Lawyer2maid

Synopsis: continuing humiliations and subjugation of once powerful attorney, now maid.

The garden party got universally rave reviews. This, of course, caused me great anxiety that Lauren and Jason would plan future such events, possibly including an even larger subset of my former social circle.

In the weeks following the party, I was kept busy fulfilling my obligations to each of the guests based on their service voucher selections. Jason and Lauren provided each guest with a card to rate the quality of my service on a scale from one to 10. Any score below seven would require me to repeat the service. Any score below five would require me to repeat the service as well as submit to punishment by Jason. The recipients of the subpar service would be invited to witness my correction.

All but one of the young female (and one of the young male) members of my old firm punched the hole for housekeeping services. I drove to their homes in my 2003 Subaru, the very one that I had forced Amanda to drive after she sideswiped my Porsche when she was 17. Amanda now drives by former late model Porsche at college. The Subaru has 143,000 miles on it but still gets me around. I dressed in short cut offs and an old T-shirt, carrying one of my working maid uniforms in my duffel bag along with cleaning supplies. These resemble hotel maids' uniforms: blue or gray cotton dresses, with white collars and aprons, worn with flesh toned stockings. When cleaning the mansion, unless being punished, I was permitted to wear flats (Lauren had even recently started to allow me to wear kneepads when scrubbing the floors and bathrooms, as I have knee problems). However, I was required to wear heels when cleaning the homes of the party guests.

I discovered that my former young subordinates were more than happy to take advantage of my powerless situation. Most required me to provide at least one of the other services on the punchcard in addition to what they selected. Penny and Alyson, for example, demanded that I pause my cleaning to massage their feet. One of the young male attorneys had me wash and vacuum his SUV after I cleaned his house (at least I was able to change back into my cut offs and T-shirt as I worked in his driveway). Samantha insisted I clean her bathroom after polishing and organizing her extensive footwear collection. In addition, despite my diligent efforts, all but two of my former employees gave me service ratings of below seven and two gave me below five. The latter included Penny, of course. It was clear to me that she had a sadistic streak and truly got off on seeing me punished by Jason or others. I suppose that they all made the calculation, quite correct, that I was in no position to raise any objections about the added services or unfair ratings. I didn't even try.

For those who selected caddy service (Joe, Forrest, the young, gay male junior partner), I was required to wear my British schoolboy uniform while caddying at my old country club or at a public golf course. As ball boy, if the match was played at my old club or on a public court, I wore a navy blue shirt and shorts similar to the uniform of a Wimbledon ball boy -- humiliating for a 61-year-old, but not overly so. However, after talking with Jason and Amanda, two of the male junior associates opted to play mixed doubles on the secluded court at the mansion. Samantha and Alyson were their doubles partners. On this occasion, I was dressed simply in white tights and a white T-shirt, trying valiantly (but unsuccessfully) to hide my shameful erection as I retrieved balls and fetched towels for my young superiors.

The first day I caddied for Forrest at my old country club was particularly challenging. Forrest played in a foursome with Jason and two of my old clients, including one of those who abandoned me just before Forrest forced me out of the firm (he was able to retain the client as his own.)

When the client -- the general counsel of a large, privately held company -- saw me carrying the bags of my old rival at the firm in my ridiculous schoolboy attire (the stripes of a recent caning still visible on my upper thighs), he laughed and said to me, "I'm not sure what Johnson has on you, Jenkins, but it must be a doozy."

"Yes, sir," I replied, staring at the ground.

While the four gentleman had drinks at the clubhouse after finishing their round, Jason volunteered my services to the country club manager. When I was a member, I had complained to this individual a number of times (rudely, no doubt) about the filthy condition of the golf carts. Perhaps not surprisingly then, I was put under the direction of the high school kid who washed and charged the golf carts. He, of course, recognized me as the former member who got him in trouble and thoroughly enjoyed bossing me around.

"You didn't clean the tires and back of that Club Car well enough. Clean it again."

"Yes, sir, of course," I said, scrubbing the cart with a sponge in the hot sun as Forrest, Jason, and my old clients stared down at me from the hill, where they were sipping their cold glasses of beer and laughing.

A less public, but far more humiliating event also involving Forrest occurred a week later when he and Jane took up my self-defeating suggestion to attend one of my punishment sessions with Jason for mistakes in proofreading Forrest's legal documents. Also in attendance, per her request, was Penny, along with Jason and Lauren, of course. Dressed in one of my formal serving uniforms, I greeted the guests when they arrived and served drinks and snacks. After I made sure they were comfortable in the sitting room, Penny requested that I microwave popcorn for what she described as "the coming show." She bought her current boss, Forrest, a rattan cane (in what I thought of as a real suck up move) and bought her old boss, me, a ridiculous pair of tights, one leg white and the other black.

After I thanked Penny for the thoughtful gift, Jason said, "Jenkins, go change into the new punishment tights Miss Penny has kindly given you and then report back to me. Make sure to bring your punishment lines with you. Chop chop."

Upon returning to the room in my ridiculous tights, I was compelled to kneel before Forrest and present the new cane to him with my palms upturned. After he took it, I handed him my punishment lines ("My incompetence and carelessness know no bounds. Please beat them out of me, sir." 500X).

Jane said, " Forrest, I know you were planning on helping Jason, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you handle all of Jenkins' punishment."

Jason replied, "Be my guest."

Forrest swooshed the cane a few times before resting it against my ass. He then delivered the first of 10 savage strokes. After the sixth one, I reflexively try to shield my bottom with my hands.

Jason said, "Jenkns, if you don't remove your hands, I will beat them next. And then your feet."

Having suffered bastinado for the first time recently after spilling Jason's glass of Pappy Van Winkle, I promptly removed my hands. After Forrest finished, I was ordered to assume my penance position, facing my tormentors. Jane and Penny had huge grins on their faces as they munched their popcorn. Jason smacked my cock and balls lightly with his cane until I grew hard my tights. After 30 minutes, I was permitted to put my serving uniform back on to begin preparing dinner.

The ramifications from the garden party continued for me into the fall and early winter.

The idea sparked at the party between Jason and Forrest for me to come into Manhattan two evenings a week to clean the offices of my old law firm came to be realized. The building management company was more than happy to save the expense using their outsourced cleaning staff on those nights. It was considered a bit too risky for me to wear one of my maid uniforms in a public office building. Instead, I wore tight, gray janitorial coveralls (like all of my non-maid attire, they were at least one size too small). To maintain the spirit of my emasculation, however, I was required to wear panties or tights underneath the coveralls. I was to report to Alyson when I arrived to receive my instructions for the evening; she inspected my work to make sure it was done satisfactorily and also checked to ensure that I was wearing my required undergarments.

Both the men's and women's restrooms were always filthy, urine all over the toilet seats and floors, wet toilet paper strewn about, etc. I never recalled the men's restroom being in that condition when I worked at the firm. It caused me to wonder if everyone went out of their way to be particularly careless on the evenings they knew I would be working. Me showing up at the office to perform janitorial duties was the first time my reduced status was exposed to a broader group of my former colleagues. Lawyers and their staff often put in long hours, so it was not unusual for there to be 10 or more lawyers and paralegals working while I cleaned around them. Most knew of my humiliating proofreading responsibilities. But seeing me demoted to janitor, unpaid no less, took the humiliation to another level. On the evenings, I cleaned that Forrest worked late, he would demand that I carefully dust his Yale JD diploma hanging on the wall of my former corner office.

Any complaints about the quality of my cleaning were ultimately funneled to Jason. I'm sure no one had any doubt about the consequences for me.

Amanda and Ryan spent their Thanksgiving break at the mansion. During this time, Lauren and Amanda began planning their respective weddings. With my lack of any opposition to Lauren's desired terms of our divorce, it was on a fast track and scheduled to be finalized by February.

