Seems Like That Time:

Fisrt of all - my apologies to Kammi and her readers.  I DID get Blogspot to re-invite her as an author - but that doesn't seem to have worked either.  It's damned obvious that more than a few readers are impatiently waiting for the next part of her serial - but not having any real knowledge of what a person has to do once they are invited to be an acceptable author onto this blog, I'll have to check.  Again?  My apologies.

In the meantime - here is the next episode in my current serial "Judas Goat".  I hope that you're enjoying it.  Following that will be a few of Rosie's 'Bits'.  I know that you are liking them.  Enjoy.

Start of  part 4

I was confused momentarily by what appeared to be a new relationship.  Yes, she was wearing a maid's uniform and doing maid's work, but it was as if she was more of a friend now, than a servant.  I shrugged internally.  To tell the truth, I had never been overly comfortable with the Lord of the Manor type attitude that had been expected of me.  Decided to be friendlier.  "Yes Rose.  Got everything done that was needed.  But look, we can drop this maid nonsense from here on in.  I'll finish the unpacking.  Honestly?  I don't need a maid."

She gave me a strange look.  "That's alright Ray.  Why don't you just get undressed and I'll give you your bath?  You'll feel all the better for it."

"I don't take baths Rose.  I shower.  Didn't you hear what I just said?  I don't need a maid!"

She made a peculiar 'tutting' sound with her tongue. "Ray?  I know you must be tired.  Please stop arguing and get yourself undressed for your bath.  Here's your robe if you're uncomfortable about being nude in front of me.  Come on. hurry up!  Your bath will be getting cold!"

And, unbelievably, I found her undressing me!  Almost weeping with frustration, I argued and remonstrated with her, but less than five minutes later, I was having my hand held while I descended slowly into a bath full of scented bubbles and hot water. To aid in my discomfiture, I wore a frilled nylon shower cap over my hair – and even worse – an erection that stood out and up from my body like a flag!

She told me to lie back in the water and relax while she finished my unpacking, so I did, and gradually succumbed to the warmth and fragrance that surrounded me.  Sleepily, I was awakened by her hands using a soft sponge, start to wash me. She was kneeling by the side of the bath using both hands to wash me all over – and often find my erection and stroke it, ever so gently.  Gradually, I surrendered, just lying back in the water as she slowly, with infinite patience, masturbated me, catching the spurts of my semen in a wash cloth.

Weakly, exhausted, I finally clambered out of the tub and into a warm towel, which Rose used to dry me off.  Then, unresisting, I stood nude as she used a large fluffy applicator to powder me with talcum that matched the fragrance of the bath oil.  She then opened the drain for the bath, then led me through to the bedroom and helped me into my pajamas.  Sat me down on the side of the bed.

"Now, wasn't that NICE?" she asked companionably . "Didn't I tell you that  you'd enjoy it?"

As she spoke, she reached under the pillows on the other side of the bed from mine and pulled out something all scarlet and black satin.  "Now Ray?  Fair's fair, isn't it?  I helped you get ready for bed?  Now it's your turn to get ME ready!  Start off by undoing my dress at the back, would you?"

Stunned and exhausted, I proceeded to undress the woman who, just moments before, had been my maid. Now the positions seemed to have been reversed as, item by item, I undressed her.  She had a lovely body, that was made very evident as her clothes came off. Seemed careless of the fact that it was a man that was undressing her, finally sighed happily as I slipped her nightgown over her head.

"Very nice, Ray!  Well done! Now, slip into bed now, and I'll turn the lights off," she said.

She slipped into the bed beside me a few minutes later, then immediately slid an arm under my neck, leaned over and above me – then kissed me.  A hand slid in between my pajama pants and my new erection.   Not long after that, she was straddling me and pumping up and down as I laid there, totally under the sexual domination of this crazy woman. We'd had sex  once or twice, right before my trip to the States, but then she'd been a cute little kitten, all giggles and cuddles.  Now, it was her that was the aggressor.  No doubt about it.

I fell asleep at once and woke up feeling great.  Knew I was in someone's embrace, but couldn't figure out who.  Then I remembered, blushing at how I'd allowed this woman – this maid – to treat me the night before.  Resolved to stop this docile behavior of mine immediately.

"Awake now sleepyhead?" she said happily, before I could open my mouth.  "About time!"

"What time is it?" I asked, sleepily.

"Time we were up!" She said.  "Come on now.  Give me a hand to get dressed!"

"You can't dress yourself?"  I asked – but the firm tone I wanted to use didn't come out the way I wanted.  My voice sounded weak and indecisive, even to me.

