The Wrong Paperwork free porn video

THE WRONG PAPERWORK By Kriz AND .......... THIS STORY IS LEFT UNFINISHED. Anyone who wants to can download as far as the story goes then continue it on to their ending. The scene for the second part is set, I would love for some other people to put their slant on how it should go. Only two conditions: 1) It always remains freely accessible. 2) It gets posted on Fictionmania site first. Reporting the posting on my review section for this story, would enable others to find it. Remember, it's being told in the first person (by the main character). This is a chance for someone, who perhaps hasn't written before, to have a go. I have my own idea how this should carry on and end, and if it's very different from anyone else's, I may complete it myself at a much later date, but in the meantime: HAVE A GO & GOOD LUCK CHARACTERS: Storyteller & main character: Anthony Martin now Trixie Part 1 (Can reappear in Part 2 or not) His Wife: Samantha Martin Her Mother: Cerys Thomas Wife's sisters: Megan (13) Gwen (15) Headmistress: Miss Virginia Small Teacher: Miss Cynthia Hancock Part 2 (As far as it goes but add your own) Property owner & Cerys's Sister: Gwen Jones Head Housekeeper: Ms Smythe Known as Cook: Arthur Jones THE WRONG PAPERWORK PART I JUST A LITTLE SNIP Right from the start I must point out that I knew I wasn't the most eligible bachelor in the world, in spite of my money. My parents died without my Mother's fondest wish, to see me happily married off. The reason was quite simple, I'm only five feet one inch tall, not short enough to be called a 'midget' but not tall enough to be called anything other than a rude name. A few women dated me in my early twenties, but the first mention of a pre-nuptial agreement, and they went scurrying off. "Sorry Tony (or Anthony) marrying you is just not worth it," they would say. Samantha was different, her family didn't have a great deal of money, but her widowed Mother, Cerys Thomas, was what I would describe as comfortably off, having been left a six bed roomed house, with substantial savings and life insurance, by her late husband. Sam loved travelling, eating in fine restaurants and going to the theatre. She pointed out to me that size isn't everything, and after only four months of courtship she gladly signed the pre-nup., and we were married, quietly. She didn't want to spend my money on a lavish affair, she just wanted to be Mrs Anthony Martin. The only thing that she was adamant about, was that she didn't want children. I was twenty one when we married, and weighed 100lbs soaking wet, and Sam was five inches taller and half as much as me again in weight. Her Mother and two sisters, fifteen year old Gwen and Megan, thirteen, came to the ceremony, both big girls for their ages. I was very self conscious in their presence, but we didn't plan to spend long with them, as I had a large house myself, in England. For the first few months Sam took the pill, but it upset her stomach and eventually she persuaded me to have a vasectomy. We were staying with her mother at the time, in an obscure part of Wales where all the locals spoke Welsh, or at least I think they started speaking it when a non-Welsh speaker entered their company. Perhaps it was just me being paranoid, especially as Sam was able to mostly translate for me. "Anthony," she said one day, "I've made an appointment for your vasectomy at the private clinic that Mother uses. Now, are you sure you want to go through with it?" "We've discussed this round and round Sam," I replied, "you know that we can't continue with you being sick all the time, and you know that I've agreed it's a good idea. Besides, these days they can usually reverse it if we change our minds." Now I've been a careful man ever since my parents passed. I was worried that, if something went wrong, my estate would be tied up for years, I happen to know that I have cousins who would love to get hold of the family wealth. I therefore asked Sam's Mother's solicitor to meet us at the clinic to deal with a few matters, I believe that Sam suggested it originally, and I valued her input. On the morning of my appointment, we arrived en masse and started signing forms which the solicitor and Sam's Mother Cerys witnessed. I should explain that Cerys is a Welsh given name, derived from the Welsh for 'love'. Many of the forms were in English first, then in Welsh, but I happily signed a limited power of attorney for my wife, giving her control of our finances, just while I was having treatment from the clinic. If something went wrong, she would be able to act on my behalf. Most of the conversation was in Welsh, I just signed where I had to, then my solicitor and my Mother-in-law left, and as soon as I was settled in my bed, Sam followed suit. I thought it a little strange, I was under the impression that this was purely an outpatients procedure, but Sam told me that this clinic was just being very careful. Left on my own, I found it difficult to communicate, as all the staff spoke in Welsh, but it wasn't long before a senior looking nurse came and gave me an injection. The next I knew, Sam was looking into my eyes. "Darling, can you hear me?" I sort of grunted, but my throat felt sore to speak. "Don't try to talk darling, I have to tell you that you will feel better soon, but the doctor is going to put you out for a little while longer." I felt strange, but realised that I was waking for a second time and Sam was still there with my solicitor. "Darling, I don't want you to speak for a minute, will you just listen and nod? Good, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you. The papers we signed, for your vasectomy. Well by coincidence there was another Mr Martin who came into this clinic the morning after you. Now, you won't believe this, but that Mr Martin was coming in for gender re-assignment surgery. Mummy and I didn't really read the paperwork that we all signed, in any case, my Welsh isn't as good as it should be. Anyway, the long and short of it is that the other Mr Martin had a vasectomy, so you can probably guess by now what you had." "What?" I exclaimed the question, but I couldn't tell for a moment who had spoken, the voice was so unfamiliar. I even looked round to see if there was a young girl in the room. There wasn't, it was my voice. "Someone here realised something was wrong, when they didn't recognise the Mr Martin they had been treating for gender dysphoria, so of course they called a halt to