The Wednesday before Thanksgiving, Lauren, Jason, Amanda, and Ryan were in the mansion's home theater, watching the movie, Tar -- a film about another powerful, arrogant person humbled and publicly humiliated -- as I served them popcorn and drinks, dressed one of my formal serving uniforms. I was ordered by Amanda to fetch her friend Mia's gift to me from the party, the pedicure kit, and to give the four of them a pedicure as they enjoyed the film. For the last several months, Lauren had forced me to get pedicures at one of the nail salons in East Hampton Village (my toes were now a light shade of blue). She had recently paid one of the pretty young Asian girls at the salon to give me lessons on how to give a proper pedicure.

After the four that were comfortably seated in the theater chairs, I knelt before Lauren, whose feet were elevated on a short stool, and began the steps I had learned. I removed her old nail polish, trimmed her nails, and then massaged her feet within their foot bath. After drying her foot, I scrubbed it with a pumice stone and foot file, before placing cotton swabs between her toes, and then applying a new coat of orange polish. After finishing both of Lauren's feet, I then repeated all of the same steps with Amanda, trying surreptitiously to listen to Cate Blanchett's magnificent performance as I worked.

Amanda, sipping her glass of red wine, wiggled her freshly painted toes in front of my face, and said, "Blow them dry, father."

"Yes, Miss Amanda," I replied, doing as she bid. She looked down at me, smirking

and barely able to suppress her giggles.

After Amanda was satisfied with my efforts, I moved on to the more distasteful task of working on Jason's dry and calloused feet. I had to press hard with the pumice stone on his soles in an effort to remove the callouses and feared that I might be annoying him. I massaged his feet and legs rigorously, in the hopes of discouraging him from finding any pretext to punish me. After carefully removing his cuticles, I applied a coat of clear nail polish to his toes, as I had been taught.

After I finished with Jason, Amanda said, "Okay, father it's now time for you to do MY man's feet," and giggled. It was clear to me that she was getting a bit tipsy.

"Of course, Miss Amanda." I moved my stool and a clean foot bath over to Ryan and said, "May I remove your socks, Master Ryan?"

"You can't very well give me a pedicure with them on, can you now, maid? Or what was it that Mia called you? Foot girl? You may remove my socks, foot girl," he said, smirking. Amanda laughed heartily.

Jason usually called me Jenkins. Lauren typically called me Gregory. Amanda most often called me father. Ryan, on the other hand, when he addressed me by name at all, did so in whatever demeaning manner suited his mood at the time: maid, boy, old man, or whatever occurred to him at the moment.

Ryan's feet were much softer than Jason's, fortunately. I gave him the same treatment, including the same rigorous massage I had given to the others. After I applied the clear polish to his feet, he said, "Foot girl, blow my toes dry like you did Amanda's."

"Yes, sir, of course." I felt the shame course through my body, directly to my hard cock, as I did as he commanded, with the others looking on.

Ryan reprimanded me, "Foot girl seems to be more focused on the movie than on his task."

Lauren said, "Of course, he is. He recognizes himself in the protagonist."

Amanda giggled. "I'd be careful if I were you, maiddad, you wouldn't want to get six of the best again from my strong fiancé, would you?," she said, squeezing Ryan's bicep. She leaned over and kissed him.

"No, Miss Amanda," I said.

"Then you better damn well better pay attention to what you're doing," said Ryan coldly.

"Yes, sir. My sincere apologies for my lack of focus. It will not happen again.

When the movie was over, having mercifully escaped punishment, I was excused to go brine the turkey for tomorrow's feast.

I was up very early the next morning to begin peeling potatoes, washing vegetables, chopping garlic, etc., dressed in my working maid uniform. The family had graciously decided to go out for breakfast so that I could focus completely on my responsibilities. The one exception was that Ryan summoned me to polish his shoes before they left for breakfast. I was in the middle of stuffing the turkey, so I had to carefully wash my hands before going to his and Amanda's bedroom with my shoeshine kit. He was sitting on a loveseat in the room and pointed down to the black loafers on his feet. I usually polished footwear when they were not being worn, but Ryan seemed to take special delight in forcing me to kneel before him to shine his shoes while he was wearing them. I felt his freshly pedicured toes move around through the leather as I buffed.

Not wanting to be outdone, I suppose, Amanda said to me, "While you're down there, you might as well polish my boots as well, father." She sat down next to Ryan and unabashedly made out with him as I polished and buffed her brown leather ankle boots to her satisfaction.

This was my first Thanksgiving since transitioning from man of the house to maid of the house, and I was anxious about meeting the clear expectations for the meal (and the whole day) set for me by Lauren and Jason. Fortunately, Lauren had engaged the woman who trained me in maid deportment to instruct me in how to prepare a multi-course Thanksgiving dinner for multiple guests. It was also fortunate that my sister, Susan, and my niece, Olivia, were willing to assist me with some of the meal preparation, even though they were also guests.

Besides my (soon to be ex) wife, my daughter, Jason and Ryan, of course, the guest list included Susan, Olivia, and the family of Lauren's younger sister, Nicole (age 37)--specifically her husband, Bill (age 42), and their two teenage children, Ethan (15) and Isabella (14). They were driving in from Richmond on Thanksgiving morning. While Nicole and Bill had certainly heard about the significant changes in our household, they had not visited in the prior nine months. They were in for an interesting experience. I had no idea what they had shared with their two children, but I dreaded all of them seeing me in my greatly diminished position.

Lauren and Nicole were close. Although college educated, Nicole married Bill, who made a decent, but squarely middle-class, living as a construction supervisor. In my prior life, I always felt superior to Bill and Nicole and didn't try to hide it. They had not visited since the previous summer when Nicole and the two kids came out for what was supposed to be an extended stay at the mansion. It was cut short abruptly, however, after I lost my temper with Ethan and Isabella due to their near constant loud and rambunctious behavior. They were always running around screaming and leaving behind messes in their wake.

One afternoon, unable to concentrate on a novel I was reading, I yelled at Ethan, "Would you please shut the fuck up, you insufferable brat!" Taking offense, Nicole and the kids left for Richmond the following morning, and had not been back since. Lauren didn't speak to me for nearly a week afterwards.

When they arrived around 2 PM on Thanksgiving day, I paused my dinner preparations to open the door and welcome them, still attired in my working maid's uniform.

"Welcome, ma'am, and, sir, Master Ethan, Miss Isabella," I said, curtsying deeply. "Please come in."

Bill and Nicole exchanged amused glances, and Ethan and Isabella looked at me with disbelief.

Nicole said to her two kids, "I have a feeling that this is going to be a much better visit than last time."

Both Ethan and Isabella had astonished smiles on their faces and grinned at me wickedly.

"Please sit down in the living room. I will bring in your bags from the car and then serve you all a refreshment," I said, curtsying again.

I retrieved their suitcases from Bill's four-door Dodge Ram pick up truck and brought them into their respective rooms. I then served the new arrivals drinks as Lauren introduced them to Jason, before returning to the kitchen to finish preparing the meal.

I had hand written the table place cards and, when it was time to eat, as previously instructed, I escorted everyone to their seats, starting with Lauren and Jason. As the others stood by looking on, I conspicuously pulled out Jason's chair at the head of the table -- the seat I had occupied at all past Thanksgivings and other family dinners--curtsying to him once he was seated. During dinner, I obviously didn't eat with the guests. I stood at attention next to the table, wearing one of my most formal uniforms, stocking-clad legs pressed together, seams straight, arms at my side -- ready to fill anyone's drink, or refold anyone's linen napkin, if they got up for any reason.

Ethan asked, "What do we call him, or her, Aunt Lauren? It seems strange to call him Uncle Greg dressed the way he is."