"Course I can, silly!  But you can help me.  Let's go.  When you've done me?  I'll dress you!" Saying this, she jumped out of bed and, at the same time, pulled the rest of the bed clothes off the bed.

She did allow me to go and have my morning ablutions while she made the bed, but kept urging me to hurry.  When I reported back (let's face it, that's what I did) I had to take her baby doll tops and bottoms off.  Then hold her panties open for her to step into them. I helped her with her slip, bra and garter belt.  She did put on her own stockings.  I then held her uniform dress open for her, then fastened her in at the back.

Then, she had me brush her hair, and pin her maid's cap in place.  She even took a few minutes to show me how to properly tie her apron at the back to create a large bow.  Then  she helped me get dressed myself.

Throughout the whole process, she chattered away about one thing or another, while I tried to hide my embarrassment at the whole episode.  It wasn't that I didn't enjoy working with her, feeling her soft womanly body next to mine.  It was that she treated me like an equal – another girl that is – as if sex had to be the furthest thing from our minds.

When we got back out into the house, she led me down to the dining area where most of the girls were congregated. There were a few more girls I didn't recognize, but figured that these were the extras that Angela had been talking about.   Most of them smiled and wished us friendly good mornings, and we joined them at the table for breakfast.  There was no doubt about it.  Any charade that they'd played as maids for Mr. One's benefit was over.  All of us were a 'team' now – and it wasn't ME that was team captain – it was Angela!

It didn't dawn on me for a while, but I discovered that I was a virtual prisoner in that house.  Yes, I could go into the village for a walk, but I ALWAYS had one of the girls for company.  I could get into London as well, but I was driven  by one of the girls when I did so.  My wallet had 'disappeared', but I was assured that it would turn up – sooner or later.  And, anyway?  What did I need it for?  And, naturally, as we were a 'team' now?  I took my turn at serving breakfast or clearing away the meal dishes.  Washing up.  That kind of thing.

And, as I'd been informed, I was getting to know the girls – both at the personal level and in the biblical sense.  Every day, a new one would take it into her head to accompany me for the day – and as often as not, the night as well.  Sometimes?  I'd even find myself, being pulled into a quiet room in the afternoon – and seduced there.  I gradually became what I was supposed to be, I guess – a sex toy for a group of dominant women.  I helped most of them dress at one time or another.  Brushed their hair – or bathed them.  Washed Angela's undies for her once.

I'm sure that someone must be saying "But why didn't you FORCE the issue?  Let those women know who was boss?  Stand up for yourself?"

The answer is simple. I was firmly convinced that the minute I did anything like that, they'd be forced into admitting that I was inferior to them.  There to do exactly what they wanted.  As long as I tacitly accepted what was going on?  I was an equal.  A decidedly inferior equal mind you but one with a position in the house.  A trumped up, phony position, but better than becoming their total servant.

As the days passed though, even their surface treatment of me became more and more mocking.  In the afternoons and evenings I'd join them in the TV lounge, or the card room.  Then one night, it appeared as if it were Cynthia's turn to have me for a bed mate.  She came and sat beside me on the couch where I was watching TV, and put an arm around my shoulder.  Hugged me.  Then, in front of the other girls, she kissed me.  "You're a little cutie pie?  Know that?" she said – loudly enough for everyone to hear.

"Ha ha! Cynthia!" I laughed, trying to establish some level of respect.  "Knock it off!  Guys aren't cutie-pies!  Gals are!"

She chucked me under the chin, as if I were a little kid.  "Well?  I think you're a little cutie pie!  And so do the other girls.  Right girls?  Isn't Ray a little cutie pie?" And, to my horror, as she was saying this, she pulled me over to sit in her lap!  I felt her strength as she put her left arm around my shoulder, then started fondling my breasts with her right hand.  At the same time, I heard the other women cheerfully agree that yes, I was just the 'cutest little thing' and 'sweet'  and 'cuddly', but missed some of their comments as she pressed her lips to mine, and kissed me soundly.  Then her tongue was in my mouth, forcing its way in a decidedly phallic manner.

For at least an hour, she kept me there on her knee, fondling and kissing me until I was in  a sexual haze, a docile doll, accepting everything she was doing to me.  Finally, she slid me off her knees, stood up, then leaned over and picked me up easily, then carried me out of the room to the quiet cheers of the other women, saying.  "I know the best place for you, young lady." And carried me to her own room.  There, she proved that she had not made any mistake with regard to her perception of my gender by applying lipstick to my lips, and making me wear baby dolls to bed – after I'd undressed her of course.  The following morning, I wore my baby dolls and matching robe into the dining room.    No one paid the slightest attention. I was simply accepted as one of the girls who had come to breakfast in her nightwear – a not uncommon thing.

