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UNDERCOVER HUSBAND My wife has been a very wealthy woman all her life. Not only that, but as a child she was spoilt and precocious, she knew what she wanted and didn't rest until she got it. She told me on our wedding night that was how she got to marry me; determination. She wanted a husband who would love and obey her, with the emphasis on the word obey. At the time I was a rather naive twenty two year old, she was two years older and we were married before I realised that we were even dating seriously. To be honest, I was extremely flattered that the beautiful, five feet ten inch tall Victoria would even speak to me. I was only five and a half feet tall, with blonde, rather straggly hair, not exactly a young woman's dream of a romantic knight. I asked her just after our wedding, what had she found in me that made her want to spend the rest of our lives together. "My darling Peter, I can see in you a man who will do anything to please me and someone I know couldn't be anything other than faithful." "But doesn't the fact that I have little family money, the way you have, bother you?" "Money is never something I worry about, Peter." She went on to explain, "My Father will retire from our various family business interests next year, and I will take over from him. He wants to do this for two reasons. First, he wants to help me for a few months, in a sort of consultant capacity, but second, and most important to him, he wants to be young enough to enjoy travelling and all the other things he's been too busy to do. This also affects you. I want you to leave your job, you don't want to be stuck as a bank clerk forever, do you? I want you to be my eyes and ears on the ground in our various shops and agencies. Someone who can really tell me what is going on, so that I can run them in the most efficient way possible." I knew the outline of this idea she had when we were first planning the wedding. She wanted a small family only affair, fifty miles from where we both now lived and worked, nearer to my own Mother's home. First of all she told me that it would save my Mother some travelling, but later admitted that she didn't want it known that we were married, so that I could act as a sort of spy within each of the twelve stores and shops that her family owned, together with a temp. agency, three garages, and two cleaning contractors. It was the reason that she kept her maiden name of West and not changed it to Holland, my family name. It seemed to me to be a very elaborate way to gain knowledge of what their employees were up to. Then she further clarified: "Don't forget though, I love you, I love everything about you, but are you willing to act for me in any way I ask?" "Yes, of course I will, you know I would do anything in my power to please you." I had given her that assurance many times. We spent several months doing very little, almost one holiday after another, but with only four months to go before he handed over the reigns, Victoria started to work alongside her Father. I became bored, just staying at home, it was alright for the first couple of weeks, but after that I needed something to do. I took up cookery classes, something I'd always been interested in, but now I could hone my skills. We lived in Victoria's home, not far from the family business head office, it was larger than any other that I'd even been in, let alone lived. It had seven en-suite bedrooms, and another, behind the kitchen which was part of a small, self contained apartment that was originally designed for a servant, but I put my computer in there, storing my cookery books and generally using it as my own den during the day. It was a little hidey hole for me during long days alone. To make less work, we decided to 'mothball' four of the bedroom and also two reception rooms, meaning that I could look after the house unaided. When she arrived home from work, Victoria would joke that I was becoming the perfect housewife, noting that I made a good job of cleaning as well as cooking. Still with a week to go before she officially took over, she asked me to work part time in 'The Wine Cellar', one of their shops. I applied in the usual way, directly to the manager, giving him a fake CV, which he was told would be checked on at Head Office, so my wife actually was supposed to do the verification, but as she had written it, that was quite easy. I only had to work from ten to three each day, but within two weeks, I discovered that one of the assistant managers was pasting vintage Sauternes labels onto a very ordinary Sauternes bottles and pocketing the considerable difference in price. It turned out later that it wasn't just the Sauternes. Victoria arranged for some of her people in Head Office to make a snap inspection of the shop, once I was able to tell them when the fake bottles were on the shelves. It was done so that I was in the shop at the time, and as well as reporting the culprit to the police and firing him, I was also apparently sacked just for being there at the time. That way, no suspicion that I was the whistle blower arose, and the other staff there just thought that I was unlucky. Even her Father came round in the evening to thank me for a job well done. The ex-assistant manager later admitted that he had been doing a similar scam for a couple of years. For a while I went back to being a househusband, or 'wife' as Victoria insisted. She revelled in the different meals I was able to concoct. "I'm afraid that your next job is going to take some acting ability," she told me a month later. "I suspect that something is going wrong in our 'Shout Woman' store. In a while I want you to go and work your magic there." "I don't know a thing about women's fashions," I told her "and wouldn't I stand out working there?" "Not the way I plan it," she replied. "All the staff there are women, that's true, but so will you be." I only asked her one word, dreading the answer; "How?" "I'm arranging for you to go away for five or six weeks, to a place where they train cross dressers to look, act and speak like real women. I know it will be difficult for you, but you already have quite long hair and I will get in temporary domestic staff here while you're gone. You will do this for me, won't you?" Reluctantly I agreed. I suppose that if I hadn't already been successful in my undercover work, I may have thought longer about it, but I knew that I'd done a very satisfying job before, and I wanted to have another go. I just didn't expect it to be like that. The following Monday a car picked me up, and I was driven half way across the country to a small rural village, then further again to a large house, in the middle of nowhere. I was told to bring no luggage, all my clothes would be supplied, but it was with a heavy heart I entered the large doors and was ushered into an office on the first level up. "Welcome Mr Holland." The woman behind the desk was probably in her fifties, but was a bombshell both in her looks and how she was dressed, mainly in black leather. The woman who had shown me in was a contrast to her boss, in a pink trouser suit. "My name is Mistress June and this is your personal mentor, Mistress Hanna, those are the names you will call us by. You will appreciate that most of our trainees here are men, many of them sent by their wives to be trained and they are not necessarily cooperative. I know that this is not the case with you, but the way our training works, you will be treated the same as the others. You will find this uncomfortable at times, and I apologise in advance, but by the time you leave here in only six short weeks, you won't be mistaken for a man for as long as you wish. Do you have any questions?" "No, Mistress June." "Very well then, go along with Mistress Hanna, she will see you to your room, tell you a little about us, and get you through induction. Good luck." I was taken up another floor, where