Lauren answered, "Call him whatever you like, dear. In a few months, he no longer technically will be your uncle through marriage. Gregory is the maid here now, aren't you Gregory?"

"Yes, mistress," I curtsied.

Isabella giggled. "Maid, get me another glass of cider."

"Right away, Miss Isabella," I replied, curtsying , as I scampered off to the kitchen to fulfill her request.

As was typically the case, I was to dine on leftovers later by myself in the kitchen. Except for a few comments that the turkey was too dry, the meal generally seemed to be relatively well received. I was looking forward to being able to deviate from my normally strict diet to try some of the dishes I had prepared. After the meal, while a few of the family members took a walk and others watched football, I took advantage of the brief break to lay down on the cot in my room for a few minutes with my heels off. The door of my room was closed, but Jason had long since removed the lock; privacy was not a privilege of the domestic help. Characteristically, I had been aroused throughout the day, more so with each new indignity I suffered, but had not been granted any relief in over two weeks. Confident that everyone was occupied, at least for the next 15 to 30 minutes, I began to rub myself under my dress as I laid down on the cot. Suddenly the door opened and Ethan burst in, looking down at me on the bed. I quickly moved my hand away but, being a 15-year--old boy, I'm sure Ethan had no question in his mind about what I was up to (in truth, I wasn't planning to risk ejaculating in my uniform, but I did feel an irrepressible need to at least touch myself).

I reflexively said, "Christ, can't I get any privacy anywhere?", before quickly correcting myself. "No, I'm very sorry, Master Ethan. Please forgive my outburst. I beg you."

However, it was too late. Ethan was already halfway down the hall to tell his parents and Lauren and Jason about what he had just witnessed.

The nature and severity of my punishment was the subject of extended debate among Jason, Lauren, Nicole, and Bill. I was present for these discussions, but was talked about as if I was not there (I had, of course, grown quite accustomed to this dynamic by now). Amanda entertained her young cousins with Ryan while my fate was decided.

My offense was deemed to have been egregious. Not only had I ruined Thanksgiving after what had been quite acceptable meal, I had violated Lauren's and Jason's trust by an attempt (albeit unsuccessful ) at unauthorized masturbation. In addition, and most unforgivably, I had exposed my perversion to young Ethan (never mind that I did so in my room, which he had no business entering-- in my state of powerlessness, I knew well the futility of trying to make any logical argument along these lines). Nicole felt strongly that I still needed to be punished for my rude outburst directed at Ethan the prior summer. All agreed that my punishment must be severe, and that Ethan, as the offended party, needed to play a meaningful role.

However, given that Ethan and Isabella were minors, Bill and Nicole were clear that they didn't want either of them to see me naked or in my punishment tights (with my cock so barely concealed). At the same time, everyone wanted my humiliation to be maximized. It was a dilemma, but Jason was up to the task of solving it. The following course of action was decided upon: I was to be caned by Jason in my maid's uniform that evening in the family room with everyone present. The next day, Nicole and Lauren would watch Jason and Bill put me through my paces in one of my exercise sessions, attired in my usual tights and collar. Now that the weather had gotten colder, the sessions took place in the workout room in the mansion (a room used far more frequently by Lauren than by me in the pre-Jason days). I would then be required to wash and detail Bill's pick up truck under the supervision of Ethan and Isabella. The possibility of me spending a week next summer at their home in Virginia working for Ethan's burgeoning lawn care business was also discussed. Lauren also suggested that increasingly I would be confined to my chastity cage not only at night but at unsupervised times during the day.

That evening, I was summoned by Jason into the family room, where everyone was seated (except for Susan and Olivia, who had left early to beat the traffic).

Dressed in my formal serving uniform, I knelt before the entire family and said, "I'm deeply ashamed of my inexcusable behavior, and sincerely hope you can find it in your hearts forgive me."

I turned to Ethan, who looked down at me with smug satisfaction, and said, "Master Ethan, since you were the unfortunate victim of my thoughtless behavior, I beg you to please take an active part in my correction." I grew increasingly hard as I uttered these words, but fortunately, my shameful erection was concealed by my skirt.

Ethan looked at me with contempt as he said, "It will be my pleasure, uncle maid." Isabella tittered.

I was then directed to fetch the cane, which I presented to Ethan on my knees, palms upturned.

He looked uncertainly at Jason, who took the cane from him and said, "Observe me for the first five strokes, and then you can deliver the next five. There's nothing to it." Nothing to it for the wielder of the cane, perhaps. Quite another story for the one on the receiving end of the discipline.

Jason swooshed the cane his trademark three times before tapping it against my panty-clad bottom. He then methodically, but mercilessly, delivered five searing strokes to my buttocks. He next passed the cane to Ethan. I took measure of my extraordinary predicament: here I was, a 61-year-old man, about to be caned by the bratty, smug 15-year-old kid I had berated and intimidated a little over a year ago when he was a guest at the house where I now told toiled as the maid. My punishment was being witnessed by his equally bratty, younger sister and their parents, people who always viewed me as arrogant and who no doubt took special pleasure in seeing me get my comeuppance.

Although only 15, Ethan was a linebacker on his high school football team and was quite muscular for his age. At 5'11", he was already taller than me. He was an attentive student, who impressively mimicked Jason in every respect from the swooshing, to the tapping, to the rigorous administration of my correction. Tears were running down my cheeks by the eighth stroke. When he was finished, mindful of the seriousness of my transgression (and hopeful that my servility might result in some leniency in the punishments yet to come), I took a moment to compose myself, and then addressed Ethan.

"Thank you for correcting me, Master Jason and Master Ethan. Given the serious nature of my failings, I humbly request that you give me two additional strokes of the cane, Master Ethan, if your parents approve."

Nicole said, "I think it's only fitting."

Ethan enthusiastically indulged my request. I fell to my knees after the second additional stroke.

Although Ethan and Isabella bicker constantly, she gave him a high five when he finished. After being given a moment to go to the bathroom, I was directed by Jason to hold a quarter against the wall with my nose for the next 30 minutes, while everyone largely ignored me to watch TV. Fortunately, I managed not to drop the coin despite the intense discomfort in my neck muscles.

The next day, after serving lunch, I went to the gym to prepare for my exercise session. Amanda, Ryan, Ethan, and Isabella meanwhile left to see a movie in town. The exercise session was similar to what I had described earlier -- most recently at the garden party. The difference was that this time Bill took the place of Ryan as Jason's second, and the punishment was a bit more fierce than usual. However, given the condition of my bottom, Jason at least directed most of the attention of his crop to my back, mercifully.

Later that afternoon, I changed into gray, spandex yoga pants, a T-shirt, and sneakers, and began the laborious task of washing and detailing every inch of Bill's oversized pick up truck. Jason and Isabella sat on lawn chairs in the driveway, supervising. Ethan helpfully let me know whenever I missed a spot. He walked over to me, carrying a handmade switch -- a long branch from one of the large oak trees on the grounds that he carved with his pocket knife. On a couple of occasions, when he was dissatisfied with my efforts, he switched my still very tender buttocks and thighs.

"My dad always said you were probably a fag. I can't wait until next summer when you work for me for a week. I promise it will be an experience you'll never forget."

"Yes, sir," I replied, worried that my growing erection would be visible through my yoga pants, and validate his conclusion

I still did not believe it was accurate, however. My sexual identity had now become wrapped up inextricably with humiliation. The greater my degradation, the deeper my arousal. It's fair to say, however, that I found the homoerotic situations intrinsically more humiliating -- especially in the presence of females. The smirking Isabella, watching her brother in such command of her uncle, provided the extra spark in this particular moment of ignominy.

As I noted before, it was a complex situation.

Why did I stay and take all of the abuse, you may ask? Why not take my reduced (I was not yet 65) Social Security check payment and get a studio apartment somewhere, maybe take a job as a cashier or something? Well, there were several reasons.