I was ashamed and was positive that there would be some sort of outcry when I finally left after breakfast and changed into my own clothes again.  Nothing was said at all.  My appearance in male garments was met with the same reaction as I'd received walking in wearing baby doll pajamas.  That afternoon, Cheryl – one of the new girls took me in tow.  But I didn't have to dress for her in bed that night.

The following morning, lying in her arms, I thought I heard a bit of a commotion outside.  Car tires crunching on the driveway, greetings being called out.    Shortly after that, Angela came into my room without knocking.  "Hi Ray.  You'll be glad to hear that Samantha's back.  Wants to see you this afternoon."

"What time Angela?" I asked meekly, looking up at her from Cheryl's embrace.

"After lunch probably.  Okay?"

"Sure." I said.

All morning I was very nervous.  Had breakfast then lunch.  Didn't even mind helping to clean up afterwards as it gave me something to do.  Showered and changed.  Even shaved – something I don't have to do very often.  The house seemed very quiet – empty almost.  Then, to my surprise, Josephine approached me.  I think that Doctor Tween  would like to see you now dear?  If you'll follow me?"

Josephine led me upstairs, to the suite that had belonged to Mr. One, then had me wait out in the hallway for a few minutes. For some reason, I was very nervous. I tried to convince myself to calm down. Things had worked out to my satisfaction.  I mean, Mr. One was gone.  Effectively disappeared – and I doubted that I'd ever see him again.  A shudder ran down my spine as I considered  what Samantha had devised.  That woman was tough.  Far tougher than I'd even thought at the beginning.  Big, intelligent, and devious.  A VERY nasty combination I thought.

I couldn't understand where everyone had gone.  Hadn't seen anyone but Josephine for a half hour or so.  This added to my nervousness. I also was trying to raise my ire at the thought of being kept waiting  - in the house that I was presumably now the master. I had to admit to myself though, that it was very difficult to do. What was I supposed to do?  YELL at Samantha?  I didn't think that that would provide any viable benefit.  I actually grinned a little at the idiocy of such an idea.

My ruminations were interrupted.  "Ray?  Mistress will see you now."  Josephine was shaking my shoulder.  Don't be nervous!  She's really nice, once you get to know her."

I looked at this . .  this creature .. that had been a man at one time.  Calling me 'Ray'.  Referring to Samantha as 'Mistress'!  I felt like whacking  . .  her.   "Thanks Josephine."  I said coldly, standing up.  I don't think she noticed my tone though, fussing behind me as I went through the open door and into the room.

Immediately, I knew why I hadn't seen any of the girls around.  They were all in the room with Samantha – sitting on chairs, sprawled over couches – all of them staring at me as I entered.  There was no malice in the air, but not much liking either.  No sound was made as I walked towards Samantha.

"Hi  Samantha!"  I said, as cheerfully as I could.

"Hello Ray, " she answered – very calm and measured in her tone.  "We've all been sitting here talking about you.  Why don't you sit there?" pointing to a chair that was positioned in front of her.

I managed a grin, but knew it was weak and small.  "You're very serious today Sam!  What's up?  I feel like I'm being interviewed!"  I looked around me, and saw that I was indeed the center of attraction as the girls seemed to have closed ranks and encircled me.

"We had to decide what to do with you Ray."  She shook her head ruefully.  "To tell you the truth?  I'm still not very sure what's best."

"Do with me?  DO with me?  What IS this bullshit?"  I blustered – but even to me it sounded weak and defensive.

She pursed her lips in an aggravated way.  "Ray?  Sit down and behave! This is for your own good.  Now just SIT DOWN!"   Her voice had not raised, but there was iron in it now.  She was also pointing  directly at the chair, in a manner that indicated that she was not looking for any argument.  Trying to appear that this had just been a friendly give and take between equals, I gave her a waved salute. "Certainly my dear.  Never could resist a pretty woman." and went and sat down.

"Thank you Ray. Now?  I know this may appear a little intimidating to you?  But I want to impress on you that it's for your own good. I want you to understand that.  Do you?"

"Do I what?" I answered, honestly confused.

Her voice raised a little.  "Are you being difficult?  Deliberately obtuse?  Do you understand that my cohorts and I have only your best interests at heart?"

