Linda's Triumph And Sean's Demotion free porn video

"Well, Sean, who else can you blame? Think hard, now. Who else can you foist the blame off on?" Sean Taylor, his thin arms folded across his tummy, his right foot wrapped under his left calf, sat slumped on the stool's edge and felt the dangle of his earrings. He looked petulant and grim. "The bitch said she was into androgyny. A private photo-shoot... How did I know she'd plaster me all over social media?" "And what a great title she gave it," his wife responded. "'Ann Taylor Becomes Sean Taylor.' So now you've lost your do-nothing bimbo job as a nail salon receptionist for falsifying your gender. Splendid! Plus, you're outed at my workplace where everyone now suspects the real reason I'm not pregnant. Thanks a lot. Anything else you can do to fuck up a marriage where no real fucking ever happens?" Linda was doing two things at once, both of which had been carefully scripted with her best friend for just such an occasion. She was finally attacking Sean with both barrels blazing for another one of his stupid mistakes, all of which in the past she had ignored or forgiven. In addition, she was setting him up for his new role, the changes she had been long considering in their marriage---ever since, in fact, she had lunched at Maxine's with her best friend Julia, a psychiatric nurse. From the brief but perceptive sketch Linda had given her of Sean, Julia recognized at once the tell-tale signs of psychiatric disorder---the man's sense of inferiority, his deep-seated masochism, and his need to over-compensate with grandiose notions of himself. Julia had not minced words. Sean was among those men, she said, who feel deep-down the need for a kind of 'redemption,' a need to be saved form themselves, and a desire to start 'a new life,' to be reborn as someone else. In a different age, he would have entered a monastery or gone to Tibet or deserted his family to herd goats in Cappadocia. Today he needed to be taken in hand, guided to a predetermined destiny by someone else, someone stronger and wiser than he. Sean wanted to relinquish control; it would be for his own good, and the changes had tt happen quickly and efficiently. "He'll like it, believe me; it'll turn him on," she advised Linda with a giggle, "and he'll be eternally grateful. Plus, there'll be side- benefits for you with his 'demotion.' You'll know 'em when you see 'em." Linda, however, had little of her friend's glibness and easy self- confidence. The plans for what to do with Sean therefore gestated for months afterward; they went through several revisions. She had needed an incident like the present one---a major fuck-up---to give her the emotional push, to get her to the starting line and get her to begin the process... The remarkable thing was that, once pushed beyond her limits, it all fell into place. Linda did everything right, except one small mistake we'll get to later. She became an instant pro! Linda eyed Sean steadily, silently---it was anything but friendly---and critically assessed him as she might a specimen pinned to a tray in a lab. He did just as Julia had predicted he would: he severed eye contact and lowered his gaze but not before experiencing the frisson of seeing the hard contempt in his wife's eyes; he felt his penis harden. Linda pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow to let him know she knew what was happening in his panties; then she shook her head slowly back and forth in a masterful display of a parent disappointed in the errant behavior of her child. Sean may have missed the full import of the look with his eyes lowered, but on a subliminal level he felt exactly what she meant him to feel: small, belittled, and diminished, and Linda meant to keep him feeling that way... She was elated by how easy it was going so far---everything falling into place---and she couldn't wait to describe it all to Julia and get her reaction. Sean was wearing a brown, short-sleeved Ann Taylor shift that reached just above the knee. Linda knew prices and estimated it must have cost him $250 if it cost a dollar. He had bought it without permission and he didn't even consult her, despite making only a tenth per week at the nail salon of what his wife makes as a paralegal at Foster & Blake. Linda's anger at his presumption was unfeigned and her stare withering. Finally Sean had had enough; he struck back. "W-h-a-t-t-t-t!!!" he shouted not as a question but more the way people say it when, embarrassed, they wish to shift blame and guilt. He drew out the word in a loud, whiny, unpleasant voice of high pitch. That voice grated on Linda's nerves---she hated it---it had been another of his colossal follies! Last year, in an effort to get his acting career off the ground on the off-Broadway trans-theater circuit, Sean had allowed himself to be talked into having his voice box shaved to sound more feminine. He had met a doctor of uncertain reputation at a party. Linda had tried to warn him not to trust the guy, but Sean wouldn't listen. The surgery happened in a seedy, back-alley office a week later- --Linda refused to attend---and afterwards the doctor declared it a complete success. A day later after being paid he promptly disappeared. A month later Sean could barely whisper. Today---to Linda's intense embarrassment and Sean's sorrow---his new voice sounds squeaky and weak with an impossibly high pitch, more like that of a child's---and a little girl's, at that---than a full-grown woman's, especially when he excited. Unfortunately, the surgery is irreversible; he stuck with his new voice. For these reasons and