The next two weeks passed relatively uneventfully. I learnt how to do my housework faster and better, although in return Helen became more critical of my output, so I found myself being told off or punished for what seemed like trivial mistakes. I became increasingly familiar with the kitchen corner and wall, and it was not unusual to have to spend thirty minutes or so each evening writing out lines as a reminder of what I’d got wrong. This was on top of whatever Alice felt like doling out to torment me. Colouring-in pictures in books intended for children was her latest invention, and I could tell that she relished the humiliation that it caused me.

“Wow, what an appropriate picture,” she exclaimed with a smile and a knowing look, when I presented her with a carefully coloured-in picture of Cinderella with Prince Charming kneeling at her feet. I felt my face redden. “Put your name on it, and stick it to the fridge,” she demanded. “I might show it to Martha... or Brent! They’ll love to see how the poor cleaning lady spends her time—when she’s not having accidents, that is!”

She giggled, and waited to gauge my reaction, but I said nothing.

“Hmm..., maybe I’ll suggest to Mum that you should wear a diaper!”

I assumed she was winding me up, but perhaps not, so I felt compelled to say something. “Do you mean a nappy, Miss? Please don't suggest that!”

“Call it a nappy if you want, but I prefer saying diaper. I’m sure Mum would agree to you wearing one to stop you wetting your trousers and creating extra laundry.”

“Please, Miss. Don’t suggest it. Please!”

She giggled, chuffed with herself that she had got a reaction from me. “Interesting! A normal person would simply have insisted, ‘I’m not wearing a diaper,’ and would have stamped their foot down. But you obviously think it might happen, were I to suggest it to Mum. I’m amazed you agree to be humiliated in this way. After that initial outburst at the first lunch break, when I sent you into the corner, you seem to have accepted your fate. You don’t argue with me anymore when I tell you to do the most ridiculous things. Why is that? I like a good argument—as long as I win, obviously!”

I waited a moment to gather my thoughts. “Well, you’ve made it very clear that I have to do what you tell me, Miss, so I see no point in arguing.”

“I’ve defeated you,” she laughed. “I didn’t expect it to be so easy. Remember, Mum said if you don’t want to do what I tell you, all you have to do is persuade me otherwise, but you’ve given up trying. In fact, you barely tried at all. Why is that, Julie?”

“I know that your Mum regularly asks you how I’m behaving. I know that because she tells me, and so far the reports have all been good—so thank you for that, Miss. An unfavourable report from you will only rebound on me, so it’s better that I’m compliant and do what you ask me.”

What I didn’t say—and in fact couldn’t say—is that Helen controls when, and if, I get sexual relief and any ill words from Alice would inevitably delay my release. I also couldn’t possibly admit to Alice that her domination of me was a massive turn-on and, indirectly, she helped to determine when I get release.

“Mum is definitely on your case, all the time. She’s always finding fault with your work and punishes you when you let your standards slip. It puzzles me that you put up with it, so she must have some hold over you. No ordinary man would be writing out lines most evenings, or stand facing the wall with his hands on his head. So why do you put up with it? Why haven’t you walked out because I can’t believe you get paid much? Come on, Julie, answer me, I want to know. I’ve asked Mum, but she said to ask you.”

I was in a dilemma. I obviously couldn’t tell the truth, which is that I was a submissive male who enjoys being dominated, controlled and punished by powerful women and who is sexually frustrated because he is in permanent chastity and will do anything, no matter how humiliating, in the faint hope of getting occasional relief. “I’m waiting for your answer, Julie. Come on!” she urged.

I had to think on my feet and hope that I could come up with something plausible. “Well, you know that I like to dress up as a woman. Your Mum took pity on me and said I could fulfil that dream by living here, but in return I had to work very hard and match the standards that your previous cleaners had met. She said if I don’t meet the standards then I either have to leave or accept punishments to encourage me to do better. The thing is, if I left, I don’t know anyone else who would want to employ a cross-dressing cleaner. Do you understand, Miss?”

“Hmm, all sounds very fishy to me, and I don’t believe a word of it. You’ve told me before that you don’t like dressing up as a woman! And you do a much better job of cleaning that anyone else we’ve ever employed, and they were never punished. What’s more, I can’t believe you’re not meeting Mum’s standards because they’ve never been that high!”

