next day. I tried to wash off the make up, just in case it was some sort of joke. It wasn't. I couldn't have felt any lower. As she was leaving for her office, she reminded me that my new uniform would arrive that afternoon. I got on with my chores, but my heart wasn't in it. I had intended to make some dishes for the freezer this week, but I just sat in the kitchen staring at nothing until I was woken from my unpleasant daydreams by the front door bell. I took in three clothes hangers and boxes and assumed that this was what I had to wear. I took them all up to my new room to unpack them and there received another awful shock. The uniforms were nothing more than sexy nightclub costumes, only parodies of French maids' attire. Three dresses, if you could call them that, each in black, pink and mauve, together with all the accessories, aprons and caps each too small to be of the slightest use, and each dress had built in white petticoats which were designed to hold the skirt out horizontally. Each came also with a colour matched g-string, suspender belt, stockings and shoes all with five inch heels. I sat on my bed and cried, realising that I would be forced to wear these ridiculous clothes. At four o'clock I decided that I couldn't put it off any longer, and changed into the new 'uniform', it would have been funny if it wasn't so serious. I tottered round in the heels, my shaking movements making the bells on my earrings incessantly ring. A little earlier than usual my wife arrived home and the first thing she did was to inspect me. "Not too bad for a first attempt, Giselle, but the next time I see your stocking seams aren't straight, you will be punished. Now get me a G and T, serve me in the sitting room." I duly served her drink, followed by a negative reply when she asked for any mail, then asked if it would be convenient to serve dinner in twenty minutes, to which she agreed. I wondered how many couples, married for three years would have such an unedifying conversation as this in the evenings. I started to wonder what I had to live for. Over dinner this was rather reinforced. "There, I knew you could behave much better," she remarked and for the first time in a while she didn't use my new name. "Yes," was all I answered. "Can't you expand on that answer a little?" She actually smiled at me. "Certainly I can." "Well?" she asked again. "If you will allow me, if someone has the power and inclination to torture someone else, they can usually modify the subject's behaviour to their wishes, right or wrong." She immediately reached into her bag and I knew that she'd found her remote as I collapsed on the floor in agony. I think she may have overdone it, because the next I was aware of was waking up to a burning sensation in my groin. I must have passed out. "You ungrateful little bitch," she spat. "I've a good mind to throw you out on the street with nothing, but of course, I'll cut those useless balls of yours off first." As I was coming round, I saw her march out of the room, and then the sound of the front door slamming. I was eventually able to hobble round, clearing up the debris of her meal both in the dining room and the kitchen, then I made my painful way to bed. For the first time I smiled with at least a small victory of sorts under my belt. I had upset my wife so much that she'd run out of ways to hurt me, and with that I was able to sleep for several hours solidly. The next morning, without instructions to the contrary, I delivered her breakfast to her bedroom at eight, but after knocking, and getting no answer, I tried again, much louder, then opened the door to find that her bed hadn't been slept in. Believe it or not, I was actually worried that, going off in a state as she was last night, she may have had an accident. By nine fifteen, she wasn't home, so I picked up the phone to call her office, but there was no dialling tone. I tried the internet connection, and that was down as well. By ten, I started to wonder if the automatic system controlling my chastity might not be working. I gingerly opened the front door, but as I started to pass through it, the device turned on and I jumped back into the house. Now I was trapped at least until we had a postal delivery, our drive was very long so we were too far from the road to attract casual attention. At three o'clock that afternoon the telephone rang. "Giselle, you are to prepare a dinner on Friday evening for the six members of the Trust. I expect it to be at least the standard of the previous meal you cooked and served to them. I anticipate that you might feel a certain embarrassment, so I have told them that you have left me and your cousin has taken a post as my maid. That will account for any physical resemblance, although I am certain that none of them will recognise you. Someone will ring this time tomorrow and you will give them the shopping list. I will be staying elsewhere in the meantime." With that she hung up. I can't say that I was greatly relieved to hear that she was safe, in view of the message. I didn't even have time to ask where she was. In a way my relief was that she wouldn't be springing any more surprises on me. Not expecting any more information before Friday, I was somewhat taken aback when the call came the next day. It was directly from our suppliers, asking for the list from 'Giselle'. At this point perhaps I should point out that I came from a very ordinary background and dealt with traders as I would expect to be dealt with myself. Jessica's background wouldn't consider any social interaction