others, Linda is downright sick of Sean. His antics and foolish mistakes over the years have cost him his self- respect and the respect of the few friends he ever had. In the early days of their relationship she had been impressed and turned on by his non-conformity and his casual defiance of convention in the face of other people's censure; it was fun walking arm and arm as he turned heads and inspired giggles on the street. The world was wrong, she thought; Sean was an exotic artist and thinker far ahead of his time and misunderstood by the stupid masses! Jesus, how na?ve she had been back then! Today she sees it all as tired and boring posturing---a pose he assumes to reassure himself in the face of constant failure. Oh, how tired she is of listening to him pontificate about how noble and heroic it is to dress up in clothes of the opposite sex and parade around 'transgressing boundaries.' Transgressing boundaries! She loathes the self-serving blather, the grand Nietzschean gestures, the Wagnerian strutting about the stage as if he's Siegfried or Wotan--- given Sean's proclivities, Brunnhilde would be the more appropriate example---on a world-historical mission. She sees through him now, she sees him for what he is---a silly little nothing in panties and hose, a tans-model in a city where trans- models are a dime a dozen and there's nothing, as he likes to claim, aesthetically superior about them. It's all bullshit! And, as for Sean's so-called theatrical talent, Linda had always been skeptical and now sees it as a joke. He's never received so much as one audition for a second-string chorus girl in an uptown drag show, despite paying $4000 to a so-called 'agent' he met in a bar on 45th Street who said he was 'connected with the big guys' and promised loads of leads---again, the money was not his to give but came out of their joint bank account without Linda knowing. Sean was a fraud, a failure, and arguably a petty thief and Linda had found it out too late. "W-h-a-t-t-t-t!!!" he repeated even more petulantly than before. He was not used to this behavior from Linda. Usually by this time, she had laughed it off as Sean's just being Sean; she always seemed to forgive him and carry on as before. But this time she shocked him and literally made him jump! He felt goose bumps on his smooth arms and the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. "God damn it, Sean! Why the fuck did I marry you?" Linda had never spoken to him like this. He had always before been able to defang her anger and work her moods. He took pride in manipulating her. Now, however, he wasn't so sure... Damage control didn't seem to be working and he felt he was losing ground with her, his control slipping. Strangely, it was exciting him... He tried the 'the ever-faithful, hurt puppy-dog routine' that had never failed him in the past. He played the innocence card to induce guilt. Linda, he knew, was a sucker for guilt. She had always been susceptible to the subtle hints he made that he would be far more successful in life if he had only married a more cosmopolitan, more accepting girl. (Linda was born and raised in Peoria, Illinois!) "I've never pretended to be a stud, Linda. You knew I was slight and effete. You said it didn't matter. You said it even turned you on, like having a sister and lover all at the same time... Have you changed your mind? Have you joined the others? Am I a target now? Is it just no longer convenient and useful for you to support me any longer and stand by me? Is that it? Have you abandoned me?" As we have said, such rhetoric had always worked in the past, but Linda was now prepared for it. Oh, the tearful, Christ-like gambit of his that always made her back down before! This time, however, she came back with a stunning, unexpected right hook to the jaw that shook Sean to the core! "Yes, I have... You're right, Sean... You've lost me... I was dead wrong about you. I was stupid. There! I've said it... I've cleared the air... I feel much better having said it, like I've been relieved of an impossible burden, a millstone around my neck, a deadbeat, an incubus on my chest. Everybody always says looks are superficial and count for nothing. 'Don't judge a book by its cover' and all that pious bullshit people prattle on about... But these people never have to walk arm-in- arm down the street with someone they're ashamed of, someone they've lost respect for... Looks count for everything when you're out and about with a little sissy in New York City. You're judged by everybody; you're pigeon-holed; you're stereotyped... Looks get you a 'Yes, sir' and a salute and an opened door, or a raised eyebrow, a smirk and a sneer. You, Sean, are an embarrassment. Pure and simple... There! I've said it... Of course, don't misunderstand... Don't play the old blame card and call me a slave to convention just because I reject you... If I respected you, if I liked and admired you as a person---that is, if for a moment I thought you deserved support and respect---your looks, your clothes, your mannerisms wouldn't matter. I'd be proud and honored to walk the streets with you and scorn public opinion as I used to... But, frankly, I don't admire you, Sean... Not any longer... I don't respect you. You don't deserve it... I can see right through you to the other side now and what I see inside I don't particularly like... In fact, I loathe you." Sean thought of falling to his knees and bawling like a baby. But he wisely fought the inclination. Instinctively he knew it wouldn't work. Collapsing in a heap at her feet and begging forgiveness would only feed her