There was absolutely no humor in her voice.  I knew better than to fool around with semantics.  "Oh yes Samantha.  I'm sorry.  Yes, I do understand."

"That's MUCH better Ray!" she said, sweetly  "But not quite good enough.  I want you to say it.  Say it out loud.  Say it with sincerity to me – and my ladies.  Now please?"

"I know that you and your friends have my best interests at heart" I said by rote.

She shook her head.  "Ray?  You are being silly. Say it again.  Sincerely this time – and I'd appreciate it very much if you'd thank us – in advance  - for all the thought and care we've put into making this decision."

I couldn't help it.  Giggled nervously.  "Samantha?  I am truly, sincerely grateful for the interest that you and your friends have shown in my welfare.  But I wasn't aware that you'd made a decision.  About ME? "

"Well!" she said, smiling again. And turned to the ladies.  "MUCH better. Don't you agree?"

They all smiled and nodded their heads. She continued. "You bring up a good point Ray.  We haven't yet come to a decision – that is the reason you're sitting here just now.  We'd like to ask you some questions and, at the same time, try and make the decision making process visible to you – so that you'll never, ever, think that we came to a decision based on anything other than your welfare.  Nothing arbitrary going on here girls.  Right?"

And they all repeated the smiling, nodding, antics of just a few moments before.

Samantha stopped smiling.  Leaned forward in her chair and fixed me with her eyes.   "Now Ray.  There's no sense in beating about the bush, is there?"  She didn't wait for my reply.  "I am bringing you into my employment, effective immediately. The only question is in what capacity."

I licked my lips nervously. "That's very nice Samantha.  And I appreciate the compliment.  But I do have a position where I am . . ."  I stopped as she raised a hand to silence me.

"Ray?  I am not an unkind person.  I can be headstrong at times . . ."

"NEVER!" Angela called out, laughing – and the other girls all laughed pleasantly.

"Shut up Angela!  I like Ray to see that my employees and associates can joke around with me – and you as my senior lady always can. But I don't want to send him the wrong signal."  She turned her attention back in my direction. "Ray?  I was not asking for your opinion on that point – nor your permission.  Please?  Don't contradict me again.  Please don't ever give the impression again hat you disagree with anything I say. Now?  Apologize."

"I'm sorry Samantha." I said meekly.

She nodded slightly and blinked.   Nodded again.  "Getting back to where I was?  I DO need an advisor.  What do you call them?  Consigliories?  But you betrayed your last employer while working in that capacity. So I don't trust you.  I would make you my personal companion – but Josephine would be SO hurt!"   Sympathetic noises emanated from the audience – along with some laughter.  "So? I'm thinking along the lines of someone to 'entertain' me – a sort of court jester so to speak.  "Your boss held that position for a while, but frankly he was difficult – had no musical sense or rhythm whatsoever.  So, for the time being, I'll let you replace him.  Later?  After you've proved your worth?  I might let you advise me on serious stuff – what clothes to wear?  Makeup shades that suit me?  That sort of thing?"

The women around me were laughing openly now.  "So Ray?  What do you think?" she continued.

"I'm not a very funny person Samantha." I said apologetically. "Don't know anything about makeup either.  Nothing!"

"Are you saying you couldn't learn?  Don't have the native wit to find out what amuses me?  And?  By the way? From now on?  Please don't call me by my first name.  Only my trusted friends and advisors call me by that.  To you?  I'm  'Mistress'."

I stared at her, fully understanding.  I had now been placed on a par with Josephine – if  I was THAT favored!

"Mistress?" I asked, making sure that my tone was polite and servile.  "May I decline this offer?"

She shook her head.  "No.  You may not. I don't think I'll need you for the big meeting. I just want you around for insurance –  in case anything minor comes up."  Again she turned to the women.  "Ladies?  Any questions for- . . what shall I call him . . .?  Fatima?"

"You DO incline towards those belly dancer names, don't you Sam?"  Angela laughed.

"Yes.  Guess I do."  Samantha said agreeably. She smiled softly and tenderly at me. "Fatima? Everybody laughs at me because I find little boys very, very, erotic when they're dressed – and behave - like little harem girls.  I can't help it!   I positively cream when they do girlish belly dances for me!  Nice and soft, sensuous.  The epitome of femininity as far as I'm concerned. And you will want to please me, won't you?"

I looked around me quickly, and knew there was no chance of an immediate escape.  Tried to look her in the eyes, but found that I didn't have the nerve.  Looked down at the carpet.  "Yes Mistress." I said meekly.