First, thanks to my diet and Jason's rigorous exercise regimen, at 61 years old, I could honestly say that I was in the best shape of my life -- or at least since my early 20s. I had better endurance, a smaller waistline, and felt better physically (my perennially sore ass

notwithstanding) than I ever had felt before.

I had lost a lot of weight, and secretly had begun to admire my figure in the mirror when I wore my uniforms.

No longer burdened with all of the responsibilities I had running the firm, arguing cases in court, investing my money, etc., I had less stress than ever.

Because of all the exercise and lack of stress (as well as the forced alcohol abstinence, probably), I was sleeping better than I had in years, even on my spartan cot. As I got into my late 50s, I started having to get up multiple times during the night to urinate, which prevented me from getting restful sleep. Now, thanks to Jason and Lauren, I was so physically spent from working all day that I often would sleep through the night (or, at least, most of it). I was getting deeper, more regular sleep with vivid dreams. I think it is probably no exaggeration to say that my dramatic change in lifestyle had the potential to add years to my life.

Lauren continued to finance my top-notch healthcare. I even was able to continue to see my long time GP (a doctor in his late 40s who at my annual physical in October had the tact not to inquire about my blue toenails, the welts on my backside, or my newly subdued manner).

Although I was a servant, I still got to live in the opulent surroundings to which I had grown accustomed. Jason and Lauren had even begun allowing me to swim in the pool (when no one else was using it, obviously) to reward me for good behavior. Similarly, for good behavior, and with their approval, I was permitted to read certain novels and watch certain films. With few exceptions, the authorized books and films involved some aspect of sexual subservience or social downgrade. But these could range from the movie Tar to James Joyce's Ulysses to the film the Duke of Burgundy to Somerset Maugham's Of Human Bondage to Edith Wharton's House of Mirth to Polansky's Bitter Moon. There was a surprisingly large range of options, actually. Jason and I had both been English majors before going to law school, and we would often discuss the books and movies. He had even begun requiring me to write book reports on some of the novels, and would grade my work. Obviously, there were punishments for poor grades (and he was a tough grader).

As I explained before, I was in a near constant state of sexual arousal, due to my near constant state of humiliation -- and while my releases were carefully regulated by Jason and Lauren, I never felt more carnal than at any time previously. Indeed, I had never felt more alive.

I was living a truly exceptional life. It may have been a life of degradation, subservience, and a certain amount of pain, but there is no denying that it was exceptional. Even as a highly successful lawyer, I could not say my life was truly exceptional; there are a lot of successful lawyers and executives out there. But how many successful people had fallen to my level, lost what I had lost, were reduced to a position of abject servitude in the places where they had once reigned supreme? How many powerful men had become their family's maid--not just for occasional games in the bedroom, but as their daily existence? It could be credibly argued that Jason had enabled me to truly achieve the exceptionalism I had always strived for but never really attained.

Jason's blackmail tapes were still hanging out there as well. Remarkably, I had not yet popped up on page 6 of the New York Post. Maybe that was because most of the people who participated in my humiliation were family members or had signed NDAs. I would be seen around town by people I knew, but perhaps my appearance had changed sufficiently that I was not recognized by too many people. It probably was just a question of time...But Jason and Lauren still had it in their power to forever stain my legacy in the public domain.

Furthermore, Jason and I were engaged in sort of an intellectual battle of wills that I found to be irresistibly compelling. He, of course, had already decisively won the battle -- had completely vanquished me in fact-- but I remained a consequential player in the ongoing game. Certainly, there were other key players as well: Lauren, Amanda, and more and more so, Ryan. But Jason and I would look each other in the eyes, and there was a sort of unspoken understanding between us. He would come up with ever more creative and demeaning trials to subject me to. Would I throw in the towel? Would I lose my mind, run away, commit suicide? I was determined to prove to him that I could endure anything he or the others could come up with. Perhaps that would be my sole victory over him, but it was something.

Finally, as I discussed earlier, I genuinely believe that my suffering is a form of cosmic justice, and that, by balancing the scales of karma somewhat, I would at least have some possible chance of peace or redemption.

Jason and Lauren continued to make use of me in the bedroom before, during, and after they had sex -- sometimes all of the above. They often had me dress in thigh high stockings, panties, and a corset -- which Lauren would lace tightly. Other times I would wear only my punishment tights. Still other times, I would wear a ridiculous court jester outfit to entertain my king and queen. Depending on their whim, I would sometimes be caged and other times my cock would be exposed for them to ridicule, smack, and toy with. Even when I was uncaged, there was no guarantee they would allow me to come. The superior manner in which Jason was able to pleasure Lauren, with his endurance and much larger cock, was also not lost on me, and enhanced my humiliation. Thinking back, I had to wonder: did she ever orgasm when she and I had sex, or was she always faking it to humor me?

Jason recently had started putting me into a humbler, an aptly named device, which I would wear as I fluffed him or cleaned up his mess from Lauren's pussy. The humbler prevented me from standing. (As an aside, it occurs to me that I now spend most of my life either standing, often in heels, waiting on people or cleaning, or on the floor at everyone's feet; where you won't find me is where most people spend so much of their time, seated on couches, tables, etc.-- except when lying in my cot at night, eating at my little table next to the pantry or driving in my Subaru). Jason and Lauren liked to toy with my exposed balls with their feet, or sometimes lightly tap them with a riding crop.

Both of them liked for me to worship their feet while they kissed, made love, or sometimes just talked. Often, they would have me lie prostate on the floor as they rubbed their feet on my face or pressed them down on my cock. On other occasions, I would be directed to suck their toes. Jason liked to remind me of all that I had lost -- Lauren, my house and assets, my position as a respected (or, at least, feared) father and boss, my dignity, etc. -- as I sucked his big toe, with Lauren looking on, smiling. If I failed to suck with sufficient abject enthusiasm, he would take me over his knees and spank me brutally with his bare hands until my leg legs kicked frantically.

And so, I endured.

The post Thanksgiving weekend proved to be a long one with me at the constant beck and call of the power drunk teenagers, Ethan and Isabella. I was relieved when they headed back to Virginia Sunday after lunch.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, I assisted Lauren and Jason with their Christmas shopping. They did a lot online, but also brought me along to some of the high-end boutiques in East Hampton. I would walk three steps behind the couple, attired in my Lauren's Lackey T-shirt, carrying their shopping bags. One afternoon, we went to lunch at one of the steakhouses that Lauren and I used to frequent as a couple.

The maitre d, who had known Lauren and I for years, greeted our threesome uncertainly. Lauren warmly introduced him to Jason ("my fiancé"). I wasn't able to meet his eyes as he shook hands with me and observed my T-shirt. While Lauren and Jason were dressed smartly, I wore tattered jeans and frayed sneakers along with my T-shirt. The maitre d had been around the block a few times, and probably had some vague idea what was going on. In any case, he had the tact not to ask. The waitress who served our table had waited on Lauren and I several times in the past (and, no doubt, been the target of my rudeness); I could see her whispering to another waitress who also knew us, the two of them staring in my direction, giggling. While Lauren and Jason split a 26-ounce porterhouse for two and a bottle of Stag's Leap Cabernet Sauvignon-- the same meal and vintage she and I often enjoyed in the pre-Jason days -- I quietly ate the salad and bowl of soup that Lauren had ordered me, sipping a glass of ice water. I greedily eyed the porterhouse, hoping that they might allow me some of the leftovers for dinner (as they occasionally did). It was the wine that I truly missed, however.