disgust with him. Instead, he decided to let the scene play out and se where it led. this whole scene out with Linda to see where led. There'd be plenty of time for theatrics later on if things took a turn for the worse. Besides, she was still making him excited... Linda continued: "I was just too damn intimidated to admit all this to myself. Here I was thinking that being with you, I was defying small- town conventions and morality. I was so high-and-mighty thinking how independent I was of bigotry... It was all a lie. Of course, it would have worked if I loved you... But I lost that years ago, so, dressed as you are, I was secretly ashamed of the looks you and I got ... The stares... The ridicule... The humiliation that came our way... And I had to walk with you and me holding hands and I had to hold all my emotion in check, the anger and disappointment knowing you were a fraud... Knowing people are wondering how a normal girl like me could be attracted to you, all of them wondering if I'm a lesbian or a man-hater or just some queer who's into sissies... Plus the gender amorphism... I thought being married to an attractive, devoted woman who revered and loved you would help. You said as much... All the blather about how marriage would undo the 'trauma of your childhood' and make a man of you... What a joke! Just look at you... It's worse now than ever... You could be on the cover of Vogue... Could any guy look more effeminate, more ultra-feminine, and less like a man? Christ, we're like girlfriends together, except you're girlier... Construction workers whistle at us! Men do double-takes... They want to buy us drinks in bars... Whereas women who know the truth only snicker and tell their menfolk about you and they immediately back off like you are a plague victim... Jesus, Sean, doesn't it ever upset you?" "I am proud of who I am!" He assumed a haughty air before her, but the mix of little-girl lisp and macho bravura was downright comic. Linda merely laughed at how unconvincing he sounded. "This may be trite, I know, But I have to say it... I've forgotten what it's like to be with a man, to feel protected and safe, to feel desire for a male body that doesn't look like mine as he rubs against me a full-sized, pulsing cock in his pants, not a pencil-thin stub behind lace panties. Someone who doesn't look better than me in a dress, Sean... To actually feel physically weaker and smaller than the guy I'm with---Wow! Wouldn't that be a novelty? And is there anything wrong with wanting that, anything awful about needing to feel like a typical woman for once and not some idiot always sacrificing her fantasies for somebody else's?" Sean tried to intervene but Linda just rolled on over him. It was time, she felt, for him to listen. "Like if a man was in bed on top of me holding my wrists and pinning my arms to the mattress---something I dream about with increasing frequency---and then suddenly I get an urge to resist, to try and throw him off, I couldn't do it. You know why, Sean? 'Cause, unlike you, he's just too big and strong---he can hold me there against my will, I'm just too small and weak compared to him. Do you know how much I'd like to feel that helpless? With you, though, I'd flex my muscles a bit and you'd go flying sailing off me with a little girly squeal light as a feather. I know you get exactly what I'm saying 'cause you feel the same way. I can tell from what you're like when I'm on top and you're underneath You whine and wiggle about and beg and pretend to struggle and twist about luxuriating in the feeling---as I can't!---that you're too weak and little to exert your will against mine... You want exactly what I want, Sean, because you're just as girly as I am... I get it... It's as simple as that... You're so damn sissyish you've forgotten what it's like to feel like a man. And of course you're hardly recognizable as one any longer. Who would ever mistake you for one? You want to feel smaller and weaker than your spouse---and you are! You want your skin smoother and softer than hers---and it is! And you want to think like a girl---and you do! You've gotten your wish, Sean! Maybe too much of it because now lots of people---men especially---think you're gay and the guys that do look at me differently thinking there's an opportunity to come on to me. But you're not gay, are you? You like girls! You just don't want to be a normal guy around them! You insist the girl be the guy so you can play the girl's role without feeling gay. That way, I guess, you can keep the shards of your manhood..." "You never used to complain," he whined but Linda ignored him. "There's a problem here that, in your selfishness and myopia, you don't get. What if the girl, Sean---in this case, me-- gets tired of assuming the guy-role all the time? What, then? What if once in a while she wants to play the girl, the real one, I mean---you know, play the role she was born for if that doesn't sound too sexist---to feel a man's excitement against her, to feel his weight on her, to feel him enter her? What then, Sean? I get tired of being the guy while you're always the girl. I want to be the girl... Trouble is, though, you can't play the guy-role any longer; you're not up for it, are you? Dressed as a man, you go limp and soft; you can't play a convincing guy anymore. You've forgotten how, or you never ever knew how... That's why other guys sniff an opportunity---like predators circling an unmanned camp-sight, and I'm the naked prey, they smell your inadequacy. You're not man enough to satisfy a woman but unfortunately you're not enough of a girl to want to bed