Fantasy Holiday

by

Rob Willson

 

Chapter 10

 

When Peter and Helen landed at the airport, they drove to Helen’s home, because it was nearest.

They had bought some food on the way, so, after showing him where everything was, Helen prepared to cook them a meal. She came out of the kitchen wearing a very smart ruffled old-fashioned pinafore.

Peter made sounds of approval and asked, half seriously and half jokingly, "Don’t you have an apron for me too?"

Helen gave him a rather peculiar look and said, "Well as a matter of fact I do. Do you really want to wear it?"

"Of course" said Peter. After our holiday, I feel a bit naked without one.

Without saying another word, Helen disappeared into the kitchen and returned carrying one, which she handed to Peter. He now understood the ‘peculiar look’, but put it on without commenting.

However, after seeing himself in a mirror, he murmured, "I thought I was used to wearing one by now, but this time I do feel a bit ridiculous."

"Of course you feel ridiculous", snapped Helen, "why else do you think women put men into bright pink rubber aprons if not to make them feel ridiculous?"

She then made him turn round and she retied his apron bow.

"Now that is a much neater bow, but you do know the other reason I’ve done this don’t you?"

Peter shook his head.

"When I tie you into an apron, it means you cannot take it off without my permission. This is my home and my House Rules say that you now have to wear it at all times, unless I say otherwise. Understood?"

"Yes Ma’am" Peter replied meekly, entering into the spirit of the thing.

"Just one exception though", added Helen with a grin, "if anyone calls here then you have to take it off. I don’t want any of my neighbours, or callers, seeing my husband-to-be wearing it, because quite frankly my dear, you do look as ridiculous as you apparently feel."

With that, she went back into the kitchen calling for him to follow.

"You are dressed very appropriately for doing the vegetables for me and after we have eaten, you can also do the washing up in your pinny. That will be like old times, won’t it?"

Peter protested, "But you have a dishwasher for that".

Helen smirked and said, "I now have two dishwashers and can choose which one to use".

Peter didn’t have an answer to that, but realised he was quite enjoying being bossed about by her.

Later, they went to bed and made up for their recent two-week’s separation.

The next morning, after he had done the washing up again, thinking that ‘Yes, it was just like the time he had spent in the town of Paradise, rubber-aproned at the sink with a pile of dirty dishes to be washed’.

Helen then started to get herself up to date with her work after her six-week’s absence. Peter sat at her computer to have a look at the problem she had been working on before her holiday. She had said that she had spent two weeks struggling to get over a stumbling block.

She had said, "It’s nagging at me. It is as though I can see the answer out of the corner of my eye. It’s just out of reach and has me really frustrated."

An hour later, she took Peter in a mug of coffee and found him sitting in concentration at her computer, still dutifully wearing his pink apron, which made her smile. He nodded a very absent minded ‘thanks’ as she put the mug down, but obviously didn’t want to break his concentration, so she quietly left him to it.

Another hour later, she looked in again and this time he was leaning back in his seat stretching to loosen his shoulder muscles with a smile on his face.

"Come here and check this out for me", he said.

She slid into his empty seat and he pulled up another chair behind her.

After five minutes, she turned with a big grin and threw her arms about his neck and said, "Oh you wonderful man. That’s what has just been at the back of my mind all this time, but I just couldn’t get hold of it. As a reward, you can take off the apron, if you like"

"What? Oh no, that’s all right. I’m back to being used to wearing one again now, thanks.

"You know, I think we are really going to be a tremendous team with this", nodding at the computer.

"What? Do you mean as well as that other team-work last night?" he asked.

"Yes, that was great fun wasn’t it?"

Helen added thoughtfully, "But we’ll have to do something about finding somewhere to live which is a bit better soundproofed. I didn’t care much for having my panties stuffed in my mouth so that I didn’t make too much noise."

"Well, don’t look at me. That wasn’t my idea was it? Anyway, I have a possible solution in mind, but I don’t want to say any more until I’ve had a chance to check on something at my home."

Three days later, there were in his apartment 200 miles away. Before leaving her place, he had knelt humbly on the floor in front of her and asked meekly.

"Please Ma’am, may I pack my pretty pink pinny to take with us? I don’t have anything like it at home."

"Of course you may, sweetheart. I have packed one or two for myself, as well."

So, they sat in his place, he again wearing his pink apron and Helen dressed in the prim starched uniform of a 1930’s housemaid.

On their first full day there, Peter went off to sort out his affairs in his turn, whilst Helen worked at his computer on his problem, which was similar to the one she had had.

After only 20 minutes, she went to find him and said, "I think it is bingo again."

Yes. There it was. The perfect solution to his problem.

"Only twenty minutes", he exclaimed. "You are truly a bloody genius!"

"As a matter of fact", she said, "like with my problem, it was the way that you started the solution that made it easier for me. I think we are going to be really successful working together at this."