with the working classes and she wouldn't have anticipated or even understood my having any either. The young lady that rang from the 'Country Store Delicatessen' was the same lady that I normally dealt with when I used to shop and also often did our deliveries, so we both knew each other rather well. "Can I speak to Giselle please?" "Is that Debbie?" "Glen? I was told that you weren't there any more." "It's a long story, is there any chance you could call over and collect the list, say later this afternoon, I need to talk to you, but can you keep it under your hat? Not mention it to anyone?" "Sure, Glen, I pack up at four today I'll come right over." That was in less than an hour, so I had to decide whether to try to at least put on a pair of Jessica's slacks, to appear in a form of trousers. I decided that with the make up and the rest of me I would just look even more stupid. I just got out two cups and saucers, and put the kettle on before she was due to arrive. She came round the back of the house, to the kitchen door, as was her habit, but looked puzzled when I opened it. "Yes, I'm afraid it is me, Debbie," I told her. "What on earth's going on?" She was looking me up and down. I told her that it was a long story, but I desperately needed her help. I spent the next ten minutes or so, over tea, explaining how everything had gone so dramatically wrong. "That's why you've just been shouting to me to leave the stuff in the kitchen, you didn't want me to see you in that dress." I apologised to her for being so rude in recent months, she was both understanding and sympathetic. "I know all about battered wives well enough, but never battered husbands," she commented. "How can I help?" I had to then go into the most embarrassing part of my story, and explain why I couldn't leave the house. I knew that her mother worked for a lady solicitor and asked if she could get her to contact me, to try to extricate me from the mess I was in. Then she gave me some shocking news. "You do know that your wife is living with that young bloke Datting, or whatever he calls himself?" "You mean Lucas d'Attain?" "Yes, that's him, did you know?" "No, I didn't Debbie." I gave some quick thought. "That's why she's done this to me. If she just divorced me I would get money because the pre-nuptial I signed is invalid if she commits adultery. I suppose she thought that if she could get me dressing up all the time, she'd have an excuse and I wouldn't get a penny." I gave her the list of groceries I needed, so that no one would think something was odd, and she promised to get Patricia Stone, the solicitor, to come to the house without telephoning, in case there was a way Jessica could know about the call. She said that she would go straight away as there was a chance she could still catch her at the office. At five past six, I heard a car coming up the drive, I thought for a moment that it was Jessica, but then it went round to the back of the house. I went to the back door, and saw that there were actually two cars, and two people got out of them. A smart looking woman carrying a briefcase from one, and a man with what looked like suitcase full of camera equipment from the other. "Are you Glen Barker?" The woman asked, then introduced herself as my lawyer and the man as Barry, a Private Investigator. I showed them in and they spent the next two hours as I went over my story and showed them the clothes Jessica had bought for me. The P.I. photographed me wearing them, my make up, the chastity device, and I had to dig out my wedding photos to show them what I really looked like. One of the worries that she was very honest about was that my wife was a very powerful person in the area, and she may try to cover it all up. For that reason Tricia, as she told me to call her, suggested a novel approach, but pointed out that I might not want to do it. I told her to go ahead and tell me. "You know as well as me, that if you have the money, you can make most things go away." She took a deep breath. "If you were to stay here, I would have the house bugged, then we would have irrefutable evidence which your wife wouldn't want played in court. The problem that I can see is that you run the risk of getting hurt even more." "Jessica is going to have a dinner party here on Friday evening. I think what you are suggesting would be ideal as she will have all the charity Trustees here then, including the one she is having an affair with. The worst that she can do she's already done while I'm here, the only thing I'm worried about is her capability to have someone else hurt me afterwards." "I've already had a tentative word with the manager of the women's refuge, I haven't gone into details as I know that your wife largely finances it. She has an emergency address that no one else, not even the Trustees know about and she's suggested that you stay there in the short term, at least until we can establish whether or not there will be reprisals against you." With an agreement made that I would see it out, Tricia left and Barry, the P.I., went out to his car, returning with a different suitcase, this time holding the smallest audio and CCTV equipment I have ever seen. He explained that it only had a limited range, so he and his men would set up what amounted to a television studio in one of the other maids' rooms on the top floor. He went round planting his bugs in all the rooms except the toilets and a limited field of vision in my bedroom. Barry left with the assurance that he would be back early on Friday morning, with a team, to finish