She roared with laughter, before continuing. “But I suppose I can see something in what you’re saying... I think. After all, no one else would want a weirdo like you living in their house. And Mum has always been bossy with a frightening temper. I don’t know how Dad put up with her, to be honest. I know I can be a bit bossy sometimes, and I’m sure you can see that I’m my Mum’s daughter!” She laughed again.

“You are so alike, you could be sisters!” I replied, smiling.

“Aah, that’s sweet of you to say.” She paused to reflect. “I do like you, you know. You’re a good sport and though you may be a freak, you’re a nice freak. But just because I like you doesn’t mean that you don’t have to do what I tell you. If Mum can punish you, then so can I. As you say, one bad word from me to Mum and you’re mincemeat.”

I smiled in return. I had also become fond of Alice, irritating though she usually was. But it had slowly been dawning on me (I can be slow on the uptake!) that she gets turned on by humiliating and punishing me—why else are her nipples so often sticking out in mid-summer? Probably my submissive compliance was arousing her still more.

“Anyway, we’ll have a break from colouring-in, so we’ll do something different.” She stroked her chin while gazing at the wall. “I know! I’m going to give you a mental arithmetic test. Get a paper and pen, and sit on the floor. I’m going to read out some problems and you will give me the answers! Then I’ll decide what the punishment will be for mistakes.”

She opened the calculator on her phone. “OK, here we go, you have five seconds to answer each question. Add together fifty-seven, twenty and eleven. Five, four, three, two...”

“Uhm, eighty-eight!” I yelled.

“Good girl! What needs to be added to 512 to make 692?”

“Er, 180!”

“Fantastic! How many times does thirteen go into 144?”

“Eleven!”

“Cool. And what’s the remainder?”

“Oh... err, one!”

“Yes, good going! Let’s make it harder. What is seventeen times thirteen?”

“Umh..., oh...,”

“Sorry, times up. It’s 221. That means this evening you’ll have to write out ‘seventeen times thirteen equals 221’, ten times. Write that down on your pad. Ready to continue? Then what is 168 divided by forty?”

“Umh ... four point two!”

“Ooh! That was quick! What is 168 times forty?”

“Umh..., sorry, no idea!”

“It’s 6,720! You can guess what that means, can’t you? Make a note of it and then this evening write out the sum ten times.”

And so it continued for about another twenty or so questions, and I got six wrong in all, which equated to sixty lines.

“Hmm, that’s not many and will take you no time at all, so that’s not much of a punishment,” she concluded. She thought for a few moments. “I know! What I want you to do is write out the sums in words, not numbers.” To make sure I understood what she meant, she took the pad and wrote out ‘Seventeen times thirteen equals two hundred and twenty-one’. “OK?” she queried. “I will check your lines tomorrow lunchtime.”

What Alice referred to as my schoolwork continued on subsequent lunch breaks. One time it might be mental arithmetic and the next French vocabulary, and then spellings another day. I didn’t sense that she was being malicious, but I did detect that she was becoming aroused by inflicting this torment on me—her protruding nipples and dilated pupils were a giveaway. She’d never been able to exert so much power over anyone before, especially someone more than twice her age, and she was loving it. After a few of these sessions, she remarked. “I’m finding these lunchtimes fun, aren't you?”

“I suppose they could be fun, but if I’m honest, I’m not happy with being punished with lines when I get an answer wrong. Why not just let me see how many I can get right, Miss?”

“You’re being ridiculous, Julie. There needs to be a penalty for making mistakes, otherwise where’s the incentive to get a high score? But I could vary the punishments, and make you do something else other than write lines. I know, next time for every mistake, you will spend five minutes facing the wall with your hands on your head. You can do it in the evening, after dinner. OK?”

“Yes, Miss,” I replied, half-heartedly. And then what I thought was a clever idea occurred to me. “What if we alternate, so that one day you ask me questions and the next time I ask you questions?”

She laughed. “Nice try, Julie. I suppose this is a lame attempt to persuade me to change my mind. You're bloody useless when it comes to being assertive! No way are you testing me. I’ve only just left school, remember. This is all fresh for me. You’re the one who needs revision in French, mental arithmetic, and what not. So, no, we’ll keep it the way it is. Besides, I’m in charge of you. This is not a democracy, so your opinion doesn’t carry much weight.”

Tests of one sort or another became a familiar lunchtime activity for me, and Alice always made sure I was never able to score full marks. As a result, there was always some forfeit to be paid in the evenings, which was on top of any other punishments set by Helen for failing to meet her newly acquired housekeeping standards. Room ran out on the fridge, but other metal surfaces were found to attach my written work to. And if I wasn’t writing lines, I was facing the wall.