At that point, the new Company of Hel-Pet Computer Solutions was born. Originally Peter had suggested Hel-Pet Software Solutions, but Helen had pointed out that they would almost certainly be referred to within the industry as Hel-Pet SS and she didn’t like the sound of the SS, as a possible reminder of the Nazis, so they agreed on ‘Computer Solutions’.

"Now we can concentrate on finding an answer to our fantasy life problems", said Helen.

"I may already have it", said Peter. "Some months ago I looked at a house on the market, which I think might be ideal for us. It wasn’t suitable for me on my own, but I think it would be just right for a couple like us. I’ve just checked up and it is still for sale and we can go to look at it this afternoon, if you want."

"So attractive, but still on the market" queried Helen. "That sounds a bit odd to me. Please explain."

"Well, its previous owner, who died suddenly in an accident, apparently had a very big thing about privacy and security – and a special reason for being so, as I will explain at the end. It is a very nice medium-sized house, not too near any neighbours and with a high wall round it and security gates with electronic access and surveillance cameras. Some people might find that all a bit too much for a family home.

"It has very nice gardens, but another snag, from the general buyers point of view are the cellars."

"Explain that!"

"Well he was a bit kinky like us, but I think it would be better to show you, than describe them. It is only half an hour’s drive away."

"It sounds perfect, but let’s go and look", Helen replied.

* * *

"It is perfect. Almost too perfect. Can it really be true? How much is it and can we afford it?" They had just finished the tour of the property.

Peter told her that the price had been reduced since his first viewing as it was sticking on the market.

"I suppose it must be the cellars" murmured Helen.

"Very probably" agreed Peter.

Peter had intimated that the previous owner had been ‘kinky’ and the cellars were the proof of that.

They had been fitted out as a dungeon at considerable expense. There were two cells. One in the corner all enclosed with a heavy door with a spy flap and a second with only vertical bars all round and no privacy at all for the unfortunate inmate. There was also a pillory, a whipping block, several frames and a selection of whips, canes, crops and straps on the walls, together with chains, manacles and a variety of uncomfortable looking gags, masks and harnesses.

Peter additionally explained that it was all state-of-the-art stuff. Everything that could be locked had a fail-safe electronic lock to guard against power cuts – they opened automatically in that event. Also, just in case one player was locked into something and their partner had a mishap, a special voice-activated keyword would release the victim. On top of that, in case he/she was gagged and could not speak, there was always a time switch in operation

"That meant he could lock himself into a cell or a piece of apparatus for a period, if he was on his own and wanted to play" surmised Peter.

"I used to do a low-tech version of this. I used to lock myself in handcuffs with the key at the bottom of a bowl of ice and had to wait for it to thaw out, before I could release myself. But, as an emergency release, I only had to boil a kettle and pour it over the ice.

"I got the idea from an erotic novel I read, but there they wanted to release this girl early and started to chip away at the ice, obviously not thinking of the idea of boiling water!"

"It must have cost a fortune and that is probably reflected in the price. We shall have to do something to make that more ‘perfect’ too. Here are my suggestions." Helen summed up her proposed strategy.

Because Peter had seen the property before, the agent had given him the keys and allowed them to view it on their own. It saved him dragging himself out there yet again for another possible abortive sale, apart from having to explain away the embarrassing cellars.

When they were back in his office, the agent asked, more optimistically than he was feeling, "How did it go? What do you think?"

Peter shrugged and said, "The fact is that I like it very much, but my fiancée has some doubts and reservations. Why don’t you repeat them to the gentleman dear?"

Helen started very doubtfully "Well we have only just started looking and I don’t think we should rush into anything".

"I can tell you quite honestly that there is nothing anywhere near similar around here" interrupted the agent.

"Okay, I accept that, but we could look nearer to where I currently live, that’s about 200 miles away, or even anywhere. You see", she added confidentially, "my fiancée works on computers so we don’t have to live anywhere in particular. It could be anywhere in the country, or even in another country as long as there is a telephone line."

With Peter’s opening remark that he liked it very much, the agent’s hopes for a sale at long last had soared and now they began to plunge again.

"Perhaps I can knock five percent off the price", he suggested tentatively.

They both ignored that offer and Helen continued.

"I suppose the cellars might have something to do with the way I feel, because I admit I quite like the house really. I think it might take quite a lot of money to have the cellars changed back into normal ones, don’t you think", she asked very innocently.

The agent then tried the following gambit, "The house has rather large cellars and the awkward part only occupies half of them and has a very discreet connecting door, so you could keep it locked and forget about that half". He crossed his fingers out of sight under the table.

"Oh no" said Helen, "I can imagine things I would want to do in that part."

At this, Peter had to turn away. He knew she was envisaging being locked in the pillory or tied down on the block and having her arse thrashed by him; or vice versa. He wiped the smile off his face and turned back as she continued.

"Also, you know, we couldn’t have an ordinary firm to do the alterations. It would have to be a very discreet one and they would probably be very hard to find and be very expensive."

The agent’s hopes rose again. "The papers relating to the original alterations are in the file and that firm could be used again, I suppose. I’ll tell you what. Against those possible expenses, I can knock ten percent off the asking price."