setting up the studio. In the meantime, in case anything were to happen before then, he assured me that all his equipment worked on movement sensors, so although no one would be here to help me, the bugs would record the event. I also pointed out that there was a little used footpath from the back lane, into our property, so they need only walk a few hundred yards and they wouldn't be seen. He gave me a radio that I could hide in my bedroom to keep him updated. The next day, Wednesday, Debbie delivered the provisions I had ordered and I put them all away. I had no intention of cooking for my wife's boyfriend, or anyone else on Friday. But Thursday, I got another shock. About five o'clock, Jessica walked in. "I'm having a guest here tonight and you will cook for us both. Not only that but you will call me Mistress, him Sir, and you will treat us with all the respect a servant would normally give to her superiors. Is that clear?" "Yes Mistress." I gave an ironic curtsey. "That is good, but practice that curtsey, it's sloppy." She didn't see the irony. "May I ask a question, Mistress?" I curtseyed with it, hopefully to get her to talk, rather than punish me. "You may, but watch your tongue girl." She went into her handbag, and pulled out the remote control for my device. "Please, Mistress, could you tell me why I am dressed like this?" I curtseyed again and prayed I had phrased it carefully enough. "I will say this, and the subject will never be mentioned again. I've tired of you. You are a different class to me, and we don't share the same sort of DNA. You are better suited to the role you have now, but I will assure you that so long as you are an obedient and servile person, you may remain working for me, in exchange for your board, uniforms and lodgings. But remember, any disobedience on your part, any at all, or if you mention our marriage in the future, I will have you taken away and all the bits that hang between your legs cut off. Do you understand?" "Yes Mistress." "One other thing, I am filing for divorce and giving abandonment as the reason. The only way you can contest it is if you turn up in court. Dressed like that, even if you could find a way to escape from the house, you would be laughed out of court. Now get on with cooking something for my guest and me to eat." "Yes Mistress." I thought hard about what I was going to cook, I certainly wasn't going to any trouble so I just wanted the simplest thing I could do. I remembered that there were some pork chops in the freezer, so I pulled them out to defrost, and used some of the salad that had been delivered, together with some fruit for dessert. I hunted round for the poorest quality red wine, finding a very ordinary C(tes de Rh(ne that I normally used for everyday cooking, and set it ready to decant, so they wouldn't see the bottle. I remembered to go upstairs then, to change into an evening uniform, feeling that the pink one would show nicely on the videos. I had just got back downstairs, when I heard a car, then a knock on the door. I answered it to Lucas d'Attain, curtseyed to him and showed him into the sitting room to join my wife. They kissed passionately, then my wife ordered Gin and Tonics for them both. "You're right," d'Attain told my wife, "the sissy makes a really good maid, he's even got the legs for it." They both laughed. "You wait 'till you see him next week, I've arranged for a clinic to fit him out with a nice pair of really big breasts." My wife's comment made them hysterical. I went and got their drinks and told them that dinner would be twenty minutes. I was close to tears, which they noticed. The only consolation for me was the knowledge that all their comments would be replayed to cause them more embarrassment than it would me. At the promised time I escorted them to the dining room, helping each of them into their chairs. After they had their meals in front of them, Jessica told me that I was to make myself available on Monday morning at nine, when I would be collected by the clinic that was going to deal with my operation. She said that I wasn't to worry, I would be back home the same day. I realised then that she actually meant to have me given breast implants. The episode made me happy when, for the salad dressing, I had just tossed it in some mayonnaise out of a bottle. The funny thing about that was they both liked it. After the meal they had port (again one I used for cooking), cheese and biscuits, and not long afterwards retired to my wife's bed. I knew that I didn't need to spy on them, they were unknowingly being recorded, but now I had the worry of getting Barry and his men into the house. Fortunately, the problem solved itself as they had a meeting the next morning and they left immediately after they had their breakfasts in bed. After seeing the young man in the buff, I could see what attracted my wife. He was a very muscular individual, and I was glad that I wasn't going to be alone when the proverbial hit the fan. At ten o'clock I opened the kitchen door to Barry and five other men. I was introduced to one of them as Detective Inspector Banning, who was there from the local police together with a detective constable. We all went up into the servants' quarters and I had them review what had happened the previous evening. Barry told me that obviously I had enough for a divorce, but they would need more for any criminal charges. With them ensconced, I had little else to do but pack a bag for my later evacuation, so I made the men drinks and sandwiches, I was too tense to eat anything. Five thirty