proceedings. Unfortunately they had already done the body sculpturing, your voice, and started to remove most of your penis, but before they took off your testicles, they stopped what they were doing." "Tell them to change me back!" the little girl's voice shrieked. "Darling, I'm afraid it's not as simple as that. The best they could do was to give you a flat crotch, by stitching up what was left of your sack, as best they could, and making sure that you can pee properly, although that will have to be done sitting down until they can get you back into surgery. The point is, that can't be done straight away, and they will want to discuss with you, where they go from here." "I'm afraid that is all that can be done for the moment Mr Martin," the solicitor spoke for the first time, "I'm afraid that we have no recourse against the clinic, as all the paperwork was signed for what was done. I, of course, was not party to discussion of your procedure, I was simply here to act as a witness." I then became so agitated, that the doctor had to put me out again. The third time I woke I tried to be pragmatic, and started by asking Sam how long I'd been it the clinic. When she told me that it was nearly four weeks, I was staggered and decided then and there that I should take steps to get home. "Darling, I think you should consider how you want to dress," Sam told me. "Have a look in the mirror at your face." I didn't think it was me when I saw the reflection. My eyebrows were thin and arched, my nose reduced in size to a cute 'button', my lips were what I think used to be called Clara Bow shaped, only a little thicker, and puckered in a very feminine way. The whole look of my face was changed by my jaw being reduced and my ears were smaller and flat against my head, the hair on which, was pulled into two pig tails, tied with yellow ribbons. "You see what I mean?" my wife asked me, I sat in stunned silence, it was so much more worse than I had imagined. "I'm not at all sure you would look right in your old clothes, quite apart from your body. I think it's time you had a look at what you're going to have to live with, at least for a while." As she helped me out of bed, I realised that I was wearing a cotton nightdress, decorated with tiny pink flowers. She helped me stand in front of the full length mirror on the back of the door. Then she lifted the nightie over my head and I nearly fainted. Standing in front of me appeared an apparently perhaps, sixteen year old girl, pert 'B' cup thirty two inch breasts, with nipples engorging as I looked, and a narrow waistline any woman would die for. I had perfectly pale, smooth, unblemished skin, but worst of all I seemed to have a slightly pronounced mons pubis, with a distinct and seemingly deep cleft down the middle. In other words, what looked like the genitalia of a teenage girl, but I was completely devoid of any hair, anywhere on my body or face, except for those thin eyebrows and lush lashes. My body accurately reflected my young girl's voice. I asked when I could talk to a doctor about this, but Sam warned me that they were reluctant to talk to me directly, because they didn't want any sympathy they might express, to be part of any litigation, but that they had given her and her mother all the information. "One thing you mustn't worry about is that what looks like your mons, are actually your testicles, what is left of your penis is set between them. That will be what they have to rebuild, when the time comes, but in the meantime you will have to wipe whenever you pee." She took a deep breath. "You see the problem darling," Sam was trying to be patient, "your shirts won't fit over your chest, your trousers won't fit over your behind and will be too loose at the waist. Apart from all that, you'll look like a schoolgirl dressed as a man." I sat back down on the bed. "What do you suggest?" I asked, knowing pretty damn well what the answer was going to be. "I've brought two bags of going home clothes. One has your old clothes in, the other has clothes more suited to your new, if temporary body. It's up to you to choose." "I suppose I'd better dress in the latter, I'll have to shelve my men's things for the time being." I had to accept the inevitable. Even in my pragmatic frame of mind, Sam's choice of clothes unsettled me, it was the uniform of a local girls' private school, the one her sisters went to, right down to the blazer and tie. My feelings didn't improve when I found they were hand-me-downs from one of Sam's sisters. "Frankly, Anthony, I thought that with your appearance and, let's face it, your height, you might be mistaken for a girl playing truant. I thought it safest to pretend that you are at school, but had a doctor's appointment. It's an easy excuse to make, and could save you quite a bit of embarrassment. You know I always try to do things for the best." We exited the clinic and drove to her Mother's house without incident, and I felt, once I was indoors, I could relax. Sam and Cerys had gin and tonics, Sam suggested that I start to act in the part of the girl I now appeared to be by only having a cola, joining her sisters, Gwen and Megan. The girls were actually much enamoured by my changes, thirteen year old Megan claiming that now they would have to baby-sit me. I was a little annoyed that she wasn't reprimanded, but I realised that if I didn't want to attract attention, I needed to behave like the little girl I seemed to be. "You are going to be trapped this way for a while," Sam told me, "the doctor said that it would be two or three months before your body has recovered enough to take another major operation, like you've just had. We have to plan exactly what we are going to do during that time, after all you can't stay housebound, you'll go crazy." I had to agree and ask what she suggested. "Well, first of all, we can't keep calling you Anthony. You need a girl's name, and it needs to sound modern." She gave some thought. "How about Trixie? That sounds modern, and is nothing like Anthony." I indicated that I couldn't care less, what I was called. "Now, another thought has struck me." Sam was thinking fast. "I don't think that you should come out of all this trauma and inconvenience without some form of compensation. We can't force the Clinic to pay anything, because they say it was due to our negligence. Have you any idea how we can get compensation, perhaps by bending the rules a little?" "I have an idea," Cerys spoke up. "I know the directors of the