Peter was obviously on the point of saying ‘Done’, but she stopped him with a quick frown.

"I am not an expert on building costs, but I think it could take as much as, and she pulled a figure out of the air, which was a quarter of the asking price. Would ten percent off cover that darling?"

At this question, Peter nearly had a fit. There was this computer genius, who had the equivalent of a top grade black belt in computer programming, playing a bimbo who didn’t know that a quarter was 25%.

The agent also almost had a fit. He asked if they would excuse him for a moment whilst he went into the inner office and made phone call. It was an executor’s sale and he explained that he thought he could finally make a sale if they agreed to a fifteen- percent reduction. They wanted to get rid of, what to them was a white elephant, so they readily agreed.

While this was going on, Peter whispered quietly to Helen, "Look. If he comes back with a better offer, let’s accept it. I think we have reached the end of the road."

"I agree," she grinned", but it was fun while it lasted, wasn’t it?"

Before Peter could tell her that her ‘fun’ had almost given him a heart attack, the agent came back with a final reduction of fifteen percent.

Peter immediately said to Helen, before she could decide to try for some more ‘fun’, "I think that is a very fair offer, my dear, and, don’t forget you are only guessing at the possible cost of any alterations you might want".

"OK" she agreed. "You are probably right about that. After all we women don’t know so much about such practical things do we?"

The deal was agreed and Peter gave the agent a ten-percent deposit. Because of the circumstances, and the fact that innocent Helen had exhausted him, he allowed them to keep the keys in order to expedite their move.

He sat in his inner office, congratulating himself on finally selling the house, with no idea of how he had been ‘sandbagged’ by the bimbo.

Once they got back to their car, they both collapsed laughing and couldn’t speak for several minutes.

Eventually Peter said, "I was sure you were overdoing it and we would get thrown out as non-serious buyers.

"To think we were aiming at trying for five to seven percent off. You are a bloody genius who doesn’t know if ten percent covers a quarter."

Helen said, "Wow! A fifteen percent reduction. I can hardly believe it. Of course, you know the sort of alterations I have in mind now that we will have the name of the firm that set up the dungeon, don’t you?"

That wide-eyed bimbo act nearly caused me to give the game away and, no, although I can guess about alterations, I don’t know what ‘the bimbo’ has in mind, so tell me."

Helen said simply, "There is plenty of room in the dungeon and I think it could do with a wooden horse or pony, for one thing, don’t you? And there will also be space for a small schoolroom."

"I agree that’s a very good idea, but let us get in there first, before you make too many plans. Don’t forget the old adage about ‘counting your chickens’. Now what would you like to do in celebration?"

"Oh that’s easy. I want to go back and be locked in that pillory and have one of those rattan canes used on my bare arse. We won’t have to worry about neighbours overhearing us any more."

"Another good idea" said Peter. "And I’ve got yet another one. After the cellar, we will make up a bed and I’ll try to make you scream in a different way."

"Perfect! It’s nice to know that I am not the only genius in the family. I said we would make a good team, didn’t I?"

After Peter had thrashed her, it was Helen’s turn to cane him. Then they went to bed with no inhibitions about how much noise she could make.

A very few weeks later, they were married and installed in their new house. They had enough floating capital between them to buy it outright and sell their old properties later at their leisure. They were not going to agree to a knockdown price!

On the first day in their new home, Helen asked, "Don’t you think it is about time I got my reward for clipping so much off the asking price?"

"Of course, my dear. Do you have any particular thing in mind?"

"Oh yes" she said. "I want you to finally get around to using my Christmas present to you."

They hadn’t been able to use the whalebone riding crop, because it was expected that its use would make Helen howl her head off and there just hadn’t been the appropriate circumstances.

"Right", said Peter. "How shall we do it?"

"Well, I plan to be a disobedient slave girl who needs to be punished severely. I think twelve strokes would be appropriate, don’t you?"

"I am a bit doubtful about twelve hard strokes," admitted Peter. "When I gave myself what I thought was a light playful tap on the leg, I nearly jumped out of my skin with the shock of it."

Eventually it was agreed that he should give her twelve quite hard strokes and that she should shout ‘Red’ if it got too much for her to bear. Peter was still doubtful, so they agreed that he should harangue her during the punishment and that he would find occasion to pause after every three strokes and she would say ‘Green’, if she wanted him to continue with the next three and ‘Amber’, if she needed a rest or a revision of the scenario. Peter accepted this, provided that Helen agreed that she could stop it at any time by calling out ‘Red’.

That evening, she presented herself to him in another flimsy harem outfit like the one she had worn when she gave him the crop and which she had obviously been keeping for this occasion. Once more, she was on her knees with the crop held out to him and her head bowed in submission.

She humbly begged forgiveness, but he told her that he had forgiven her several times before and had told her that next time she would pay the price of her disobedience. Now that time had come.

He seized her by the hair and dragged her down to the cellar, carrying the crop in his other hand and letting it swing suggestively just in front of her face as a reminder of what was coming to her.