guys! "Now just a minute, Linda! Hold on there! Stop..." "It's quite sad. Sad for you, that is... For me, it's way beyond sad. Being married to you means unfulfilled sex, pure and simple; it's hopeless and it doesn't help, I know, to blame you... The only benefit is that now I know what I like---not what I should like, not what's politically correct, not what makes me look open-minded and tolerant---I like the company of real men, not make-believe ones---but not brutes, either, or misogynists or gropers or clods, guys loud and gross with beer-guts. I want something that should even be available in New York--- a man who, without even trying, is thoroughly relaxed and at home in his gender, who's fine being who he is, coming across as un-self-consciously masculine in a simple, quiet way, who is cuddly and fun to be with and never has to worry about how he's 'appearing before his public,' never has to worry about a broken nail or whether he's got enough padding in his butt to look convincing. The irony is, back in Peoria when I was a teenager I never liked big, hairy guys or the jocks on the football team, the 'poseurs,' we called them. In college I never dated guys with beards ... Too wiry and scratchy for my tender cheeks... But now I'd die to rub cheeks with a man's with a two-day's growth! It'd be totally awesome!" Sean was near tears---Linda had really cut him---and he tried to defend his broken sexuality, but it came out petulant and faggy. "You wouldn't say what you're saying right now if you could feel what's between my legs! How hard I am right now! How much I'd like to poke you with it!" "Oh, please, Sean! Just shut up..." Linda made an effort to be casual, even light-hearted, in her dismissiveness, which of course made him feel worse. "It's only stiff, all three inches of it, when you crossdress and I make fun of you like I'm doing right now, degrading your sex performance, making you feel even less like a man... And truth be told-- -we both know it---you love hearing it! It confirms what you've been after all these years... So I'll just repeat it in other words: you're totally sexless Sean, you're limp and soft and useless as a man... Of course, I have to admit, guys always think you're cute in a tomboyish sort of way. You can't go into a bar as a guy without men hitting on you thinking you're a butch girl, maybe a lesbian out slumming after guys for a night. It's so embarrassing when I'm with you! Of course, now that everybody knows you crossdress and love looking girly, we can just say you're in training to be a maid. Would you like that? That fits... That'll fly... Everybody will get it... Sean's a little masochist who likes to crossdress---let's indulge his fetish... My mother will approve and I bet yours will, too, both for different reasons, of course..." Linda knew from the way Sean gazed at her that the idea intrigued him. To be a maid! To have to clean his own house under his wife's control! To be supervised by her! The toxin was in his veins... "After all, you've lost your job," she added helpfully, "and without my support where would you be? There's no inheritance until your mother passes and she's healthy as a horse. You'll be stuck here with nothing to do all day but crossdress in front of the mirror and masturbate while I'm out earning the daily bread. Would that be fair? Well, it's not going to happen, not that way, little huddy... Things are changing around here. Tomorrow I'll retain a seamstress---I've got just the person in mind, a recommendation of my mother's---to take your measurements; she can make you some nice uniforms, a couple for doing daily chores and a more dressy one for parties or when I bring someone interesting home." Sean nearly creamed himself in his panties thinking she would cuckold him but pretended outrage instead. "And what if I object? What if I say no, Linda? What if I say I won't be your silly cuckold maid and you can't make me!" He tried to put gravitas and dignity into his complaint, but, again, it came out sounding childish and peevish---which to Linda was a subliminal message he was sending her to continue, to fill out the details of this new, seductive fantasy. It reminded her how, when they used to sleep together, he would lie still and she would teasingly stroke his panty- clad dick and whisper stories in his ear to make him climax. He was so transparent. He was hooked on mincing about as her housemaid, taking orders and being at her beck and call, having no say in matters. Linda smirked. She knew him inside out. Nevertheless she persisted in his tiresome charade of pretending to resist. There were just so many encrusted layers of deceit and self-deceit to peel off Sean. She just had to be patient. Eventually, she knew, she'd work her way down to the last layer, peel it off, and there would be the vulnerable, frightened little thing willing to do her bidding and anyone else's she assigned. "Well, I figure there's three options for you, darling, if you don't wish to comply. The door's one... You can live on the streets. Second, your sister and her husband just had a baby; maybe you can hire out as their nanny. The third, however, seems to me the most likely: You can go live with your mother. She'd love having you back. She's always blamed me for taking you away. You told me she used to play dress-up games with you, remember? During your teens she diapered you as a toddler in shortalls, all soft and cuddly, her precious doll, and you told me she made you sleep in a crib. Wouldn't that be fun to do all over again? She can dress you up and take you to her afternoon bridge club