Holidays presented excellent opportunities for Jason, Lauren, and Amanda to humiliate me in novel, creative ways. On Christmas Eve, Jason invited Forrest and Jane over for cocktails and eggnog. I was dressed in a red satin, formal maid's uniform. It had black petticoats, and I wore it with black fishnet stockings with glistening rhinestones. Fortunately, I had not made any mistakes in my last proofreading assignment, so was not facing any planned punishment that evening.

Lauren and Amanda had also bought me a green satin maid's uniform. While I found a modicum of practical dignity (yes, I'm aware of the irony of that statement) to the black-and-white, formal uniforms, and even the spartan working maid's uniforms, I found other colors to be particularly demeaning in that they clearly could not be credibly worn by anyone save for a sissified male.

The couples exchanged gifts, as I served eggnog to the ladies and scotch to the gentlemen. Jason's and Lauren's gift to Jane and Forrest was a coupon book good for five cleanings of their 7000 square-foot house. I dreaded this because, from prior experience, I knew how exacting Jane was -- my inability to meet her standards (was it even possible?) had resulted in a couple of blistering sessions over both Jason's and Forrest's knees..

The next morning, Lauren, Jason, Amanda and Ryan sat around the Christmas tree, ready to open their presents. By now, I was receiving a $100 per week allowance from Jason and Lauren (I had even been given token tips from a couple of my former law firm subordinates after caddying or cleaning). Because they provided all my basic necessities (except for gas for the Subaru), I had managed to save up a small amount to spend on presents.

A couple of days earlier, Amanda had given me a pre-Christmas gift of festive attire that she made clear I was expected to wear on and around Christmas. This included three pairs of tights: one red plaid, one with horizontal red and green stripes, and one (doubtlessly inspired by Penny's recent gift to me) that had one red leg and one green leg. In addition, Amanda gave me a red velvet male Nutcracker ballet dancer tunic with gold embroidery. The tunic was very short, ending 3 inches above my crotch in the front, and covering about an inch of my bottom. It was accompanied by white tights and ballet slippers, and a red hat with a white feather. She also gave me an ankle bracelet with three small bells on it.

As instructed, I was attired in the Nutcracker outfit on Christmas morning as I delivered the packages under the tree to the four of them.

After I bought everyone their presents, Amanda said to me, "I'm tired of the Nutcracker look, father. Put on the red and green tights I gave you. Lose the hat and the slippers, but keep on the tunic. Make it snappy. We are ready to open our presents."

"Yes, Miss Amanda," I curtsied and scurried away, my bells jingling.

I promptly returned, dressed in the absurd red and green tights and tunic, and we began to open our gifts. I sat on the floor at their feet to open mine. This was my first Christmas since assuming my new status, and I made the calculation that shamelessly (or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say, "shamefully") sucking up in my gift selection was the prudent approach. For Lauren and Amanda, expensive perfume (Chanel No.5 and Chance by Chanel, respectively); for Jason, a personalized mahogany whip rack for his riding crops, engraved "Property of Master Jason." ; for Ryan, a reproduction of a Canadian prison strap from The London Tanners. I knew Amanda would approve of me buying an implement for her fiancé to discipline me with and I knew Ryan would approve of the store. They both would also approve once they researched the strap and discovered that its distinctive eight holes were designed to inflict maximum pain.

"Excellent choice," said Ryan, after opening his gift.

"Thank you, Master Ryan."

Amanda gave me a cedar shoe shine valet and, immediately following, asked Ryan to open her gift to him of a pair of expensive Italian leather boots. Ryan's gift to me was a feather duster.

Jason gave me a DVD of The Servant, which I was to learn is a 1963 British film written by Harold Pinter about a British aristocrat who hires a male servant. Over time, the servant and master reverse roles. The aristocrat's female lover kisses the former servant when she sees how he has subjugated her boyfriend. It is quite a remarkable film.

Amanda gave me the T-shirts "Ryan's Flunky " and Amanda's Puppet " to go with the two shirts Alyson had given me at the garden party.

Lauren gave me the Buddy the Elf costume that Will Ferrell wore in the movie Elf, complete with yellow tights, black, pointy shoes, green coat with white collar and cuffs, black belt, and a green and yellow hat.

When I opened Lauren's present, Amanda exclaimed, "Oh, how fun! Father, put it on immediately."

Having just been ordered to change outfits not 20 minutes earlier, I must have unconsciously shown some annoyance in my expression, because Amanda angrily said, "How dare you look at me like that! When I say jump, you say 'How high?', and do so with a smile on your face. Ryan, it's time for you to try out father's present to you-- on his backside. Change into your elf costume first, father. You have three minutes."

"Yes, Miss Amanda," I said, hurrying off and questioning the wisdom of my choice for Ryan's gift. It appeared as though my plan had quite seriously (not to mention, rapidly) backfired.

I was out of breath when I rushed back into the room in the preposterous elf outfit. Ryan, wearing a Santa hat, removed his bathrobe, and was dressed in a tank top and sweatpants. He was caressing the fine brown leather of the prison strap as he ordered me to remove my green jacket and bend over a chair, my yellow tights-clad bottom jutting out.

Amanda said, laughing, "The strapping, young Santa is about to strap the naughty, old elf. Ha ha. It could be the start of a new fairytale."

Ryan rubbed the strap against my bottom before delivering the first of the ten blows stipulated by Amanda. It was excruciatingly painful, far worse than a caning. By the fifth stroke, tears were streaming down my cheeks, and I felt I had no choice but to take the risk of speaking -- or, to be more precise, beseeching.

"Please, Miss Amanda. Mercy, I beg you. This strap is notoriously painful. I'm not sure I can take five more. Is there any other way I can be punished?"

Jason said, "I've been researching this strap on my phone. Jenkins is not lying. It is supposedly wicked. It probably should be reserved for the most serious transgressions." Jason coming to my rescue was most unexpected but most welcome.

Amanda replied, "Very well. It is Christmas after all. Just give him one more please, Ryan, for good measure."

After the final withering stroke, I took a moment to compose myself and wipe the tears from my eyes, before dropping to the floor. I then crawled on my belly to Amanda and kissed her slippered foot. "Thank you for your kind forbearance, Miss Amanda," I groveled, "I truly do not deserve it. I promise to be more careful in the future."

I then slithered over to Ryan and kissed his bare foot. "Thank you for correcting me, Master Ryan, and for your leniency." Next, I crawled to Lauren and Jason and kissed their slippered feet as well, apologizing for my insolence.

When I stood up, Amanda looked at me calmly, and said, simply, "Father, jump."

Knowing exactly what was expected of me, my eyes still moist, I forced myself to smile -- I had smiled so seldomly over the last 10 months that it felt strange even using those facial muscles -- and said, "How high, Miss Amanda?"

"Three feet."

My 61-year-old legs were not able to propel me even close to 3 feet into the air.

Amanda said, "Since you are physically incapable of fulfilling my command, you can make up for it by jumping around the room. Your yellow tights remind me of Easter. Hop like the Easter bunny, father."

As I started to hop in a circle around the room, smiling idiotically, she added, "Hold your hands up like bunny paws," demonstrating with her hands what she expected.

Given Lauren's and Amanda's seemingly insatiable desire to treat me as their living dress up doll, that night I was to have nightmares about what humiliating outfits awaited me at future holidays: Cupid for Valentine's Day, a leprechaun for St. Patrick's Day, and, of course, the Easter bunny (probably with a cottontail and floppy ears to go along with my yellow tights)? And who knew what else...

After five laps of hopping absurdly around the room, my bells jingling incessantly, I was ordered to assume my penance position -- on this occasion with a bit of variation. Instead of facing them as usual, I was instructed to kneel in the corner with my shins and toes elevated and pointed straight out, hands held behind my head, fingers intertwined. My yellow tights were pulled down to my knees, so my bruised and battered bottom was fully exposed. After 15 minutes, as my legs started to visibly tremble from the stress position, I was then granted still more Christmas clemency by Amanda.