He strapped her down on the block and tilted it so that her arse presented a better target. Helen was pretending to moan in terror and pleading to be forgiven just one more time. He told her that he would allow her to keep her harem trousers on this first time, as if that very thin transparent fabric would make the slightest difference to what she would feel. In fact, it would probably soon split.

Then Peter measured his stroke and let Helen have the first one. She gave a loud yell of pain. Peter waited for her to say a colour, but she simply continued with the scenario and continued to plead. He gave her the second. Her words might have been play-acting, but her yells certainly were not.

The third stroke brought a scream, but she kept saying she was very sorry for being naughty and promising to be good in future. Then she added, "Green!"

Peter continued to berate her and she to promise not to offend him again, as he slowly gave her another three.

He stopped again, waiting for the colour.

"Green".

This time he gave her three hard cuts quickly in succession. By now she was sobbing loudly in between her screams of pain each time the crop landed and he now expected her to call a halt.

"Green".

After nine such cuts?

This time he gave the last three very slowly, in order to give her plenty of time to say ‘Red’ between each one, but no, the punishment continued until the end.

He went away for ten minutes leaving her strapped down. When he returned, he ignored her again, freed her and then slung her into the enclosed cell and slammed the door.

After half an hour, he opened the cell door to find her curled up on the floor whimpering a little to herself.

She crawled over to him and kissed his feet asking for his forgiveness. This time, he picked her up and kissed he gently. He carried her upstairs and laid her on a couch with plenty of soft cushions on it and got her a drink.

"Are you ready to come back to being my lovely wife yet?" he asked.

She smiled up at him through her tears and said, "Yes" and added, "That was terrific. Very painful, but terrific!"

"I don’t know how you stood that beating," he said. "I felt terrible doing it to you. If we hadn’t had arranged the safe word, I could never have continued after the first three strokes."

"What I never told you was that, on one of the occasions on holiday, when we did different fantasies, I was a slave to a viscous mistress who used a whalebone crop on me, so I knew exactly what it would be like and that I could stand up to it. As a matter of fact, she gave me twelve strokes harder than you did. So there!"

Then they began to organise their new life together. During the waiting time, their momentos had been delivered from Fantasy Holidays.

The estate agent would have been very surprised to see two identical smartly dressed housemaids, Doris and Ethel, cleaning the house from top to bottom. Every hour on the hour, an alarm sounded and Doris, AKA Peter, bent over and received six hard cuts of a cane on his bare bottom.

Every hour on the half-hour, another different tone alarm sounded and Ethel was the one caned.

Computer work came in steadily and their new combined talents worked like a miracle. Most of the problems had a time limit on them, but they were generous ones because of their inherent difficulty. Usually the problem had been worked on for some time by the in-house computer people, without any joy, so Hel-Pet got the problem as a last resort for the Client Company. Together, Peter and Helen found they could usually sail through them in a fraction of the time.

However, they never delivered the job too quickly, because, although their high fees were accepted as very fair and competitive for the results they provided, if the clients had realised the cost per actual hour of work, they would have thought them extortionate!

Between them, they also invented a new security system for home computers, which was sold it on the Internet for $50. The sales and backup was delegated to a specialist company and was very soon generating a steady regular income without any extra work and was providing the ‘cream in their coffee’, so to speak.

This meant that there was plenty of time left over for them to indulge in their fantasy games.

Once they started on these, they were surprised at how many variations they came up with. Sometimes, of course, it was a case of something that appealed to one would also appeal to the other, once it was mentioned.

These ‘games’ were obviously better with two people taking part, but they soon realised the additional benefits in that they could be restrained in ways that are not possible on one’s own.

For example, among the ‘props’ that were included with the dungeon, were several types of straitjacket. It would have been impossible for one person to make use of these, but with two…!

Also, it is not all that easy to lace oneself really tightly into a corset and it can take quite a time trying, but with someone else to lace it up for you, it makes all the difference.

Helen had made use of the special ordering facility for guests of Fantasy Holidays and had ordered new smaller corsets for both of them and made a point of including the attachment to allow the fitting of crotch straps.

The obvious game was to be two maids working together. Sometimes as described above, but sometimes one would be the Head Maid in charge of the other. Sometimes they would work as equals, with the variation that one would suddenly give a note to the other, supposedly from their mistress, or the housekeeper, instructing the recipient of the note to punish the giver of it.

 

Peter’s Games.

Peter was maid to Helen. Peter was the aproned, henpecked husband of Helen. He was her slave, sometimes a boy, and sometimes a girl. He was a schoolgirl, or schoolboy, under the thumb of a tyrannical aunt, or schoolmistress.

 

Helen’s Games.

Many of them were the opposites of Peter’s. She was his maid, browbeaten (and beaten) wife, or slave girl. She was a young girl and he was her uncle, aunt, schoolmaster, or schoolmistress, etc.