clinic very well, and one of them owes me, I can't say what for, but he owes me big time. You carry a hefty life insurance, don't you, Anthony, I mean Trixie?" "Yes, I do." I couldn't see what that had to do with it. "Suppose that you had died in the clinic, while you were under anesthetic, you would get how much? If you don't mind me asking." "I think it's around ten million." "Well leave it with me, I'll see if there is anything I can do." "In the meantime," Sam suggested, "we explain your presence as being my young niece, Trixie, who has come to stay with us for the summer, and the first thing we have to do is to buy you a complete wardrobe, we'll start on that tomorrow morning." "I don't have to come with you, do I?" I whined. "You have all my measurements that the clinic gave you." "Of course you do, silly," Sam was adamant, "we need to see how the clothes look on you. A teenage girl would never wear something that didn't suit her, and if you did, it would seem odd. I really am thinking of making sure you have no humiliating moments because of this and the only way to do that is for you to act, and be treated like any other teenage girl. Talking of which, you must call me Auntie or Auntie Sam, and mummy as Auntie Cerys all the time, Because if you don't, you will make a mistake in public, you can see that, can't you Trixie?" "I suppose so... Auntie." "Another thing," the list of things Sam was changing was getting longer, "it's obvious that we can't have sex, at least in the normal way now. Don't you think that it would save a lot of frustration, if we put all your new things in one of the guest rooms?" I was embarrassed discussing this aspect in front of her mother, not that Cerys seemed to mind, but again I had to reluctantly agree. In spite of what I felt earlier, I was beginning to feel that the sooner we could get to the shops and away from these topics of conversation, the better. As we got in the car, another reality hit me. I wouldn't be allowed to drive for the duration of this problem., I just appeared far too young and the wrong sex for my licence. Explaining my predicament to a line of policemen, just didn't bear thinking about. There was a good sized shopping centre a few miles away, and there we parked, first of all heading to a store selling 'women's intimate apparel' as it described itself. The first thing 'Auntie Sam' had me do was to try on several bras, varying from the mundane to the frivolous. We bought six sets consisting of bra, panty, chemise and suspender belt, as well as several white bras and many more panties, of all shapes and some going down to the briefest of g-strings. A pack of ankle socks with various coloured trim, then fistfuls of pantyhose and stockings were thrown into the cart with seeming abandon. Last purchases there were half a dozen nightdresses. Next was a 'Teen Fashion' store, where I had to try on, what seemed like, dozens of dresses, blouse and skirt combinations, and even three swimming costumes, a one piece and two very revealing bikinis. As 'Auntie' pointed out, there could hardly be a dispute over my apparent gender wearing one of the latter. By the time we left there we had to go back to the car just to unload our purchases, then returned to reload, stopping off for a snack lunch while we had little to carry. Two shops along from the dress shop was an accessory store, where they offered ear piercing. Auntie told me that she would have liked me to get three piercing in each ear, but that it was too much for my age, so I just had one in each, with small gold studs inserted. She went mad over other items of jewellery however, and we came away with two appropriate watches and too many bracelets, necklaces and earrings to count. She did tell me that shopping was a not very secret vice of most women, and even though it wasn't things for her, she was enjoying herself. Then we started a trawl of shoe shops, mostly nothing outlandish, two inch block or wedge heels being the norm, but she did buy a couple of pairs of four inch stilettos, so that, according to her, I could get used to them. I asked her why I needed to and she just told me that every girl did. All together I accumulated about ten pairs, adding a couple of raincoats from another shop we passed en route. One thing I was relieved about, we bought very few cosmetics, I was told that I was too young for a lot, just some tinted lip gloss, mascara and some nail varnishes with a bottle of remover. Of course, all day I was in the same school uniform that I had come home from the clinic in. Our last port of call was a 'teen' type shop, which also sold uniforms. When I queried that, Auntie told me that as I'd complained about having thirteen year old Megan's old clothes we were going to buy me new ones. I was told that I would need an overcoat, beret, a spare blazer and tie, together with at least several spare blouses, skirts, and socks. The sales assistant also pointed out that I would need their approved panties and short skirt for games, shoes for gym and dance, together with a leotard, and a regulation swimsuit. We could hardly say that I wouldn't really be going, so we bought all the ancillary items as well. "You're so lucky," the assistant told me, "it's well known as a marvellous finishing school and I heard it's very difficult to get a place. I haven't personal experience of it, of course." 'Auntie' and I just made the appropriate noises. It took nearly and hour to put away all my purchases in my new bedroom, mainly because by the time we got back to my mother-in-law's house Megan and Gwen had arrived home and they wanted to see everything. If they'd had their way, I would have had to model everything as well, but fortunately we had been warned that we would have tea at five thirty, then the girls had to do their homework. "You mustn't take this wrongly, Trixie," my wife, I mean Auntie, told me, "But here the girls have tea, do their homework, then have an hour to themselves before bedtime. Mummy, Aunt Cerys and I, both agree that if you don't want to be caught out in an embarrassing situation, you should do the same." "What about dinner?" I asked. "I'm sorry, Trixie, only the adults in this house have dinner, the children eat at lunch time and then only have tea. What would happen if we had a visitor and they saw a young girl up late, talking to the adults?" Life wasn't treating me well, I thought, it wasn't as if the mix up was my fault. It wasn't helped when Auntie Cerys gave me a school