took about a day and a half to arrive on my impatient time clock, but eventually it did, and the Trust members started to arrive. Jessica explained about her husband's 'disappearance' and that she had employed me as a full time maid. By six they were all there, drinking mainly sherry and Gin, I heard them commenting to each other that they were hoping that the new maid took after her cousin and cooked a really interesting meal. They didn't realise how interesting. At six thirty, I asked them if they would like to take their seats in the dining room, I noticed that Jessica felt confident enough to leave her bag in the sitting room. I left the room and came back with a magnum of Champagne, and passed out glasses. "Ladies and gentlemen," I announced, "today is a very special day. I want you to raise your glasses in a toast. Today is the third anniversary of the day I married my wife, Jessica." As soon as I started to speak, Jessica realised that she hadn't got her bag with her, and ran back to get it from the other room. Immediately upon returning, she press the button and I convulsed with the pain, knowing it was the last time I would have to suffer it. As soon as it stopped, I started trying to stand up, finding that I was being helped to my feet by Lucas, but once I was up, he swung his fist and connected with my ear as I instinctively ducked and fell again. The other guests were then demanding to know what was going on, and I think I may have blacked out briefly, because when I woke Jessica was explaining: "I had no idea this was my husband, he must have snuck back here in disguise. He told me that he was his cousin." That was the cue for footsteps and just when Lucas was about to hit me again, a flurry of men ran into the room. One grabbed Lucas and another started to read him his rights. The room descended into chaos as Jessica was also arrested. "You will live to regret this, you little worm!" my wife screamed at me. "You'll be out with nothing, do you hear me? Nothing!" I went to my bedroom to get my bag and by the time I was back in the kitchen I had both a technician and a paramedic there to attend to my needs. Once the man removed my chastity, I was examined briefly and then advised to go to hospital in case there was more damage than was immediately visible. As I was taken outside the front door to the ambulance, I passed the remnants of my wife's dinner party. "Why have you done this?" asked Arthur Southern. "All I've done is what my wife forced me, Mr Southern," I told him. "She put that thing on me that even prevented me from leaving the house, and she had this permanent make up put on me. It's a pity you don't run a refuge for battered husbands." "Oh, my God. I'm sorry, I had no idea." He wandered off, shaking his head. Then I saw a new face in the crowd. Debbie was smiling and came up to hug me. "Are you OK?" she asked. "I've been so worried. Would you like me to come with you?" I gratefully accepted her offer, I was desperate to have a friendly face nearby. We went off in the ambulance and was kept in overnight, just for observation, and Debbie stayed with me until late, then was back again first thing, to travel with me as I was taken to the refuge. There, a very nice lady warned us both that absolutely no one else could be told where the house was. Any breach of that rule would see me kicked out without any delay or appeal. Further than that, Debbie was told that once she left, she couldn't return, in case she was followed, but my solicitor provided me with two 'pay as you go' cell phones for us to use to speak to each other. That way I wouldn't be so isolated. We spent many hours talking to each other, and I found myself missing her every minute we weren't on the phone. About six weeks later, I was told that Jessica was making various offers to keep the whole business becoming public knowledge. She asked to plead guilty to the criminal assaults on me, both for the times she fitted the chastity then used the remote, and for the permanent make up. For those she accepted a three year term in a minimum security prison. For a divorce settlement she offered a vast sum of money to me, for a 'no fault' divorce. A non-disclosure agreement accompanied it, but I can say that it ran very healthily into eight figures. I knew she was over a barrel and demanded fifty per cent more, which I got. I agreed to drop the charges against the beauty parlour that did the make up, accepting that it was done in good faith, but I got half a million from the d'Attain family, keen to cover up their son's involvement. I suspect that heavy influence was brought to bear on someone in the legal division of the authorities, as all he got was a caution for the assault on me. Once it was all over, I moved to a hotel, then moved to another every week, so I couldn't be tracked, but saw Debbie regularly. Of course, I had to keep a female persona because of the make up, even after I was advised that it could be removed. I found that I really preferred the feel of skirts and dresses, plus it added to the disguise, as Jessica's lawyers had been told that I'd had it removed. Once it was all settled and I had the money, I made very considerable donations to women's refuges up and down the country, to help them and also enable them to look after much the lesser number, but still important battered husbands. Four months later, well divorced, I proposed to Debbie. We were married in Australia, where we moved with her mother. I still sometimes wear skirts, but only when I want to, not when someone else tells me.