Helen, by now, was well aware of what was going on with Alice at lunchtimes but did nothing to stop it. Indeed, she was even encouraging it. “It’s great that you two are entertaining each other over lunch. I think a complete break from your housekeeping is a lovely idea, Julie. And it’s even better that she’s being such a sport and accepting these forfeits without question, Alice. I would have thought Julie would have talked you out of them, unless she enjoys being punished! Now that’s a thought! Which of you reckoned this would be nice to do?” she enquired.

“Alice did, ma'am,” I replied, looking up from my line writing. “I went along with it. And she convinced me that there had to be some penalty for wrong answers.”

“Interesting! I’m so pleased that she is learning to be assertive. It’s a great tool for later life, don’t you think?”

I agreed that it was, thinking to myself that it was evidently not a skill I had managed to acquire after thirty-seven years.

oooOOooo

The next day was Saturday, and I was alone with Helen, who was carrying out my weekly appraisal. I took the opportunity to ask her about a comment she’d made the day before. “I hope you don’t mind me saying, Ma’am, but I was a little shocked when you said to Alice that I might enjoy being punished. That was a remark very close to the truth. Alice may have read something into that.”

Helen smiled. “I’m sure she did! But remember you’ve already hinted to her that you like being humiliated.”

“I don’t think I said that I liked being humiliated, even though I do find it arousing. I just said I find certain things humiliating, such as wearing these undies and the uniform. I wouldn’t have been explicit with Alice about humiliation turning me on.”

“True, but she’s mentioned to me that humiliation seems to tick the right boxes for you. She’s bright and observant. I deliberately dropped that remark saying you might enjoy being punished as another step along the way of getting her to slowly understand our relationship. It’s likely she will raise it with you, so get your answer ready.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t know, Julie. Use your brains for once, but just don’t mention anything directly about sex or chastity.”

oooOOooo

Sure enough, on Monday, Alice started to interrogate me about her Mum’s comment. I was sitting on the naughty stool, with my back to Alice, while she ate her lunch. “What Mum said on Friday got me thinking. I reckon you do like being punished and humiliated and that’s why you put up such pathetic resistance to me. Actually, it’s dented my confidence. I was thinking it was because of my strong personality that you gave in so easily. But I was wrong.”

Alice took another bite of her sandwich before continuing. “I’m wondering how obedient you are, Julie? Do you answer to me or to Mum? Hmm? Swivel round and face me.” I didn’t understand what she meant. As far as I was concerned, I answered to them both.

I turned around, to find she was sitting facing me, barely inches in front, and perched on a tall bar stool. Low down, on my stool, my eyes were level with her thighs. What’s more, she was wearing a short skirt, and, consciously or otherwise, her legs were slightly apart. In front of me, I could see a pink triangle. It took me a couple of seconds to appreciate that my 180-degree rotation had brought her pantries directly into my line of vision! I was in forbidden territory!

I panicked and instantly averted my eyes upwards, yet that pink vision mesmerised me. I knew those panties well, as I had handwashed them several times, but seeing them in situ caused my penis to harden and push against the sides of its cage. Had she realised what I'd seen, as I’d turned around on my stool?

I forced myself to look up at her eyes. A small smile broke across her lips, while I stared at her like a rabbit caught in the headlights. She knew! More likely, she had planned it. I was about to apologise, when I became aware, out of the corner of my vision, that she had opened her legs a tad further, advertising an even more enticing view of her undies.

Desperately, I resisted the temptation to look down, but her response was to widen the angle of her thighs still further, which pushed up her short skirt, exposing more bare leg.

My heart started pounding, while her smile grew wider. Like a mythological Siren, she was luring me to my doom. She wanted me to look straight between her legs, knowing that I would land myself in big trouble.

For several seconds I held out, my eyes fixed on hers, but then my willpower gave way, and my hormones took over. My eyes flicked back down to take in the spectacle, before quickly looking up again. In the space of that split second, I was sure I detected a moist spot on the silky fabric. Then she clamped her thighs shut.

She pouted at me and then sensuously ran her tongue over her upper lip. “You’re a naughty girl, Julie. Very, very naughty indeed.” She slowly shook her head from side to side, feigning disappointment. “What will Mum say, when I tell her?”

I gazed at her, open-mouthed, not knowing what to say. Then, without warning, she slapped me twice across the face, first one side and then the other. “I asked you a question, Julie! What will Mum say, when I tell her what you've done? You were looking up my skirt!”

