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BLACKTHWAITE HOUSE (Complete story) By Lisa Lovelace ~ ~ ~ Part 1 After graduating from high school in Bellingham, a pretty college town at the very top left corner of the continental U.S., I decided to take a gap year before college, and decided to start it by taking a walking tour of the Lake District in northwest England. I was an avid hiker - slender and fit, if a bit on the short side - and looked forward to exploring Wordsworth country on foot. It looked incredibly beautiful online: sparkling lakes surrounded by lush green valleys and, on the horizon, the tall, bare hills that the English call fells, with trails connecting the valleys and peaks. The real reason for the gap year and the trip was a personal tragedy. I'd lost my parents to a drunken driver only days after graduation. They died immediately. The drunk burned to death in his car, which satisfied my sense of justice. I had no other close relatives and had to deal with the aftermath myself. The discovery that my parents were more affluent than I thought was no consolation for their loss, but it made me feel less guilty about taking a year off before starting college - and spending the first month or so in a particularly beautiful part of a country I'd always wanted to visit. I landed at Heathrow in the early morning, took the Tube to Euston, grabbed a well-timed train, changed trains in rustic Oxenholme, and arrived around midday in the twee tourist town of Windermere, named for the lake beside it. I had a reservation at a rather pricy B&B, but it was hours before I could check in, so I decided to take a short walk up from the cobbled streets and chic boutiques to the top of a hill called Orrest Head, which was said to offer a magnificent view of Lake Windermere and the green hills and rocky fells beyond. And wow, it did. The walk let me stretch my legs after the all-night flight and a long morning on the train, and on this bright, breezy day, the view from the height was superb. Dry stone walls crossed the fields and hills at random angles, demarking fields and pastures that might be hundreds or even thousands of years old. I admired the country in all directions, especially the long, narrow lake that stretched for miles from north to south. Far to the west, sun sparkled on the Irish Sea. "Beautiful," I said to a couple sharing the summit. He was old but fit, a head taller than me, and looked distinguished. She was young, maybe half his age, and pretty enough to make me think she was a trophy wife. "Isn't it just?" she said. "You're American? Canadian?" "American, sorry. You can't tell?" In Bellingham, you developed an ear for folks who went oot and aboot instead of out and about. She smiled. "I was pretty sure you weren't Australian." We laughed. I introduced myself, hoping I wasn't being too forward. "I'm Lyle." "I'm Kate. My husband is Roger." He gave me a polite nod but did not speak. I don't know how Kate got me onto the subject of myself, but I told them what had happened and why I was there. "How dreadful!" Kate said. "All alone? No brothers or sisters?" I shook my head. "Not even aunts or uncles." "So sorry. Didn't mean to pry," she said. She changed to a less personal subject by asking me where I was staying. When I mentioned the name of the B&B, she pursed her lips and suggested that I cancel my reservation - they were so busy in high season that the short notice wouldn't be a problem. "Be our guest," she said. "We have a lovely house on the other side of the lake. It'd be wonderful to have a young person around again. You remind me so much of his lord - of my husband's son when he was your age." Later, I was to learn that he had a daughter, not a son, and that I reminded Kate of her. I gratefully accepted their offer, followed them downhill, tossed my backpack into their trunk, or boot as they called it, and accepted an invitation to take the passenger's seat. It was on the wrong side of the car, of course, and made me think we were about to crash into the picturesque stone walls that lined the roads. In Windermere, we waited a few minutes to cross the lake on a ferry. Roger navigated the narrow local roads to their home. It wasn't visible from the road. He used a controller to open a steel gate set into stone walls lined with a tall, dense hedge. A steep driveway wound upward through a grove of rhododendrons twenty feet tall and ended in front of a large antique house built of the local stone. "Wow," I said. "Is the house very old?" "Oh, no," he said dismissively. "Late nineteenth century." That sure sounded old to me. I remembered the old joke that Americans think a hundred years is a long time, and Brits think a hundred miles is a long way. I grabbed my backpack from the boot and followed them inside. The entrance hall was like a medieval movie set, with a great stone fireplace, wainscoted walls and a flagstone floor. Antique weapons of various types hung on the walls. We passed through it into a more modern room with armchairs and a sofa, a sort of living room that they called the drawing room. Roger walked over to a side table bearing crystal glasses and bottles of amber fluids. "Something to drink?" "Whatever you're having, sir," I replied. "Well, Wimbledon starts Monday, so I suppose we can say it's Pimm's o'clock," he said. I nodded, having no idea what he meant, and watched him prepare three tall glasses of a dark liqueur and a clear, fizzy mixer over ice. He handed one to Kate, one to me, and raised his glass. "Who dares, wins," he said. I took a sip. The drink was sweetish and tasted of spice and citrus. In America I would have called it a girl's drink, but it wasn't bad. It reminded me slightly of a Long Island iced tea, but weaker. I took another sip. Kate set down her glass. "Excuse me for a moment," she said, and slipped out of the room. My host and I regarded each other silently and finished our drinks. "Another?" he said. "Only if you're having one, sir," I said. He refilled our glasses and raised his. "Absent friends." We had almost finished our second round when Kate rejoined us. "Just airing out the guest room," she said. "Now, for dinner - shepherd's pie? With the lamb from last night's roast?" "Splendid," he said. "You'll have to excuse me." He left the room and headed in the direction of his library. I doubted he wanted company, so I wandered into the kitchen and asked Kate if she needed help. "No need, dear," she said. "Have you ever had shepherd's pie?" I shook my head and watched her cook a stew of lamb and vegetables, cover it with a layer of freshly mashed potatoes, sprinkle it with grated cheese and put it in the oven. It smelled delicious. Kate opened a bottle of red Bordeaux and poured us each a glass, and we chatted while she worked. I ventured to observe that it was a good-sized house, which was an understatement, and asked Kate if she had any housekeeping help. "Not at the moment, I'm afraid," she said. "We had a housekeeper, but she was quite old and retired last year. Since then, it's been just me." "Can I lend a hand?" I asked. "You're doing me a favor by putting me up." "Oh, no need, but thank you. What do you know about housekeeping?" Kate asked. "More than most men," I said. "I can cook. American and Mexican, mostly. I don't know English cooking, but I can do a curry." "That's English cooking these days," she said. "What else can you do?" "Dishes, floors, bathrooms... change the linens, do the laundry..." "My, you're quite the little housekeeper, aren't you?" she said with a smile. "Have you thought about hiring one?" I asked. "Why, are you interested in the job?" I smiled. "I doubt I could get a work visa." "No, we have to save jobs like that for the village girls, who don't want them. They're all keen to move to London. We have a part-time gardener for the outdoor work, but even families like ours find it hard to hire domestic help." "Families like yours...?" Kate hesitated. "I didn't want to mention it when we met, but my husband is a peer of the realm, the 7th Baron Blackthwaite. I am Lady Blackthwaite, his baroness. Welcome to Blackthwaite House." "Whoa, really?" I said. "You're actual aristocrats? Am I supposed to call you Milady or something?" "If you were British, you would call me Lady Blackthwaite or 'my lady', and you would call my husband Lord Blackthwaite or 'my lord'. Since you're a rebellious colonial, you can call us whatever you like. Sir and ma'am would be polite. What's your last name?" "Lyndon. Lyle Lyndon. ma'am." "As in Barry Lyndon?" I had no idea who Barry was. "L-Y-N-D-O-N, ma'am." When the mashed potatoes had browned and the cheese was bubbling, she took the shepherd's pie out of the oven and summoned her husband to the dining room. He took the seat at the head of the table. She sat to his right and I sat to his left, across from her. The shepherd's pie was tasty, if a bit on the bland side. I would have used more seasoning in the lamb stew - rosemary, garlic, bay laurel, and perhaps not quite so much salt. The wine flowed freely, and between that and jet lag, I was starting to nod off at the table. Kate - she was young enough that I had trouble thinking of her as Lady Blackthwaite - seemed to take in my condition and told her husband she would show me to my room. She picked up my backpack and hoisted it over a shoulder with ease. We climbed a dark, narrow staircase at the back of the house to the top floor - the third floor, though she called it the second floor - and entered a spacious, airy bedroom. The d?cor was rather feminine, with pale mauve walls and white trim. White eyelet curtains covered a window. The queen-sized bed had a matching mauve duvet cover and pillowcases trimmed in white eyelet. There was an ensuite bathroom in white tile, with separate tub and shower enclosures, and a roomy but empty walk-in closet. "This was the maids' dormitory back when the house had maids," Kate said. "It once held four girls sleeping in single beds, so it's quite roomy for a single guest. I hope you find it comfortable. Get up whenever you like. Breakfast in the dining room. Good night, Mr. Lyndon." I stacked my clothes on top of a large chest of drawers, took a shower, dried off, put on the t-shirt and boxers I packed in lieu of pajamas, and slid under the duvet. The bed was comfortable and I quickly fell asleep. ~ ~ ~ I awoke the next morning with a pounding headache. I groaned and turned over. It took me a minute to realize I was naked under the duvet. Where were my t-shirt and boxers? With an effort, I sat up and looked around the room. I saw no sign of any of my belongings. A jolt of adrenaline brought me fully awake. My clothes and shoes were gone. My backpack was gone. So were the phone, wallet and keys I'd left on the nightstand. Had the house been burgled? That wouldn't explain why I was naked. Had my hosts taken my things? I couldn't think of any reason why they would. I stood, felt dizzy and sat down. This wasn't a hangover. I felt drugged. There were clothes neatly folded on top of the chest of drawers, but they weren't mine. They were girls' clothes, all light pink: a matching long nightgown and robe, a bra and panties, and a pair of ballet-style slippers. They hadn't been there when I went to bed last night. I stood again, successfully this time, and inspected the chest of drawers to see if my things had somehow been put away. No such luck. The drawers were filled with women's underwear: panties, bras, slips, stockings, mysterious foundation garments. I looked inside the closet, and found it half-filled with long black dresses and white petticoats. Neatly folded aprons were stacked on a shelf. On the floor lay a few pairs of women's shoes with low heels, an inch or two. I realized with a shock that these were old-fashioned maid's uniforms. It was as if this room was still the maid's quarters - there just weren't any maids. I sat down on the bed and felt my penis erect. It wasn't just morning wood. The clothes were turning me on. The lingerie, the dresses, the petticoats, the aprons... I was getting stiffer. Damn! This was a complication I didn't need. Ever since I was a young boy, I'd always been attracted to women's clothes. They were just so much nicer and more exciting than the drab things boys wore. I didn't have a sister, and my mother's clothes were too big for me, so I had no outlet for my secret passion. Which was probably fortunate, as God only knows what my parents would have done if I'd ever been caught dressed as a girl. As I grew older, I found plenty of content online that catered to my passion. If I couldn't dress up in actual girls' clothes, I could read stories about boys who loved to dress as girls or were forced to do so, and see pictures and videos of boys and girls wearing extremely feminine clothing. But this was the first time I'd been in a room full of girls' clothes, with nothing stopping me from trying them on. Even so, I didn't. It would be too embarrassing. I was a boy, not a girl. I decided to wrap a towel around my waist, as if I'd just stepped out of the shower, and try to find my hostess, so that I could discreetly ask her where my clothes were. I opened the door, looked anxiously up and down the hallway, saw no one, and tiptoed to the top of the staircase in the entry hall. I called out quietly, "Lady Blackthwaite?" I had to repeat it more loudly before I heard her heels on the flagstones. She appeared at the foot of the stairs. A smile crossed her lips. "Your attire is rather informal, Mr. Lyndon," she said. "All my clothes are missing, ma'am. Do you know where they are?" "Yes." "Can you please bring them to me?" "I can, but you won't be able to wear them," she said. "I cut them into rags last night." "What?" I couldn't believe she'd done that. "Why?" "Well, rags are always useful, aren't they? I'll come up to your room, dear, so we can talk privately." Not wishing to expose myself further, I quickly retreated to my room and sat on the bed, wearing only the towel. She entered and closed the door. "Did you really cut up my clothes?" I asked. "Yes." She sounded amused. "Why?" "We're going to replace them." "With what?" "The clothes in this room." "Don't be ridiculous! I'm not a girl!" I felt myself grow stiffer, and hoped she couldn't see it through the towel. "Not yet, but you will be," she said. "You're going to be my maid. As you yourself noticed, I need housekeeping help. You're the help. You won't be leaving us, you'll be staying here, and I'll be training you in your new duties." I stared at her. What the hell was this? "You're crazy! I refuse! I'll leave!" Another evil smile. "I invite you to try," she said. "All the doors and windows in this house are locked electronically and can be opened only with a fingerprint. Break a window and you'll set off an alarm. If you do manage to get outside, you'll have trouble getting past the hedge and wall, especially in what you'll be wearing. The gate is electrified at night, and it might not be the only thing that's electrified by night. Or day." "What do you mean, 'in what I'll be wearing'?" "Have you ever tried to climb a wall in a maid's uniform? A proper English maid's uniform, not one of those ridiculous French costumes." "What's the difference?" She gave me a sharp look. "Do you really want to know? Are you particularly interested in English maid's uniforms? I'd expect you to be protesting the very idea of wearing a dress, not asking for details." Oops. "I don't want to wear any kind of maid's uniform! If you won't let me out, can't you hire me as a butler, or someone to do the housework in my regular clothes?" "Absolutely not! I want my maid to look and behave like a maid. And when you say hire, I should mention that, while you'll receive room, board and clothing, the position is unpaid." "That's illegal!" I wondered if that was true in the U.K. There were plenty of unpaid internships in the States. Lady Blackthwaite smirked. "What if it is? How will you proceed against his lordship and myself? You'll have to escape from a locked house, climb the wall in your petticoats and heels, find your way to a police station, curtsy to the nice constable and tell him you've been kidnapped by Lord Blackthwaite. You'll find that his lordship