I heard her clap her hands.  "See ladies?  Notice how that question was loaded?  It got him to show acceptance of his new feminine name – and gets him to acknowledge that I am his mistress – all in one breath."

There was a quiet murmur of appreciation from the women. Then I heard her talking to me again.  "Fatima?  You are doing VERY well!  Now don't be shy – and don't be afraid.  You'll find me a most understanding mistress.  Do you believe me?"

"Yes mistress." I whispered.

"You do understand that I will have to discipline you from time to time?  I mean, you'll have to admit that in transitioning into a harem girl you may make mistakes.  Is that reasonable?"

"Oh yes mistress.  Very reasonable."

"Now I know a lot of mistresses who will really abuse their little sissy boys.  Cane them.  Whip them!  Really, really HURT them!  But I'm not like that –  only very rarely will I stoop to such things.  I feel that putting you over my knees and spanking you should be sufficient.  What do you think of that?"

I gulped, still looking at the carpet.  "It's very kind of you mistress."

I could tell by the sound and tone of her voice that she was addressing the ladies again.  "Now girls?  Listen up.  The next sequence is very important. Pay attention."  Then she was talking to me.  "So Fatima?  You accept the fact that I am going to spank you when you are naughty?"

"Yes mistress."

"And that you'll deserve to be spanked?"

"Yes mistress'"

"You do realize also that I'm only going to discipline you for your own good?"

"Yes mistress."

"Fatima?  I want you to say – out loud – that you will require spankings from time to time, but that you fully understand that such punishment will be for your own good.  Say it please."

"Mistress Samantha?  I know that you will have to punish me at times . ."

"Spank you Fatima!  Say it!"

"That you will spank me at times.  And that I will deserve to be spanked  . ."

"Put over my knees Fatima!"

"That I will be put over your knees and spanked because I have been naughty."

"Much better!  Continue!"

I couldn't remember for a second, then did.  "And you'll only spank me for my own good!"

There was a round of enthusiastic applause from the women.  And suddenly, I was looking at Samantha's feet.  I had not heard her get out of her chair and walk towards me, but she was there about three feet in front of me.  "Kneel down Fatima.  Kiss my feet.  Swear that you will try to be the very best harem girl for me that you can possibly be.  Come on now.  Almost finished!"

And I knelt and made obeisance as directed, the women all laughing and clapping at my craven surrender.

She patted me on the shoulder.  "Well done Fatima!  Now, just one thing more.  I want to demonstrate to those ladies how to conduct a proper spanking.  You have no objection to me using you as a model for this?"

"No mistress."

"Thank you!  You really are a sweetie!  Just one thing though.  Normally?  I like to spank sissies when they're wearing girl things – skirts and slips and panties.  You wouldn't mind, would you?"

"Mind what, mistress?" I asked, pleading inside that she didn't mean what I thought.

"Why silly!  What a silly question!  Go and ask Rose for a skirt and slip and panties.  Explain that you have to be spanked and want to be dressed properly.  Get up now – go and ask her.  Nicely now!  There's a girl!"

I clambered to my feet and looked for Rose.  She was sitting in a wide comfy chair, smiling kindly at me. I approached her.  "Rose?"

"Yes Fatima?"

"Mistress wants to spank me.  Could I get some proper clothes?"

"Of course!  Have you been a naughty girl?"

"No.  I don't think so." I said, and my eyes started to fill with tears.

"Don't cry Fatima.  It'll only hurt for a little while.  And I'll bet it's for your own good, isn't it?" she said consolingly.

"Yes Rose.  For my own good." I mumbled, a few tears escaping and running down my cheeks.

"Well?  Why don't you just kick off your socks and shoes and then you can take your pants off." she suggested.  I sighed, then did as I had been told, standing in front of her in my shirt tails.

"Good girl Fatima!  Now pull those ugly men's undershorts down – and put on these pretty panties!"

To a few snickers around me, I pulled off my white boxer undershorts and took the pair of satin yellow panties with lace inserts.  Opened them up and stepped gingerly into them, one foot at a time, strangely afraid of damaging the delicate fabric.  Pulled them up, under my shirt.  Felt the elastic around the waist and leg openings constrict about me.  Without another word being spoken, I then took the short half slip that matched the panties and stepped into it, pulling it up into position, the lace hem laying just above my knees, clearly visible beneath the tails of my shirt.

There was a collective sigh after I stepped into the skirt and allowed Rose to zip it closed at my back – and I felt that some watermark had been reached.  I was now publicly wearing a skirt over a slip and panties –  for the very first time. 