there were rows of doors on both sides of the corridor, each numbered and with two slots for names to be slid in. A door with number eleven and the name Michelle on it opened to a dormitory room containing two beds, wardrobes and vanity units with drawers under and a small bedside cabinet. It was comparatively sparse but what there was there appeared clean and fairly new. The bed certainly felt comfortable. The room had an en-suite with bath and shower, but otherwise there seemed to be two of everything, wardrobes, chest of drawers and vanity with lights round the mirror. I was told that they sometimes did have two guests to a room, but in my case, being voluntary, I would be on my own. "The first thing we need to do," explained Mistress Hanna, "is to get rid of any body hair that you have, Michelle. We will be letting your beard grow a little and then lasering it off the same as the rest of your body. That will be permanent, but I presume you won't mind not having to shave again. You're not planning on growing a bread, are you?" I confirmed that I wasn't, I was told to take a shower, then I was given a pair of very frilly panties to put on, and I noticed that while I had been washing, all my clothes had disappeared. I didn't have to wear them long, as I was taken along to the far end of the passage where a room was furnished almost like an operating theatre. Two women greeted me by the name of Michelle, and laid me flat on my back, on a bed which was then raised to a level more convenient for them to work on me. Above me was a television monitor that was playing instructions for applying make up and nail polish videos, which I had to demonstrate my skill at every day. When that wasn't playing, music videos replaced them. I wasn't that interested in modern music, but there was nothing else to do for the hours I spent there over the next three days, so I was grateful for anything. Meals were taken in a canteen like room on the ground floor. Over the course of days, the number of men slowly increased, starting with three in rooms further down my corridor, to eight the next week to fourteen the week after. All were very subdued, and I didn't speak to any of them. The reason was that we were all fitted with shock collars, like the ones fitted to animals so they won't stray, but more powerful. The only time they were turned off was when we were asked something by one of the dozen or so mistresses, then we could speak, but otherwise, I was warned, if I spoke otherwise, it would give a painful electric shock. I felt the pain of speaking the second day. We were served dinner like a canteen, taking a plate and walking past a line of servers, who each put a contribution to the meal on it. I had just started to relax in this strange place, when I forgot myself and said 'thanks' to the first server. The resulting jolt made me drop my plate, which meant that I had to forgo my meal that night as punishment. Up until that time the only item of clothing I was given were panties. At first I was almost too embarrassed for words, but after seeing some of the costumes the other men had, my clothing deficiency wasn't so bad. What was bad was the fourth day I was there. All my body hair had been permanently removed, including my chin, but also my eyebrows were reduced to a high, narrow arch. I wasn't ever really hairy, so the rest didn't matter so much to me, except for round my privates and that was only something Victoria would see, but my eyebrows would be visible to everyone, but after my lesson on the collar the day before, I said nothing. The fourth day I was taken back to the same room as the depilation was done, but this time I was given a jab in the arm, and the next thing I knew was that I was back in my bed. I felt as if I had been punched in my face, chest and groin. I gingerly lifted the duvet off my chest to see what was wrong and found that I was wearing a very utilitarian bra. I felt further down my body and couldn't find my privates, just a flat area. I let out a small exclamation and was rewarded by another jolt. Almost immediately my door opened (there was no handle on the inside, only to enter the room) and Mistress Hanna came in. She pressed her remote to allow me to speak, then told me not to worry. "What do you mean 'not worry' Mistress? I've got breasts and my privates have been cut off." "No they haven't," she reassured me, "your breasts are just implants that can be removed at any time, and as for the rest, your balls are pushed up into your body, your penis tucked back then wrapped in your scrotum which has then been stitched in place so it won't drop down until the doctor repairs it. Not only does it make you look like a woman, you will have to pee sitting down as well. It can all be put right with a minor procedure under local anesthetic, so none of that is permanent, OK? The only thing is your face. Very small adjustments have been made to your chin, nose and cheek bones. That will be more or less permanent, but changes are within the parameters of both female and male faces, so while you have make up on, you will look feminine, without it masculine. Even that can be substantially reversed." "I'm sorry," I replied, "it was just such a shock, I wasn't expecting it." "No, Michelle, I'm sorry. We are so used to our clients not wishing these things, but we should have explained to you beforehand then, presumably, you'd have been rather happier?" "Of course," I agreed to the implied question, "I'm here to be able to both look and act as a woman for a job my wife has for me, so as long as I can go back to being a man, I'm more than happy with anything you can do to help me." "I'll tell you right now then," she smiled kindly at me, "a lot of your training will involve being a maidservant in a very feminine dress, being ordered about. The reason for it is that you will learn always to be submissive, and be conscious of your looks. That way we will get you into a womanly frame of mind so that it becomes an automatic action for you and you won't let yourself down when you relax." She wasn't wrong about anything in my training. I was issued with crushingly tight corsets with French maids' costumes, four in different colours. My panties were replaced with g-strings, now that there was nothing to hold in place. Everything I did I was ordered, not asked, and spent half my time curtseying to all the women I saw or had interaction with. I was a little worried that when I looked in the mirror without make up on, I didn't see a man's face looking back at me at all. With the 'small adjustments' that had been made, there was no way I could ever look like I did before. I decided to wait and take it up with Victoria, after all, they did say it was reversible. There was something else that bothered me. I've never slept for long periods in my life, that's not a complaint, it's just that whenever I woke up I could hear somebody talking very quietly. The night after my operations, I decided to investigate and hunted round for the source. I was surprised to find that it was coming from behind my bed. I pulled the bed frame out a little and found a small audio speaker, and listening I heard a soothing voice saying words to the effect that I must always call my betters Mistress or Master, then a whole load about loving the feminine clothes. I presumed that all the rooms were wired up like this, but found it a simple matter to pull off one of the input wires, stopping the sound completely. I wondered for a moment, whether to say something about it, but decided that I'd better not admit that I'd damaged it. The training was hard. I spent hours in six inch heels, that I could hardly stand in at first, walking, sitting, standing, cleaning, washing clothes, picking things up, replacing them, and of course, curtseying, until it became my nature. Everything I did was without speaking, acknowledging orders with a curtsey, and getting used to obeying orders