"You may stand, father. Pull up your tights and face us, legs apart, hands behind your head, for another 15 minutes." Up until that point I had been in too much pain to have any hint of arousal. However, facing the four of them, it didn't take long for my body to begin to betray me yet again.

Fortunately, that evening there were no guests as I served an abridged Feast of Seven Fishes -- even though we were not Italian. They didn't think I was fully ready for such an elaborate meal yet, so I prepared four dishes and Lauren bought three from Citarella's seafood market. I served the dinner in my green maid's uniform to maintain the festive spirit of the day. They generously allowed me to eat a small portion of the seven dishes at my small table in the kitchen while they had coffee and dessert in the dining room.

After dinner, the five of us watched The Servant in the home theater. Amanda had directed me to change into the striped Christmas tights and an ugly Christmas sweater ("I've been Naughty"). The four of them sat in the plush theater seats, while I lay on my side on the hardwood floor at their feet, trying to avoid putting any pressure whatsoever on my still smarting bottom. Since it was my gift that we were watching, Jason was kind enough to pause the DVD for me while I made fresh popcorn and opened up a new bottle of wine to serve. After I resumed my place on the floor, Lauren tousled my hair with her socked foot. I then felt a light but persistent kicking against my balls. I looked up to see Ryan struggling to suppress a grin as he ostensibly watched the film.

Following the movie, Jason asked, "Did you identify with any of the characters, Jenkins?"

"Yes, sir, I did. I identified with the main character, the aristocrat, who becomes a servant in his home."

Jason then let me know that he expected a 20-page essay analyzing the firm's social downgrade, homoerotic and cuckoldry themes, as well as analyzing the characters and comparing the script to other Pinter screenplays. I had a little over a week to research and compose my paper, which would be graded.

The next morning, Lauren and Jason were scheduled to fly to Saint Barts for a weeklong vacation. Because Amanda and Ryan were staying at the mansion for the first three weeks of their five week break, I would not be unsupervised. This was a source of not a little anxiety for me. While Jason and Ryan were both sadists, Ryan was far more insecure than Jason, and had a chip on his shoulder. The combination of his sadism and insecurity -- along with the obvious thrill Amanda experienced whenever Ryan exerted his authority over me -- did not bode well for me.

I was up at 5 AM the next morning as Lauren and Jason had 9 AM flight out of JFK. Despite the early hour, I wore my formal serving uniform, because I knew it would please Lauren. When their car service arrived, I took their bags out to the car. The young man driving the car had picked me up for various business trips in the past, and smirked at me as he put the luggage in the trunk.

Lauren said, "You better be obedient for Amanda and Ryan, Gregory. We don't want to hear any negative reports."

Jason added, "And I expect your essay to be complete when I return. When I'm away, you will have access to my Amazon Prime and Criterion accounts to do your research."

Curtsying, I replied, "Yes, ma'am. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I hope you both have a wonderful trip."

It pained me to say this, because Lauren and I usually went away the week between Christmas and New Year's to a different Caribbean island each year. Last year on the 26th, around the same time in fact, we were leaving in an Uber to catch our flight to St. Martin. Now, instead of sipping cocktails on the beach, I would be waiting hand and foot on Amanda, Ryan and their guests.

I changed into my working uniform and began scrubbing the bathrooms and kitchen to prepare for the arrival of Ryan's good friend, Paulo, and his girlfriend, Rebecca, in the early afternoon. Paulo was from Brazil and had met Ryan when they were together at boarding school in Connecticut. He was the star player on Brown University's soccer team.

Amanda was planning on spending the day at Manhattan with her friend Mia, who was also home for winter break. This would be the first time I would be left alone with Ryan, and I was very apprehensive about it.

Back in my serving uniform, I served Amanda and Ryan breakfast around 9 AM, standing at attention next to the table, ready to refill their cups of coffee, or get anything else they wanted. Meanwhile, I heard them discuss the impending visit of Ryan's friends.

Amanda said, "Are you sure we can trust them? Won't they be shocked, scandalized even, when they're introduced to my father dressed as maid?"

Ryan said, "Are you kidding? I thought I had told you. Paulo has quite a bit of experience in this area, and I would trust him with anything. His girlfriend, Rebecca, is his submissive. She is sort of the female equivalent to your father here, just not as extreme; I believe she's what's called a cuckquean."

"Rebecca? Not Rebecca Langston?"

"Yes, that's her. Do you know her?"

"Do I know her? She was in my sorority freshman year and then, over the summer, she mysteriously transferred to Brown. We couldn't figure it out. I knew her to be really stuck up and bitchy. Definitely pretty, even sort of sexy. But I couldn't imagine her being submissive to anyone. I used to see her be sort of abusive to her boyfriends, if anything."

"Well, Paulo has that effect on women. He's a very dominant kind of guy, full of machismo. You've met him a couple of times, you know what I mean. Rebecca transferred to Brown after meeting him at a party. They went on a couple of dates afterwards, and she completely fell for him. I understand what you mean about her treating guys like dirt. She has this 30-year-old simp who follows her around like a puppy dog. Paulo dominates him as well. Paulo told me that Rebecca confessed to him about having this fantasy of him cheating on her, and her becoming the third wheel in the relationship. So, the person he chooses to do it with is this beautiful Indian girl, Shyla. Rebecca and Shyla were bitter rivals in their sorority and, in fact, it was Rebecca who won out in being elected to one of the top leadership positions in the sorority. I'm sure Paulo knew all this when he decided to sleep with Shyla.

Anyhow, Rebecca is now Shyla's little lackey and maid, sort of like your father is for Jason. Shyla is now president of their sorority and Rebecca has been demoted to sorority bitch. She's bossed around by all the girls she used to lord it over, even the lowliest pledges. She cleans the sorority house dressed in a skimpy French maid uniform, and gives her sorority sisters foot and body massages on command. They even have a sorority paddle with her name engraved on it. It's pretty hot, actually. So I don't think there will be any issue with Paulo and Rebecca understanding the situation with your father. Or keeping it private."

"That's amazing. I can't believe it! I wonder why Rebecca puts up with it?"

"I think she's in love with Paulo and hopes that he will marry her someday -- which I sincerely doubt. But stranger things have happened, I guess. When Shyla isn't around, they almost seem like a vanilla couple much of the time. I also think Rebecca is just really turned on by the whole submission thing. She seems to be addicted to the humiliation. She gets off on it. I think she must be bisexual. There's a good chance you will get to see this dynamic in action, because Paulo said that he invited Shyla to come down the day after tomorrow, and stay for a night or two. I hope that's okay."

"That's fine. It sounds like it could be quite interesting."

"Yes, we might have a couple of maids to serve us this week."

I couldn't recall college kids being this kinky when I was in school. I have to admit, however, that I was intrigued. But, if I'm being honest, I was also somewhat uneasy about having to share the submissive spotlight with someone.

Truthfully, that's probably another reason why I stuck around in my state of enslavement, rather than leave. I had always liked being the center of attention -- in the boardroom, the courtroom, sitting at the head of the table in the mansion, etc. Never in my prior, privileged life, however, had I been the center of attention in the intense way. I had been over the last 10 months in my subjugation. There were many times I was ignored, of course, but when I was punished or humiliated, the focus was squarely on me. This egocentrism is not a particularly admirable trait, I confess, but at least I was learning to be more honest about myself.

After breakfast, as she was leaving to take the train into the city, Amanda said to me, "Well , father, this will be an opportunity for you to spend some quality one-on-one time with your future son-in-law. I expect you to behave. I'll see you both this evening."

When she had left, Ryan turned to me and said, "I'm looking forward to bonding with you, old man. Put on your orange tights and meet me down in the gym."