on Wednesdays where you can bounce on ladies' knees, going from one to the other sucking a lollipop. You'll be the hit of the party. And they won't mind you making creamies in your diapees when you're being bounced. They'll expect it... They'll think it's cute, even a bit sexy in a creepy sort of way... And then being changed by Mommy as the old ladies watch and coo over you... So much fun you'll have as everyone ohhhs and ahhhs over you tiny, flaccid wee-wee before Mommy wraps it in a new tight diapee! Maybe Mommy will hire a pretty young nanny to bathe and put you to early beddy-byes... It's be the role of a lifetime, Sean---a spoiled, rich, well-cared-for momma's boy with no adult responsibilities, no chores to perform, nothing to do all day but help Mommy and Nana in the kitchen baking cupcakes, pink frosting on your fingers to lick off... How cute! Mommy's little helper, her little softie, a plush toy, a Little Miss Priss living out his priggish, vapid little life under the protection of Mommy, afraid to go out and face the bad ole, nasty world. No need to be brave and manly inside Mommy's house... You'll be adorable, Sean! A weak-willed little sissy who never challenges Mommy or Nana's authority, who stays inside and does as he's told!" "Stop it!" he squealed. Sean squeezed his eyes shut to shut out the future Linda was conjuring. Which, of course, he feared and hated. Yet he was experiencing erotic ecstasy in his panties listening to her. Linda, knowing how much his secret self was enjoying it, kept up the delicious torment. "I might come to visit, Sean. Would you like that? The two important women in your life together in the same room... Wouldn't it be exciting? The three of us sitting in the parlor for a spot of afternoon tea---tea of course for the two adults while Nana serves you a glass of warm milk and a couple of French macarons, not too many given your delicate tummy. I'll sit opposite the two of you, a possessive mother and her adult son snuggling on the couch, perhaps a bit too close and familiar for conventional taste but who's to complain, certainly not your ex-wife so pleased to see how happy you are together... Yes, I'll be happy for you, really, Sean." He blushed furiously and looked away. "Your mommy will have her arm protectively around your slim shoulders pressing you tight. You'll blush just as you're doing now seeing how amused I am---after all, it'll be a bit embarrassing for you, I'd say, to see your ex-wife dressed-to-the-nine in an attractive adult outfit sitting there opposite staring at you dressed in such a juvenile fashion---your lovely, rounded knees pressed modestly together and your feet dangling just off the floor, your hair a mass of dyed-blond, styled curls---dressed in a charming navy-blue-and-white child's sailor suit, with big golden buttons on your short-sleeved middy blouse and two at the waist for the suspender belts, your little short-pants displaying your pretty, smooth thighs, and a white gob cap at a jaunty angle on that head of curls of yours... Just darling! And the whole ensemble completed by white knee highs with blue bows at the top, and matching navy-blue Mary Janes, with straps over the insteps of each foot ... How tiny and precious you'll look! There'll be no more stylish Ann Taylor dresses in your wardrobe, Sean, now that Mommy' s little boy has come out to play, though I'm sure Nana and she will indulge you if you insist on dressing in a lovely pink party dress and playing tea party with your stuffies from time to time... No problem with that, it's what every sissy does..." Sean was beside himself with excitement; the vision she painted of his future and the quietly demeaning way she described it all made him more excited than he had ever remembered being with Linda. Knowing how phony he sounded, he demanded she stop and it was comically clear to both of them---it didn't need saying---that he was nearly hysterical with fear thinking she might comply and leave him on the edge, or even with a ruined orgasm. The memory image flashed through her mind from an old-fashioned melodrama she had once seen as a little girl---one she had thought wildly silly then, and still smiles to think of now---where the damsel- in-distress character, dressed in a long gossamer gown with a string of pearls around her neck and curls close to her head not unlike the ones Linda had just verbally painted for Sean, raised her dazed eyes skyward, covered her bare, lower arm over her forehead, sighed and slipped languorously to the couch requiring smelling salts from her lover to revive her. "Mommy will assume I've come to take you back. Imagine that, Sean! My wanting you back, a little sissy like you I'm finally rid of! But she won't know that, will she? Like a mother hen protecting a stray chick, she'd scratch my eyes out if I made a move toward you... We'll chat pleasantly while you sit silent your eyes lowered and your soft hands folded demurely in your lap as you wait patiently for the adults to end their visit. And when I leave and give you a peck on the cheek as I would a small child of uncertain gender who has been so well-behaved and well-mannered, your mother will have a smug, satisfied smile on her face. She'll grip your hand tightly and glow with relief as I pull the car away from the curb to drive home. The two of you will wave good-bye at the window---your mother happily waving good-bye to a feared competitor while you, Sean, in effect will be waving good-bye forever to an adult's life." "Stop it!" he wailed knowing both how plausible his wife's prophecy was and how close the prospect of