Of course, you have the idea, because these obviously followed on from their ideas before their holiday, except that they previously had not been able to play them very satisfactorily alone, apart from dressing in maid uniforms. But with the dungeon in the cellar, they were able to invent new prisoner and punishment scenarios.

There was also something new and quite unexpected available to them. Their large garden, which was looked after by contract gardeners on very carefully specified days, had the usual complement of garden sheds and greenhouses, but there was another large shed in the corner of the grounds which had a digital security lock on it.

Inside they found it to be a replica stables for a pony girl or boy. There were all the harnesses and various kinky ‘bits’ that one reads about in those stories and, of course, a light cart to complete the set-up.

There was a sort of all-weather path round the perimeter of the garden, which they had assumed was to enable walks for gentle exercise, when the ground was too wet, but they now realised that it was also intended as an exercise track for the ponies.

Peter and Helen threw themselves into this new extra activity with enthusiasm. They found quite a difference between being harnessed in a ‘plain’ way and having a dildo up their arse as they pulled the cart. With Helen, she, of course, could also be harnessed with another dildo in front, but Peter found that the previous owner had also either indulged, or hoped to, by having bristle-filled ball bags to substitute for the dildo for himself.

A couple of months after they had moved in, it was Peter’s birthday and Helen had a surprise for him. First of all, she had ordered a matching whalebone crop for him. Whereas hers had been covered in red leather, with a gold pattern on the handle, his was black with a matching silver pattern.

"Now you will be able to experience what these are like yourself," she told him, as she wished him Many Happy Returns of the Day. They both laughed, as he grasped the double meaning of that standard phrase in the circumstances.

The second part of his present was a selection of girl’s clothes, from the 1940’s era, made specially to fit him. There was a school uniform with a gymslip and a straw hat and some ‘home’ indoor clothes, including several pinafores of that time.

"Now you don’t have to be an Edwardian schoolgirl every time you go to school," she grinned at him.

That night he was given the third part of his birthday present. Dressed in his new school uniform, he went over the block and got his twelve introductory strokes with the new crop. He was right. It did hurt like hell, but he couldn’t give in and shout ‘red’ after Helen’s performance.

Once they settled in, they had contacted the firm who had converted the cellars and ordered some additions. They now had the wooden pony, which Helen had first mentioned to Peter as being lacking and she had asked for an extra variation of her own invention.

It operated in the normal way, by forcing the victim to stand on tiptoe until they had to sit down on the rough edge of the plank. But its alternative use had the plank set quite low down so that the victim had to squat on it and then a chain went underneath it and came up to fasten on each nipple by a clover-design clamp, the one that gets tighter when the chain is pulled.

The person then wore a collar attached to the wall behind in such a way that they could not bend forward to relieve the strain on their nipples but they could lift themselves up off the plank edge, which pulled and tightened the nipple clamps. The owner of the firm thought it was an ingenious idea and asked if he could suggest this variation to other people and he would let Helen have a commission.

She suggested instead that he make them a blackboard and easel and an adult-sized school desk and call it quits. He agreed and provided a design with a low narrow seat that was very uncomfortable to sit on for any length of time, particularly if the pupil’s bottom had just been caned or strapped.

Peter had noticed several parcels arriving for Helen, at least one of which he was pretty sure came from Fantasy Holidays, but she had not told him about the contents, as she usually did.

Then, one day, he found out. It was his turn to be the submissive. At night, he was put to bed on the narrow rubber-covered bed in the slave maid’s bedroom.

At about 2 AM, he was woken from a deep sleep for a training session. Helen was wearing a typical dominatrix uniform of a blouse and short leather skirt with knee length boots. She had a slender switch dangling from her belt.

First, she dressed him in a new, very tight waspie corset, which left his nipples bare. This was followed by a crotch strap with a damp ball-bag, which he knew from his holiday experience would shrink as it dried out to squeeze his testicles very painfully. Next was a strap round the top of each thigh, which had another smaller strap to hold his wrists. So he was now helpless in the very high heeled shoes.

Then came a parlourmaid’s small fancy apron with a short rounded bib held up by two nipple clamps and a matching lacy cap.

She then took him down to the dungeon and stood him in the middle of the floor with plenty of space round him. She knelt down and strapped his ankles together. She then strapped kneepads on him, but backwards, so that he was not able to bend his knees. Now he was held motionless except that he could still move his jaw and head.

The first was catered for by a ratchet dental gag, but she did not force his mouth open very wide, so he concluded that his ‘training ordeal’ was to be a fairly long one. They both knew that it was unwise to strain a person’s mouth open too wide for too long.

Helen then said, "An important part of a Lady’s Maid, or Parlourmaid’s duties is to stand perfectly motionless for quite a time waiting on orders from her mistress. This session is to give you practice in perfecting that ability."

Bearing that in mind, Peter was surprised not to have been put into a posture collar as well, but then came another surprise.

Helen fitted a small plastic gadget behind his right ear, which resembled an old-fashioned hearing aid. She explained that, if he allowed his head to tilt forward, "This happens!"

She pulled his head down by his nose and ‘This’ was a loud beep! As she pulled his head lower and held it there, the beep became a continuous tone.