biology book, for me to study while the girls did homework. It was all about human bodies, and seemed to spend an inordinate number of pages dealing with the reproductive organs. Really! What a thing to show young girls, it would be enough to put them off men for life. At nine o'clock Auntie Cerys called upstairs to tell us all to go to bed. I ask you. Nine o'clock! Mind you I did seem a bit tired, I think it must have been all that shopping. I did think of Sam as I lay there, and started to get a bit randy. It's the first time since before I went to have my operation. I tried to Jack myself off, but rubbing between my legs did nothing and when I did it harder, it hurt, just like I was squeezing my balls. I ended up falling asleep frustrated. I had to get up the next morning the same time as the girls, and had breakfast with them. Auntie Sam came down a little weary eyed, then look serious. "I'm afraid we have to go a step further with you than we anticipated." She told me, holding me on the shoulder. "We had a couple of friends of Mummy round last night, just for a chat, and one of them is Headmistress at Megan and Gwen's school. I thought it best to mention that you are staying here for a couple of months, which seemed sensible enough at the time. But Virginia, that is Miss Small the Headmistress, said that you should be enrolled with them rather than miss out on your education. I tried to get out of it by saying that there were personal problems at home for you, and it might not be legally possible for you to get transferred. She just said that, for the sake of two or three months, they wouldn't insist in asking for your records, they would simply give you their own test to place you appropriately in the class here. I'm sorry, Trixie, but you have to go to school with the girls, and remember your surname is now Thomas. I'm sure you will be OK." "But couldn't you explain that I'm ill, that I'm still being treated by the clinic?" I pleaded. "After all it is true." "You would still have to attend school, it's the law." Auntie Cerys wasn't about to help me. I ended up catching the school bus with the girls, Auntie Sam was told to come in at ten thirty to discuss how my tests went and to work out my curriculum. The tests were awful. I'd completely forgotten so many things in the five years since I left school, without any significant qualifications, I hasten to add. With my money, I didn't need to work. I hated going to the Headmistresses study with my Auntie to face the music. "Mrs Martin, I'm sorry to tell you that Trixie didn't do at all well in her tests," she reported. "I'll admit her, but I'm afraid that she will have to join her cousin Megan, in her class. Even then, I hope it won't stretch her too much." I was going into a class of thirteen year olds. "Now I would like to discuss her subjects." The Head continued. "She obviously hasn't a great academic bent, but we aim to equip our students with what they need to follow their most likely careers. In Trixie's case I would recommend the following subjects outside the key ones of maths, English and biology: Home economics, cosmetology, shorthand, typing and of course, dance and games. That would start her off and we could see if other subjects present themselves as being within her scope of competence." "Biology is a key subject?" queried Auntie Sam. "Girls of her age, must be prepared for real life, and that includes both the more sordid side, and an understanding of how to make the most of opportunities, to both receive and give pleasure, and look after their own and their family's well being." "Well, I suppose I must go by your recommendation, Virginia, after all, you are the expert." "Good, that's settled then, just one more thing before you both leave. I would like to warn Trixie, that as a private school, we reserve the right to punish our pupils for misdeeds. We still carry out corporal punishment here, administered by myself. We require parent or guardian to sign acceptance of this recourse. I always have a witness to such punishments, usually another member of staff, but as your guardian, your Aunt has the right to be that witness, this is to ensure that it is all above reproach. Trixie, that is the bell going now, so if you would like to go out to my secretary, and wait in her office, she will give you your timetable. Then tomorrow, you can come in your uniform with your cousins, and Megan will be able to show you where to go." With that I was dismissed. I was from then on officially a schoolgirl, without a say in it myself. The next morning, as was expected of me, I went to school with my 'cousins', enduring a number of questions from their friends. I managed to construct what I thought was a reasonable back story, then, once in the classroom, and the day started I was introduced to my fellow pupils by our form Mistress, Miss Hancock. I soon learned that her nickname was Miss Hand Job, so much for the girls needing to be taught the facts of life. After we filed in for morning assembly, we were led through a short, non-denominational service, then the Head announced that complaints had been received, of pupils drinking alcohol at lunchtime. We were reminded that this was a very serious offence and if anyone was caught, they would be punished severely. After all my mental torture of the last twenty four hours, the actuality of going back to school, wasn't too bad. At lunch, Megan found me and was surprisingly friendly, but the afternoon bought with it my first real embarrassment. We had to change for dance class, which was ballet. The class was held in the main hall, on the stage, and we had to use the changing rooms behind. I had to try to avert my eyes from many of the girls, who had no qualms in wandering around naked. It wasn't right, I was a man in a young girls' changing room. I had to join in the dancing, copying the others as far as possible, but when they rehearsed the production they were doing for the school concert, those playing female parts, had to wear a tutu, distinguishing them from the male characters. Much to my dismay, I was one of the 'girls', as in the scene they were rehearsing, all I had to do was to be lifted, and supported off by a 'man'. The girl playing that part was Megan, who was chosen because of her height. She easily lifted me and did a little spin as she carried me off stage. The teacher asked one of the other girls to give me some idea of a number of the ballet steps that they already knew, as a start for me