is widely known and respected hereabouts. The nice constable will laugh in your face, call you a Nancy boy and ask you where the fancy dress party is. Then he'll ask to see your passport. Or you could go to the U.S. consulate and complain. The nearest one's in Edinburgh. A bit of a walk, don't you think?" I did think. I was trapped. I wasn't sure my cheapo cell plan would even work in Europe. I didn't know how to place a call to the U.S. on a British phone, and wasn't sure who to call anyway. My parents' lawyer? His phone number was on a card in a desk drawer five thousand miles away. If I did call someone, I couldn't tell them where I was: "Somewhere near Windemere" covered a lot of ground. I thought the UK had something like 911, but I didn't know what it was. If I called it and told them I'd been kidnapped by Lord Blackthwaite, they'd probably have the same reaction as the local constable. Lady Blackthwaite watched me come to my grim realization. "I should perhaps mention," she said brightly, "that while you slept last night, I took the liberty of putting your phone, wallet and passport in a safe place." "Give them back!" "Sorry, no. You won't need them while you're here." Shit. Now I really was screwed. Locked in a strange house in a foreign country without clothing, money or identification, with no access to the Internet, and with a story that no one would believe. Could I steal their car? Even if I could get the keys, I didn't think I could drive a stick shift left-handed, and I'd probably crash while driving on the wrong side of the car and the wrong side of the road. Even if I could drive, I didn't know where to go. "Shall I tell you what happened yesterday?" Lady Blackthwaite said. "My husband and I went up to Orrest Head looking for a pretty boy with feminine features, as we do from time to time. Along came this delectable American lad with no family. We knew immediately that you were the one. We offered you a place to stay, and a drink with a little something extra in it, and while you slept soundly, we entered your room and changed things around, and now here you are. To stay. It was really too easy." "This is kidnapping!" "Such an ugly word, my dear. I'm offering you a new career - one you seem well qualified for, judging by the cute little tent you're making in that pretty pink towel." I felt my face redden and adjusted the towel, too late. "You really should get dressed, you know," she said. "The towel makes a cute skirt, but your breasts are showing." I blushed. "Can I have some trousers, at least?" "I'm afraid not. You can't possibly wear anything of his lordship's. He's a head taller and probably four stone heavier than you, and I certainly won't let you stretch out any of my clothes. You can choose anything in this room. I'm afraid that limits you to the nightwear on the bureau, the lingerie in the drawers or the uniforms in the closet. It's early in the day still, so I suggest the nightwear - it's easiest to put on. The nightgown is rather frilly, I'm afraid, but the robe mostly covers it up." "I demand to speak to Lord Blackthwaite!" I said. "Certainly," Lady Blackthwaite replied. "Which would you rather wear to meet him - the robe, or your towel? If you're wondering whether the sight of your body will excite him, I assure you it won't." "No, I wasn't wondering. The robe, I guess," I said reluctantly. "And the nightgown under it," she said. "It will reduce the appearance of tumescence. And I think a nice pair of knickers under the gown, to smooth you even further. Don't worry, he won't see your knickers." She selected a pair of lace-trimmed pink panties from the top left drawer and held them out for me to step into. "Drop the towel, dear." I hesitated. I was about to voluntarily put on women's clothes to appear before the man of the house, the lord of the manor. He and Lady Blackthwaite surely would see this as a step towards making me their maid. But what choice did I have? I couldn't possibly appear before him in nothing but a pink towel that barely hid my genitals. I dropped the towel and stepped into the panties. She tugged them up into place. "It's a good thing you're not very big. The knickers cover you even when you're stiff. Hold up your hands." She draped the nightgown over them and let it fall. The nylon gown was the softest thing I'd ever worn. She picked up the robe, which was satin or some similar slinky fabric, and held it for me to put my arms into. When I did, she wrapped it firmly around my waist, backwards from the way men wear robes, and tied the sash in a graceful bow in front. She told me to put on the slippers. "Much nicer," she said. "Let's see what we can do with your hair." She took me into the bathroom and brushed my shoulder-length brown hair, slowly at first and then more briskly. "You'd look good with highlights," she said. The brushing made my hair look fuller and helped it frame my face in a more feminine way. "You're very pretty," she said, "but don't worry, it's a manly sort of prettiness - no makeup, jewelry or scent, and you've still got all your body hair. I'll take you to Lord Blackthwaite." I immediately developed a case of cold feet. There was no such thing as a manly sort of prettiness. I was about to totally embarrass myself in front of an alpha male, and if he was in on this with his wife - which he no doubt was - I was wasting my time. But what if she was crazy and he had no idea what she was doing? I had to make sure, even at the price of personal humiliation. Damn! I was stiff again. I would have to remember to fold my hands in front of my groin. Lady Blackthwaite led me downstairs, warning me to lift the front of my robe and nightgown so I wouldn't trip. "His lordship will be working on his memoirs in his library," she said. "Memoirs of...?" "His career in the SAS. The parts he can talk about," she said. I tried to remember what the SAS was. "Like your Green Berets, but better trained," she said. I swallowed. Dressed in ladies' nightwear, I was about to meet a former officer in the British special services. I wondered if it would be better to be stark naked... but it was too late. We stopped outside a closed door, behind which I could hear someone typing with two fingers. Lady Blackthwaite knocked. "What is it?" Lord Blackthwaite did not sound pleased to be interrupted. "Our guest wishes to speak to you, dear," she said. "Come in." She entered and beckoned to me to follow. I had trouble making my feet move. Why had I agreed to dress like this? I'd been stupid. I should have demanded one of her husband's robes. Even if it dragged on the ground and I had to roll up the sleeves, that would have been better than letting her dress me in ladies' nightwear. But here I was. I took a deep breath and entered the room. Lord Blackthwaite was sitting in an old-fashioned leather chair behind an enormous antique wooden desk decorated with elaborate carvings. The only items on the desk were an analog telephone and a battered Olivetti portable typewriter. The room's walls were lined with books from floor to ceiling. The only other furniture was an antique armchair with a small side table and reading lamp. Lady Blackthwaite occupied it, and I was left standing in front of his desk like an errant schoolboy or schoolgirl in the principal's office. I folded my hands in front of me, hoping to hide my erection. He looked me up and down. "You wish to speak to me?" My heart was trying to break out of my rib cage. "Um... sir... Lady Blackthwaite tells me I can't leave the house, that I have to stay here and dress as a girl so she can train me to be her maid, and I won't do that, sir. I want my clothes back so I can leave." "I believe she did mention something of the sort, yes," Lord Blackthwaite said. "Well, she can't do that! I'm a U.S. citizen! You need to let me go. Sir." Lord Blackthwaite stared at me until I had to drop my eyes. "I see no need for me to do anything," he said. "I leave the running of my household entirely to her ladyship. That includes selecting, supervising and disciplining the staff." "But... but, sir -" "You'll have to talk to her ladyship." "I don't want to be a maid, sir!" He shrugged and turned to his wife. "Is the candidate acceptable?" "Oh, yes," Lady Blackthwaite said. "The right physical characteristics, better than average housekeeping skills and, despite her protests, an evident interest in the clothing appropriate for the role. I recommend we secure her services immediately." "The candidate's name...?" "Is unsuitable for a maid. She's American, as everyone will know if she opens her mouth, so she should have an American-sounding name. Let's call her... Lisa. Sounds like a California blonde in a rah-rah skirt." "Very good. Welcome to our household, Lisa," Lord Blackthwaite said. "I expect you to be a good maid and obey Lady Blackthwaite." "My name's not Lisa, and I'm not a girl, sir," I said. He turned back to his typewriter, resuming his two-fingered typing. "Thank you, Lisa," he said. Lady Blackthwaite glared at me. "Come, Lisa," she said. She grabbed my arm and hustled me out of the room and up the stairs to my room. I had to lift my gown and robe again on the stairs to avoid tripping. She closed the door behind us and berated me. "Of all the nerve! 'I'm not Lisa, and I'm not a girl'! Contradicting his lordship! Contradicting me! I will teach you better manners, young lady!" With surprising strength, she grabbed me and forced me to lie across her knees. She pulled up my robe and nightgown and pulled down my panties. "Tell me you'll be a good girl," she said. "No! Let me go!" "Bad girl!" She began to spank me, hard. Crying out in pain and humiliation, I struggled with her, rolled off her lap onto all fours and climbed to my feet. My nightgown and robe slid back down my legs, and I almost tripped over them. She took a step toward me. I tried to grab her arm. I'm not quite sure what happened next, but one second later I found myself face down on the ground with my arm twisted behind my back, completely at her mercy. "I should have told you I'm a 3-dan black belt in aikido," she said. Yes, I wished I'd known that. Ouch. "Let me up!" I said. "No! Not until you tell me you'll be a good girl. A good girl does what I tell her, with no resistance or delay. Do you understand? Tell me you'll be a good girl. Say it!" "No!" She slightly increased the pressure on my arm. I squealed in pain. "Say it!" Slightly more pressure. "Stop! Stop!" I shrieked. "I'll be a good girl, I'll be a good girl!" "What's your name?" "Lisa!" "Who am I?" "My lady!" I cried. She eased the pressure slightly. "Say, 'My name is Lisa and I'll be a good girl'." I'd never felt such humiliation. "My name is Lisa and I'll be a good girl." "Good girl, Lisa." She let go of me and stepped back. I gingerly climbed to my feet. "You didn't have to do that!" "Oh yes I did. I think you understand now who your mistress is. Who's your mistress, Lisa?" I didn't answer. "Would you like me to finish your spanking, Lisa? Who's your mistress?" "You are," I said sullenly. "You are, what?" she snapped. "You are my mistress, my lady." "What's your name, and what will you be?" "My name is Lisa, and I'll be a good girl." "And who is your mistress?" "You are my mistress, my lady." "Better," she said. "And next... a nice hot bath. During which you will remove all the hair below your eyebrows, with a depilatory or a razor. After which I will show you how to moisturize. After which I will help you put on your new uniform." "Which consists of...?" "You really are interested in the clothes, aren't you? Pants and a bra, suspender belt and stockings, slip, petticoat, dress, apron, Alice band... what else? Sensible court shoes." "I get to wear pants?" "Women call them knickers. Americans call them panties," she said. "What you call pants, we call trousers. It's funny to hear Americans talk about their underclothes." "Please, I don't want to wear girls' clothes!" It was a lie - the conversation was keeping me stiff - but I wasn't about to admit it. "What if I just wear black trousers and a white shirt?" "No," she said. "You have to wear the dress." "Women's black trousers and a white blouse?" I couldn't believe I was offering to dress as a woman. "No. We aren't negotiating, dear. I'm giving you orders. From the mistress of the house to her new and very inexperienced maid. You just promised to obey me, but you're already being disobedient. Blackthwaite House isn't a democracy." She said the word with a sneer. "It's a monarchy, and I am the queen." "So I see," I said. I wondered if she was entirely sane. "You must start addressing me as 'my lady'," she said, "and his lordship as 'my lord'." "And if I don't?" I was an American! I didn't need to buy into this aristocratic bullshit. "It would be unwise," she said. "You've been disobedient and have already earned a spanking. If you won't address us properly, there can be further consequences. I can make your spanking longer and more painful. I can spank you with a crop or tawse instead of my hand. I can put you in handcuffs or leg irons. I can gag you. I can put you in adult-sized nappies and baby dresses and lock all the bathrooms until you wet and mess yourself. I can lock you in this room and deny you food until you obey. I don't want to do any of these things, Lisa, but I will if I must. Say 'yes, my lady'." It was an ultimatum, and I had to decide whether to obey. Disobedience seemed futile at this point. I needed to know more about the house and my captors in order to come up with a plan to get free. Obedience would be safer and less painful, now that I knew she could throw me around like a sack of potatoes. Submission would buy me time to come up with a plan. It would be humiliating - but a part of me would find the humiliation exciting. If I gave in now, I would have to put on the uniform and serve as her maid until I came up with a plan. A young man feminized and forced to serve as a maid, plotting to escape his aristocratic captors... oh my! It sounded like a story I would read. "Yes, my lady," I said. "Whenever you say 'yes, my lady' or 'yes, my lord', you must curtsy," she said. "Do you know how to curtsy?" "No. Why would I?" "Because your name is Lisa and you're a girl and girls should know how to curtsy! Did your mother never teach you? I suppose I'll have to." She made me put my heels together, place my right foot behind my left, lift my gown and robe with my thumbs and forefingers, look down humbly, bend my knees, hold the pose for a moment and then straighten up and put my heels together again. She had me repeat it ten times for practice. "Now say, 'yes, my lady', and curtsy to me." "Yes, my lady," I said, and curtsied. "Very good. Now, Lisa, are you ready for your bath?" "Yes, my lady." I curtsied again. "But you need to take off your robe, nightgown and knickers first, don't you?" "Yes, my lady." Another curtsy. "You do that while I run your bath." "Yes, my lady." Curtsy. She left the room. I already regretted my decision to obey her. Yes my lady, curtsy, yes my lady, curtsy, yes my lady, curtsy... enough! She obviously got off on humiliating me. It was shameful to admit to myself that I didn't totally mind. She called me into the bath. I lowered myself into the fragrant bubbles. Phew! I would reek of lavender when I got out. Twenty minutes later, as I patted myself dry with a towel, Lady Blackthwaite asked, "Well, Lisa, are you ready to get dressed?" I sighed. "As you wish, my lady." Back into my bedroom. On my bed lay all the pieces of a maid's uniform. "Is all this really necessary, my lady?" I said. "Hotel maids don't wear anything this frilly." "Yes, it's absolutely necessary," she said. "You have no experience as a girl, no experience as a maid. You need to immerse yourself in femininity and domesticity and obedience until you adjust to your new life." "Yes, my lady," I said, and curtsied. The black cotton dress on the bed was longer than the mental picture I had of a maid's dress, mid-calf at least, with a white Peter Pan collar, white cuffs on the elbow-length sleeves and a flared but not terribly full skirt. Over it would go a white pinafore apron with a full bib, ruffled straps over the shoulders and long ties that would make a pretty bow in