immediately and without thinking about them. One of the most sexually frustrating tasks was to prepare my Mistress for bed, undressing her and removing her make up, then reversing the process, and bathing her the next morning. I also had to work with other men, turned maids, laying dining tables correctly and serving the mistresses and their guests at the tables, silently and efficiently. In view of the short time I had to take the course, only six weeks, every day was a long one. I had to get up with my alarm at five thirty, ready to start work at six fifteen, and was either worked or taught until ten thirty at night. At all times I was expected to maintain my immaculate appearance in clothes and make up. To that end, the house was divided up into the main house for mistresses and their guests and other areas that were for the use of the staff. The only time we could wander freely was if we were cleaning or serving the mistresses. At the exit from the staff areas, there were mirrors for us the check our appearance. On only one occasion, when the seems on my stockings weren't straight, I learned that any mistress was authorised to use a riding crop on our backsides, and on being ordered to 'prepare yourself', I had to bend over and grasp my ankles to receive punishment. Minor infractions like mine resulted in six strokes of the crop, and I was shocked how painful it was. What was worse was that I moved when the first landed, so the Mistress started counting again, so I got seven instead of the six. I ended up with tears flowing freely, and the Mistress advised me that, as it was the first time, she would overlook the damage to my make up, but if it happened again, I would get another six for sloppy make up. I thankfully curtseyed deeply to her, and hurried back to the kitchen area to repair my face. For the rest of the day, I was reminded of my punishment on each of the rare occasions I had a chance to sit down. A major change in my routine only occurred once after the initial week. At week three I had another visit to the surgery, and my vocal chords were clamped so that I spoke more that an octave higher, a very girly voice. This time Mistress Hanna told me the night before, what was going to happen and that again, it could be reversed once I'd finished the job, so I was quite happy with the result when she called the following evening for me to hear the difference. What was rather less pleasing was the news that my gag reflex had been almost eliminated, so that if my Mistress wanted to, I could deep throat a dildo. About ten days after that operation, I started to feel sick in the mornings, so after a couple of days I was seen by the doctor who felt that perhaps I'd had a bad reaction to the various things they'd given to me. He gave me five shots, one in each butt cheek, one in each of my 'breasts' and the last in my scrotum. He told me it was probably overkill, but it should definitely sort out my problem. He mentioned that any discomfort I felt when getting an erection should also be reduced. During my last week my hair was permed and its mousey colour bleached to a platinum blonde. Looking in my mirror after this final change, made it obvious to me that there was no way anyone would recognise me, or take me as a man. It also occurred to me that I wouldn't be popular when they discovered that I'd unwired the little speaker behind my bed, so I had a look to see how I could fix it before I left. As a matter of course, I connected it, only to hear the voice telling me that I always wanted to be a girl, that I love both lesbians and boyfriends. Once I could see how I could reconnect it, then cover the join with the insulation, I disconnected it again, until it was time for me to go. The morning I left the house I saw Mistress June for only the second time in her office. If I'd been staying another day, I would have asked to see the doctor again. For a couple of days my 'breasts' were getting itchy and I found that my bra's were rather tight but I was looking forward to being home too much. "There has been a slight change of plan, Michelle," she told me. "Your wife has been in touch and said that there will be a delay of some four weeks before you can start on the job she has for you. I expressed concern that in that time, your training here could be lost, and you will revert back to your masculine ways and we spent some time debating whether you should remain here for that period. The trouble is that she misses you badly, and doesn't want you to stay away longer. The only alternative I gave her was that if you went home you must continue, in essence, with your training here. In spite of her objections, my expert view prevailed, and I have told her that the only circumstances I could guarantee you will still pass as feminine was if you continued with your training. She, with great reluctance I must say, told me she will agree to my recommendation. I have suggested that after your welcome home, you take up duties as if you are your wife's maid. I understand that you already do much of the housework and cooking so the only real change will be the way you are treated. As I say, your wife wants to give you a proper welcome back, although she knows that sex is not possible for you at the moment, but after that, you will only be a maid in her eyes. She knows that this will be difficult for both of you, but she knows a little of what you have been through and doesn't want that to have been a waste of your time." I accepted what she said with reluctance, but also knew that I didn't want to be caught out in mannerisms that would show me as a man, so I would do my best to carry on as if I was still here. "Very good Michelle," she handed me a folder of papers, "in here you will find all the identification papers you will need. Your wife intends to use you in a couple of female posts while you look like this, then you can be changed back and the work will be done, with very little difference in your looks from what you have always seemed. You will find everything like driving licence, a bank account and card, National Insurance number, and so on, even a birth certificate, are all in the name of Michelle Cleremont, a women with a French father and an English mother. Your Mistress told me that you are fluent in French, which will add an authentic twist to your story. To all intents and purposes you are Michelle now until you have finished your assignments." Two suitcases of my clothes and make up etc., were loaded in the car, and I was out in the wide world for the first time as I was driven home. I let myself in, Victoria was at work, and unloaded my things into the servant's apartment, behind our kitchen, and made up the narrow bed. I had suggested that this would be the most suitable to store my new clothes, keeping them away from Victoria's, so any casual observer, servants or tradesmen, would see that the 'maid' was living in the proper room. One rather disturbing thing was that I found a riding crop and a wooden paddle in one of my suitcases, with an envelope addressed to my Mistress. For the moment I ignored them. I used a large apron to cover my very exotic costume, in order to cook a meal for us both. It was such a pleasure to be home and I was looking forward to seeing my wife after all my trials and tribulations. Once I heard Victoria's key in the front door, I whipped off the apron and went to the front door to greet her. "Good evening Mistress." I found that, to my horror, I automatically greeted her with those words and a curtsey. I seemed to be programmed after so many days of always taking the same actions but at least I did it smiling. "Good evening...err." Victoria stared hard at me. "Peter, is that really you?" "Michelle, for the moment, Mistress." I curtseyed again. Why did I do that? "Why don't you get us both a drink and we'll sit down in the lounge." I did as she suggested and we sat together for the first time in six