catching up. That night, while we were doing our homework, Megan and Gwen both tormented me by saying that I must be some sort of pervert, mixing with thirteen year olds, while they were nude. Of course they really knew what had happened, but they couldn't resist teasing me, but Gwen went beyond acceptable norms by lifting her dress and pulling her panties down. "Do you like what you see, Trixie?" "Cover yourself up!" I practically shouted. "That isn't funny." The trouble was that I went to bed that night with a picture in my mind that no grown man should have. What was worse was that I became extremely randy when my thoughts wandered off to imagining my wife. It tool a long while to get to sleep, suffering as I was from blue balls. School the next day was even worse than my first. We had games and played netball and at first I was worried that I would hurt some of my classmates, being a man and all. No such problem. They played like demons and it was me in harm's way most of the time. I had to avert my eyes as we all showered in together afterwards, it's not right, I decided that I should get Sam, I mean Auntie, to write a note excusing me from physical activities. Auntie point blank refused to do any such note when I asked her. She said that it would only draw attention to me, and that was the last thing that I should want. With much regret, I suppose that I had to agree with her. The rest of the week went by without a major incident, in fact as each day passed, Megan and Gwen gradually became more friendly with me, so that by Saturday they invited me to go to the Mall with them to meet up with their friends. If it wasn't for having to wear an almost indecently short mini skirt I think I would have really enjoyed myself. I joined the group of five or six girls, mainly to go window shopping but we also hung around at the coffee bar, and made ourselves annoying to any groups of boys that happened to pass. I must admit that, having been on the receiving end of such abuse over many years, it was fun to be on the other side. On Sunday we all had to dress up to go to church, something I've only done very rarely before, and then only if I couldn't get out of it. Auntie told me that I would be going into school late tomorrow, she had already spoken to Ms Small, and the Head understood that it was important. "I've been worried for some time," My wife, I mean Auntie told me, "I still have the Power of Attorney over your finances, and I don't like the responsibility. I'm particularly aware that you don't have access to your own funds until everything is put right. You obviously can't even go signing your name to anything until that happens, so I've arranged with the bank to open a current account in your temporary name, Trixie Thomas, and just put twenty thousand in it. Once you've signed the papers at the bank tomorrow, they'll give you a bank card and you won't be relying on me to give you hand outs of your own money. I hope that's alright, Trixie? I can put more money into the account if and when you want, but hopefully you won't have to wait that long before everything's back to normal." I thankfully agreed and was grateful for her consideration. In the morning we drove into town for the appointment, and very quickly we were seated in the Manager's office. "Now you have to be very careful with all that money, young lady," the Bank Manager told me as I gave my specimen signatures to open the account. I nearly blurted out that I was used to handling sums that would almost buy his nationally known bank outright, but refrained in time. "Your Uncle was very generous to you, wasn't he?" This puzzled me, because I knew that it was my wife that had arranged things, but I just agreed with the man and otherwise held my tongue. I intended to ask 'Auntie' about it once we were outside, but the bus came along that I had to catch to get to school, so I dismissed it as unimportant. As I was making my late entrance to the school, one of the girls that had been with us on Saturday, at the Mall, called over to me. "Pssst...Come with me," she whispered, "we're going to meet up with the others." I followed her round the side of the building, to the lean-to sheds where the school visitors parked their cars. Squeezing between two of them, I saw a couple of the others that I recognised, but not Megan or Gwen. When I asked about them, I was told that they would join us when the school was let out for lunch. They passed me a large brown paper bag with something inside. It was a bottle of Single Malt Scotch, my favourite tipple and something I'd really missed. I was invited to take a swig, which I savoured and swallowed before passing it on. We squatted behind the sheds for a few minutes when, as well as the scotch, a cigarette was passed along. I'd never smoked, but didn't want to appear to be an outsider to the girls, so I took a couple of tentative puffs. The scotch bottle was nearly empty when we heard footsteps and assumed that it was the sisters. "What do you think you're doing?" Miss Hancock, my form Mistress was staring down at us. We were all marched off to the Headmistress's study and told to wait outside. One by one the others were taken in, and I could hear the sound of them getting the cane. Miss Hancock stayed to witness their punishment, but came out and walked away before I had been interviewed. I found out the reason soon after. My Auntie arrived and was shown straight into the Head's room. Soon afterwards, I was called. "You have been caught both drinking alcohol and smoking," the Head was very serious, "have you any reason why you shouldn't be punished for those offences?" I shamefacedly admitted that there was no excuse. "In that case you will receive six strokes of the cane now, that is the maximum you can receive at one time and that will be for smoking. For the next two mornings you will report here with your guardian before the time for assembly and on each occasion you will be given a further six for drinking on the school premises. Is that clear?" I just nodded and, close to tears, I lowered my panties, lifted my skirt and leaned over the Head's desk as was indicated. I couldn't believe how much the cane hurt. By the time I had the six, even the action of pulling up my panties was painful and what made it worse was that I had to look at my wife from this humiliating position. I thought for a moment that she was smirking, she was certainly very flushed and it reminded me of how she looked when she fancied