Jason had entrusted Ryan with the key to my chastity cage while he was in the Caribbean. When I got down to the gym, I found Ryan shirtless, wearing sneakers and black sweatpants. I stood before him in my tights, and looked him in the eye.

"Pull down your tights, old man."

After I did as he commanded, Ryan took the key from his pocket and unlocked me, pulling my tights back up sharply. The feeling of my newly freed cock pressing up against the nylon, together with the overall strangeness of the situation, caused me to get hard almost immediately. Ryan stared down at my orange tent, smiling, causing me intense shame.

He then put my leather collar around my neck and tightened it, one notch tighter than Jason usually did. It was quite snug, but I could still breathe. He next instructed me to place my hands in front of me and handcuffed me.

"We're going to do your workout session with a bit of a twist today. I don't want you to get complacent."

He suddenly grabbed both of my nipples and twisted them with force. Once my nipples were hard, he put nipple clamps on me, causing my cock to grow harder still in my tights. He pulled on the chain to ensure the clamps were on securely.

As he did so, he said, "The first time I met you, you humiliated me in front of Amanda. I was falling in love with her, and I thought you might ruin it. I wasn't aware then of what an asshole you had always been to her and Lauren, so that your talking down to me probably only made Amanda like me more. But I will never forgive you for that. I'm going to enjoy paying you back for many years to come."

I really didn't know what to say, so I averted glance, looking down at the floor.

"I'll bet you're sorry now that you talked to me that way, you pompous old fuck"

"Indeed I am, Master Ryan. I am ashamed, and I am truly sorry", I said meekly.

"Not as sorry as you're going to be. I think you should be able to do all of your exercises with your hands cuffed with the exception of jumping jacks and push-ups. Let's begin."

After I did my high steps in a circle around him a few times, tapping my knees against the cane he held at waist level -- encouraged by slashes of his riding crop across my bare back, -- Ryan produced a large hoop. Think of a hula hoop, but maybe twice the size. He also brought out what appeared to be a dog whip.

After giving me a moment to catch my breath, he said to me, "They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, but I intend to prove that's wrong. I'm going to hold the hoop up a couple of feet off the floor and you're going to crouch down on your haunches and jump through it. I will then keep raising it incrementally higher, and you're going to continue jumping through it, either till I say stop, or till you are no longer able."

I did as he commanded, leaping through the hoop, as he slashed my back, upper thighs, and even occasionally my still very sore buttocks with the dog whip. It was difficult to keep my balance with my hands cuffed, as I had to land on my feet. It was not long before I was sweating profusely, and finding it difficult to breathe

"Please, Master Ryan, I need some water," I pleaded.

"Very well, you may stop."

He then pulled out from behind the treadmill a dog bowl filled with water and pointed to it. Still handcuffed, I got on my knees, lowered my head down to the bowl on the floor, and began greedily lapping up the water to quench my thirst.

Following my usual sit ups and knee bends, I again became very winded and laid down on my back at Ryan's feet. As was Jason's customary practice, Ryan tapped my balls through my tights with a riding crop as I caught my breath. But whereas Jason tapped lightly but persistently, Ryan used more force. One of the strokes caused me real pain. I groaned and started to get up, but in the contest between giving relief to my lungs or to my balls, my lungs won and I fell back on the ground. Ryan did not relent in striking me.

"Don't get too comfortable down there, old man. You really should have more endurance by now. I think Jason may be going too soft on you."

After I caught my breath somewhat, he allowed me to lap more water from the bowl before saying, "It's time to practice your jumping more. I'm going to remove your cuffs to make it easier for you to land. You can now land on your hands and feet like a proper dog. Your front and hind paws, I should say. Ha ha. We're going to practice jumping several more times this week to prepare a little show for Lauren and Jason when they get back from their holiday-- and Amanda, of course. She really loves watching me bring you to heel, as I'm sure you have noticed. Maybe we'll invite a few others such as Penny, and Forrest and Jane." I groaned at the thought.

The next time I jumped through a hoop, he pulled a little crumbled piece of beef jerky from a bag in his pocket, and put it up to my lips. I looked at him incredulously, and he simply said, "Eat."

Obviously, he had planned this all out meticulously. He continued to feed me treats on every subsequent jump until I finished, finally laying down on my back at his feet, doused with sweat. It was painful to lie on my backside after last night's strapping, but I knew that's what he expected. He put his sneaker under the chain of my clamps, yanking them off with his foot. The pain was fiery, but short-lived, at least. After I finally caught my breath, he reattached the leash to my collar and pulled me upright. I then bent down and begin licking his sneakers.

After a minute, Ryan commanded, "Stop! Get back on your back.". He then placed one sneakered foot over my face to lick the and the other over my cock, which he pressed down firmly.

Eventually, I got hard again, but he did not allow me a release.

"Paulo and Rebecca will be here soon. Take a shower and put on one of your dressier uniforms so you can greet them properly when they arrive."

In my room, I changed into one of my better uniforms and a new pair of stockings. I self-consciously scrutinized my figure in the mirror. If Rebecca really did end up wearing a maid uniform at some point during her visit, I knew there was no way I could compete with a pretty young woman in her early 20s. Still, I didn't want to look totally ridiculous next to her. Even though I had lost a lot of weight, I still wished I had the benefit of wearing one of the corsets that Lauren sometimes laced me into when she and Jason made use of me in the bedroom. It occurred to me that my very thought process at this moment was a mark of just how far I had fallen. Here I was a once powerful, 61-year-old man, anxious about how i would look to my superiors in my maid uniform in comparison to another maid--an actual female, no less. It was really quite surreal.

After dressing, I went down to the kitchen to prepare coffee and tea for Paulo and Rebecca. I hurried to the door when I heard the bell ring.

Opening the door, I saw a remarkably attractive young couple. This impression was only enhanced once I removed their coats. Paulo looked to be a little taller than Ryan, perhaps 6'1" , with swarthy good looks. He was dressed in tight jeans and a tight black T-shirt, muscles bulging beneath his shirt. Amanda was correct in describing Rebecca as sexy. She resembled a young Uma Thurman, and oozed sexually from every pore. Somewhat flat chested, she was dressed in faded jeans that hugged her hips and a short top that left her taut midriff bare, despite the cold weather. But it was her haughty expression that was the most striking thing about her.

"Greetings, sir, and ma'am," I curtsied.

"You must be Amanda's father, the big shot lawyer," said Paolo, grinning, as I removed their coats. He spoke with a moderate accent. Rebecca looked at me with a sneer, as if I was the most contemptible creature she had ever beheld.

"I no longer practice the law, sir."

"Well, that's pretty obvious," said Rebecca.

"Please, let me take you both to the sitting room, and I will get Master Ryan. Miss Amanda is out."

"You call your daughter miss? What a loser," said Rebecca.

Ryan entered the room and warmly embraced Paulo. Rebecca gave Ryan a peck on the cheek.

"This place is something. What is it, 10,000 square feet?", asked Paulo.

"12,000," said Ryan

"And this is the superstar lawyer? It all used to be his?"

"Used to be. His name is Gregory Jenkins, but feel free to call him maid or whatever you like. The house and everything else he once had now belongs to his wife, Amanda`s mom, Lauren. She's about to divorce him and marry Jason, who used to work for him. He apparently was a real asshole boss, not to mention an asshole husband and father, but he fucked with the wrong person in Jason, as you can clearly see."

"Pathetic," said Rebecca.

After they were comfortably seated, I served them tea and stood by at attention.

"So Amanda`s mom and Jason are on vacation and you and Amanda are cucksitting?," asked Paolo.

"I'm not familiar with that phrase," laughed Ryan.

"You've got a lot to learn, amigo. He's a cuck, isn't he? Rebecca here needs a cucksitter, from time to time, don't you babe ? Shyla usually assigns one of the sorority freshman," said Paulo.