The skirt was straight and a little constrictive.  It was made of some sort of wool material – a nondescript brown in color, and the hem just covered my slip.  I finally looked at Samantha.  She was sitting on the chair I'd vacated, crooking her finger at me in a 'come here' gesture.  As soon as she saw that I had made eye contact, she spoke.  "Time for your very first spanking Fatima!  Won't this be fun?"

And to my undying shame and horror, I felt an erection form under my skirt!

"Aha!" she cried.  "Lookee here girls!  Fatima is enjoying herself!  Fatima?  Be a good girl!  Lift the hem of your skirt and slip.  Let the ladies see your little treasure!  And?  Keep holding  them up and come over here and get over my knees."

And, my erection made fully visible, straining against the panties I crossed the room to my mistress, quiet cheers of mockery surrounding me as I did so.  When I was right in front of her, she told me to stop.  Then, grinning, she pulled my panties down and slipped a condom over my erection..  "Just in case Fatima.  Just in case."  She then pulled my panties back into position.  "Now you can let go of your skirt.  Over my knees now!  That's a girl!"

As I said before, she was a large lady.  To tell the truth?  Apart from the indignity of what was going on, I was surprisingly comfortable.  Her left arm halfway encircled my waist, anchoring me.  Her right hand landed softly on my buttocks, her palm rubbing against the material of the skirt in a gentle, circular, motion, giving me soft pats regularly.

"See girls?  All you need is confidence.  Raised voices and yelling and screaming?  Only show your own fears.  Calm control is the essence of dominance.  Trust me on this."  She patted my backside a little harder.  "Fatima?  Comfy sweetheart?"

"Yes Mistress."

"Of course you are!  Perfect position for a sissy, isn't it dear?  Over mistresses' knees, waiting to be disciplined?"

"Yes mistress."

"And for your own good?"

"Oh yes mistress!"

"Hmmm" she mused.  "You ARE a fast learner Fatima."  With that, she slid my skirt up to bare my slip.  "Oh!  Just look at this pretty slip!  SO pretty!.

With a fingernail, she was delicately moving the lace hem about on the back of my legs, making incredible sensations run all through my body.  "This is so much fun, isn't it Fatima?"

I undulated against her hand.  Sighed.  "Oh yes ma'am"

She repeated the process again, her palm making smooth circles against the material of my slip and, as before, making little spanks occasionally – though they were a bit harder now. I couldn't help it.  Started bucking a little against her hand and, to my additional shame, let out a few squeals – though even in my own mind I could not tell if they were squeals at the indignity – or of pleasure.

Then, I felt the hem of my slip caress the back of my thighs as he slowly pulled it up to bare my panties. Let out an audible gasp as her finger slid between the panty material, found my anus, and slipped in quickly.

"Oh Lovely!" she cried.  "You're a virgin, aren't you Fatima?  Oh, you're going to be the best little girl I've ever had!"  She punctuated this by withdrawing her finger, then giving me a sharp slap on my panties.   As she did so, I tried to buck, but she held me down with practically no effort.  Started speaking to the women again.  "Now ladies?  I'm sure that Fatima is a virgin.  And I want her kept that way.  Understand?  She's MY property – but Just in case you have any other ideas?  I'll be keeping the little pet on ice, so to speak."

I didn't know what she was talking about, but the ladies seemed to understand what she had said as there was a murmur of appreciative laughter from all around me.  "Milk him too?" I recognized Cynthia's voice.

"Definitely!" Samantha said.  "But through the back passage only.  If any of you ladies need training in that aspect?  I might give you that assignment as a reward."

Then, without warning, a sharp spank landed on my backside. Then another, then another!  Until she had applied about six blows.  Then she caressed me through the panty material, occasionally snapping the panty elastic against my legs or waist.  I was seriously crying by this time, but the gentle caresses were so soothing that I relaxed.  Then she started again.  Gave me another six. 

End of Part 4

And here are Rosie's 'Bits' for this week.  By the way?  I discovered why I messed up last week and duplictaed the bits frm a previous week.  With any luck it won'e  happen again.

#31

I settled happily on the couch next to my mother in law just in time to catch the opening credits. As the music blared, my wife appeared on screen, walking up to her stage. In her knee length dark blue silk dress, she looked perfect for her new role as the host of her very own talk show.

“Hello, good evening and welcome to Setting it Straight with Katie,” she announced, her cheeks glowing with excitement, “I’ll be your host, Katie Nielsen.”