sex, however, I put that down to my imagination or her embarrassment. With tears streaming down my face I had to go off to find my classmates. When I got home that night I demanded that Samantha pull me out of the school immediately, to save me from further canings. "Just because you've been a naughty girl, doesn't give you the right to dodge what's coming to you," she told me. For the next two mornings she drove me to school, firstly, she told me, to make sure I attended, but more importantly, because she was forced to be there to witness my punishment for disgracing the whole family. "You're a very bad influence on Gwen, but especially Megan," she scolded me. "What will we do if she starts to copy your bad behaviour? I cannot have that happen, so with the holidays coming up, I am going to have to think of a way to separate her from your bad influence." "But it was her friends that organised it, and she would have been there if we hadn't been caught so quickly," I wailed. "That's right, blame a thirteen year old for your bad behaviour. How low can you sink?" I was sent to bed early as if I was a naughty child, not a twenty one, nearly twenty two year old man. I cried myself to sleep, I seemed to be crying a lot those days. In another three weeks I was delighted to find out that the school would be breaking up for the summer holidays. However I brought home my school report with a sense of impending doom. I knew that it wouldn't be good. It wasn't. Both Aunties called each of us in to see them in turn, I was called last. "You know that the report you've been given is awful, don't you Trixie?" Auntie Cerys asked me. "Yes, but I'm not really a schoolchild, am I?" I countered. "To all intents and purposes you are," said Auntie Sam. "The only thing that you seem to have any affinity with is anything to do with home economics and the reason, so I gather is that you are quite good at laying tables, presenting and serving food. You also seem to be already expert at using cosmetics and hairstyling. Do you enjoy doing those things?" "Yes they are easy, I don't know how I picked up those last things, make up and hair, and so on, but I know about serving food because I've been served it so many times that I can spot when it's done wrongly," I answered honestly. "For a variety of reasons, Mummy and I have decided that you are too much of a liability to have round here all summer." "What do you mean?" I interrupted my wife. "You are not immersed in your part sufficiently, you are going to make us all look fools if you slip up. We're also concerned that you might lead the girls astray, what with your drinking and other bad behaviour. Ms Small recommends that you attend a summer school that my Aunt, Mummy's sister runs, she will teach you to make the most of the few talents you seem to possess. It's on an island, so there would be no danger of you coming into contact with someone who could identify you and tell everyone what you look like now. They are sending a minibus to collect you tomorrow morning, so pack enough clothes to last a week, and anything else you need while you are there we can ship on to you." With that I was dismissed and I couldn't make them listen to anything else I had to say. I went to my room where the two girls came to join me. They made suggestions as to what I should take with me, both remarking that they were going to miss me, and saying their goodbyes because they were going out to meet their friends early in the morning. I didn't sleep well that night, I lay awake trying to work out why I was in such a mess. The next morning, I finished packing my last minute things when both my wife and her mother came into my room. "The bus has arrived to take you to where you are going," my wife told me, then opened the door to a man in a white coat. "Before you leave there is something you need to know. During the course of your operation at the clinic, you died." My mouth dropped open, but she continued: "You'll be pleased to know that you had a lovely funeral, your cousins turned up and pretended to cry. They're still after a share of your fortune, but we're assured they can't touch a penny, and that includes the little matter of the ten million from your life insurance. Oh, I know that's not much, a mere petty cash item compared to the rest, but it's been important to us and worth the wait to sort it all out. You see, you've been involved in faking your own death and making a fraudulent claim, just so that you could get your jollies with all the young girls you've been associating with. You even opened a bank account in an assumed name, it has the twenty grand in it, that's actually real by the way, from the fraud money, so it's no good to say you haven't benefited. That being the case, we might be put inside as accomplices, but you'll go too, and can you imagine the delight of some nice big men, in there for a long time with you as there wives? You probably can, so you see it's in your interest that we get away with this, because you're in as deep as us. I can't promise you that your life now is going to be a bed of roses, but you are going to learn how to earn an honest living. You see, we are sending you to work for Mummy's sister, and you're going to learn on the job, how to be a personal maid. She tells us that she's all ready for you, she's got some of those sexy French maid uniforms that you used to drool over when you were my husband. Don't deny it, I remember when we went to that club and all the waitresses were dressed like it, you could hardly keep your tongue in your mouth. As for me," she carried on even though I was trying to get a word in, "I'm going to be the merry widow. I'm off on a world cruise tomorrow and, who knows, I might even meet a handsome, virile young man to bed me. If I do remarry, I might consider settling down, in which case I shall need a maid, and I will know where to pick one up, fully trained. In the meantime, learn how to do your work well and you will always be employable, I've even left you all that money in your account so you're wealthy, for a servant girl. Oh, sorry, I did forget one thing, you're not a girl, are you? You are still a man, with a man's urges, but I'm afraid that you're going to get awfully frustrated, because there's no way you can satisfy yourself. Even your prostate has been modified, so your nasty man juice can't even be milked from you. Just remember all the times you weren't big enough to satisfy me and left me frustrated, I've just got