weeks. It was a delightful evening. We ate together and enjoyed a fine wine before it was time to go to bed. "I've been looking forward to a romp with you for weeks," she told me, laughing. I had to explain that my bits had been fixed in such a way that we wouldn't be able to have intercourse until after my jobs were finished. "Oh darling, couldn't we just go to bed and cuddle?" I agreed, and went to my new quarters to change into a baby doll night dress then followed her upstairs. That night was the first that I experienced where I was so frustrated that I was in pain, although I didn't seem to be getting an erection. I spent most of the time down between my wife's thighs, lapping at her and bringing her to climax, losing count after the first five. Eventually, she pulled me up so that we were face to face. "That was marvellous, darling," she told me, "and I will have my maid do that from time to time, but from now on, we must comply with the terms that Mistress June laid down to allow you come home. Go now to your own bed, and remember, from tomorrow morning onwards we have to act out our parts and we must do that properly. Are you sure that it's alright with you? I've thought it through and I've come to the conclusion that I will have to ignore you most of the time, if I don't I think I'll end up calling you darling or something similar." "Yes," I agreed, "I mustn't get into any bad habits or I will look a fool when the time comes that I have to behave like a lady. I'll remember that you are only acting." "It will be difficult, my dear, for both of us, but we must see it through professionally." With a final goodnight kiss, I went to my room but it was some time before I fell asleep, thinking all the time on the sex I had missed out on. I woke at my customary time of five thirty, did my ablutions and make up, and got an early start as the previous night's dinner things hadn't been cleaned and put away. I prepared a breakfast of toast, marmalade and coffee for Victoria, I mean Ms West, took it upstairs and knocked gently on the bedroom door. Being told I could enter, I walked through the door, curtseyed, and bade my mistress good morning. Victoria, Ms West, sat up, and I placed the breakfast tray over her lap. "Thank you Michelle, will you get my dark blue undie set out of the drawer, a dark blue blouse and my charcoal grey trouser suit? I'll want black stockings and dark blue shoes with the four inch heels, then run my bath." I did as I was told, then stood by in case there was anything else Mistress wanted. Once she finished breakfast, I took the tray out of the way and helped her out of bed, removed her nightgown, and helped her into the bath. As I had been trained, I washed and dried her, then helped her into her underclothes. Sat at her vanity, I did her make up, she didn't use a lot, and brushed her hair, spraying it, then completed dressing her. "Thank you Michelle, you're very good at your job. Run through my closet today and, as well as your routine, will you make sure that all my clothes are ironed and my shoes cleaned?" "Yes Mistress." I curtseyed and decided that I would need to from now on anyway. The day proceeded in the same fashion as I had spent before I went away, the only difference was that now my Mistress had opened up bedrooms and the reception rooms that had previously been 'mothballed', so now needed cleaning. I also had a lot of work carrying out her instructions about her clothes and shoes, but I just got them done in time to prepare Ms West's dinner. That evening I started the habit of listening out for her car, so that I was ready with a gin and tonic on a silver tray standing just inside the door which I opened before she got there. My greeting was greeted returned by her, with a huge smile on her face as she took her drink. After she had eaten, downing nearly a bottle of wine, so she was somewhat tipsy, I had a flash of my conscience and fetched the crop, paddle and envelope, handing them to her as she sat sipping a port in the lounge. "What's this?" she asked and slit open the envelope. "I see, you were supposed to give me these yesterday, Michelle." I just curtseyed and stayed silent, knowing that I had no excuse. "Read this paragraph out to us both, Michelle." She handed me the letter and pointed to the second paragraph. "If your new maid doesn't hand you this letter and the accompanying items to you immediately upon arrival you are required to administer six strokes with each instrument, using the paddle first. Other infringements are as follows: Six strokes of each for every time he speaks without being given permission..." I looked up at my wife in horror, I couldn't carry on reading. I realised that I had been chatting away to her, admittedly with respect, but even something like saying 'good evening' was a punishable offence, I had just been so happy to be back home and without that horrible shock collar. She pointed out that in the letter I had been told to stand silently with my head bowed if I wished permission to speak, normally I would be looking and anticipating my Mistress's wishes. Tears formed in my eyes as I realised what my Mistress had to do. I moved to the centre of the room and took the position, straight legs but gripping my ankles, I braced myself. "Oh, Michelle, I don't like to do this, but you know I must." She didn't look as sad as I thought she ought to as she stood up and walked towards me with the paddle. "You have six of each for the lateness, and let's say you've spoken to me five times, I know it's been much more than that, but I can't bring myself to do more. So that's three dozen with each. I believe that you have to count them off, and don't forget, the letter says that if you move, we start again." The first stroke with the paddle set my behind on fire but I held my position and started counting. By the time we were on double figures she was varying her aim so that each of my cheeks got the full force of the impact in turn. I was just glad that her inebriation was perhaps making her less able to use her full force, she was concentrating more on accuracy. I suddenly realised that she had stopped. I had to do a quick replay in my mind realising that I'd had the thirty six, and I was sobbing, tears rolling from my eyes into my hair and on to the floor. I nearly stood up, then it dawned on me that I still had the same number with the crop to go. When the crop landed for the first time on my already tender behind, I screamed with the pain. Shrieking, "One, Mistress." "I'm sorry, I can't do this." My Mistress was obviously in some distress, quite clearly as much as me. "One Mistress," I repeated, realising that if I said anything I would be compounding my crimes. She looked at me, then comprehended. "Permission to speak Michelle." "Please, Mistress, if you can't do this I will be sent back to the house, and I really want to stay here with you. There is nothing in the rules that says how hard you hit, and if it wasn't so many I wouldn't have a problem. Perhaps if, just this first time, you stick to the letter of the law, rather than the spirit, in future you can do it properly and I will know I can stay with you." "Excellent Michelle, that is what we'll do, only this once mind, because you forgot that a change of venue didn't mean a change of rules." Even just tapping me lightly with the crop another thirty five times was painful and as much as I could bear, but it was soon over, even though I had to sleep on my stomach that night. In the morning, I looked at my bum in the mirror and was shocked to see that it was bruised and blistering in a couple of places and there was a bloody line where she had hit me with the crop the first time. I smothered it in an antiseptic cream. I discovered that the advantage of wearing g- strings is that they don't rub a sore bottom, only had a gentle tickle from my petticoats. I served breakfast in the normal way, except now silently, but