"So", she continued, "if you don’t keep your head still, as a good obedient maid should, I will hear it over the alarm system and come in to punish you. Now practice standing perfectly still."

Peter stood there, realising that the gadget was as good as a posture collar, except that he was now responsible for not moving his head. He soon found that this proved more tiring than wearing a collar.

Inevitably, with him being so tired at being woken up from a deep sleep, his head soon nodded. The beep woke him up and woke Helen too.

A couple of minutes later, a very irate mistress came in and told him, "Keep your head up high!"

Each word was accompanied by a vicious cut from her switch across his bare buttocks. Now he understood why they had been left bare.

She left him to go back to sleep, but was soon back again with the same words and cuts from her switch.

When it happened the fourth time, she said, "I’ve told you before to keep your head high and still."

So he had ‘earned’ another twelve strokes and she opened up the gag another notch.

Standing like that, it was impossible not to want to fidget, but, at the same time, he couldn’t fidget, because he had no possible movement except with his head. It was torture.

He soon had another 24 strokes on his buttocks and another notch increased on the gag.

Just as he though he could not bear it any longer and would fall over and possibly hurt himself, Helen came in and, after another six cuts, she undid his ankles and kneepads. His automatic reflex was to bend his knees to ease the joints, which quickly brought a slap across both cheeks of his face.

"I did not give you leave to move", she said. "Now you will have to be punished for that disobedience."

First, she took off the crotch strap, which was a little difficult, with the bag being now so tight round his testicles and then the dental gag. She told him to remove the maid’s cap and apron and then to use the ‘facilities’ attached to the dungeon.

When he returned, slightly more comfortable from his visit there, his heart sank. Helen had moved a chair into the middle of the floor, but what bothered him was the fact that she was now wearing a thick yellow rubber ‘punishment apron’, like those he remembered from being a child in the town of Paradise.

Helen smiled at the expression on his face and said, "Ah! I see you recognise a spanking apron when you see one. Well come over here."

He stood in front of her and made the required humble curtsey. She then made him turn round and strapped his arms together behind his back, wrist to elbow. Then it was over her knee and she began spanking him with a wooden paddle with holes drilled through it.

It was nothing like the spankings his ‘Auntie’ had given him in Paradise. He now realised that they were spankings for a naughty child, whereas this one was a punishment spanking for a recalcitrant, indolent, adult servant girl.

These blows, on top of the welts from her switch, soon had him sobbing and promising ‘never to do it again’, although he had no idea what ‘it’ might be. After all, he had already been thoroughly switched for nodding his head and hadn’t been able to move a muscle, apart from that!

Eventually, when it seemed it had gone on forever and his buttocks were on fire, Helen stopped.

She then smoothed a cream over his sore buttocks, but the fact that she had put on rubber gloves before beginning and then poked a liberal amount up his rectum told him that this was an itching cream he had met before. She made his stand and face her. Then she added the cream all round his testicles.

He knew that when the cream started to itch and burn, he was in for an uncomfortable time. It usually took a half an hour with the effects of the cream gradually getting worse, about another half-hour at its most intense, and then a final hour gradually subsiding. So that was two hours of discomfort he had to look forward to.

But that was not all. She then replaced the crotch strap. This time with a bag full of hard bristles and a long plug up his rear. He squealed as she tightened the strap as much as she could. She also replaced the gag with one, which had a small bar across the back of the teeth and a hinged plate that weighed heavily on the tongue. This was usually used to stop maids chattering, when they should be working, or to punish a very talkative girl.

This was not particularly uncomfortable to wear, but it was very effective in preventing the wearer from talking.

He was then sent to his room to put on a starched housemaid’s dress, cap and apron with soft house shoes.

They had a large room with a wood block floor and Helen had badly scuffed it by wearing black-soled shoes. Peter, now Doris again, was told "to get down on his knees and start polishing".

Helen added, "And polish as if your life depended upon it. Actually, your life doesn’t, but your arse does. I you don’t complete it in the time I have allowed, you will be over my knee again".

Peter got down, very uncomfortable in his tight restricting corset and the crotch strap. He had a rough idea of how much time had passed by the sensation of the itching cream. He expected that, however long Helen was pretending to allow him for the job, she would actually come back just before he completed it.

In an effort to try to beat her at the game, he forced his tired arms to work harder to try to get the last part done. He did and then went to stand in the corner facing the camera, pleased to have the opportunity to rest his badly aching muscles and knees.

After about five minutes, Helen came in and he was dismayed to see she was still wearing the spanking apron. It was not a good omen.

"You thought you had got away with it didn’t you? Actually, I looked at the monitor when your time was up and you hadn’t finished. So you know what to expect as a lazy slut, don’t you? I did warn you."

Peter realised that Helen had been playing cat and mouse with him.

It was another trip down to the dungeon. He stripped down to the corset again and this time she spanked him with a rubber paddle and he was crying from the outset, because his bottom was still so sore from the earlier punishments.