it coming true was about to make him cum. "Don't send me back to Mother!" He was begging now, sobbing and pleading, and for once Linda couldn't be sure whether he was being sincere or not. At any rate, she decided to relent---Sean had had enough, even if his penis did not think so---but she would not back off on what she intended to be his new life as a maid. In fact, she knew, this was the ideal time to impose more restrictive provisions. Therefore, with a flawless sense of timing, she glided from the sharp-as-a-blade, taunting tone designed to destroy his sense of self to a soft loving one, meek and gentle by comparison, that would reassure him and put him at his ease. Linda was indeed becoming expert at handling a tried-and-true masochist- --this part of his conditioning is called the famous yo-yo effect, that is, when he's down bring him up and when he's up bring him down, the idea being to keep him continually off balance, in a partial fugue state of uncertainty never being sure what he or anyone else is really thinking or doing or planning, always living a mindlessly dull, flat- lined kind of life in a halfway house between fantasy and reality during which each bleeds into the other, thereby dampening any pleasures he feels but at the same time mitigating any pain or loss he endures--- making, Linda knows, for a drab, colorless kind of existence where the lows are never too low to be endured and the highs never high enough, or memorable enough, to render their loss unbearable---precisely the routine type of life a not very talented domestic servant might live in Linda's house! "Sean, I am not being unkind. I don't wish to hurt you. You're a weak and flawed individual---we both know that---but I know it even better than you. It may sound from what I've said, the needling I've given you, that I despise you. But the fact is, I have to use a kind of shock therapy to explode the myths you've woven to protect your self-image, ones I used to help you weave, ones I'm ashamed of helping you frame. So let me say this flat out: I've helped make you what you are and I take some responsibility. Therefore, Sean, you're not going anywhere. I'll never throw you out on your ear; there's no reason for it, you'd give me no cause for doing that... I care about you and want you in my life. Is that clear? I know you love and need me. So you're invited to stay on here in my house." Calling it her house and not theirs was not lost on Sean, but he stayed silent. "But there are conditions---ones that you may find strict and forbidding at first but that in time you will adjust to... You must behave... Now I know that sounds a bit belittling, asking a grown man to 'behave'---it sounds childish in a way. But I mean something very specific. I've given this a lot of thought, Sean, and, to make sure you behave the way I expect, I must ask a bit more of you and hope you accept. When I'm at work, you might be naughty left alone without supervision. You might slack off on your duties... You might indulge in a lot of fantasy play dressed as my maid---you know what you're like---and I won't be here to monitor you every minute." Sean opened his mouth to reply, but Linda raised a hand commanding him to remain silent. She then spoke in a condescending voice he would soon get very used to, not only from Linda but from her mother as well---the sharp, vaguely impatient tone a mistress uses with a domestic employee "Sean, you need to cultivate the art of listening. Do you understand? A good maid is humble; she listens, she takes orders, she obeys, she's not gabby and assertive and presumes to know things she doesn't, going on and on about her own ideas and needs like a certain husband of mine does. A good maid's not like that at all. She's discrete, she's quiet as a mouse---you hardly know she's there---yet she makes herself indispensable to her mistress by learning all her ways and anticipating all her wants, by fulfilling her duties with such punctiliousness and attention to detail that she wins her mistress's applause. And she accomplishes all these small things by listening and watching... Most importantly, she speaks only if her response is explicitly requested. She accepts the orders of others, and she never questions or argues. Is that clear? Can you learn to do all that, Sean? Can you cultivate listening and watching? I hope so, but I know you'll need help. I don't want you alone all day in this big house, with all the temptations you'll have to slack off and masturbate soiling your pretty uniform when no one's watching, so I'm having Mrs. Pettigrew from next door 'babysit' you, so to speak." She caught her mistake at once: She had chosen the wrong word! She saw her husband's face crumble in tears. 'God damn!' she thought. 'Fuck! I've pushed one step too far!' Sean was just at the point to concede everything---his dignity and freedom... everything... For a masochist, she knew, this can be a very delicate point, one where everything stands in the balance, where one ill-chosen remark or crude gesture can spoil everything. Most mistresses never reach this point with their subs, and the ones that do often fuck the whole thing up with one mistake. Linda now had to be shrewd and use caution to finesse her way around this error. Sean's latent defenses, always an underlying threat to materialize on their own, now had to be checked and disarmed. Here's the conundrum stated simply: She knew her husband loved the idea of having his life change forever, to lose all status, to be babied and infantilized and made eventually to mind like a small child---that is the end goal