back. The apron skirt was two inches shorter than the dress and had a ruffled hem. Unlike the dress, the apron was trimmed with lace, as was the matching maid's hairpiece. The underwear included panties (it felt silly to think of them as "pants"), a matching bra and a waist cincher, all in white satin. The cincher was like a short corset, starting under my bra, stopping just below my belly button and laced up in back. I would need help tightening it, and did not look forward to it. Six garters, or suspenders as she called them, hung from the waist cincher to hold up my black nylon stockings. Over all this went a lacy white full slip, and then a fullish white cotton petticoat half an inch shorter than the dress, with a pretty lace-trimmed ruffle at the hem and a stout drawstring waist. The shoes were black patent pumps with two- inch heels. Lady Blackthwaite closely supervised my dressing, though I must admit that it was my hands that pulled the female garments onto my body. She drew the laces of the waist cincher almost unbearably tight, tied them in a double bow and tucked them in behind me. She helped me clip the garters to the stockings and adjust their tension. She slid the hairpiece, a lacy ruffle mounted on an Alice band, into my hair. And, finally, she sat me down at the vanity, brushed my hair into some semblance of a girl's hairdo and applied the understated cosmetics appropriate for a maid: powder but no foundation, light pink lipstick and nail polish, eyeliner but no mascara, and bare dustings of pink blush and taupe eyeshadow. When she was done, she led me to the full-length mirror for a look at myself. The person I saw in the mirror wasn't me. She was a pretty teenage girl dressed in a modest, old-fashioned maid's uniform. My calf- length black dress provided a stark backdrop for the immaculate white of my collar, cuffs, apron and hairpiece. "Heels together, Lisa," Lady Blackthwaite said. "Fold your hands over your apron. Look at a point on the floor about three feet in front of you. Stand up straight! That's perfect. Very good, Lisa, well done. Now, how do you feel in your new uniform?" "I feel ridiculous," I said. "Well, don't," she said. "You look very pretty, not at all like a boy. Your movements aren't feminine enough, but I'll teach you proper deportment, and I daresay none of our guests will realize you weren't born female." "Guests?" "My lady!" she snapped. "Guests, my lady?" I curtsied. "Yes. Once a month, his lordship and I host a black-tie dinner for friends. Tuxedos and gowns. In the past I've hired a village girl to serve, but now I have you, and you'll look just lovely as our maid. We'll have our next dinner as soon as you can pass as a real girl." It was bad enough that she and her husband would see me dressed as a maid. It was deeply humiliating to think of exposing myself to others, especially if her ladyship told them I was a boy. "Yes, my lady." I remembered to curtsy this time. "See? You're learning. Now, let's put you to work." Lady Blackthwaite gave me a list of household chores that kept me busy all morning: do the dishes, clean the kitchen, make her bed, tidy up her bedroom, clean all the bathrooms and empty all the rubbish bins. At noon I stopped to make them lunch: a Mediterranean salad for Lady Blackthwaite and a bacon sandwich that she called a bacon butty - big, thick slices of back bacon on lightly toasted white bread with brown HP sauce, with no lettuce, tomato or avocado - for Lord Blackthwaite. She made me take his lunch to him. I cringed. It was the first time he would see me dressed as a maid. I put his sandwich on a plate, put the plate on a silver tray and put a silver cover over the plate. Following her ladyship's instructions, I poured a pint of beer - I didn't recognize the name - into a glass and added it to the tray. I carefully carried the tray to the library, where I set it down on an occasional table outside the door. I knocked and was told to enter. I opened the door, picked up the tray and walked over to his desk. My hands were full, so I dipped to him instead of making a proper curtsy. "Ah, the new help." Lord Blackthwaite's voice was deep and held a tone of command. "Yes, my lord." I dipped to him again. "Where would your lordship like this?" He pointed to the top of his desk, right in front of him. I leaned over his desk to set down the tray and stepped back. "Anything else, my lord?" "No. Are you really the young person we met on Orrest Head?" "Yes, my lord." Now that I was no longer holding the tray, I made him a proper curtsy, lifting my skirt and petticoat and lowering my eyes as well as my body. "Quite a difference," he said. "Tell her ladyship I am impressed." "Yes, my lord. " I curtsied again and left the room, deeply humiliated to have made such a feminine spectacle of myself. That afternoon, Lady Blackthwaite started my deportment lessons. I thought deportment was what happened to illegal immigrants, but found out it was a different word, and included almost all the ways I used my body: my posture, how to stand, sit, walk and turn, how to hold my arms, what to do with my hands, how to bend over or reach upwards without exposing myself, and a thousand other details. Women learned these things from girlhood and had bodies that naturally moved in feminine ways, but I had to learn it all from scratch and make my body do things it wasn't designed to do, starting with keeping my knees together when I sat. Shortly before five o'clock, when I thought all my joints were about to give out, my lady told me Lord Blackthwaite would shortly emerge from his library for cocktails. He would mix the drinks, but I needed to fill an ice bucket and place it on the drinks table in the drawing room. While they enjoyed their drinks, I would set the table in the dining room and then begin preparing dinner. She wanted a simple menu - broiled trout, a baked potato and asparagus - served at half six. "Is half six before or after six, my lady?" "After. Six thirty." "Thank you, my lady." Curtsy. I found all the ingredients and had no trouble assembling the meal. I decided to cook the asparagus in the same pan as the trout, in butter, white wine and dill, instead of boiling it to death. When I served it, Lord Blackthwaite eyed it doubtfully. "What have you done to my asparagus?" "Saut?ed it, my lord," I said. "Try a bite." He chewed, swallowed, considered. "I've had worse," he announced. "In fact, it's not half bad. Better than how you cook it, Kate." "I wish I could disagree," she said. She turned to me. "Did you say you can cook Mexican food?" "Tacos, enchiladas, burritos, quesadillas, nachos - the basic stuff, my lady," I said. "His lordship likes spicy food from his time in - well, mustn't say where," she said. "Make a list of what you need, and we'll see what the shops can supply." "Yes, my lady." Curtsy. In fewer days than I'd have thought, I found myself starting to grow accustomed to my captivity. It worried me. I wore a maid's uniform, I cooked and cleaned and scrubbed and laundered and ironed, I called them my lord and my lady, I curtsied to them a hundred times a day. I realized that I needed to escape from this situation before it became routine. I'd heard that captives could develop emotional relationships with their captors, and I didn't want that to happen to me. Blackthwaite House was a prison, and I needed to break out of it. That night, I pretended to sleep until the house was quiet. I slipped out of bed and put on a uniform. It would be warmer and less conspicuous than my nightwear if I managed to get out. I left off the apron to disguise my menial status. I silently made my way down to the ground floor, where I inspected every door and window to see if I could open any of them. I found that every aperture that could be opened had a tiny fingerprint reader, which I assumed locked and unlocked it. My fingerprints, of course, did not work. I climbed the stairs to what the Brits called the first floor, and checked all the doors and windows except, of course, in the master suite where his lordship and her ladyship slept. No joy. On the top floor, I found all the rooms were locked except for the maids' suite I now occupied. My bedroom window was locked like all the others. There was no way out. Cursing silently, I took off my uniform, got back into my nightgown and slid back under the duvet. I was trapped. I could not escape unless one of them let me out or made a mistake. It seemed I would remain a maid until further notice. Part of me, I must shamefacedly admit, didn't think this would be entirely bad. Except for the waist cincher, I loved wearing the clothes. Having to call my kidnappers 'my lord' and 'my lady' was humiliating, but the humiliation tickled my perverse pleasure center. The housework was repetitious but not difficult and gave me something useful to do. Having to dress in the English maid's uniform, having to submit to a real English lord and lady, having to curtsy to them... more sexy humiliation. I stiffened at the thought of it. I even had mixed thoughts about escaping. Did I really want to? Okay, let's say I got outside somehow and climbed over the gate without being electrocuted. It wouldn't be easy in a dress and petticoat and heels, but let's say I managed to get to the public road. Then what? I would be dressed as a woman. I'd have no ID, no money, no phone. I wouldn't know where I was or where I should go. If I just started walking down the road, I might well attract the attention of passing drivers, who might well pull over and ask awkward questions of a lost American girl, or offer her a ride... maybe a ride she wouldn't want to take. In these clothes, I doubted I could resist a man who decided to force me into his car. I shuddered at the thought of my complete helplessness. No one knew where I was. No one was coming to rescue me. No one even knew I was missing. Here I was, forced to dress in petticoats and pinafores, forced to curtsy to my master and mistress, forced to pretend that I was a girl named Lisa. Forced to be the maid of Blackthwaite House. ~ ~ ~ Part 2 A month passed. I was still a captive in Blackthwaite House in northwest England's Lake District. I was a boy forced to dress as a girl and serve Lord and Lady Blackthwaite as their maid. Against my will, I found myself growing increasingly resigned to my fate. After all, my captivity was a comfortable one. I could not escape, but as long as I was obedient and diligent in my toilette and housework, I was treated well. I was not beaten, I was not bound, I was not mistreated in any way, and much to my relief, I had not been molested or sexually abused. Earlier on, I'd wondered whether Lord Blackthwaite had a thing for feminized boys, but it seemed not - he'd never touched me. Lady Blackthwaite's eye sometimes lingered on me, but I figured she was admiring the old-fashioned English maid's uniform she made me wear, not me. I was happy to leave well enough alone, but one evening a somewhat inebriated Lady Blackthwaite summoned me to her bedchamber - she and his lordship slept separately - and, to my great embarrassment, started to talk about sex. "Lisa, have you had any physical encounters with my husband?" Why was she asking? "What do you mean, my lady?" "Has he taken any liberties with you? Fondled your bottom on your way up the stairs? Snogged you in his library?" I felt my face grow warm. "No, my lady! He has always been the perfect gentleman." "A pity, isn't it?" she said. "You have nothing to fear from him. He's no longer as vigorous as he once was, but more important, he's interested only in vaginal sex in the missionary position. He is an extremely conventional male, and would never dream of engaging in oral or anal sex with a man or woman. Or a maid." I blushed. Reassuring, but how very embarrassing! I remembered once walking up the stairs with him behind me, expecting every moment to feel him grope my skirted bottom, and being somewhat surprised when he didn't. This explained it. I curtsied. "Thank you for telling me, my lady." Lady Blackthwaite approached me and tenderly stroked my face. "I, on the other hand, have no such inhibitions. I should warn you that I find you quite attractive, Lisa." I froze. What was this? Our relationship was the opposite of romantic. It was a relationship built not on love and respect, but on dominance and submission, with the usual genders reversed, which was... well... I suppose some people might find it romantic in a certain way, but I didn't. After all, Lady Blackthwaite was twice my age, and while she was still quite attractive, she wasn't my type. To be sure, I was partial to blondes, and did have a weakness for mature women with strong personalities... but I should hate her for what she had done to me. She deceived me, kidnapped me, made me wear a maid's dress with an apron and petticoats, forced me to call her my lady and curtsy to her... I felt myself stiffening again. She sat down on the bed next to me. "Does it bother you that I find you attractive?" What could I say? "No, my lady." "Would you like me to find you more attractive?" "Yes, my lady." "I would be more attracted to a maid who gave pleasure to her mistress." Her arm snaked around my waist and drew me closer to her. She leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. I tried not to reveal my fear and surprise. I wanted to run away, but locked in this house in my skirts and heels, I couldn't possibly evade her. Instead, I passively accepted her kiss. She squeezed my nipples through my clothing, making me gasp. "Come with me, Lisa." She led me to her bedroom, where she sat on the side of her bed. "You may give me pleasure." "What would give you pleasure, my lady?" "Kneel before me, Lisa. Closer." She spread her legs. I knelt, lifted my skirt and petticoats to wriggle forward on my knees, felt my hairless cheeks touch her inner thighs. "Closer. Use your tongue." "Yes, my lady," I said. I leaned forward, found her point of pleasure and stimulated it until she exploded in bliss. I pulled back an inch, waiting to see what she would do. She immediately grabbed my hair and made me give her two more climaxes before she let me go. She purred in delight, pulled the duvet over her and went to sleep. I returned to my room to clean myself up and change into my nightgown. It took some time for me to fall asleep. Until now I'd thought her ladyship was driven solely by an unnatural desire to dominate boys and turn them into girls. From her point of view, it was a game of dominance and submission. I hadn't thought her interest in me was sexual. Evidently I'd been wrong. I put the puzzle pieces together in my mind and realized that her behavior toward me had been changing for the past week or two - from my point of view, for the better. She'd been finding less fault with me. She'd been merciful in her punishment of mistakes. She'd touched me somewhat more often, though in innocent rather than sexual ways, the way ladies might touch each other in public without blushing. A whisper of fingers on a forearm, an adjustment of the other's clothing, stockinged legs touching under a table... certainly it was more pleasant, but where would it lead? I couldn't imagine that romance was part of it. Her ladyship saw me as a servant, an object, an adult-sized doll that she could dress up and control as she chose. I couldn't expect her to consider my feelings, to reciprocate the kind of pleasure I had just given her. But then why was she treating me more gently, and why had she used me for sex tonight? Was I anything more to her than an unpaid housekeeper and now a human vibrator? The next morning, my lady treated me as if nothing had changed. She resumed being the dominant mistress of a submissive maid. A few nights later, though, she summoned me to her bedchamber again, and again I gave her multiple climaxes, and again I wondered what had changed to make her want to use me this way. Maybe his lordship was unable to satisfy her? It was not the emotional but the physical attributes of our relationship that took the next step forward. Two attributes in particular. My nipples started to itch. As weeks passed, they slowly grow larger, and the areolae around them grew darker, and little bumps began