When she had finally finished, she removed the crotch strap, but this was only to allow another application of the itching cream and then the strap went back on.

Now she put him into another apron he recognised from his Paradise days. It was the ankle-length red rubber apron, which he had been told was called a Washer Woman’s Apron. In fact, most of the maids and children, who had worn them to work in, called them Scrubbing Aprons, because they were worn to either scrub clothes in a wash tub, or to scrub floors or wooden tables etc.

It was the long apron he had worn as a ‘child’ in Paradise, to make it look like he was wearing one of Mummy’s aprons, but here it was just a maid’s long scrub apron.

Helen had used the shortest neck chain she had available and the apron bib was high and snug against his chin. When he looked at himself in a full-length mirror, he could see his head, his feet and a small part of his ankles, and his bare arms. The rest of his reflection was simply dull red rubber.

But what made him look even more ridiculous was the tiny lace cap he had pinned to his hair. With many fancy maid’s uniforms, a fancy cap matches the fancy apron and sets the uniform off, but a scrap of lace worn with a long working apron looked ludicrous.

He then found out why Helen had put him into this particular apron.

He was taken outside the back of the house and set to scrubbing the large flagged patio. When it was about half completed, Helen came out to inspect his work and pronounced herself unsatisfied with his speed of working and made him kneel down with his nose to the ground and his arms folded across his chest.

She then stood with a foot on either side of his head and lashed each buttock with six strokes from a heavy strap.

After another period of frenzied scrubbing, she came out and announced ‘meal break’, but told him that she was not at all satisfied with his work rate, but would deal with that later. Peter considered his aching muscles and wondered how he could possibly work faster. He was worn out.

He was made to kneel in front of her, with only the thick rubber of his apron between his sore knees and the patio. He had to fold his arms behind him as she spoon-fed him. He expected it to be the Slave Mix No. 1, which he hated so much, but it was only a mixture of jars of baby food. Helen had taken a number of mixed flavours and jumbled them all together. This resulted in a rather bland ‘goo’ that was unpalatable, rather than dreadful.

This was followed by a baby bottle full of the special ‘milk’ he had been fed with as a ‘baby’ on holiday. That was still as unpleasant as he remembered it!

Now she told him that he was going to have a rest period, combined with writing ‘punishment lines’, like a schoolchild, to remind him to work harder and faster in the future. It was to be 200 lines. Only 200, yes. But there were lines and lines!

She took him to a table on the terrace, where the chair seat was covered with plastic board, which had a surface of ridges and spiky bumps. He groaned inwardly at the thought of how his badly beaten bum would feel on that. He soon found that he was right. Helen locked a chain round his body and the chair seat, so that he could not raise himself off the chair.

She then dictated the line he was to write.

‘I must obey all orders immediately, diligently and fully, because they are for the benefit and comfort of my mistress’.

He paused, waiting for the rest, but that was it. He could hardy believe it was so short, but then came the sting in the tail.

"You will number all the lines in the following manner. ‘This is line one of a two hundred line punishment imposition set by my mistress because she is not satisfied with the performance of my duties in her service’.

"You will now copy that out 200 times and don’t take all afternoon to do it, because I have other plans for you."

With an inward sigh, he began. He did not assume that the one he had already written was line one, because Helen had definitely said ‘copy it 200 times’ and if he now started at line 2, she might easily say that he was one short, which would lead to another beating for disobedience.

So he sat, still in his long red scrub apron, on the very uncomfortable seat, which, combined with his bristly ball bag and butt plug made for a very uncomfortable ‘rest’ period.

When he had finished them, and Helen had checked to see if he had fallen into the trap, she took him to the slave bedroom, removed the crotch strap and told him to use the facilities once again.

When he came back, he was glad to see that she was not wearing her spanking apron again, but a nurse’s white rubber one. This usually signified something else was about to happen to him. She put him over her lap again and massaged more cream into his aching buttocks. The he stood while she smeared it all round his testicles.

He expected another crotch strap but it was only a pair of rubber baby pants. These were designed for someone of his size to be wearing a nappy, so, as he wasn’t, they were quite loose on his bum and didn’t add to his woes there. All this time he was waiting for the itching and burning to start all over again.

She then ordered him to sit on his bed. He started to lower himself gingerly on to it, when she shoved him in the chest, which brought his tender bum abruptly into sudden contact with the rubber covered mattress, resulting in a squeal of anguish.

She snapped at him, "Remember what you wrote 200 times about obeying orders immediately? Would you like to write it out another 500 times?"

"Oh no Ma’am. I’m very sorry Ma’am. Please forgive me Ma’am."

As he said this, Peter realised suddenly that he was no longer playing a part. By now, he was really a slave girl pleading with her mistress to show some mercy.

Helen got up and then returned with a small hypodermic syringe.

"Arm", she ordered.

He promptly held his left arm out for the injection. She put the needle in his arm and pressed down the plunger. He remembered a previous occasion at Fantasy Island, where a similar injection had seemed to set all the nerve endings in his body on fire for hours and he waited for a repetition.