“Ugh, I like her much better when you do her hair,” my mother in law commented, “Nice dress, though. Did you chose it?”

”Nah,” I replied, flattered by her remark, “The TV people take care of everything. Hair, makeup, clothes, shoes.”

“Well, it shows. Look at this, she’s going around bare legs. How on Earth do they let women on TV without stockings?” she grumbled, “Couldn’t she get you the styling job?”

“Modern times, Norma, we’ll just have to adjust,” I sighed, “But even if she could, I don’t think I’d want the job. I have enough work with her while she’s off camera already. Did you see the photos from the TV’s gala, by the way?”

“Oh yes,” she replied, “Now that was a hairdo that made me proud to point her out as my daughter. Was it you?”

“Who else?” I replied, blushing.

“Don’t remember seeing you though.”

“Oh, you know, I blended in the background,” I said, “The photographers were all over her in a second, they didn’t even notice me slip off.”

“Katie said you looked beautiful.”

“Oh, you know Katie. She was just being nice.”

“I also know you and I’m sure you made all effort too look your best. Are you sure you don’t have any photos?” she pressed on.

“Oh, all right,” I said and slid off the couch and walked to opposite side of the room where the digital camera was. Walking back towards Norma, I found the picture I was looking for and showed it to her.

“My, my, you were quite a picture,” she commented, sounding very sincere.

“Thank you,” I said, dropping a quick curtsey.

“Can you put in on the computer?” she said.

“Come on, Norma, we’re watching Katie’s show.”

“Yes, and it’ll be on every week from now on and the papers and magazines are full of her already. Whereas you, I don’t get to see you all dressed up very often,” she persisted.

“She’s your daughter,” I said, “Watch the screen.”

We resumed watching the show in awkward silence until after ten minutes the commercials started.

“How about now?” she asked.

“Boy, you really don’t give up, do you?” I said, “I’ll do something better. How about I just change into what I’m wearing on the picture?”

“You would?”

“Watch me,” I said and ran off to the bedroom. Even though I hurried as much as possible, Katie’s show had already resumed by the time I was back to the living room. By a side glance at the screen I could see she now had another two guests in her studio. Norma’s eyes were glued to the screen but only until she noticed my presence.

“Oh. My. God,” she said, awestruck, “You look stunning.”

I did a pirouette and the layers of chiffon of the dress I was wearing billowed out about me. When I stopped, Norma was standing beside me.

“You even did the makeup,” she said, caressing my shoulders through the silky fabric of my cup sleeves.

“Seemed only right to do so,” I said.

Her arms slid down my sides, resting on my hips.

“Norma! Get your hands off me!” I squealed in pretended outrage, but truthfully, I enjoyed her attentions. Seductively, I snaked my arms around her neck and eagerly accepted her tongue in my mouth.

After a while I broke off form her embrace, though it did require a great amount of willpower to do so.

“Stop,” I breathed, “You’ll ruin my makeup.”

We settled down on the couch again and turned our attentions to the TV.

“I don’t know about you girls,” Katie addressed her audience, “But as for me, I’d never stand for such behavior. Let me tell you that I wear the pants in my house and if my dear hubby gives me any trouble, why I just put him over my knees and spank him.”

The audience, the female part of it at least, roared with laughter.

“You let her get away with too much,” Norma said.

“Don’t worry about her,” I said as I got off the couch, “As long as we all know who does the spanking in this house.”

Norma smiled and, as if she had read my mind, smoothed her skirt over her thighs. I draped myself over her knees. As she slowly hiked up the many layers of my dress to my waist, I felt my erection rise. It seemed like an eternity before the first smack landed on my pantied buttocks. Soon, another one followed. Then another. Then another.

#32

The road to my mother’s vacation house was narrow but well kept. It ran on in a fairly straight line under the wooded mountains until it ended on a small, sunny meadow. I pulled over to mom’s driveway and stopped the car. I checked my face in the rearview mirror. I looked okay, but still applied another coat of lipstick to my lips, more out of nervousness than anything else. Just something to occupy my mind with. I got out of the car and stretched my legs, as far as my tight skirt would permit me, then walked over to the front door, my heels clicking on the stone-laid footpath.

I felt decidedly ridiculous, out in the woods, dressed as I was. Normal people would put on a pair of jeans and a simple shirt, I thought. Me? I was wearing a green faux tweed skirt suit, the skirt narrow and long, and a silk blouse with a green-hued floral pattern. To top it all, I wore white court shoes with a three inch heel. However, as soon as my mother opened the door my notion of inappropriateness evaporated. She was also dressed up to the nines, not only in a gorgeous deep orange silk dress, but she also wore white gloves with it.