to swell on my chest. I finally found the courage to speak to her ladyship about it. "Yes, I noticed you're finally starting to blossom," she said. "I expect you'll be about the same size as your mother. Your bottom also seems to be plumping up." I voiced a long-held suspicion. "Have you been feeding me hormones, my lady?" "Of course. I want my maid to be more feminine. Are your erections getting weaker?" I hadn't thought about it, but realized I hadn't climaxed, or felt the urge to, for a week or more. I hadn't gotten hard when I licked her to orgasm, either. "I think so, my lady." "And now your tits are growing. Good show, Lisa!" "No!" I shrieked. "You can't! You never asked me about hormones! It's illegal!" She smirked at me. "Oh, Lisa, we've already had this conversation, haven't we? What are you going to do about it? In a few months your bosom will be a fait accompli, and you'll love having breasts. You'll fill out your dresses naturally, and you'll experience the delights of manual stimulation. Here, I'll show you." She reached around me to unzip my bodice, slipped my apron, bra and slip straps down my shoulders, removed my breast forms and caressed my nipples directly. They tingled in a way that made me catch my breath. Unconsciously I thrust them forward, wanting more, whimpering softly, but she withdrew her hands. "Your breasts are a gift that we insist you accept," Lady Blackthwaite said. "Your bum, too. We want your figure to fulfill its feminine destiny." "No!" I said. "I want to talk to Lord Blackthwaite. He's a man's man, he can't possibly approve of this." "I thought you told me he approved of what I've done to you," she said. I hastily sorted my straps and zipped up my dress as she led me to his library and knocked. "Your lordship, Lisa wishes to speak to you." He let us in, and gave us both a stern look. "Is this something between the two of you? You know I don't like to interfere in female affairs." "Lisa considers it urgent, my lord," Lady Blackthwaite said. "All right. What do you urgently wish to tell me, Lisa?" I curtsied. "My lord, I just found out that Lady Blackthwaite has been feeding me female hormones. I'm growing breasts." "Are you?" he said, looking at my chest. "Yes," said Lady Blackthwaite. "Lisa's figure is badly underdeveloped. Dr. Rathbone wrote her a prescription." "Doctor who? I haven't seen a doctor!" I said. "So the hormones are to correct her condition?" his lordship said. "Yes," said Lady Blackthwaite. "Prescribed by my own specialist." "Well, there you have it, Lisa," his lordship said. "The hormones are medicine to correct your condition. You must do as her ladyship tells you. Do you understand?" "I understand, my lord, but I don't agree! You can't change my body without my permission!" He sighed. "As I said, I have no desire to interfere in female affairs. Kate, please handle this." "Certainly, my lord. Come with me, Lisa." She grabbed my arm and walked me out of the library and into the kitchen. I wondered what she was going to do to me. The kitchen was filled with implements that would be perfect for spanking a recalcitrant maid. But she didn't use any of them. Instead, she marched me upstairs to my bedroom. I hastened to obey, hoping to avoid corporal punishment. "Lisa, Lisa, Lisa," she said, shaking her head. "What am I to do with you?" "What do you mean, my lady?" I asked. "What I want is simple," she said. "I want to turn a pretty boy into a very feminine girl and make him serve as my maid to keep house for me and make me happy. I like feminizing boys. You would be so perfect, except that you resist me every step of the way, and I don't understand why. You obviously like dressing as a girl, but you refuse to become one. Why? You are already feminine, but you won't take the hormones that will give you a proper figure. Why not?" "Because I'm not a girl, my lady," I said. "Don't you want to be one? You dress as a girl, you look like a girl, you behave like a girl, but you refuse to grow breasts, which would make you even more of a girl. I don't understand." "Breasts would be so permanent, my lady," I said, covering my budding bosom with my hands. "Nonsense," she said. "Women can have breast reduction surgery. You could remove them entirely. It would be a mistake, because with breasts you'll be gorgeous." She gently pulled my hands down into my lap, undid my bodice again and began caressing my nipples. The titillations were so strong that I almost slid off my bed. "You see?" she said. "You react like a girl. You need a girl's breasts, so you can look and feel and have pleasure like a girl." "No!" I protested. "I'm not. I'm... I'm, oh... ooh... oh, my lady..." "What are you, Lisa?" she said. She pushed me onto my back on the bed. One of her hands slid down my body and under my petticoats and began stimulating my boy clit. "What are you?" "I'm..." I moaned. "I'm a... a maid..." "And maids are girls, and girls have breasts," she said. "Do you have breasts?" "Oh... they're little..." "Yes, but they're getting bigger and prettier every day," she said. "And you'll take your girly pills every day, won't you?" She toyed with me again. "Oh, my lady!" I said, starting to writhe on the bed. "Oh... yes..." "And why will you take your girly pills?" she said. "Because... oh... ooh... because I'm, I'm your maid, and... oh... maids are girls..." "Yes, you're my little girly maid, aren't you? And you know how to send your mistress to Paradise, don't you?" She unzipped her skirt, let it fall, climbed onto the bed next to me and spread her legs. I crept up between them and sent her to Paradise again. Afterwards, she played with my nipples again, making me quiver in bliss. "Oh, Lisa, you're mine," she said, and I couldn't deny it. I was hers. She was my mistress, I was her maid, and my duties now included sending her to Paradise upon request. It was just a physical relationship, but there was always a chance it might develop into something more... I lay in bed that night, wondering if this was my real purpose in life. My destiny. As I toyed with my nipples through my nightgown, I could think of worse fates. But shouldn't I aspire to something greater than becoming a woman's personal servant? If I left here, I could return to the States and go to college, graduate, find a job... get married... buy a house... pay taxes... have children... send them to college... It all sounded like a lot of work, with no guarantee that I would be able to achieve all those things. If I stayed here, I would have a free place to live, free food, free clothing, even if it might not be the clothing of my choice. I'd have no money, but my master and mistress would probably buy me anything I truly needed. I could be the maid of Blackthwaite House. I wouldn't have to go to college. I wouldn't have to join the corporate rat race. I didn't know what to think about marriage and children. Who would marry me, a genetic boy in an increasingly feminine body? If I stopped taking my medicine now, I might end up with small breasts that might not be too noticeable. If I remained here, though, I would have to take my medicine, and I would end up Mom's size. I remembered her as having nicely rounded breasts, maybe a C cup. Did I want breasts or didn't I? I'd denied it to the Blackthwaites, but I wasn't sure I was telling the truth to them - or even to myself. No! I screamed at myself inside my head. Lyle, get a grip on yourself! Why would I even consider staying here? I had to escape immediately. I had to get away from my kidnappers, go back to the States, get medical treatment to restore my hormones... go to college, graduate, find a job... Ugh. I couldn't face it. Why did the thought of leaving Blackthwaite House fill me with fear? Why did I want to remain here and serve its occupants? Was I yet another captive falling in love with her captor? There was even a name for it, Something Syndrome. That wasn't me! At least I hoped not. The next morning, as if I didn't have enough to worry about, Lady Blackthwaite informed me that I was ready for my first public appearance as a maid. They would be hosting a dinner party in a week for six guests, and I would be serving it. I wouldn't have to cook - she'd hired a local chef - but I would greet guests at the door, get them drinks, announce when dinner was served, and serve and remove the courses. And, of course, clean up afterwards. "What if your guests can tell I'm not a girl, my lady?" "Don't worry about the men, they won't notice, but women are more aware of the details of dress, hair, makeup and deportment, and they might notice you have a stick figure, not an hourglass." "What can I do this week to make myself more feminine, my lady?" I asked. She smiled. "I have a few ideas." In the week that followed, she drilled me for two hours a day on female deportment and dining room etiquette. She coached me on how to pitch my tenor voice higher and softer. She bought me a new corset that could take my waist down to twenty-four inches, and made me wear it around the clock to break it - and me - in. She bought me a new, fancier maid's dress made of black satin, with a bodice that fit more snugly and exposed more d?colletage, a fuller skirt that ended just below my knees, a fuller taffeta petticoat that hid my lack of hips and rustled deliciously under the satin dress, and a crisp new organdy apron encrusted with ruffles, tucks, ribbons, bows and lace trim. My normal maid's uniforms were utilitarian compared to this uniform, which was purely decorative. A pair of four-inch black patent stilettos lifted my derriere and put my bosom on display, thanks to new breast forms that gave me a C cup while leaving room for my A-cup boobies. I got new stockings with a seam up the back. And, on the day of the dinner itself, my lady drove me to a salon in Windermere, where her stylist pierced my ears, inserted diamond studs, and did my nails, hair and makeup. I debated whether to attempt an escape from the salon, but Lady Blackthwaite made me wear four-inch black patent stilettos with an ankle strap so that I couldn't run away, and stayed close to me throughout my beauty procedures. Her presence deterred me from saying anything to the beauticians. What would I have said, anyway? "Hi everyone, I may look like a girl but I'm really a boy that Lady Blackthwaite kidnapped and turned into a maid, please call the police"? I knew Lady Blackthwaite, thanks to her social status, would instantly take command of the situation and turn me into an object of derision. "Oh, sorry, that's my nephew Nigel, she's quite the Nancy boy and likes to act out in public, sorry if she's bothering you..." Her stylist would giggle and continue beautifying me, and I would have humiliated myself for no reason. As she drove home, she told me who her guests would be: three dull middle-aged couples who fortunately were all local gentry, so I could call them Sir and Ma'am without worrying about titles or precedence. She said she had deliberately chosen the less discerning of her friends, to improve my chances of passing undetected. I thanked her for the favor. As soon as I got home, she had me start dressing. My lady tightened my new corset, drawing my waist in from its usual twenty-eight inches to twenty-five, leaving a one-inch gap. I wore my usual lingerie, my new seamed stockings, which I had to fuss with to keep straight, my new taffeta petticoat, and the four-inch heels I'd worn to the salon. Lady Blackthwaite lowered the new dress over me, taking care not to disturb my hair or makeup, and gently pulled it down my body. I ran my hands over it, loving the feel of the delicate fabrics. The satin slid smoothly over my nylon slip and rustled prettily over my new petticoat. She zipped me up, drawing the bodice tightly around my slender torso, and did up the hook and eye at the top. She tied me tightly into the frilly apron, slid a matching maid's hairpiece onto my head, and anointed my neck and wrists with a light floral scent. She stood back, looked me up and down, touched up my lip gloss, and pronounced me ready to serve. "You look beautiful, and that uniform is gorgeous," Lady Blackthwaite said. "Elbows in, wrists limp, that's better." "Yes, my lady." I curtsied and decided to make a confession. "I'm scared, my lady. I'm afraid I'm going to humiliate myself and embarrass you." "Oh, don't worry about that," she said cheerfully. "I know exactly what I'll say if you're found out. If anyone's to be embarrassed, it'll be you." "Yes, my lady," I said with a curtsy. I didn't dare ask her what she would say. I went downstairs, set the table and retreated to the kitchen, where I got out the china, silver and crystal for five courses: a chilled gazpacho, baked Scottish salmon, roast lamb, a caprese salad drizzled with a balsamic vinegar reduction, and a strawberry trifle. The chef arrived in mid-afternoon, started marinating the lamb and went to work on the gazpacho, salad and trifle. I vacuumed and tidied the downstairs, cleaned the powder room and put white wine, champagne and various mixers in the refrigerator to chill. My work was done by five o'clock, so I had two hours to fret about my impending debut as a maid. Would I pass, or would I fail? Lord Blackthwaite emerged from his dressing room at half six in a perfectly tailored tuxedo. He unlocked the front door and the electric gate at the bottom of the drive, so that the guests could come and go. I briefly thought of slipping outside and hiding or running away, and went so far as to test the front door. It was open... I heard him coming up the steps and backed away just in time. He gave me a sharp look as though he suspected what I had in mind. "Her ladyship has something for you in her boudoir," he said, and disappeared into his library. I found Lady Blackthwaite in her room. She handed me a small flat box tied with a ribbon. "For you." I untied the ribbon and opened the box. Inside was a pretty choker of white satin trimmed with lace and ribbons. "A little something for you to wear," she said. She tied it around my neck with a white ribbon and fussed with it until it looked right to her. I thought I already looked feminine enough and didn't like having something tied around my neck, but of course I didn't object. If nothing else, it would hide my not very obtrusive Adam's apple. "Thank you, my lady." "Oh, you needn't thank me," she said. "This isn't just to make you cuter. It's got a tiny radio device sewn into it. If you step outside the house, or even if you just take it off, it'll sound an alarm and call my phone. Just a routine precaution against you making another escape attempt." "I haven't tried to escape, my lady," I said. She snickered. "I saw you try every door and window downstairs one night a month or two ago," she said. "I was lying in bed, watching our surveillance cameras on my mobile. It was quite amusing, really. Do you still want to run away?" Should I lie, or tell the truth and convict myself? The guests were due any minute now. "Sometimes, my lady," I said. "When I feel more like a boy and less like a girl." "Then it's a good thing I'm making you more girlish," she said. The doorbell rang. "Go answer the door, my pretty little maid. You know what to do. I'll be down in just a moment." I hurried downstairs and opened the door. My knees were trembling. On the doorstep stood a rather bovine-looking couple. She wore what I thought of as a Queen Elizabeth outfit in a dreadful mint green, while he was stuffed into a tuxedo one size too small. "Goodness, I didn't know Kate hired a maid," the woman said. "What a pretty uniform!" I made them a formal curtsy. "Won't you please come in?" "Oh, an American! I don't think I've ever seen an American maid," the woman said. She stepped inside and handed me her light wool stole and oversized handbag. I hurried off to put them on the sofa in Lady Blackthwaite's office and returned. "May I offer you a drink, ma'am? Sir?" "I'll have a Pimm's Cup," the woman said. "Hugh will have a whisky and soda." I bobbed to her and went to the kitchen to make their drinks. By the time I returned, Lady Blackthwaite was downstairs, wearing a lovely calf-length champagne-colored beaded dress. She greeted them as Madge and Hugh. Lord Blackthwaite emerged