and that's why she employed the fantasy of sending him back to live at his mother's---it was so deliciously demeaning and she knew he'd be fascinated by its possibility. Yet getting him over the hump was a daunting task: Threatening to change someone's life so fundamentally is not without risk. It threatens the victim with loss of identity, which is a kind of social death. The mistress, in other words, is committing a kind of 'erasure of a whole personality'---a kind of social murder---and substituting in its place a diminished and degraded shadow of its former self. This can be dangerous. To pull it off successfully requires an adept hand: The victim has to be lead gently down the garden path and, with infinite calm and delicacy, laid to rest in the grave prepared for him. Once laid to rest the mistress helps give birth to the mooncalf he will become ... She is a kind of midwife! Sean stands before her sobbing and shaking, his hands covering his face. Everything now hangs in the balance! He's at the point where his very sense of identity is now at stake. Will he fight back? To win, Linda has to retract the word 'babysit' and somehow make Sean's severely restricted future life under her roof somehow palatable and even attractive. The one advantage she had over him was his masochism; it served her like a Fifth Column working as her accomplice within to ensure his defeat. Throwing caution to the wind Linda goes on the attack. "Now calm down! Stop this silly hysterical display at once, or I'll spank your behind. Would you like that, Sean? For me to spank you? Perhaps we can have both our mothers come over to watch... Would you like that? It'd be fitting in a way. Wouldn't it? A way to announce your new position as my housemaid..." Linda barked her response pretending to be angry and impatient in full mistress-mode. "You should be ashamed of yourself, you little fool, sobbing like a sissy in front of me! I don't mean 'babysit' in the literal sense. Mrs. Pettigrew volunteered when I told her the situation last week; she was delighted, she said, flattered to be thought capable of such a feat. She told me she used to run a daycare, and knows exactly what to watch for in her charges. She'll watch you each day and report to me that you're performing your duties competently. It will be quite a normal relationship as long as you conduct yourself appropriately. I think you may even come to like Dolores and appreciate her advice and enjoy having her around. She's really a lovely person and came highly recommended when I had my best friend Julia vet her credentials last week." All these were lies, of course---Linda intended eventually hiring Mrs. Pettigrew sight-unseen to be Sean's nanny once he tired of playing her maid---but Sean seemed genuinely relieved. He was secretly delighted to be supervised by Mrs. Pettigrew and wanted nothing more than to be 'babysat' by her. He just couldn't admit right then to himself or to his wife. The demeaning thought of being babied by her just needed time to marinate in his thoughts before becoming totally acceptable. But now that Linda had explained it more fully, Sean's worries evaporated. He trusted his wife; she would watch out for him; she would, after all, be supervising his supervisor! There would be no way for old Mrs. Pettigrew to abuse him with Linda watching diligently, or so he thought... If former were mean and vicious he'sd just tell Linda when she got home from work and Linda would set her straight! Indeed, Linda felt her fortunes restored, the worm turning again in her favor! "At night you'll be my lady's maid," Linda teased knowing how much he liked this. "You'll undress me, massage my feet, run my bath, brush my hair, lay out my night wear, and then retire to your little room under the stairs." "Under the stairs? That's a closet! It's too small and cramped. I can't possibly..." Sean again was feigning outrage but this time it was obvious he was just playing along so she would elaborate the description to turn him on further. "It's a perfect size," Linda complied. "Like any ordinary servant girl, you'll have few possessions to worry about, no television set or computer or phone to distract you. I'll give you a small weekly allowance, possibly in a piggy bank I'll buy to put on your dresser. After all, it's only fair to subtract room and board. Plus, it'll teach you discipline, to save for the things you want. No more living a soft, idle life, doing just as you please... Mother will be here tomorrow to help set up. Maybe your mother would like to participate as well. You should ask." Now hooked, Sean was being reeled in. The poison was in his veins! He was agreeable to any concession she demanded; he was relieved to give up his independence and be his wife's slave. How delicious was the idea of occupying a tiny, stuffy closet under the stairs, a room with no electricity and no ventilation, while his wife luxuriated in the spacious, airy, sunny bedroom upstairs! "Yes, Ma'am, I will... I'll ask my mother. I'll do as you say." Linda smiled. "You should call her 'Mommy,' Sean. She likes that, and so does my mother. They're both going to be a big part of your life from now on---looking in on you and helping Mrs. Pettigrew with her supervision---so I want you off on the right foot. So call them both 'Mommy.'" Sean was as hard as he had ever been in panties. Having to call Linda's mother 'Mommy' as well as his own! Imagine! And he couldn't wait to be under Dolores Pettigrew's thumb---the idea of being humiliated by the old busy-body from next door whom he had always avoided and had hardly been civil to