a bit of own back on you. Bye bye Trixie." With that, they turned and both left the room. I was too stunned to act or speak, and hardly aware of the man in the white coat giving me an injection in my arm, then everything went dark. * * * * * PART II NON-PENILE SERVITUDE (no, not penal) When I woke up I was naked and in a strange bed. I could only look back on what I had been told as a bad dream. In my heart I knew it was true, my wife had married me for my money, she couldn't get it in a divorce, so she had killed me off. I supposed I should be grateful that they hadn't killed me in reality, but it was difficult to feel any gratitude at that moment. On the other hand, condemning me to a life of frustration sexually, in a way was even more cruel. All I could do was to take life as it came and try to look at any life as a gift. I looked around me, surprised at seeing a top of the range TV on the wall opposite the end of the bed. The bedroom wasn't badly appointed, that is it wouldn't be if you were a young star struck girl. The d?cor was a mix of white with pastel mauves and pinks, the floor carpeted with a pink Wilton, the bed had a white net canopy hung over the head, the wall opposite held a very large chest of drawers, above it was a small window and to each side were very suggestive posters of a number of female actresses, singers and dancers. If they were designed to make me more frustrated, it was working. To the left was a very attractive en-suite with bath and shower, with a large wardrobe beside the door, to the right was another one and a vanity unit with a mirror, surrounded by lights and on it were a number of cosmetics already laid out. I had a bad headache but noticed a saucer on the small bedside table with two tablets and a glass of water alongside. I guessed, and hoped, something for my head, and took them. A piece of paper, and on it a note, lay underneath, next to the television remote. Trixie, Get yourself dressed in your mauve uniform, with corset, together with appropriate make up, then go downstairs to the kitchen and report to Cook. Ms Smythe Head Housekeeper. I got up slowly, to cut down on the rotation rate of my head spinning, and went to open the wardrobe next to the bathroom. It was locked. 'That's a good start.' I thought and crossed the room to the other one. This opened and revealed a number of skirts, all with white crinolines sewn into them. I pulled out a mauve one then realised that because of their height, I assumed they were skirts, but in fact they were dresses with what I can only describe as micro-skirts at the bottom. I went to put one on and found that it wouldn't fit my waist. While I pondered the problem, I decided to put my make up on, something that I was well versed in doing. I found false nails, and a selection of matching polishes, lipsticks and a note saying 'use these'. After applying the nails, I put on the rest of my make up, using the same shade of mauve as the dress, for eye shadow, lipstick and nail polish. I took the dress off again and started to search the chest of drawers. In the bottom drawer I found a number of corsets, the type with the front busk, back lacing and half cups for my breasts. Another note was on the top of them stating that a hook for lace tightening was in the door frame leading to the bathroom. I slipped the corset round me, then pulled the laces as tight as I could get them. The dress was closer, but still didn't fit. I remembered the hook and brought the laces near the top over it, then leaned forward. The laces started to shrink the garment tighter. By trial and error, and much panting to get my breath, I managed to get my waist reduced sufficiently so that I could do up the dress. The next problem was reaching down to my feet to place them in the sheer black stockings that obviously went with the suspenders on the corset. I decided that steel in the corset made it almost impossible to bend, and in future I would connect the stockings before I fully tightened the wretched garment. I looked in vain for some proper panties, the only things I could find were minute g-strings, so in the end it was a mauve one of those or nothing, I chose the former. Another shock came when I saw the shoes in a section to one side of the wardrobe. The shortest heel must have been five inches high, and some were six. I selected the shortest I could find in mauve, slipped them on my feet and looked at myself in the mirror on the inside of the door. If it had been the old me looking, I would have cum in my pants. As it was, I found that I was turning myself on, which in my physical condition wasn't something I wanted to do. To take my mind off myself as a sexy vision, I tottered round the room until I could make a fair imitation of walking in those stilts. I took a brief look out of the window but could only see the sea far below, so then decided that I couldn't put off the evil moment any longer, and exited my room. The corridor outside went in both directions, each side with doors spaced along them, but to my right it ended in an obvious dead end, while to my distant left was a door. Opening that led down a flight of stairs, then another, and another. I estimated that there were two flights to each floor, so my bedroom was on the fourth floor, even so that didn't account for the height above the water, the house, I decided must be built on a cliff. At the bottom of the last flight was another door, I tentatively opened it a crack to see an hotel sized modern kitchen. Opening it more I saw an apparently middle aged woman cutting vegetables on a large chopping board. She looked up. "About time you were about," she didn't smile, "it's Trixie, isn't it?" "Yes." I was nervous of the knife. "Yes, Cook, when you speak to me." "Yes, Cook." "Put your kitchen apron on, it's hanging on the back of the door, then put those dirty pans in the dishwasher on the right." I found the voluminous white cover-all and felt considerably less exposed. It was a very frilly, obviously feminine garment, but did cover all my maids' outfit, protecting it against potential dirtying in the kitchen environment. I did as I was told then looked at her, waiting for new instructions. At that moment another woman entered the kitchen from one of the doors on the other side. About forty years old, a big woman, not fat, but muscular, wearing a black pencil skirt and what appeared to be, a starched white blouse. "About time you moved yourself, girl, get that apron off and follow me." I