“Hello, dear,” she cooed as she hugged me, “So nice to finally see you here.”

“Hi, mom,” I said. For a moment I contemplated on teasing her about her outfit but I decided not to.

“Also, it’s nice to see you’re not above wearing your old mother’s old clothes,” she said, pointing out the fact that both my skirt suit and my blouse used to be hers.

“Old? You?” I said, “Get out.”

“You charmer,” she replied, “They fit you quite well, don’t they?”

“The skirt, at least,” I said, “The rest is kinda big.”

“It’s okay,” she said, “Are you wearing my bras as well?”

I blushed.

“Come on, mom, there’s no way I could compete with you in that department,” I said, pointing to her ample breast.

“Oh, just wait and see,” she said, “But look at me! How rude I am, keeping you at the doorway. Come in, let’s go to the terrace, the sun’s lovely.”

We walked through the living room, then through the back door to her sunlit terrace. I took off my jacket and plopped myself down on one of the comfortable chairs.

“Mmm, this is nice,” I purred, “I should come visit you more often.”

“You could always stay here for a couple of days,” she offered.

“I don’t know,” I hesitated. My mother’s nice but she tends to get overbearing after a while.

“I didn’t bring any clothes with me,” I said.

“There’s lots of them for you to borrow,” she replied, “Anyway, can I offer you something to drink? I have some fresh iced tea if you want.”

“I can get it myself,” I said, “I don’t want to bother you.”

“It’s no bother at all, dear,” she said and, to my surprise, pulled a silver bell from somewhere and rang it.

Moments later, a young man appeared.

“Yes, mistress?” he said softly. He hadn’t noticed me at first and only after his eyes got used to the blaring sunlight did he realize my mother wasn’t alone on the terrace. As soon as he saw me, he retreated to the house with a shriek. It was easy to see why. Although he did look like a man, albeit soft featured, it was easy to notice that his eyebrows have been discretely plucked and shaped, his eyelashes darkened by mascara. His eyelids colored with a blue eyeshadow, his cheeks reddened with blusher, his lips painted to a pale pink shade. He was wearing a simple, yet feminine blouse of white brushed cotton that displayed traces of what must have been lacy lingerie that he was wearing underneath. His floral apron almost completely covered his purple satin shorts, and although he hid himself behind the curtain before I could make sure of it, I was pretty certain he was wearing nylons.

“Georgette!” my mother hissed.

“I’m sorry, mistress,” he almost cried as he reappeared at the doorstep. I could see that he wore tan nylons over his hairless legs, and strappy, high heeled sandals. His toenails and his fingernails had been painted a bright red.

“Georgette, this is Miss Bethany,” my mom introduced me, “I don’t suppose I have to explain that as my guest, she is entitled to your services just as much as I am.”

“No, mistress,” he said, dropping a deep curtsey.

“Come here, please, Georgette,” I said.

The young man minced to my chair and curtsied again. As his strong, sweet smelling perfume hit my nostrils, a torrent of memories flooded me. Suddenly, I was in my mid teens again, and our house was filled with young boys of various stages of feminization that my mother trained. Some were like Georgette, boys in girl’s clothes, some were still dressed completely in men’s attire, again some were indistinguishable from girls. As I moved through the house, to my mother’s demands always in the perfect, most feminine image, I remembered how some of the boys eyed me with contempt, some with disgust and jealousy, yet some with sincere admiration.

“Turn around,” I said.

The boy turned on his high heels, slowly, until he was facing me again. The shorts he wore had a back zipped and clung to his backside in a most feminine manner.

“That’s a very pretty blouse you have on, and your apron too,” I said.

“Thank you, miss Bethany,” he said, taking hold of his apron with his thumbs and index fingers and dropping another curtsey.

“I’ll have some of that fresh iced tea I’ve hear about,” I said and, as if by that he ceased to exist, turned my attentions to inspecting the contents of my handbag. Yet with the corner of my eye I watched him bob in another curtsey, then scurry away.

For a moment I thought myself evil, humiliating the poor boy like that. Yet if I knew my mother, that was being nice compared to what Georgette had gone through so far and what more laid ahead of him. I’d seen it all many times before.

“Nice kid,” I said.

“I met his mother down by the lake,” mom said, “A splendid lady.”

“And you offered to turn her son into a sissy just like that?” I chuckled.

“She complained she was giving him a hard time,” mom replied, “I simply offered her my assistance.”