when they did meet! She'd turn the tables on him now. For sure, now that he was beneath her in authority and status, and he would have to obey her! To think how humiliating it would be... And all of this in front of the two mothers who would naturally applaud Mrs. Pettigrew's methods! He could just hear Linda's mother smacking her lips in approval: "This should have been done years ago!" Linda could read Sean's thoughts. Now that he was softened up she swept in for the kill unafraid to use the awful b-word. "You must obey Mrs. Pettigrew as you would a babysitter. She has full authority over you when I'm not here." "Yes, I understand. I promise to obey her." This was Sean's abject reply, all fight and resistance removed from his little voice, all titanic struggle against his fate ended and forgotten... Linda just laughed. "No complaints, Sean! No attitude! I won't have it. I won't warn you again. Do you understand? I've authorized her to punish. She has a paddle and full authority to use it, as well as the right to give you corner time. I told you she used to work in daycare and is well acquainted with recalcitrant babies. She knows how to handle children, she told me, of all sizes... So now you've been warned. I don't want to return home in the evening to find your bum paddled pink, or you standing in a corner pressing a dime to the wall with your nose. You'll mind her as you would me. Understood?" "Yes, I understand!" It happened quickly and would have been easy to miss. But Linda was waiting, she knew the signs, she knew what to look for. To his own shame and his wife's contempt, Sean's hips made three, barely perceptible lunges forward. Linda smirked and gave a little snort. "Feel better, sissy?" she teased but not unkindly, even with a playful wink. Sean face glowed. He couldn't remember ejaculating such a copious amount. Linda watched the stain spread across his groin soiling the brown shift. Linda had accomplished her purpose. The remnants of Sean's manhood had been crushed. She was the mistress now. He would be the maid. She could not wait to tell Julie over lunch at Maxine's. It had gone just as the latter predicted, even easier than she had thought it would. "I'm yours, Linda. I'll obey you in everything..." The poor fool sounded contrite, even grateful, as though Linda had presented him a rare invaluable gift, his own slavery! 'What an idiot!' she thought. He was anxious to start on his new path. Meanwhile, she sounded congratulatory and affirming, mockingly praising his good sense for complying so quickly and thoroughly. He was being stripped of what little manhood he had left and he could only bow his head in compliance. At that moment, Linda noticed something important, something she had not suspected about herself. She had no regrets and felt no guilt, no remorse at all. She was giving him exactly what he deserved and what she wanted. If Sean later regretted his demotion in life, his reduction in status, it would just be too bad... it was a permanent arrangement... no going back, no escape from it, unless Sean wanted to move back with his mother. Knowing how his personality thrived on massive amounts of contempt and ridicule, that was a distinct possibility. Linda really didn't care; she saw herself doing her husband a huge favor---keeping him in her life to be a parlor maid by day and her lady's maid by night, as well as the perfect target for Mrs. Pettigrew's abuse! He would no doubt love every morsel of his coming humiliation. And if he didn't, he could run home to Mommy; the choice was his. So what did Linda have to regret? Sean was so thrilled by the prospect of his demotion in life that he had creamed his panties... Was that reason for her to feel guilt? Hardly! Instead, Linda made a note to order a chastity device for him. She couldn't have him appear in front of Mrs. Pettigrew tenting his uniforms. It would be disgraceful. Far too embarrassing, and downright silly, too, for a maid to have erections... Erections had to stop; orgasms had to be a thing of the past, he'd ruin his clothes otherwise... And then Linda launched one final indignity against him, one last nail in the coffin... "We'll call you 'Miffy,'" she oozed, her eyes playful but quite serious, too, as she tried out a new idea that had just occurred to her. "Do you like that name? It suits you, so patronizing and dismissive. You'll enjoy it for that reason alone as you flit about the house cleaning under Mrs. Pettigrew's watchful eye. Can you curtsy, Miffy? Come, now. Let's have a little curtsy... Our mothers will love it, and so will Mrs. Pettigrew, who, by the way, told me she's fine with you calling her 'Auntie.' I think that would be nice. 'Auntie' fits a woman like Mrs. Pettigrew and it has a pleasant, intimate ring to it, as though she's now part of our little family. I envy the fun the two of you will be having each day while I'm at work in the real world." Miffy was smitten by the idea of curtsying to Mrs. Pettigrew and to whomever else Linda designates should deserve one, and her eyes sparkled at the humiliating implications of it... She tried curtsying in her expensive Ann Taylor shift and managed to do it passably as his wife applauded with light taps of her fingers to her palm---a gesture worthy of a sissy's efforts. "So cute, Miffy!" Linda laughed. Miffy appreciated the gesture but knew she'd do much better dressed in a maid's uniform, the kind of outfit made to order for curtsying. She couldn't wait to start wearing one and practice her curtsies. She'd be a pro in no time... 'Oh,' she thought, 'this is going to be so much fun!' The End