as I turned my Mistress noticed my backside. "Michelle, your poor bottom." I just smiled and curtseyed and she let the subject drop. I saw her off to work, then had a less busy day than the first back in the house as I only had to give my mistress's clothes a brief check and it didn't take me long to clean her bedroom, even though I changed the sheet, duvet cover and pillow cases, as I knew she liked them changed twice a week. I even sprayed a little of her perfume under the duvet, to make getting into bed a nice experience for her, and to show how I loved her. With a little spare time I logged in to the Michelle Cleremont (my) bank account. I was surprised to find that there was around ten thousand pounds in it. I assumed that my Mistress placed the money at my disposal, in the event of an emergency of some sort, bearing in mind that it would blow my cover if I had to go to my wife for money. When she got home, my mistress advised me that I would be busy at the weekend, as she wanted to give hospitality to the shareholders of another business that she wanted to take over. As it was based about thirty miles away, she invited the owners to come to a Saturday lunch meeting at the house, to keep it confidential, then for them to stay for dinner and overnight to save them travelling. I had to plan for eight persons to stay and use all the bedrooms, there were two couples and three single men, and meals; two lunches, one dinner and one breakfast for each. They may well not stay for the Sunday lunch, not even the dinner if negotiations didn't go well, but to ease my load my Mistress was arranging for caterers to provide the dinner, so all I would have to do was to serve it. "I have to ask you something very personal, Michelle, and I want you to speak to me frankly about it." I paid attention with a smile on my face. "I want you to be very flirty with the men who are coming on Saturday, at least those without their wives. I also want you to understand now that I will be doing the same thing. I'm very keen for this deal to go through, it is really important, our chance to go national with our outlets, and our sex is the secret weapon, well especially you. Well of course, I mean your apparent sex my dear, you know as well as me that sex sells. I don't mean that we are going to actually have sex with anyone, I respect our marriage vows as much as you, but anything up to that point is what I'm saying. I want to hear your opinion." "You want me to shake my tail and speak with a sexy French accent? Is that all or do you have more in mind?" "I know you can't have sex, so that isn't an issue any more than it is with me, but anything up to that, that you're prepared to do. I shall use the classic women's excuse of having my period, then I could go so far as to take someone to bed and still not have penetrative sex, so I suggest you do the same. I'm not going to put any pressure on you, but anything that you're prepared to do will pay us big dividends, but remember, I love you and don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with, and I'm not asking you to do something I wouldn't." "Bien s(r Madame ou peut-(tre c'est Mademoiselle?" (Certainly Madam or perhaps it's [unmarried] Madam?) I asked her with a sexy accent, to which she smiled and agreed that she should be unmarried, just for the weekend. I wasn't sure about the last comment, as a woman of course she wouldn't feel the same way as me doing certain things. I gave her a 'come to bed' look and a little wriggle of my bum as I walked away, the way I had been taught to do by my Mistress at the house. She roared with laughter. The rest of the week was a busy one, making up beds, sorting out menus, liaising with the caterers and having the items I needed delivered, preparing what I could and either putting them in either the fridge or the freezer. Of course I made sure that I was instructed to speak about anything relevant to the weekend by my Mistress. Saturday morning early, saw us both in the beauty parlour, having our hair and make up done professionally, me in a 'normal' women's clothes. One thing that I noticed that puzzled me. When I put on the 'normal' bra to go to the parlour, I saw that the size was 36DD, when I was at the house I was sure that I was only a 36B, how was my bust getting bigger? I resolved to ask about it when I had time. As it was, we got away from the parlour by ten fifteen. That gave me time to make sure the caterers were ensconced in the kitchen, and get ready for my Mistress's guests who arrived promptly at noon. I had changed into my most sexy costume, it was murder tightening the laces of my matching corset, I had to get down to a twenty inch waist to get into the lilac French maid's dress, also matching shoes with the five inch heels and sheer lilac seemed stockings. I noticed that my bust was definitely bigger, the costume barely came high enough to cover my nipples, which, incidentally seemed quite tender. After a welcome and coffees all round I led them, on my Mistress's instructions, into the dining room and to the serving areas, where a buffet lunch was laid out. Up to that point I hadn't said a word, but I realised that one of the men was taking an especial interest in me, he didn't know whether to look at my bum or my breasts. He was the oldest of the group and apparently, so Mistress told me, the largest share holder and a widower. I noticed that his son was spending a lot of time talking with my Mistress. One thing that I had learned at the house, was to be extra attentive to the women there, as well as my 'target'. I had mentioned this to my Mistress beforehand, who asked if I was teaching granny to suck eggs, telling me that we had to get the women on side for any deal. "I notice that you curtsey a lot, girl, what's your name?" the old man asked me. "Je m'appelle Michelle monsieur, excusez-moi, my name is Michelle, Monsieur." "Do you usually dress like this Michelle?" "Mais Oui, Monsieur, my Mistress demand it, she likes to see a sexy French girl (gayer, how do you say? Makes the room lighter non, brightens the room. 'Scuse my English, he is not so good." "That's OK Michelle, my name is James and I like you to be not so good." With that he stepped to one side and pinched my bottom. I couldn't help but let out startled squeal, which caused the others to look round. "Michelle, are you flirting with a guest again?" my Mistress scolded me. "Father, leave the staff alone." That from Michael, his son. "I'm sorry," my Mistress explained to everyone's amusement, "she likes to wear these silly costumes, says that as she is a French maid. When she went to a shop for a uniform, they told her that this was a French maid's uniform, God knows what sort of shop it was. She has more of them in her wardrobe, and as she likes them so much, I let her wear them." After that, I made a conscious effort to look after the ladies, but whenever James caught my eye, I gave him a very small cheeky grin. After they had finished eating, I cleared the dining table and laid out a folder in front of each of the eight chairs. Mistress had prepared them and I knew they contained details of her offer. I was told to leave some of the food on the side and to remain in the room, topping up or giving drinks as required. Mistress explained to them that my English wasn't good enough to take in many details, the reason she hired me, she told them, was that she could have documents in the house that wouldn't mean much to me. I stood well back, next to the buffet table, ready to do anything required. During the course of the afternoon I managed to put names and relevance to the faces. The two couples; Mr and Mrs Walter Meade and Mr and Mrs Anthony Clark, were both minority shareholders, with roughly ten percent each. The others were all single, Dr Victor Askey had fifteen percent of shares, James Patterson, the old man had thirty five per cent, and his son, Michael thirty per cent. That