Instead, he suddenly slumped unconscious. Helen was waiting to catch his limp body, lowered it on to the rubber sheet, and eased his legs up onto the bed. She gently turned him on his side and unlaced his tight corset and then unfastened the hooks and eyes on the front and removed it. She then turned him onto his back and settled him comfortably. Finally, she arranged his apron neatly over his body, kissed him on the forehead, and whispered ‘pleasant dreams Peter’, turned out the light and went out.

She returned in the early evening and found him stirring. She had gauged the knockout dose just right.

"Wakey, wakey Peter. Would you like some food? You must be hungry."

Peter came awake and started to respond as a slave maid, when he realised that Helen had called him ‘Peter’, and that she was wearing her ordinary clothes. Both meant that the game was now over.

"Yes, I am hungry. I think I could eat a horse", he said.

"I’m sorry to disappoint you. We haven’t got horse, but a nice piece of filet steak with a good wine. It’s almost ready if you want to clean up and come down. I’ll be in the kitchen."

Shortly afterwards he went into the kitchen and kissed his wife on the cheek very tenderly. Over her dress she had on a modern apron, he hadn’t seen before. It was cotton backed plastic and was a bright green.

She said, "Will you pour me a drink please and then open the wine? I’ve been waiting for you."

He did that kissed her again as he handed her the drink and then went to the kitchen cupboard where he found a matching apron in blue for himself, as he had expected. As he put it on, she smiled contentedly.

When she brought the food in, she found him sitting on a cushion, to her surprise.

"Didn’t the miracle cream work this time?" she asked.

"Yes, but it can’t quite work miracles at the required level" he replied.

"What do you mean?"

"Well my bottom has recovered a lot from the level of when you slammed me down on the bed several hours ago, but it is still about as bad as our arses were in Paradise after a ‘normal’ caning, when we got no remedial treatment. It did have a pretty rough time today, you know!

"By the way, what was that gadget you hung on my ear that bleeped every time I lowered my head?"

"It is intended for car drivers to stop them falling asleep at the wheel and having an accident. I thought it was a neat alternative use for it."

"Yes, I quite agree."

When they had finished the meal, Helen offered to do the washing up on her own for him to have a bit of a rest after his hard day, but Peter insisted on them doing it together in their new plastic aprons.

As they went to their bedroom, Helen asked, "I am feeling rather horny after today so are you going to give me a good ‘seeing to’?"

"Not tonight, I’m afraid" replied Peter.

She looked at him accusingly. "I thought we had a pact that we would never refuse to have sex as a punishment?"

"My darling", Peter said. "That is not it at all. My mind wants to ravish you, but don’t you realise that my ‘John Thomas’ has been tightly restricted with a lot of sharp hard bristles for many hours today? It still needs some time before it is recovered enough to be capable of resuming its duties as ‘wedding tackle’.

"Oh sweetie, I had no idea. I’m afraid I got rather carried away today, so will you promise me something?"

"Certainly not. Not without knowing what it is."

"I want you to put me through a similar day in order to pay me back and make things even."

"Well, I wasn’t planning to seek revenge, but if you are going to feel uncomfortable if I refuse, then I will do so in a couple of days, if you still wish it."

Later that week, Helen repeated her request and so he did and Helen went through the same hell as he had done.

So, life went on and they contrasted it vividly with their ‘half lives’ before they met. However, there still seemed to be something missing and they talked it over trying to put their fingers on it.

Then, one day, Peter said suddenly, "I’ve got it!"

"Got what?", asked Helen.

Peter had been having a session as the henpecked husband and was still dressed in his humiliating pink rubber apron and was rubbing the weals on his bottom.

"I think I’ve got the missing ingredient we have been searching for."

"Well, how long do you intend to keep me in suspense? Don’t forget we haven’t quite finished yet and I can put you back over the block and beat the answer out of you, if that is the only way you are going to tell me."

Peter said, "I am trying to find the best way to put it. Do you agree that lots of what we do is based on being humiliated and embarrassed?"

"I suppose so", she agreed. "As schoolchildren and maids and you dressed like that, yes".

He added, "Well what is missing is the audience to be humiliated in front of. You remember the session we had on holiday in the Edwardian classroom. Wasn’t it the fact of being caned, strapped and wearing the dunce’s cap in front of the others that added that bit extra?"

"Yes, you are right. It was also the waiting for your own turn, knowing the inevitable, which added the shine to the situation. But how does that solve our problem? All we have achieved is to give it a name. We can’t very well invite the neighbours round to see you in your pinny and the stripes on your arse, can we?

"Of course, I would love to send you to the local shops in a frilly pinny, but that is hardly an option, is it?"

"No, but we are making quite a bit of money from Hel-Pet and we are coming up to the holiday time, which means a slack period, so why don’t we book another Fantasy Holiday? This time we could specify the type of fantasy we know we like best and they would supply the necessary spectators."

"That’s the obvious answer. You are definitely on, so let’s do it."

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Rob Willson. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.