from his library and greeted Hugh with a heartiness I hadn't seen in him before. They all drifted into the drawing room. The doorbell rang again, and I opened it to see the other two couples, one on the doorstep and the other crossing the driveway. Curtsying to both, I invited them in, took their wraps and handbags and drink orders, and hurried off to take care of them. While in the kitchen I checked with the chef, who assured me everything was on track. I delivered their drinks to the drawing room and retreated to an empty corner, waiting for orders and trying to be invisible - not an easy thing to be in an old-fashioned maid's uniform as pretty as mine. One of the women came up to me and fingered my uniform, feeling the black satin and white organdy. I trembled in fear of discovery, but she showed no sign of awareness. "Just lovely," she said. "How does an American girl come to be Lady Blackthwaite's maid?" Yikes! "Excuse me, ma'am," I said. "I need to return to the kitchen." I ducked out of the room to escape further interrogation. The chef had just finished dishing up the gazpacho and said dinner could begin. I returned to the drawing room and, at the first pause in the conversation, informed the ladies and gentlemen that dinner was served. The meal went more smoothly than I'd dared hope. The food was superb, and each course was ready and plated as soon as I removed the previous course. I served and cleared china from the left side, proceeding counterclockwise, and served wine the opposite way, from the right side and clockwise, as I'd been trained. During each course, I returned to the kitchen so as not to inhibit the diners' conversation, and occasionally peeked into the dining room to gauge when they would be ready for the next course. For me, by far the most important thing was that no disasters occurred. The dinner proceeded without incident, and so did I. No one asked if I was a boy. No one asked about me at all - though I noticed male eyes following me around the table. Female eyes seemed more interested in my uniform than in me. Perfect. After dinner, Lady Blackthwaite rose and led the women into the drawing room. I entered the dining room to serve the gentlemen port. As I leaned over the table with the bottle, one of the men thrust his hand up the back of my skirts and pinched my pantied bottom. I gave a small shriek and almost dropped the bottle. The men laughed. I quickly set the bottle down and turned to leave, and received another pinch. I didn't see who'd done it, but quickly moved out of range of roving hands, to further laughter. "What's your name, darling?" asked the man named Hugh. "Lisa," I said, curtsying. "Show us your tits, love," one of the other men said. "I won't," I said. I felt insulted - and scared. If they decided to investigate my tits or crotch, I would quickly be in trouble. "The bottle rests with you, sir. I have to serve the ladies their tea." To protect my posterior, I backed out of the dining room, giving them a clumsy curtsy en route. The swinging door cut off their bawdy laughter. In the kitchen, I'd already set up the tea tray with cream, sugar and biscuits, the British word for cookies. The water was just boiling, so I rinsed out the teapot, filled it with hot water, spooned the loose tea into a diffuser and put it in to steep. I carried the tray into the drawing room and set it on a low table in front of the main sofa, where Lady Blackthwaite was sitting. She would pour the tea for the others. I withdrew to a corner of the room, trying again to be invisible. The men entered the room a few minutes later, rejoining the ladies. "Were you boys toying with my maid?" Lady Blackthwaite asked with a smile. "Not at all," the man called Hugh said with a smirk. "I thought I heard her cry out," Lady Blackthwaite said. "Lisa, what happened?" I felt myself blush. Why was she putting me on the spot like this? To amuse herself at my embarrassment, no doubt. British humor seemed to be mostly about embarrassment. "It was my mistake entirely, my lady," I said. "My posterior clumsily backed into some of the gentlemen's hands." This drew a laugh from the ladies as well as the men, which made me feel good, though it also drew unwanted attention. I tried to become a wax dummy again. The ladies drank tea, while by the drinks table, the men discreetly accepted glasses of something stronger from Lord Blackthwaite. Everything was going swimmingly until the woman Madge asked Lady Blackthwaite, "Kate, how did you happen to come by an American maid?" Lady Blackthwaite turned to me. "Why don't you tell them, Lisa?" I swallowed, knowing immediately that this was another test, a dangerous one. I now had the opportunity to tell everyone how I'd been kidnapped, locked inside the house, feminized and trained as a maid, and how I desperately wanted to escape and needed their help. Alas, I already knew how that would turn out. Lady Blackthwaite would disarm me with a clever remark and somehow make the whole thing my fault. Or I could make up a story that would embarrass no one. "I'm on a gap year, and I wanted to see the Lake District," I said. "I met Lord and Lady Blackthwaite up on Orrest Head, and we got to talking, and eventually Lady Blackthwaite made me an offer I couldn't refuse." "Were you a maid in America?" Madge asked. "No, ma'am," I said. "I was a brain surgeon." That got a mild laugh, and more to the point, no one asked whether I was a male or female brain surgeon. Wondering how much longer the party would last, I stood up straight, smoothed down my apron, and prayed that no one would pay me any further attention. The good Lord answered my prayer, and when one couple said they needed to go, the others followed soon after. I retrieved coats and wraps and handbags from my lady's office and curtsied to everyone as they left. When Lord Blackthwaite closed the door behind the last of them, I gave a huge sigh of relief and burst into tears. My knees wobbled, and I grabbed the back of a chair to steady myself. "Well!" said Lady Blackthwaite. "Well done, Lisa! Everyone accepted you as a girl. Your dinner service was almost perfect. I bowled you a googly at the end, didn't I, and you hit it for six. Don't you agree, dear?" Lord Blackthwaite nodded. "The illusion is remarkable," he said. "Your best yet. Dinner very well served." Those three words woke me up. 'Your best yet'? What did that mean? Had they had maids like me before? Was I their best maid yet? What happened to the others - and what would happen to me? These new, rather more important questions rudely shouldered aside my somewhat mixed pleasure at successfully passing as a female. "My lord," I said, "what did you mean when you said 'your best yet'? What am I the best of?" Lord Blackthwaite gave his wife a look I couldn't read. She answered my question for him. "Lisa, you're not the first maid we've had," she said. "I like training young people like you to be maids, and it's so much easier if they already have feminine... proclivities." "You've had other maids who were boys? What happened to them, my lady?" She looked into my eyes. "When I reach a certain level of trust with my maids, I offer them freedom. So far, they've all chosen to leave. Someday I'll find a maid who wants to stay." Oh, my goodness. Did she mean me? "Why would a maid choose to stay, my lady?" I wasn't being sarcastic - I wanted to hear her answer. "It's not such a terrible life, is it?" Lady Blackthwaite said. "You're living in a spacious maid's suite in a baronial manor house inside England's most beautiful national park, with a magnificent view of Lake Windermere. You have three excellent meals a day, a queen-sized bed and en suite to yourself, lovely clothes to wear, and all we ask in return is that you serve us as a maid." I hesitated. Had she really offered her previous maids their freedom? Why hadn't she done that for me? What did I need to do to attain that level of trust? "You've not offered me my freedom, my lady," I said. "I do so now," Lady Blackthwaite said. "I'm going to give you the keys to the house, Lisa." I was stunned. "You mean, the doors and windows? You're letting me out?" "Yes, Lisa. Do you know why?" I felt a vast relief, and found it difficult to reply. "No, my lady." "Because if I let you out," she said, "I think you'll come back." "Why would I?" I said. "We've changed, you and I," she said. "This is your home now. You pass as a girl, you seem comfortable in your role, and you're doing an excellent job as our maid. You become more feminine with every week that passes. If I let you out and you decided not to come back, where would you go?" A moment of panic. "I don't know, my lady." "Exactly. You'll stay. Come into my office, and I'll register your fingerprint." I ran my finger across a thingie on her laptop a few times, and it worked! I touched one of the sensors, unlocked a door, stepped outside, circumnavigated the house, explored the grounds, exulting in fresh air and afternoon sunlight. I was free! Oh, I was still a maid in service to the household, but I could open the doors, the window in my room, in any room that I wanted to air during the course of my housework. I could take out the rubbish and recycling and compost. Compared with before, my life was wonderful. My lady trusted me enough to give me a choice between service and freedom, and I chose service, because freedom was a frightening choice in a country I did not know, living among people I did not fully understand. There was nothing waiting for me back in the States. Could I make England my home? I relied on my lord and lady to make that possible. Every few nights now, my lady summoned me to take her on multiple trips to Paradise. As I did so, I thought about running away, now that I had the power to do so, and decided not to. The idea of clambering over the walls or gate struck me as ridiculous. I would tear my clothing, ruin my hair, chip my nails, break my ankle. If I reached the street, I would look a fright and would probably end up in official custody, which would become awkward, or in a predatory male's hands, which would become extremely awkward. So I remained a good girl, watched my breasts grow, served my master and mistress faithfully, and became increasingly comfortable in my feminine persona. As their maid, I did not need to think. I just needed to do my chores, follow orders, curtsy when I spoke or was spoken to, and practice my beauty regimen twice a day. I settled into a comfortable routine of dressing, keeping house and serving my lord and lady. I was Lisa now, not Lyle. I'd found something like ? well, if not happiness, then satisfaction, and a degree of fulfillment ? in a way that I could not have imagined when I landed at Heathrow. And then disaster struck. ~ ~ ~ Lord Blackthwaite died. The rumor that the mad Baron Roger was rogering me at the time is a lie. He passed away painlessly in his sleep. I found his body the next morning, when I entered his room to serve him the full English fry-up that he demanded every morning. The emptiness in his eyes told me immediately that he was no longer with us. I broke into tears. He was a man's man and I was not, but once I became the family maid and lost all pretensions to masculinity, he was a perfect gentleman toward me. He never laid a finger on me, never kissed me, never invaded my privacy the way his guests had. Now I almost wished he'd flirted with me. I could imagine him coming up to me in his library and touching my nipples, making me writhe and fall to my knees before him, and whatever happened after that would not be my fault... but that would never happen now. Lady Blackthwaite immediately took control of the household. She took care of all the unpleasant things that had to be done, including the funeral service in Windermere. I attended the service in my corset and black satin uniform dress without an apron and sat behind the other mourners, hoping none of them noticed that I didn't know the C of E hymns. None of them questioned my sex. I was the maid of Blackthwaite House, a girl in service. I wept for his lordship. I knew that this was a classic case of that syndrome where a captive falls in love with her captors. The Blackthwaites had locked me up, turned me into their maid, and yet I'd developed feelings toward them. The feelings shamed me, but they were real. I could not ignore them, especially now that my life had to focus entirely on pleasing Lady Blackthwaite. When we returned from the funeral, she took me into his lordship's library. "Lisa, I'm going to turn my office into a parlor and start using this room as my office. Give it a thorough cleaning. Throw away all of Lord Blackthwaite's things, including that silly typewriter. Oh, and please burn the manuscript." "Burn my lord's manuscript, my lady? Hasn't he spent years working on it?" "Spent years working on whisky and sodas, more like. I read a bit of it once. It has no literary merit and is extremely indiscreet ? mostly settling political scores with people now retired. The SAS would never allow it to be published." "Yes, my lady." Something about her attitude changed ? I'm not sure how to describe it. She somehow became less distant. "Lisa, sit down. Let's talk." "As you wish, my lady," I said. "We have a situation. There are things I need to tell you," she said. "Did you know I'm Roger's second wife?" I didn't, though her age made it plausible. I was surprised to hear her share personal details with me. I knew next to nothing about either of their personal lives. "No, my lady." "Well, I was. Before that, I was his daughter's governess." Oh my God. She was no more noble than I was. "Daughter? You told me he had a son." "Did I? I worked for his ex-wife, Miranda. She's gone back to her maiden name, Miranda Epsom-Ascot. She had a daughter, not a son." "You were their governess?" She glared at me. "My lady." "You were their governess, my lady?" She heaved a sigh. "Roger and Miranda had a daughter, Emily. I was her governess until she turned eleven and Miranda shipped her off to Roedean." "What's Roedean, my lady?" "A very posh girls' school near Brighton. South coast. During the summer holiday before she left, Lord Blackthwaite and I had an affair." I caught my breath. I could not believe she was telling me all this. "I had no idea he desired me until one night on the stairs," she said. "He... well. It was the usual sordid business. Sneaking behind Miranda's back, serving Roger on my back whenever Miranda and Emily were out of the house. One day Miranda returned early from a ladies' luncheon and caught the two of us half-dressed in her bedroom, he in his boxers, me in my slip, the room redolent of sex. She fired me on the spot, moved out that night and filed for divorce the next day. She got custody of Emily. Roger got custody of the house." "What did you do, my lady?" "I moved back to my mum's place in Ambleside," she said. "And then one day the phone rang, and it was his lordship inviting me for dinner at the big house, on the condition that I would cook and clean up. I never imagined he'd call. I reckoned he was well shot of me. I agreed and cooked him shepherd's pie, which I knew was his favorite, and he awkwardly told me he didn't want our relationship to end, and would I consider living with him in sin." "In sin? He said that?" "Yes, he did, the old dear, and of course I said yes, and he came to pick me up that night. Brought me back here, and I've been here ever since. Before I left, Mum told me not to have sex with him until he proposed. Something about how it worked for Anne Boleyn with Henry the Eighth. I said didn't Anne have her head chopped off, and she said that was Henry's fault, and if I played my cards right, I'd become a baroness and she could die happy. I... well, I'll spare you the details, but he married me six months later, and now I'm a baroness." I felt embarrassed for her. It sounded like a cheesy soap opera, and she sounded like a gold-digger. "Why are you telling me all this, my lady?" She flushed. "Miranda's solicitor was at the funeral today. Pulled me aside and demanded to attend the reading of Roger's will. Said that she wants me to move out of the house, that I have no right to stay, that Emily should inherit it as heir to her