meant the father and son easily had a majority of the company, so if they both agreed it would be a fait accompli, otherwise, if only one agreed, Mistress would need two of the other shareholders, at least, to go with her. It was obvious that when Mistress wasn't talking to the other ladies, she was giving certain signals to the younger Patterson and I knew that I would have to work on the older. So long as we didn't actually antagonise the others, they wouldn't be relevant. The meeting went on and on, each side moving a little towards the other. Finally they were a hair breadth apart on agreeing, when the older Patterson suddenly said that he felt that we had an agreement, but that he would like to sleep on it. Smiling faces went off to the day room to make use of what was left of the daylight, and I had one of the caterer's staff clear everything away and lay the table for dinner, while I served Champagne as an aperitif. The meal I had worked out with the head chef was an amuse bouche, a spoon shaped amaretto biscuit with iced berries and lemoncello, followed by chilled asparagus soup, then potted prawn p(t(, for the fish course a sole V(ronique which is Dover sole with a white wine sauce and seedless grapes. The main was roasted pheasant with chestnuts, carrots cooked in mint and lemon, new potatoes cooked then rolled in tarragon and cream, and a bread sauce. The dessert a hot apricot souffl?. I kept everyone well topped up with the wine selection; a Te Awanga New Zealand chardonnay for the first courses, a clos de Vougeot Burgundy with the pheasant and a Rasteau from the South of France with the dessert. As I thought, they were a little thrown by the Rasteau as it was a red wine, but it is one of the comparatively rare sweet reds, and I added two empty bottles of that to the thirteen of the others already in the recycling box. They sat around afterwards with cheese and biscuits and a good port, talking about anything other than work until nearly midnight, when I was asked by Mistress to show them to their rooms. I noticed that Michael stayed behind, talking to my Mistress. Their bags had already been delivered and unpacked, and I showed each of them where to go in turn. James Patterson was the last and as we got to his bedroom he guided me in front of him. I immediately made the claim Mistress had suggested, but he still put his arms round me and gave me a long demonstration of his use of his tongue. "I'm sure you can manage something for me." He pushed me downwards. "After all, you've been so suggestive all day, now I'm going to see how good you are at being bad." If I had spoken at that point I might have forgotten my French accent, but he didn't give me a chance. By the time I was on my knees his belt and zip were undone and his underpants fell to the floor inside his trousers. I was terrified. Deciding that, after my promise to my Mistress, I had no choice, I took him in my hand, the contrast between my white fingers and my long scarlet nails gripped round the darker skin of his penis, somehow shook me into action. I knew that the more I excited him, pumping with my hand, the less time his thing would spend where he wanted me to put it. It wasn't long, though, before I felt his hand on the back of my head, pushing my face until his cock touched my lips. I couldn't stop thinking that this just wasn't fair, I never signed up for this. With no choice in the matter, I opened my mouth, starting first to just lick the end like a lollipop, but his hand didn't lessen the pressure, it actually pushed me harder until I had no choice but to swallow my pride, or was that his pride? It was certainly a big one. I found that if I took a breath while it was just in my mouth, I could take him all the way down my throat. It was then I remembered that when they changed my voice, they had cut back on my gag reflex. I could see the look of ecstasy on his face as I felt his balls bump against my chin, and he then started to grip my hair on both sides, working me back and forward. In a final push forcing my nose into his flesh I felt his semen going down my throat. Apart from not being able to breathe my main feeling was one of disgust and degradation, so much so that I thought I was going to be sick. I vowed that if I lived to a hundred, I would never ask a woman to do that for me. "That was the best blow job ever," he told me. "Believe you me, I've had a few in my time, but never a patch on that." He smiled and helped me up, but stepped out of his trousers. "Now remember well, Michelle, I want you back in here at eight tomorrow morning, to bring me coffee and wake me up for the day." I knew exactly what that meant. I left his room feeling dirty and disgusted, but as I passed my Mistress's room I heard her, not exactly shrieking, it wasn't that loud, but definite sounds of sexual pleasure. I guessed that she was doing something similar with Michael, but making it sound as if she was enjoying it. The next morning I woke at my usual time and went to clear up the mess from the night before. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the caterers had done it all and by seven thirty two of them came back and started breakfast. I asked them what had been arranged with them and one told me that they were employed on a long term contract to do the cleaning and cooking in the house. This meant one of two things, either my undercover job had been brought forward, or Mistress had decided that there was too much work for me and had arranged for help. We had coffees together, then, I couldn't delay it any longer, I had to take up Mr Patterson's coffee, knowing full well what he expected with it. I wasn't wrong. He was sitting up on the bed naked, and told me, rather rudely I thought at the time, to get started while he drank his coffee. I crawled up the bed from the foot, and started work on him. "Use your mouth," he ordered me. I only hesitated long enough to think of the deal that Mistress was putting together, then took a breath and started to swallow him. Tears started to come to my eyes as I thought about the humiliating position I was in, surely the darkest moment of my life. I was forced out of my nightmare by reality as he jammed my head down and came in my throat again. This time, because I was above him, some of the revolting juices flowed back from my throat into my mouth, I couldn't help it, I had to make a dash for his bathroom to vomit into the toilet. While I was recovering I heard voices and realised that the third single man in the party, Dr Askey, was talking in a low voice to Patterson who was laughing. Just a moment later, Askey came into the toilet and asked if I had finished being sick. When I answered in the positive, I got the feeling that he punched me in the neck. The room went black. I woke up in a strange bedroom. It was much like my maid's room at home and I could see some of my cosmetics on the vanity unit, but there was no window. With some difficulty I got up and went through an open door I could see led to a bathroom. Above the hand basin there was a cabinet, and logic told me to look in there for what I was after. Sure enough, medicines of all sorts were there: Anti-diarrhea, bowel movement makers, anti-acids, and amongst other things headache tablets. I took two with a large glass of water, then went back into the bedroom and checked the wardrobes and chest before going back to lie on the bed. I had to think about what had happened and why all my clothes were here. I couldn't make sense of it except for one explanation only. For some reason I had been brought here to stay. Was my Mistress here? What happened to all the people at my home? Where was I? I couldn't bear to think of the only answer that made sense. I got up and tried the door, it was locked. I think I may have been lost in my thoughts as I didn't hear anyone unlock the door, but it swung open and I recognised Askey as he came in. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?" "How do you think I feel?" I answered morosely, not making any attempt at a French accent. "Yes, I'm sorry about that, but your wife insisted. Said she couldn't bear to say goodbye, and that you'd be upset as well." "Where am I? How did you know I am a man?" I asked. "At Mr Patterson's house of course, your wife arranged all this for you, knowing you'd be happier." "What on earth do you mean, 'happier', he's just made me do the most revolting and degrading acts in my life. Is this James or Michael Patterson's house?" "No wonder he didn't want me to check on you." Askey looked serious. "I haven't got much time, are you saying that you didn't agree to be here?" "Of course not, I don't even know here is." I sensed an ally. "Are you telling me my wife plotted this?" "Listen, I'm a doctor, take my phone, it's on silent, but hide it, I'll ring you at midday and keep ringing on the hour until you answer. I must go." With that he left quickly, turning the lock, I noticed, but if he was on my side he wouldn't want it known that he'd been here. I also had to face the unpleasant possibility that it was all a test to see if I would spill the beans. I looked round and couldn't see a hiding place that someone wouldn't suspect. There was an air vent in the skirting board next to the bed, so I used a nail file to undo the screws and put the phone inside, wrapped in a pair of stockings, to deaden the vibrations. It was probably about ten minutes later that the door opened again and a large, middle aged woman came in. "Sort out your make up, make yourself tidy, you're wanted." "Who are you?" I thought I asked innocently enough, sitting up. She punched me hard in the solar plexus, doubling me up and leaving me gasping for breath. "You will address me as Mistress and Mr Patterson as Master and you will only speak when you are told. Didn't they teach you anything at Mistress June's establishment? Perhaps you need another six weeks." I quickly curtseyed to her, rushed to the vanity and refreshed my face. "I told them you should have your make up tattooed on, it would be one less excuse for you to slack and stop working." I followed her out of the room and up a flight of stairs to another door which she had to unlock with a key, then we arrived in a large kitchen, where I was stunned to see my large aprons hanging on a hook in the corner by a full length mirror. "Master will be in for dinner tonight and he tells me that your wife seems to like your cooking. We're quite well stocked with ingredients, let's see what you can do." I looked in the fridge, then in the larder, it was quite a big one, and saw the ingredients for something I had in mind. The woman walked over to look over my shoulder. "Don't get any funny ideas, girl, I've had all your luggage delivered." I looked round to see that she had both the paddle and the crop in her hands. I think she saw me shudder. I spent quite a bit of time preparing a coq au vin, I certainly wasn't going to exert my culinary skills for these monsters. Then I thought, if these are monsters, what does that make my wife? She appeared to have organised this, although the woman here seemed to know all about my stay in the house. At about five minutes to four, I made an excuse to go back to my room to tidy myself and my make up, the woman unlocked the top door and told me to knock on it when I was done and she would unlock it again. I was in for a big disappointment, because when I checked the phone there was no signal. I believed that I had been duped into voicing my unhappiness, presumably so that they knew I was a potential escapee. I decided that whatever happened they weren't going to get everything their way. I found the laxative medicine in the cabinet, and poured six doses into a paper handkerchief, hiding it in the pocket of my apron. I tidied myself as I had said, then went back up the stairs and knocked on the door. As I was escorted back to the kitchen, I blatantly wiped my nose on the hanky, mentioning that I thought I might have a cold coming on. All went smoothly, I was shown round the parts of the house I needed to know, and by the time Patterson came home, I quickly rushed to the library, where he wanted me to pour him a whiskey. I waited until he asked me what time dinner would be served. I told him that it could be ready at his convenience and I duly served it at seven o'clock. Of course by that time, my sniffle had got worse, and somehow, my handkerchief no longer held the laxative. He loved my coq au vin, and asked for seconds, my only thought was that it would hopefully keep him from bothering me overmuch. "If you are half as good in bed as you are cooking, we're in for a real treat tonight my girl," he told me, ignoring the look of horror on my face. He decided not to have a dessert, just cheeses and biscuits, but the bastard had me under the table while he ate them. This time, because of the height of the table and the angle I was at, he managed to dislodge himself as he was finishing, resulting in both his trousers and my face covered in his cum. I couldn't get out from under the table quickly enough, and added liquid vomit to his trousers and my dress. He was furious. "You're supposed be addicted to giving head, what the hell's the matter with you?" The commotion brought his trained gorilla into the room and I got dragged out by the ear as he was telling her to beat some obedience into me. We got to the kitchen while I was still dry heaving, but even so, she pulled me across the table and started laying into me with the crop. She hit me far harder than either of my previous Mistresses, aiming for the top of my buttocks, down to the top of my stockings and back, the more I screamed for her to stop, the more enthusiastic she got. Bear in mind that I hadn't had a great deal to eat since my breakfast the previous day, and what I had eaten and drunk I brought back up, so it wasn't long before I passed out. I was aware of her half carrying me down the stairs to my room, telling me that there would be no supper for me that night. The vague thought passed through my mind that I was more that happy that she would be finishing off the coq au vin. During my largely sleepless night, trying to lie without pain, I suddenly worked out what Patterson meant about me being addicted. It must have been something included on those recordings at the house. I thanked my lucky stars that I'd thought that they didn't apply to me, so turned them off. By morning, I couldn't stand. The pain in my buttocks extended down my legs, and I was stiff and in a cold sweat. The Bitch appeared at about six thirty, wanting to know what the hell I was thinking of. When I explained that I'd had a bad night, she simply retorted that so had she, and I'd better get moving. I tried to get out of bed, my head was spinning and the next memory I had was I collapsed on the floor, at which point she started kicking me. I tried to get up again, but I must have fainted. I was aware of being back in bed, of her coming in every now and then, threatening me with the crop again, but I don't think that she hit me any more. I think I was vaguely aware of peeing in the bed, bouts of awful pain, and being fed some water, but I don't know who by. I woke in a different bed, I tried to look around, but my head was spinning too much, until I saw Doctor Askey's face looking down at me. "What happened? Where am I?" Talk about history repeating itself. "You're in my hospital Peter, you were trafficked, badly beaten and it turned septic." "What do you mean?" "You've been in here ten days, in the ICU for five of them, it was that touch and go. I tried to ring you but I'm afraid I forgot that being underground you probably wouldn't be able to get a signal." I nodded as the memory came back. "Anyway, once you came in here in such a bad way, I contacted the police. At first they didn't want to know, the people involved being so