hurried to hang up the apron, then tottered along after the woman I correctly assumed was Ms Smythe. A short corridor led to a large entrance hall with several doors off. I was taken to the second, and last, one on the right and, after knocking and being invited in, we walked into a large living room, easily twenty by forty feet, with picture windows on the left end wall and along the length of the wall opposite. Sitting in an armchair the further side of an unlit fireplace on the left, was a woman who I immediately recognised as bearing a striking resemblance to Cerys, my wife's mother, just a little older. "This is the girl sent by Ms Thomas," the Housekeeper told her, then to me, "Haven't you been taught to curtsey to your superiors, slut?" I hurriedly did an attempt at a curtsey. "Oh dear," she made a face to her employer, "we have some work to do here." "I'm sure you can knock her into place, Ms Smythe." Then she spoke to me. "This house is my home, but I enjoy women with similar hobbies to come and stay from time to time. Your training will teach you how to please them in any way they wish, even if that is unpleasant for you. You must remember that your comfort or feelings matter nothing when it comes to keeping them, and us, happy. Here you are the lowest form of life, you have been told already that you are dead. Don't think that your life here is more important than a bug. If you please us and our visitors, you will receive three meals a day, clothes and lodgings and outside your duties, you will be well treated. Displease us and you will be punished, if the punishment doesn't work, you will leave the island. But remember, for you there will be no boat, no plane, you will leave and float in the prevailing current up to the arctic, never to be found. Remember everyone in this house, or just visiting is your superior and act accordingly." I was dismissed from her presence with a wave of the hand and I again had to follow Ms Smythe out of the room but instead of going back to the kitchen, I had to follow her through a door under the great staircase leading up from the entrance hall. This flight led downwards, was much narrower than the main staircase and spiralled in the same fashion as I had seen in church towers, only in the opposite direction. At the bottom was a heavy door that Ms Smythe had to unlock with an ancient looking key. The hall sized room that presented itself when the lights were turned on, could only be described as a dungeon. About a dozen cell doors with small barred unglazed windows were on two sides, facing a huge open space with what were obviously medieval instruments of torture. It is difficult to describe them, but put simply, I recognised a rack, an iron maiden, a witch's chair, chains hanging on pulleys from the ceiling and walls, a cross, an 'X' cross, a wheel and two types of horse, all fitted with straps to attach the victim. On a long work bench various whips, paddles, canes and other, some metal, hand instruments were laid neatly in rows. There was even a brazier laid up with paper, wood and coals, with various irons already in it, ready for lighting. More prosaic items, such as various types of dildos, were also in evidence as well as other things, large and small the use of which I couldn't and didn't want to guess. Ms Smythe showed me one instrument that she could see I didn't understand, a machine of some sort, mounted on legs bolted to the floor. To the front was a very fat post with straps, obviously to use to fasten someone to it. "I can see you're fascinated by this little toy, Trixie. It's very simple, an automatic spanking machine. You see the miscreant is strapped to the post, then the machine can be set for a number of different strengths, from gentle taps to severe whippings, the frequency can be programmed so that the strokes happen at irregular intervals, and the number of strokes can be set as well, from six to infinity. Then the whole thing can be left to get the job done on it's own, with no aching arm muscles. The really clever part is that the height of each stroke varies, so it only starts repeating the same place after three dozen strokes, of course it becomes that much more painful then. I like to set the timers so that, for example, sixty strokes can be made to last all night, and with a random frequency, the miscreant doesn't know when to expect the next one. It could strike in a few seconds, but might not for, say, twenty minutes." She laughed, I couldn't stop myself shaking, it was a dungeon of horror. "This is our guest's playroom," Ms Smythe told me dispassionately. "They bring their own playthings, husbands mainly, sometimes women, but it's often difficult to tell. They keep them as slaves for the duration, they make them sleep down here as well, while their mistresses enjoy the luxury of living in the guest rooms upstairs. They don't need the slaves, you see. They'll have you to attend to their needs, at least when they're not down here using the various toys you can see. Of course, if you fail to meet their expectations, you may find yourself in one of the cells along side the slaves. Just in case you think you may get sympathy from one of the them, they enjoy the submissive lifestyle almost as much as their mistresses enjoy the domination, so they won't understand if you moan to them. They'll probably report it, then you could experience the spanking machine yourself." After that chilling presentation, we returned to the kitchen, where I helped Cook preparing lunch. All I had to do was to peel potatoes and clean vegetables then put them on to boil. Cook seemed to not be too unfriendly, so I chatted to her for a while. "Are any of you married?" I asked innocently, but I saw Cook stiffen. "Ms Smythe hasn't ever been married, but my name is Arthur Jones, the Mistress is my wife." I stared at her, or presumably him, realising that I had entered a territory that neither of us was comfortable with. "I'm sorry Cook, I shouldn't have asked." "You were bound to find out sooner or later, but I don't want to talk about it, so please drop the subject." We descended into an uncomfortable silence, broken later as we discussed the meal, when I learned that I was to serve the two bosses. Cook told me that today being Thursday, the next day the Mistress was expecting three friends for a long weekend. When I asked if it would only be the three, Cook remarked that of course they would have slaves with them, but they weren't important enough to count.