father's estate." "But you're his wife, my lady!" I said. "Shouldn't it go to you?" "I think so, but what I think doesn't matter. All that matters is what his will says, and the hell of it is that I've never seen it. His solicitor has the only copy. The reading is at noon tomorrow, at his solicitor's office in Windermere." "Good luck, my lady." "Thank you, Lisa. If I win, I plan to stay here ? and I hope you will, too." "Do you, my lady? You want me to keep serving you? Do I have a choice?" "Yes. At first, I was just drawn to the opportunity to turn a pretty boy like you into a pretty girl and make her my maid. It was about power, not romance. But since then I've grown quite fond of you, Lisa, and I would miss you terribly if you were to leave me now." "I can leave?" "Yes, you're free to go. It's the least I can do for you now that he's gone. I'm so sorry for what we did, and I hope you'll stay." Her words made me want to cry. "Must I decide now, my lady?" "No, not until after the will is read tomorrow." "What happens if you lose the house?" "I'll have to move out. So will you. That cunt Miranda certainly won't keep you on staff." "Where would I go, my lady?" "That's up to you, Lisa," Lady Blackthwaite said. "Without the house and land, I'll have to earn a living somehow. God help me, if I end up having to go back to my dad's bakery, there'll be no way I can keep you on. It'd be a terrible waste after I've trained you so nicely." "You're the daughter of a baker?" She scowled at me. "A respectable tradesman who made sure his daughter got an education!" "Sorry, my lady," I said. "My dad owned a Toyota dealership, I'm nothing special." I spent a sleepless night worrying on one hand about being kicked out of the house, and on the other hand about staying. Lady Blackthwaite wanted me to stay ? but of course she did, she was getting a maid for free! If I left, it was still early in my gap year, I could go anywhere within reason, but where did I want to go? The first place on my list was the Lake District... I woke bleary-eyed the next morning and made breakfast for Lady Blackthwaite in my nightgown, robe and slippers. She dressed in a business suit and drove off to Windermere for the reading of the will. I was not invited. I changed into my uniform, cleaned the kitchen and started my daily chores, but found that I was too nervous to focus on my work. How would the reading of the will go? Who had Lord Blackthwaite named as his heir? Was I about to become homeless? Would I be able to stay? If I had to leave, where would I go, and what would I wear? I had no daywear except my maids' uniforms. Maybe Lady Blackthwaite would lend me a dress, or a skirt and blouse. Or should I ask her to take me shopping for men's clothes? I didn't want to have to cut my hair, hide my budding boobs, and return to the heavy, ugly things that boys wore. I was a girl now, and would spend my days in skirts from now on. I spent the afternoon cleaning out my late lordship's office. Throw it all away, she'd said, and I did. I heard nothing from her, no call or text. A good or bad sign? I didn't know. The sun crossed the sky, went down in a blaze of glory... as did his lordship's manuscript in the grate. The fire died, and as the evening grew darker, so did my mood. I had no appetite and microwaved something to eat, don't remember what. I was convinced Lady Blackthwaite had lost. She would not return to the house, or would do so only under the watchful eyes of security people working for the new owner, this Miranda Epsom-Ascot woman, who no doubt would sack me on the spot. Sack me? Not even: I wasn't officially employed, had no identification or work visa. Legally, I was a trespasser who could be ejected or thrown behind bars. I could see myself now, dressed in my uniform and locked in a cell full of male offenders. By the time I saw a judge, I might be wearing nothing but the tattered shreds of my panties and bra, with makeup running down my face in the tracks of my tears... Filled with such cheerful thoughts, I sat alone in the house, awaiting a fate over which I had no control. Someone knocked on the door. I practically jumped out of my skin. I stood, automatically smoothed down my uniform and answered the door. A tall older man in a well-tailored suit stood on the steps, holding up a barely conscious Lady Blackthwaite. She wobbled on her feet and would have fallen if not for his arms around her. "You're Lady Blackthwaite's maid?" he asked. I curtsied. "Yes, sir." "Her ladyship is somewhat the worse for wear," he said. "If I bring her inside, can you take care of her?" "Yes, sir," I said, stepping back to give him room. He didn't need my help to carry her. He looked around the medieval entry hall. "This way, sir." I led him into the drawing room, where he laid Lady Blackthwaite upon the sofa. "What's wrong with her, sir?" I asked, though the answer was obvious. "To put not too fine a point on it, the right honorable baroness is sloshed. Sozzled. Utterly legless," he said, and flashed a crooked smile. I found myself attracted to him. "I'm her solicitor, by the way. Edward Clarke." He held out his hand. I offered him my limp hand, as women do, and he shook it gently. I gave him a curtsy to be polite. "I'm Lady Blackthwaite's maid, sir. Lisa, Lisa Lyndon. How did Lady Blackthwaite come to be in such a state?" He shot me a smile. I think he found me cute. "It was after the reading of the will. She walked out of my office to a pub across the street. I followed her to make sure she came to no harm. I eventually talked her out of a sixth sauvignon blanc and drove her here." This sounded bad. The terms of the will must have left my lady in utter despair. "May I ask what happened at the reading of the will, sir?" "Oh, she inherited everything." "Which she, sir?" "Sorry. It all went to Lady Blackthwaite. Not his ex-wife." It took a second to sink in. She'd won! O frabjous day! My lady would keep the house, and I could stay or leave as I chose. "If she won, why did she get so drunk, sir?" "How would you celebrate a victory? I should mention that your name came up during the reading of the will." "Mine? How?" "Lord Blackthwaite left you a thousand pounds, Miss Lyndon." Oh my God. My jaw dropped, and I raised my hands to cover my mouth. His lordship and I had drunk each other's health back when I still wore men's clothes, but we'd barely exchanged words after his wife took over and turned me into her maid. He'd always been polite, a perfect gentleman, but I could think of no reason he would leave me money. I'm sure it was a pittance compared to the rest of the estate, but to me it represented instant airfare back to the States in case of emergency ? a useful thing to have in my hip pocket. But if I stayed... a thousand pounds could buy me a wardrobe of pretty dresses, with shoes and accessories. It would be wonderful to have something to wear besides my maid's uniforms. Perhaps I could talk my mistress into giving me the occasional day off, though I wasn't sure what I would do with more free time. Hike the fells? I smiled at the thought. Not in my petticoats and pumps! "I ? I had no idea, sir," I said. "Now you do," he said. "His will said, a thousand pounds to our maid, Lisa Lyndon, for her devoted service. Contact me and I'll arrange it." He handed me his card, gave me a polite bow ? the first time a man had ever done so ? and left. Devoted service. Maybe that's how it had looked from the outside. I'd learned to look and behave like a subservient maid tending quietly and efficiently to her housework, curtsying prettily to her master and mistress. Inside, though, I was a mix of Lyle and Lisa. Lyle hated his captivity, hated being forced to become a servant, hated doing housework, hated being at the mercy of Lady Blackthwaite's lust for domination and feminization. Lisa, on the other hand, loved wearing her maid's uniforms, loved the sound of her heels tap-tapping on hard floors, loved being dominated by a beautiful lady, loved the humiliation of having to do all the women's work around the house. Lyle and Lisa warred within me for control, but as the weeks and months passed, Lisa won. I knew that now. With Lady Blackthwaite's training and discipline, Lisa had taken over my life. I was always Lisa now. I was Lyle only when rebellion flared within me, and that happened less and less often as I grew accustomed to my life as a maid. Soon ? maybe even starting tonight ? I would become entirely Lisa, and Lyle would shrivel away, as the boy bits between my legs were starting to do. I lifted my hands and played with my nipples, smiling at the girlish pleasure I felt. A thousand pounds! But how could I get it? Lady Blackthwaite had identification and a passport for Lyle, or at least I hoped she still did. She had no identification for Lisa, who legally didn't exist. I would have to rely on Lady Blackthwaite and the handsome Edward Clarke to sort that out for me. Her ladyship began to snore on the sofa. I carefully removed her shoes, gently disposed her limbs so that she wouldn't expose herself or roll onto the floor, fetched a light blanket and covered her. I'd never seen her look so vulnerable, or desirable. Perhaps there was a future in which I would feel desire for my mistress, not just fear. I knew she would wake in a few hours and feel ghastly. As her maid, I would wait up for her and then make her drink a lot of water and go to the loo. I would help her up the stairs to her bedroom, change her into a nightgown, and tuck her into bed. I would catch a few hours of sleep, get up at dawn, put on my uniform and do chores until she awoke. I would run her a bath and retire to the kitchen, where I would be ready to administer coffee intravenously, followed by a proper English fry-up. Afterwards, I would put my lady back in bed for a nap. She would sleep half the day and feel much better when she awoke, and I would get her up and brush her hair and help her dress ? everything that a lady's maid would do for her mistress. Then I would make her a lovely dinner, something light and celebratory, and put her to bed early. I felt so proud of myself, so fulfilled. I was proud of having done the right thing for my lady in her inebriated state. I was proud of having done my duty as her maid. I was proud of being Lisa. I loved my dresses, loved being a maid. And I loved my mistress, The Rt Hon. The Lady Katherine Blackthwaite, the former governess and baker's daughter. My Lady Kate. I had found my place in life. Lady Kate was my mistress, I was Lisa, her maid, and I wanted to love her and serve her and live with her at Blackthwaite House forever. ~ ~ ~ Part 3 It was minutes before midnight. Lying on her back on the drawing room sofa, her legs spread amid disheveled skirts, The Rt Hon. The Lady Blackthwaite moaned helplessly as I bent over her. I helped her sit up and handed her a tall glass of water in which two tablets of Alka-Seltzer fizzed merrily. She was in the grip of the mother of all hangovers, incurred earlier in the day when she celebrated a legal victory by downing five glasses of sauvignon blanc in rapid succession. The victory made her the mistress of Blackthwaite House ? and of me. She moaned again. "Oh my God," she said. "I'm dead." "Only mostly dead, my lady," I said. "You're still partly alive. Let's take you upstairs and put you to bed." "I don't think I can walk," she said. "I'll help you," I said. I got her upstairs, changed her into a nightgown and tucked her under the duvet. She belched loudly and instantly fell asleep. It took Lady Blackthwaite all of the next day to recover from her little bout with the bottle. I served her bland meals and made sure she drank a lot of water. It wasn't until the day after that she felt well enough to chat. She came downstairs and found me in the kitchen. I made breakfast, and when we were finished, she told me to sit. "Now that the house is finally mine, I've decided to make some changes," she said. "Yes, my lady?" "The first change is that you're no longer my maid." I froze in shock. I couldn't speak. Was she kicking me out? "Instead," she said. "I'm making you my lady's companion. It's an old- fashioned concept, but perfect in your circumstances. You won't be a servant, you'll be a member of the household, like a poor relation. You'll live here and keep me company. I'll give you room and board and clothing. Possibly a small allowance, but never wages. You won't quite be my equal, but you'll sit at the table at dinner instead of serving it." "Thank you, my lady, but then who will serve the dinner?" "I suppose I'll have to hire a maid." "Hire, or kidnap?" "Touch?," she said. "I'll hire a real girl. I'll never find another boy as pretty as you." "Must you? Can the estate afford it?" "I don't know yet. Probably. I need to meet with Mr. Clarke." "He seemed like a nice man," I said. She smiled. "I'm pretty sure he thought you were nice, too." I hastily changed the subject. "What was the second thing you want to change, my lady?" "Oh. The second thing is, I want you to move into his lordship's rooms. I want my companion to sleep next door, not upstairs. We'll redecorate them, of course. All that dark wood..." She shuddered. "Oh, my lady, you're too good to me!" "Yes, I am," she said, laughing. "No, I mean it!" I said. "I don't want you to hire a maid, because... please don't laugh at me... I still want to be your maid. I want to serve you and take care of you. I don't want another woman in our household, or a man, either. I want to wear your uniform as a sign of my... my deep respect." A tear ran down my lady's cheek. It was the first time I'd seen her cry. She hadn't shed a tear when her husband died. "Oh, Lisa, I'm touched. But I want you as my companion, and you can't be my companion and my maid both." "Why not?" I said. "What do you mean?" "I'll be your maid part of the time, because someone's got to do the chores around here, and I'll be your companion the rest of the time." "That's silly," she said. "How would I know who you are at the moment?" "From what I'm wearing," I said. "When I'm a maid, like now, I'll wear the uniform. When I'm your companion, I'll wear a regular dress. I'll need you to buy me some pretty dresses." She thought it over. "Tell me how a typical day would work. How could you get all your chores done and still have time to be my companion?" "Let's see. When I get up, I put on my uniform to cook breakfast, clean up, do chores all morning and make lunch. If I'm not done with my chores, I'll finish them after lunch. When I'm done, I'll change into a dress and be your companion if you're around. I'll change into my uniform to make dinner and change back into the dress afterwards, and I'll be your companion for the rest of the evening." "And night. Now that you'll be next door to me." "And night." "Let me think about it," she said. "Yes, my lady. Excuse me for saying so, but the idea of having to change in and out of my maid's uniform a couple of times a day is ? how do software people say it? ? it's not a bug, it's a feature. I like dressing and undressing in women's clothes. It gives me pleasure." "I wish I could say the same," Lady Blackthwaite. "What if we simplify your idea? You can wear whatever dress you like, and yes, I'll buy you some pretty ones. Whenever you're wearing an apron, you're Lisa the maid, and you curtsy, and you call me my lady. Whenever you're not wearing an apron, you're Lisa, my companion, and you don't curtsy, and you call me Kate." "Yes, my lady." "Take off your apron, Lisa." "Yes, my lady." I untied it and folded it and placed it on the table. "Well, Lisa?" "Yes, my ? yes, Katherine?" "Call me Kate." "Yes, Kate." It felt odd to be so informal with her. We played the apron game for a week. Sometimes she would walk up behind me while I was working and untie my apron and pull it off me, and then I would become her companion and call her Kate. Sometimes she would walk up to me with an apron in her hands and tie it around me, and then I would become Lisa the maid and curtsy to her and call her my lady. It was fun and sexy and silly, and it made us more comfortable with each other. One day, my lady Kate ? I liked thinking of her that way, though I didn't call her that ? called me to her