“Oh, God, please don't tell her, Miss... I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Miss,” I pleaded, my face now bright crimson from both embarrassment and my chastised cheeks. “I shouldn’t have looked! Please don’t tell your Mum.”

She didn't immediately reply, but instead she jumped down from the stool, and I was expecting the worst. But before I knew what was happening, she had slipped out of her skirt, revealing her pink panties in their entirety. I couldn't help but look and what I thought had been a damp spot, was now much more than a spot.

“You need to convince me not to tell Mum, Julie. Get down on your knees, hands behind your back. Use your teeth to remove my knickers. Gently, though! I don't want holes made.”

The thought of what she was asking frazzled my brain, and my throbbing penis was now desperate to escape its imprisonment. I now understood what she meant when she asked me who I answered to, her or Helen. I knew that if Helen discovered what I was doing, my life wouldn’t be worth living, yet I couldn’t bring myself to refuse Alice’s instructions. Indeed, at that moment, all rational thoughts had gone out of the window, and I craved nothing more than to comply, whatever price I might later have to pay.

She stood in front of me as I used my teeth to ease down her panties. Despite their flimsy nature, they were a tight fit and it took longer than I thought. By tackling first the left side, and then the right, and then the front, I gradually edged the waistband down a couple of inches over her slim hips, my nose rubbing against her soft flesh, savouring her delectable aroma.

“Now suck the crotch into your mouth and pull down—slowly,” she ordered. “Keep your hands behind your back. I don’t want you groping me.” Eagerly, I drew the damp material into my mouth, where my saliva mingled with her irresistible vaginal secretions, tantalising my taste buds. The pain from my trapped penis was now excruciating, yet, even if I could speak, I couldn’t reveal to her that I was locked up.

Prolonging the descent for as long as I could, I eased her knickers down to the floor, luxuriating in the flavour of her divine nectar. And, as the panties made their way down, my nasal passages caught the unmistakable scent of her arousal, fuelling a further state of despair.

I let go of her panties and she stepped out of them, before sitting herself down on a kitchen chair and spreading her legs, pulling her vulva apart with her fingers. Her genitalia showed signs of arousal and glistened in the sunlight coming through the kitchen window. She said not a word, but I knew what she expected. On my knees, with my hands still clasped behind me, I hobbled over and buried my tongue into her. She grabbed my hair, pulling me in closer.

My lips caressed her labia, and my tongue explored her clitoris before burrowing deep into her vagina. I wondered if she might be a virgin, but my tongue felt no impedance to its progress. Besides, the way she had taken command of the situation suggested to me that she had experience of sexual encounters. I was not the first, not that Helen would see that as a mitigating factor were she ever to find out.

My tongue and lips kept working, her freely flowing juices simultaneously providing me with both reward and torture. Soon she was twitching, and then murmuring. As she got louder, so she pulled me in tighter, so much so that I was struggling to breathe. Then, suddenly, she reached a crescendo and screamed out a stream of expletives as a powerful orgasm wracked her body. Her juices squirted into my mouth, catching the back of my throat. Her frenzy seemed to go on forever and then she fell back into the chair, pushing me away.

“You... you've convinced me. I won't... tell Mum, Julie. This... this never... happened. Un... understood?” she gasped, breathlessly.

I nodded. We both knew that this had to be our secret. If Helen found out, I would be kicked out of the house, but probably only after being thrashed to within an inch of my life. And I was sure any punishment would fall entirely on me—the saintly Alice would make sure of that with one of her Oscar-winning performances.

“Go... go and face the wall, while... I get dressed,” she continued, still struggling to catch her breath. “Hands on head!”

I did so, still trying to take in what had happened. A few seconds later she announced, “OK, you can... get straight on with your housework. No stopping work... for a wank! We’ll carry on... our chat tomorrow.” I heard her leave the kitchen and I turned around. On the floor were her pink panties, left for me to handwash. I picked them up, my organ still pulsating, unable to understand in its stupidity why it couldn’t extend to full size. Pre-cum was flowing freely, drenching the pantiliner that Helen required me to wear. Despite the house rules against it, and the further pain it would cause my swollen member, I couldn’t resist holding her knickers up to my nose and deeply inhaling the remaining traces of her heavenly scent.

Alice knew how to tease and torment me, even though she didn’t yet know all my secrets. If only I were able have a wank—at that moment I was desperate for one, but my cage prevented it.