important, so I threatened them that I would hire a private detective and sell the story to the press to get my money back. Well, at that point they gave in. The first people they arrested was James Patterson and his housekeeper shortly afterwards. He claimed that your wife had you processed so that you would love gay sex, and you went to work for him as part of a deal when she bought out his business. Then the police went to see your wife, who is living, incidentally with Patterson junior, she is blaming him for coming up with the idea to hide the fact that his father is gay. I've no idea why that was important these days, but anyway, they put your wife in touch with so-called Mistress June, actually Brenda Hurst, I suppose that her name Brenda doesn't really have the required Dominatrix ring to it. When they raided the house, the police found all the brainwashing equipment, what you went through was mild compared with some. By the way, the cops found out why you weren't brainwashed, did you disconnect the wire?" I nodded. "While they were there they released a number of men who were there against there will, and the staff have all been arrested, and your wife and her boyfriend, other arrests are going to follow. Apparently your Father-in-law has disowned his daughter, taken back control of his company and has removed her from his will. He was also responsible for giving you ten thousand pounds as a reward for that fiddle you spotted, as you weren't on salary, to encourage you to do more. He had no idea that was the excuse your wife needed to set you up." "What about my body?" I was tired but anxious to know how soon I could get back into my proper clothes and I could feel my bits had been released. "I'm sorry, that's the bad news. You've been pumped ten times more full of oestrogen female hormones than a girl going through puberty, and had your testicles removed. I'm sorry, but once you're feeling up to it we have to have a long talk about your options." On that note I told the Doctor I needed to rest, he accepted that, but told me he would try to help me with a mild tranquiliser that he pumped into my IV. I slept for longer than I had in my life and when I woke, I was told that I had a visitor, Charles West, Victoria's Father. I was asked if I wanted to see him, but he hadn't done me any harm, in fact I knew he had tried to be nice to me, so I agreed. "Thank you for seeing me," were the first words out of his mouth. "I'm not going to ask how you are, I can see the terrible things that have been done to you." I was wearing a plain white cotton nightdress, but my feminine charms were highly visible. I acknowledged him and thanked him for coming. "I hope you will accept something from me, although I'll understand if you don't want anything to do with my family. I've asked a top firm of lawyers from London to take your case, and that will include the inevitable action against my company. I won't contest whatever they ask. They'll also want actions against my daughter, the Pattersons and that group of women that have made a business out of torturing men., there may even be others. I want you to know how badly I feel about this, because, in a way, it's my fault." I tried to protest, but he carried on. "I told my daughter that until she settled down and married, I wouldn't give her my business., she was a female version of a playboy. I thought being married would bring on a sense of responsibility, I didn't realise that she was just marrying you because you are easy going and either wouldn't realise, or do anything about her having affairs, in other words, not changing her ways. I've always liked you, which in a way, made me wonder about my daughter's motives. I've never liked her boyfriends, so she may have chosen you for that very reason, that I would see you as a good, steady son-in-law. The last thing I want to get off my chest, is that I will provide your lawyer with a complete list of all the company and my daughter's assets, I still keep my finger on the pulse, so to speak, so there won't be any disclosure problems." That's the business side of my visit done, how are you bearing up? Is there anything I can get or do for you?" I thanked him for everything and told him there wasn't anything, at least for the moment, we exchanged a few more pleasantries and as he left, he promised to visit again the next day. Some hours later the promised lawyer arrived. He thought at first that there had been a mix up in his briefing notes and that I was actually a woman. Once we got that out of the way, he asked me to get as far as I could, making a statement, if it was too tiring for me, he would keep coming back until it was complete. I had just started, when two police officers arrived. My lawyer suggested that I start from the beginning to save having to do the same thing twice, so I did and they started to record it all. From time to time, my solicitor asked the police if they had certain items in evidence, for example the disc with the mind washing voice on it, each time they confirmed that they had, and also had photographs of my injuries when I was first admitted to hospital, copies of which they said, could be made available to me. Although when he had suggested it, I felt that I could give the whole statement, I found that I was tiring after a while, so I guess we had just got up to the point where I was sent home, and asked if I could rest for a while. David Fenton, my lawyer, told me that there were a number of things that he had to liaise with the police over, so he would come back the next morning to continue. The police officers agreed and said that they would do the same. When I saw the three of them again, I asked David about his fees. When he confirmed that Charles West was paying them, the officers raised their eyebrows and asked about conflict of interest. David told them that Charles had insisted that they both put in writing that his first responsibility was to me, and he would only deal with Charles to send him a bill. Previously this firm of lawyers never had dealings with Charles and would only contact his accountants up to the point of making the claim. With everyone happy, I finished my statement, signed for both of them, and I was left alone, but only for a short while. My father-in-law came in and asked me how things were going. I gave him a run down, then he asked me about the stint as an undercover worker in their wine shop, 'The Wine Cellar'. I told him some more about it, then made a proposal; a significant number of customers came to the shop, not knowing enough about wine to know what to buy for a particular meal. I thought that if he were to get an expert to go through at least a percentage of their stock, especially, but not exclusively the cheaper types, and have labels printed to recommend what foods should go with that particular wine. It would save the shop assistant's time, and the customer didn't need to admit that they knew nothing about wines. He immediately agreed that it would be a good idea, so I suggested that I could get it started while I was bed bound as I was bored. I told him that I could remember a large number of the wines they sold, so could do quite a lot from memory. I was grateful to have something that took my mind off my troubles, and I started as soon as he left. The next few weeks saw many people, mainly police and lawyers in a flurry of activity. The story of the 'House' leaked to the press and soon the names of many prominent people, including the Patterson's were connected with it. From the client lists at the House, the police had raided several large houses to find feminised men doing maids' duties, in a semi-automaton mode, giving work to many psychologists, piecing their minds back together. Once things came to trial, I had to give my story in court, but was protected by being witness 'P'. My wife, and Father and Son Pattersons, each got about eight years for assault, kidnapping, s