new office. What had been Lord Blackthwaite's library now looked completely different. The shelves full of books were gone ? she'd mentioned donating them to the local library and historical society. No Victorian desk, no manual typewriter, no dusty cabinets, no wainscoted walls, no portrait of his father, the last governor of some centrifugal bit of the British Empire. Instead, it was all white walls and glass and chrome, a modern executive desk with a triptych of computer screens. The only nods to femininity were the desk's modesty panel and a single perfect orchid in a striking glass vase. I was wearing an apron at the time, so I curtsied to her. "Take the apron off, Lisa," she said, "and take a seat." I removed the apron. "Yes, Kate," I said, pulling a chair into the empty space before her desk. "I have bad news. That cunt Miranda is suing me for control of the estate." "What? I thought your husband's will settled it," I said. "I thought so, too, but she's now claiming that he was unduly influenced by his caregivers, including a maid named Lisa, who was rewarded handsomely in his will." "What? She dragged me into this?" I felt a jolt of fear. I needed to keep well away from the British legal system. "I'm afraid so. Edward Clarke will respond and hopefully quash the thing." "If he can't?" I asked nervously. "You and I will meet with him tomorrow to discuss all this. Wear your prettiest dress, no apron." In the morning she made me look my best before she drove us into Windermere town. We hadn't shopped for dresses yet, so I wore my black satin maid's dress without an apron or cap, and managed to look somewhat normal. Before we entered his office, she reminded me to behave like her companion, not her maid. Mr. Clarke greeted us politely. He'd set out two armchairs for us. I scooped my skirt under me and sat primly on the forward edge of the seat, just as my mistress ? as Kate ? did. "We have two things to discuss, my lady," he said. "The first is Miranda Epsom-Ascot's lawsuit challenging your late husband's will. The second is Lisa's legal status." Oh God, it was going to be all lawyer talk. I smoothed my skirt over my petticoat, sat up straighter and tried to pay attention. "I'll keep the first point short. You will win and Ms. Epsom-Ascot will lose. Lord Blackthwaite's will was ironclad. You, my lady, are the mistress of his lordship's estate. You owe Ms. Epsom-Ascot nothing." My heart leaped. My mistress would win! She would be able to live here forever. What about me? "On the second point, it's more complicated. I'm not an immigration specialist, but here's what I know. Lisa can stay here as a tourist for up to six months. If she wants to stay longer, she can apply for a long- term visitor's visa, and after three years, she can become a citizen by..." He looked at me. "By marrying a UK citizen." I blushed. Maybe he thought we were lesbians, that after years of being married to an old man, Kate was having a fling with a foreign bit of fluff. If so, he couldn't be more wrong. I mean, she was a baroness, she'd never dream of getting involved with an American teenager. Mr. Clarke added a lot of yadda yadda yadda about requirements and blah blah blah and fees and more fees, in more detail than I could follow, and I decided I would just have to trust him and Kate on all of this. I wasn't a Brit. Did I want to become one? I would have to... oh God, what a mess. I hoped Kate still had Lyle's passport, but I doubted Lisa would be able to use it. Maybe I'd have to change back to a boy to satisfy the authorities? I didn't want to, but if Mr. Clarke said I had to... He kept his eyes on me for most of the meeting. I couldn't think why, unless... oh my God... he was totally checking me out. He thought I was a girl. I hoped so, I didn't want anyone to read me as male, but then what if he showed interest in me? I had enough worries already. When we were done ? or rather, when my lady Kate and Mr. Clarke were done, as by now my brain was mush ? we thanked him and she drove us home. While we were waiting for the ferry, Kate said, "Mr. Clarke seemed very interested in your case, Lisa. Or maybe he was just interested in you." I blushed. I couldn't deny it. "Does he know my secret?" "I rather doubt it," she said. "He's reacting to you the way men react to pretty girls. He likes your legs, I can tell. Do you like him?" "He seems like a nice man," I said. "I'm not attracted to him sexually." That was almost entirely true. "I'm straight. I don't want to have a relationship with a man." "What about a relationship with a woman?" Kate asked. I couldn't tell if she was just asking, or if she might really be hinting at a relationship with her. I couldn't believe that, so I assumed she was just asking and gave her a straightforward answer. "I definitely prefer girls," I said. "The problem is, I like being a girl myself, and most real girls can't deal with that." Kate laughed. "And girls who like girls want real girls, not sissy boys." I didn't answer. Was she describing herself? She'd been married to a man for years, but that didn't prove anything. I knew nothing of their sex life, but outside their separate bedrooms they showed no evidence of passion. Of course, they were English, so they might show no evidence of passion even if they rutted like squirrels every night. Back home, I put on my apron back on and resumed my domestic chores. Over the next several days, my lady had several phone conversations with Mr. Clarke, presumably about details of our cases. After one of them, she summoned me to her office. I entered and curtsied. "Yes, my lady?" "Lisa, Mr. Clarke spoke to me about you in particular." "Is it good news or bad news, my lady?" She smiled. "A matter of opinion. He wants to see you socially. He was polite enough to talk to me first." "You mean, like a date?" "Yes. He would like to take Lisa out to dinner." I heard my heart pound. "Oh... what did you tell him?" "I told him I would talk to you, but he shouldn't be optimistic. The two of us are still in shock from his lordship's death, and so on. I hope you won't mind I said this, but I told him I felt like your unofficial guardian ? you're barely an adult, alone in a country that's more foreign than you think ? and I wanted to protect you like a daughter." "H-how did he react?" "He asked me if you're a girl or a boy." I gave a shriek of panic. "He didn't!" "He did." "Oh my God!" My hands were shaking. "What did you tell him?" "I didn't expect him to be so perceptive," my lady said. "If women haven't detected you, I wouldn't expect a man to. I told him the truth." "No!" "Yes. I asked him if he would be willing to date a male in a dress. Because I've long suspected that he might not mind." "What? You mean Mr. Clarke is gay?" "Couldn't you tell? Of course, I've known him for years. Naturally, Lord Blackthwaite never had a clue." I was stunned. "What did he say?" "He was terribly embarrassed, but he admitted he was intrigued by the idea of dating a pretty boy in a dress. In fact, that was his clue that Lisa might be male. For the first time, he found himself physically attracted to a person who appeared to be female, and now he knew why: because Lisa was actually a boy in petticoats." My head was awhirl. "I can't believe all this! I don't want to date Edward or any other man! I'm not gay!" My lady Kate said calmly, "But you're Lisa, who is a very pretty girl, and there's nothing wrong with a pretty girl having dinner with a handsome man. A handsome man who can help both of us ? he's defending me against Amanda, and he's going to help you stay here for as long as you want. Shouldn't we both be nice to him? Are you absolutely positive you're not willing to have dinner with him? You don't have to have sex with him, you can say no. Or you can say yes." I didn't have to oblige Mr. Clarke, but I did have to oblige my lady, so I agreed to do what she wanted me to do. I had dinner with him. It turned out to be an evening I would never forget. Of course I needed a new dress and shoes to match, and Kate decreed that I had to have new lingerie just in case Edward got a peek, so we went shopping ? not in Windermere, but in a larger town called Kendal, half an hour or so away, which had a cute old downtown area with a better selection of shops. In one of them I found a lovely below-the-knee dress in lilac silk with a modest bustline, elbow-length sleeves, a full skirt and a built-in underskirt that would camouflage my lack of hips. On the day of my date, I started with a relaxing tub soak in fragrant bubbles, then put on a simple day dress so that Kate could take me her salon for the works: shampoo and haircut, a facial, a mani-pedi and makeup. She drove me home and helped me dress, joking that she would be my Lisa for a few minutes. I made her put on an apron and called her Lisa while I was dressing, and she called me my lady, and we giggled like schoolgirls. She touched up my hair and makeup, and lent me earrings, bracelets and a necklace, and faffed about with my dress before declaring me ready. Kate opened the gate and Edward's red Mini Cooper drove up at precisely seven o'clock. Peeking from an upstairs window, I saw that he was wearing a well-tailored suit and tie. I was relieved ? I'd been afraid his clothes would be too informal for the dress I'd chosen. I heard him knock and Kate let him in. They chatted for a few minutes, and then Kate called up to me. It was time to make my entrance. I walked down the upstairs hallway, taking care to swivel my hips properly, to the head of the staircase, and slowly descended to the entrance hall, with its great fireplace and flagstone floor and medieval weapons on the walls. Edward and Kate watched me navigate the steps without trouble in my four-inch heels. I presented myself to them and curtsied. "You look splendid, Miss Lyndon," Edward said. "Why, thank you, Mr. Clarke," I said. "You two have a lovely time!" Kate waved from the front door. He escorted me to his car, opened the door for me and gave me a hand as I squeezed myself into the tiny vehicle and pulled all my skirts inside. He hopped into the driver's seat, turned around in the drive and we were off. We crossed the lake on the ferry and drove through Windermere to a nearby town called Ambleside, where we stopped at a place offering fine British dining ? which turned out not to be a contradiction in terms. The food was mostly locally sourced and was superb. I'd never had such a meal. Mr. Clarke told me the place had a Michelin star, and explained to me what that meant. I thought Michelin just made tires. We talked mostly about the food until we were almost done with the tasting menu. A silence fell over us as we nibbled at our Cumbrian gingerbread cheesecake. "Do you mind if I call you Lisa?" he said. "If I can call you Edward." "Please do." He lowered his voice. "I talked to Lady Blackthwaite about you the other day." "I know. She said she told you about me." I wanted to sound angry, but the food had lulled me into a mellow mood. "Yes," he said, looking embarrassed. "And she told you about me?" "She said you prefer boys to girls, and said you'd be willing to date a boy in a dress. So here I am," I said. "Willingly?" "She was able to talk me into it," I said. "What about you, Lisa? As a boy in a dress, could you have a relationship with... with another kind of boy?" "I don't know that I can," I said. "I told Kate I was straight." "Oh, you're calling her Kate now?" "Sometimes. It's complicated," I said. "I'll admit, I told her that I didn't want to go out with you tonight. That would have been a tragic error..." I waved at the remains of dinner, and he laughed. "But," I said, "I get turned on by girls, and by their clothes. I don't get turned on by guys. I mean, I think you're a really nice guy, very handsome, and I trust you as our solicitor, but you don't excite me." "Have you ever had sex with a man?" "No." "Then you don't really know, do you? You might find you like it." He lifted my hand from the table. My rings and bracelet sparkled as he respectfully kissed the back of my hand. "Did you mind that?" "No," I said. "It's nice." He leaned over and kissed me lightly on the lips. "Did you mind that?" "A little, yes," I said. "We're in public, Edward." "And if we were in private?" "I would mind it less." "Well, then. I think we're done here. Do you want coffee?" "No, thank you." Edward signed for the waiter and paid the bill. I couldn't see the amount, but I could tell it ran to three figures. He was a good man, a generous man, and both Kate and I needed him to fight legal battles for us, and I'd been a bit ? well, not exactly snippy with him, but not as warm as a real girl on a date with a man she liked. The waiter pulled out my chair for me as I rose, and I gave him a nod and a smile. Edward walked me back to his car, and held the door open as I went through the gymnastics of climbing into a Mini Cooper in a floaty dress. I hoped I didn't flash him my panties, but he was smiling a bit too broadly as he climbed into the driver's seat. "Lisa," he said. "Edward?" "It's only nine," he said. "I don't want the night to end so soon. I'd like to invite you for a nightcap or coffee at my place. I promise to be a perfect gentleman. I will not force myself upon you. I'd just like to continue our conversation." Unlike real girls my age, I had no experience of dealing with men. I knew they would say almost anything to get into a girl's pants. But I was already in my girl's pants... knickers... whatever. And I wanted to trust Edward. My instinct told me he was a good man. I wasn't afraid of him. Should I be? I had a feeling I would learn something about being a girl tonight, but I didn't know what it would be. "Okay," I told him. He smiled, and exceeded the speed limit all the way back to Windermere, where he had a small house on one of the incredibly cute side streets leading uphill from the center of town. He clicked a control, and a gate not unlike the one at Blackthwaite House rolled open to reveal a parking area just big enough to hold the Mini Cooper. The gate closed behind us, making me nervous. I hoped that wasn't the only exit from the house. He led me through a door into his house. While nowhere near as grand as Blackthwaite House, it was roomy for a bachelor pad, about the right size for a couple. The interior had been thoroughly modernized, except for a few walls that remained unpainted stone. A door in the kitchen opened onto the street, quelling my fear of being trapped. There was a table for two in the kitchen. I sat while he opened a bottle of wine. "English wine," he said. "Quite good, actually. From a vineyard near Hastings." "The Battle of Hastings," I said, scraping the bottom of the barrel in my store of English history. "Well done," he said. "The French stole the whole country, and it took us four hundred years to get a more or less English king, and even he was half Welsh." I could tell he was nervous. Why babble about the French and Welsh? The issue on the table was Edward and Lisa. The dinner had buttered me up, and the wine was helping, and I knew he was a man Kate and I wanted to please. I hadn't minded the kiss as much as I expected. I decided to go for it. Go as far as he wanted to take me, for this one night. I'd probably regret it in the morning, but it was an opportunity to learn one of the ways that adults made love, and I was overdue for schooling in all the ways of adult sex. I was a virgin in all my orifices. How should I give Edward permission to proceed? I decided to give myself permission instead. I leaned across the tiny table and lightly kissed him on the lips. I sat back and smiled at him, desperately hoping I wasn't making a huge mistake. "Lisa," he said. He circled the table, took my hand and raised me to my feet. He kissed me back. His tongue entered my mouth. I let him kiss me ? or snog me, as the Brits say ? as he willed, and boy, did he will. Our arms were around each other. Even in my heels, I had to look up to him, and suddenly I was overwhelmed by his presence. I had an intense desire to submit to him, give myself to him, let him do whatever he wanted to me. "What should I do, Edward?" I asked. "Come into the bedroom." I shivered and followed him. "May I take your dress off, Lisa?" I couldn't speak. Nodded. He unzipped me and pulled my dress off, and my slip, without touching my skin. "Lie down and I'll do you," he said as he undressed. I obeyed. He knelt between my legs, pulled down my panties and put my clit ? Lady Kate insisted I call it my clit ? in his mouth. He licked and sucked it, and it got stiff, and then gradually became less stiff despite his best efforts. I didn't know gay culture and didn't know what roles boys took with each other, but even in my stockings and bra, I didn't feel particularly sexy. "I'm don?t know if this is going to work," I said, feeling deeply inadequate. "I mean, it feels really nice, but I don't think I can come this way. If you were a pretty girl..." "Oh, that again," Edward said impatiently. "Let's move on to the main event." It took a while to get ready. He made me give myself an enema, and when I was done he put on a condom. He grabbed a tube of lube, squirted it onto his finger like toothpaste, and inserted his finger in my bottom. It hurt at first, but the lube helped me relax until he replaced his finger with a lustier appendage. I gasped from the pain, but as he worked his way in the pain lessened, and eventually he began thrusting in and out, as if fucking a girl's vagina. I didn't know what a vagina felt, but whatever it was, the male equivalent didn't excite me. I'd read that the prostate gland was how men climaxed this way, but either Edward couldn't find it, or couldn't reach it, or my gland was substandard somehow. For whatever reason, I didn't climax. He pounded away at me until he came, making me feel all sticky. "Thank you," I told him, hoping I hadn't displeased him. "For what?" he asked. "You didn't come, I could tell." "I'm sorry, Edward. I didn't feel anything magical. I'm glad you enjoyed it." "I totally failed you, didn't I?" he said gently. I admired how he was trying to make me feel better about what was really my failure. I loved girls, not boys. I would just have to tell him. I hated to disappoint him, but he and I had no romantic future. Dressed or undressed, I was hetero. "No, Edward. I failed you. I tried to be something I'm not. Maybe I'm a male lesbian or something, I don't know, but... I respond to girls, and not to guys. I gave it my best shot, and it didn't happen. It's my fault." He looked miserable and unsure what to say. I leaned forward and kissed him again. "Shagging didn't work, but the snogging wasn't so bad, was it?" So we focused on oscular action for a time. I liked being touched and stroked as though I were female, but I wished I was kissing a woman instead of a man. Even so, I was perversely proud of what I'd tried tonight: me getting French kissed, me getting a blow job, me getting fucked in the ass. Only the kissing worked, and I'd have enjoyed it more with a woman, so actually, nothing that Edward did really made my engine turn over. I got up and cleaned him with a warm washcloth, and then myself, and I pulled on my lingerie and my lilac silk dress and fixed my makeup. Edward was looking at me but didn't speak, so I had to. "Edward. I like you, but I don't love you. I just don't love men romantically. I trust you, I would love to be your friend, but I can't be in a romantic relationship with you. I'm so sorry." He knelt before me. Again I felt my heart pound. "Maybe I'm too late, Lisa, but I don't want to lose you! I... I want to offer you my heart." He pulled a small jewelry case from a pocket and opened it to show me a rather lavish engagement ring. "You're the perfect bride for me ? a girl on the outside, a boy on the inside. Will you marry me?" I started to cry. "Oh, Edward! Thank you for the offer, but I can't, I just can't." "Why not?" he said. "Are you setting your sights on Lady Blackthwaite? Don't waste your time. She'd never consider the likes of you." "Of course not," I said. "I'm only eighteen. I don't want to marry anyone yet." "Probably wise," he said. "You and I, we'd be so perfect, but if you can't love me, there's no more to be said." "I'm sorry," I said, sniffling. "So am I. Well. I suppose I should take you home." "I'd appreciate it, Edward." It started to rain. He drove me home in silence. The ferry had stopped running at ten, so he had to take me the long way round the lake, adding half an hour to the trip each way. I apologized for the inconvenience. He said it was no problem. I'd done the right thing, but I felt terrible about it. Edward seemed to be a fine man, though of course a good deal older than me, and like me, he had to keep his sexuality concealed from the world, though we did it in different ways. I hated to hurt him, but I had to think of myself first, and I didn't want to be kept by a man. He dropped me off at the front of Blackthwaite House. A light was on outside the door and upstairs. Edward opened my door for me and held his jacket over my head so that I wouldn't get wet. At the top of the stairs, protected from the rain, we faced each other. "Thank you for a lovely dinner, and for inviting me to your home afterwards," I said. "You're welcome, Lisa. I'm sorry about your decision, but it is your decision, and in your shoes, I might make the same choice." "You'd find my shoes pretty uncomfortable," I said. He laughed. I gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Oh, Edward. You're a perfect gentleman." "Far from perfect," he said. "Goodnight, Lisa." He hurried back to his absurd little vehicle. I entered the keypad code, and the front door unlocked. "Goodnight, Edward," I said quietly, and hurried inside. The wind was picking up. I had just put down my coat and handbag when Lady Kate came tripping down the stairs in a black negligee. "Well?" she said. "Best food I've ever had," I said. "I'm not asking about the bloody food! What about Edward? Come, let's talk." We went into the kitchen. She got out a mostly full bottle of wine, filled two glasses, shoved one at me and we sat. "So," she said. "What happened?" "I'm glad he knew I'm a boy, and I'm glad I knew he's gay," I said. "It made everything easier. I told him that while I was flattered by his interest, I'm straight, and I don't get turned on by males." "Oh, dear," she said. "I'm sure that disappointed him." "It did," I said. "We left the restaurant, and he invited me to his house for a nightcap." "Oh?" "I said yes, and that's when things got interesting." "Ooh. Like what?" "He made me drink English wine." "You poor thing!" she said. "It was actually good. Then he talked me into having sex with him." "Oh, my! What did you do?" "I remembered you saying that I needed to be nice to him, that we're both dependent on him in different ways. So I kissed him. He kissed me back. And all of a sudden we were snogging." "Your vocabulary is expanding. Tongue?" "Lots of tongue. Then he undressed me and gave me a blow job." "Really? Have you ever had one before?" "No." "How did you like it?" "I didn't, really. He couldn't bring me to climax." "Oh! Why not?" "Well... he was a man. He smelled like a man. It turned me off." "So then what did you do?" "I let him fuck me." "Really? How did that feel?" "It hurt." "I hoped he wore a condom." "He did. He got all the way in. He humped me until he came. I felt nothing, except an unpleasant feeling of being full." "He couldn't find your sweet spot?" "If I have one, he didn't find it. I didn't feel sexy. I felt like I was being used." "Welcome to womanhood, sister." Kate sighed and refilled our glasses. "What a pity. He's such a nice man." "Oh, he wasn't done with me." "What else did he do?" "He proposed." Kate shrieked. "What? You mean he got down on one knee and offered you a ring?" "Yes, exactly," I said. "What did you tell him?" "I said no, thank you." "Poor Edward! How did he react?" "Like a perfect gentleman," I said. "He said that in my shoes, at my age, he might make the same choice. Then he had to drive me the long way around the lake because the ferry was closed." Kate laughed. "Adding insult to injury. Or is it injury to insult? Oh, the poor man. I hope he doesn't throw me out of his office the next time he sees me." "Don't forget me!" I said. "I need him to solve my immigration problems." Kate's tone changed, grew serious. "Do you really want to stay in Britain, dear?" "If I can stay with you," I said. "If you fire me, I guess I'll have to return to the States." "I'm not going to fire you, Lisa," she said gently. "I'd very much like to keep you." "Keep me? As your companion and maid?" "No," she said. "Wait a moment." She left the room, returned a minute later, and knelt before me on the kitchen floor. I caught my breath. Was this... was she...? "Lisa, I love you," she said. "I want to keep you with me for the rest of my life." She produced a box the same size as the one that Edward had offered me a couple of hours ago. She opened it to show me a ring bearing a diamond large enough to make me catch my breath. "Will you marry me?" I started to cry again, hating myself for being so weak. I had felt just too many emotions today, and they all overflowed. I never expected this, wasn't quite sure I could believe it, wondered if I was in some sort of waking dream, but knew in the same moment that this was real, and that I needed to give her an answer. If I married Kate, I would become her housewife. I would do the same work I did as her maid, but I would be her spouse, her helpmeet, her hostess when she entertained. She would make all the important decisions, and I would obey her orders as I did now, but as her spouse I would have a higher social standing. And I would have legal rights I didn't have now. And if we married, that might simplify my immigration case. More to the point, I loved her, and I believed her when she said she loved me. We were such an odd couple: a woman who wanted to feminize boys and turn them into maids, and her latest victim, a boy who was happy to serve her in a black satin dress and white aprons and petticoats. It would be a female-led relationship, but that prospect didn't bother me. In our relationship, she would always be the leader, even if I was her housewife and not her maid. I would still curtsy to her. She was waiting for my answer. I made her my deepest curtsy. "Yes, my lady, I will marry you," I said. She took my hands and kissed me, gently at first, then more powerfully. "Thank you, Lisa! You've made me the happiest woman in Cumbria." "How many women are there in Cumbria?" I asked playfully. "At the moment, only two," she said, "and I'm holding the other one." "Can I wear a wedding gown?" I asked. "Wear whatever you like," she said. "On that day, you'll be my princess." "Yes, my lady," I said, and gratefully sank into her encircling arms. The proper snogging began. ~ ~ ~ The wedding took place in the entry hall of Blackthwaite House and was strictly private. I wouldn't get a title for marrying a dowager baroness, so I took the name of Lisa Blackthwaite. I took the groom's part in the ceremony, but wore a strapless organza princess gown supported by my corset and my almost C-cup breasts, with delicate lace overlays on the bodice that continued down its long, very full skirts. Of course I wore a frou-frou taffeta petticoat underneath it, and four- inch white sandals. Edward Clarke very kindly consented to be best man for a crossdressed groom, and looked so distinguished in his classic tuxedo. Kate wore a brilliant white silk tux with heels and looked magnificent. Her mother, Maud, a handsome woman of sixty or so, was her matron of honor, and Kate's younger sister, a looker in her twenties, was her bridesmaid. They wore mauve dresses in different styles that complemented their figures. I remembered the rather fraught dinner at which Kate had introduced me to her parents. I wore my lilac dress, knowing that Kate had explained the situation beforehand. They were taken aback, but not by surprise. Naturally they made no mention of it, which kept the conversation awkward all night. They warmed toward me only later, after I delicately confided to Maud that my late parents had left me in affluent circumstances, in no need of financial support from Katherine or anyone, and well able to contribute toward the upkeep of Blackthwaite House. "Oh, thank goodness," Maud replied. "We were afraid you were just after her money. Are those new shoes?" When I took my vows, I changed the modern wording and promised to love, honor and obey Katherine, and no one raised an eyebrow. We said our I do's and exchanged rings. Kate lifted my brief veil and gave me a kiss that I happily reciprocated, and we were married. Married! If you'd told me before I left the States that any of this would happen, I would've asked what you were smoking. I was so, so happy, but more than a little dazed at how quickly and completely my life had changed. I was happy, too, because no one made a public fuss over my gown. I'd decided to present myself as a female, as Kate's "housewife," starting at the wedding, and all the guests had been warned. The father of the bride, Andrew, a tall, beefy gent who'd played rugby league in his youth, danced with me briefly during the first waltz. I think politeness overcame his distaste at his daughter's choice in a spouse. Edward sensed that Andrew didn't want to dance with me any longer than necessary and cut in on him as soon as was polite, allowing Andrew to escape. Edward was such a prince! He made me even happier later, when he pulled me aside to tell me that our marriage pretty much spelled doom for Amanda Epsom-Ascot's lawsuit against Kate. He explained why, of which I understood not a word. I stood on tiptoe in my heels and kissed him on the cheek. We kept the dancing and speechmaking mercifully short and, on the long table in the dining room, served a wedding dinner of spicy Cumberland sausage, a roast lamb more than a year old called Herdwick hogget, a cold baked Arctic char (Kate didn't approve of eating the native Windermere char), Grasmere gingerbread and sticky toffee pudding, among other local specialties, washed down with local beers, ciders and nips from local craft distilleries. The wine was French and perfectly adequate to its task. Eventually the surfeit of food and drink took its toll. Our celebrant ? a college friend of Kate's ? left first, followed by Kate's family soon after, followed by Edward, and suddenly Kate and I were alone, she in her white tux, me in my wedding gown. She was drunker than I was ? not blotto, but not fully compos mentis. We both sat on the sofa in the drawing room, laughing. "My dad dancing with you ? priceless!" Kate said, covering her mouth. "And the way your mum was flirting with Edward!" I said. "He's such a good sport." We went to her bedroom and slipped into beautiful bridal nightwear. Kate snuggled closer to me than usual, and played with my oversized clit and somehow made it stiffer than it had been for some time, and whispered in my ear that she was no longer on the pill. The thought excited me, and events took their age-old course, and for the first and possibly last time, I deposited my sperm inside her. We wouldn't know for weeks, but it was possible that I, Lisa, had just impregnated my new wife ? or was I the wife? Afterwards, I took her to Paradise, not just once but several times, and fell asleep in her bed, satiated with food, drink, happiness and love. I woke up early the next morning. The house was quiet. I slipped out of bed without waking Kate, tiptoed back to my room and had to decide what to wear on my first day of marriage, my first day as my lady's housewife. One of my dresses, or my maid's uniform? Hold on, we'd decided that the dress didn't matter. It was all about whether I was wearing an apron. Well, I'd certainly need to wear one to cook breakfast and do the dishes and clean the kitchen afterwards... and with the wedding and everything, I hadn't vacuumed or done the laundry in a week... and there was a pile of wedding lingerie that needed to be hand washed... Yes, I definitely needed to wear an apron today. I could be my lady's companion after dinner. I put on one of my new housewife dresses with a petticoat, tied a ruffled bib apron tightly around my waist, faffed with the bow until it was tidy, and set about my daily duties in Blackthwaite House. The End