Rebecca looked down at her lap. It was really the juxtaposition of her haughtiness with her shame that was so sexy, as I would come to learn.

"So you can do whatever you want with him? Any limits?", asked Paolo.

"Nothing scatological, nothing that would send him to the hospital or urgent care, no permanent marks, no buggering," Ryan smiled. "Pretty much anything else is fair game. Creative humiliation strongly encouraged."

"Does he ever fluff you or suck you off?, asked Paolo.

"No, I think that's kind of gay."

"Don't knock it until you try it. Rebecca has a cuck. He's not too bad at giving head".

"Owen is not my cuck. I have never slept with him. He's my simp," said Rebecca.

"Distinction without a difference," said Paolo.

"I'll have to think about that one," said Ryan. "Whenever you're ready, I can give you a tour of the place and then we can go down to the gym and work out, if you want."

Rebecca said, "While you boys work out, I'm going try to catch up on my studies. I'm failing macroeconomics."

"Shyla is such a slave driver that Rebecca doesn't have enough time to study and isn't doing so well this semester. Isn't that right, babe?"

Rebecca looked down and mumbled, "I guess so."

Dressed solely in navy blue tights, I was Ryan and Paolo's spotter, and wiped up their sweat off the equipment while they worked out. Before showering, they sat around talking with Rebecca. I lay prostrate at their feet with one of Paolo's sneakers tied with masking tape over my face. He felt he needed to give the novice Ryan lessons in humiliating a submissive-- as if Ryan needed any.

I wore my sweaty face mask, inhaling Paolo's foot sweat, for about an hour.

At one point, Rebecca looked down and said, "Look baby, he's hard for the smell of your feet."

Paolo brought down his bare foot on my hard cock and said, "Down boy!", laughing.

"Don't worry, old maid. If I was a faggy, sissy maid, I'd get hard for the smell of my man's foot sweat too," snickered Rebecca.

After Rebecca returned to the library to study more, as Ryan and Paulo continued to catch up, I learned more of the fascinating backstory of the unconventional threesome of Paulo, Rebecca, and Shyla. After transferring from Dartmouth to Brown, Rebecca entered one of the top sororities on campus and began making a big push to position herself to become its future president. In order to do so, however, she had to first undermine another popular girl, Shyla. They quickly grew to be pretty serious rivals, each with their own factions of support. Shyla, like Ryan, had grown up partly in the UK and partly in the US. Her father was a wealthy business process outsourcing entrepreneur who built and sold a company, making billions. Rebecca, by contrast, came from a middle class upbringing outside of Philadelphia. But she was bright (salutatorian of her high school class) and ambitious. She was quite effective in syphoning off support from Shyla, partly through spreading false rumors about her. It sort of reminded me of yours truly in how I sabotaged Forrest at my former law firm. Apparently, Rebecca even used a racial slur to denigrate Shyla on a couple of occasions, which, of course got back to Shyla, infuriating her. In any case, Rebecca ultimately prevailed in being elected to the #2 leadership post, even though Shyla had been a member of the sorority since her freshman year at Brown.

Rebecca had told Paulo about her power struggle which Shyla, of course, and how she had triumphed. So, after she confessed her fantasy to Paulo that he cheat on her and relegate her to the third wheel in the relationship, he did not hesitate to seek out Shyla. Furious with Rebecca, and believing herself superior, Shyla became a very willing participant in the unusual love triangle. Paulo made it clear to Rebecca that, to remain a part of his life, she must submit herself completely to Shyla's authority. Rebecca reluctantly stepped aside from sorority leadership, clearing the path for Shyla to become president the semester that just ended. It turns out that most of the girls in the sorority, even Shyla's former so-called friends and supporters, thought of her as entitled and bitchy, and reveled in her downfall. This all certainly sounded familiar to me.

Paulo said to Ryan, "So you see, there's no one I could've picked to humiliate Rebecca more, but that's what really turns her on--even though she won't admit it. She hates it but loves it at the same time, as you'll get to see you tomorrow when Shyla arrives. It's a trip."

Paolo and Ryan were still talking an hour later, when Amanda got home. She walked into the room to see both of them using my back as a footstool.

"Hi Paulo, nice to see you. I see you've met my father. Ryan, did you and father enjoy your bonding time together?"

"Yes, I think we're starting to get a better understanding of each other. But we definitely need a lot more time together."

Then Rebecca walked into the room.

Amanda said, "Well, if it is iisn't the long lost Rebecca. What the hell happened to you?"

Rebecca looked down at the floor and said sheepishly, "Hi, Amanda, nice to see you again. After I met Paulo, I just sort of felt I needed a change and I thought it was good idea to make a clean break. I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye."

Amanda replied, "From what I've heard, you certainly have gotten a change. I'll be sure to update everyone at Pi Beta Phi."

Rebecca said meekly, "Please don't, Amanda."

"We'll see. Father, shouldn't you be starting on our dinner?"

That night after dinner, the two couples sat around in the rec room listening to loud music. Pedro pulled out a joint which they passed around. I also served them cocktails and, before too long, the four of them were getting more and more inebriated and less inhibited.

Paolo said to Ryan, "My feet hurt from my game on Tuesday. How's the maid at giving foot massages?"

Ryan replied, "Not bad. He's been getting a lot of practice. Old man, show Ryan what you can do."

I knelt before this athletic, alpha male, still in my maid uniform, and began earnestly kneading the soles of his large feet.

When I finished, Ryan said to me, "Maid, don't forget our other guest." He was sending me a clear message: Rebecca may be a submissive, but she was still superior to me.

Rebecca was curled up next to Ryan on the couch and looked down at me contemptuously as I worked on her feet.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Ryan and Amanda were getting increasingly amorous on the loveseat.

Also, observing this, I heard Rebecca say to Paolo, "Please baby, I haven't had any relief in nearly three weeks. I really need it bad. I need your beautiful cock. Please fuck me, baby."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, babe. I put the decision of when you next come completely in Shyla`s hands. She'll be here early tomorrow, so maybe you can convince her to let you, if you are an especially good girl."

"Please baby, it's been so long. I'm losing my mind." She pouted. "Shyla is so mean to me."

"Don't forget it was you who wanted this."

"So you always remind me, but not with her! It was just a fantasy. I can't take it anymore. Please, I beg you--at least unlock me so I can jill off. You have a key too. Why does Shyla get to decide?"

"Shyla's control is good for you. She is teaching you some humility, which you are solely in need of."

After finishing with Rebecca, I then moved on to massage the feet of Ryan and my daughter, until they left for their bedroom.

I got an early start the next morning, cleaning the mansion in my working maid uniform, including laundering the soiled sheets in both couples' bedrooms. While there was no question of the intent of my daughter and Ryan as they headed off to their bedroom last night, from the condition of their sheets, I can only speculate that Paulo compelled Rebecca to provide him some form of unreciprocated sexual release. I also had to prepare a third guest room; with Shyla's impending arrival, Paulo made it clear to Rebecca that she needed to move her things into the new room.

I put on my serving uniform to serve the four of them breakfast, before changing into my red and green striped tights -- Amanda liked to prolong the Christmas spirit as long as possible -- to accompany the two gym rats, Ryan and Paulo, through yet another workout. I fulfilled the same role of towel boy as I had yesterday, cleaning up their sweat as they moved between equipment. Fortunately, I was spared another workout session of my own (there were some allowances made for my age, thankfully).

As it turned out, Shyla was coming from nearby Sagaponack, where her parents owned a still more imposing 20,000 square-foot oceanfront mansion. I hurried to answer the doorbell just before noon. Shana was a stunning young woman, straight out of Bollywood central casting (I did a Google search to find a point of comparison, and the closest I could come up with was the actress Deepika Padukone ). She had silky, long, black hair and, at 5'10", was about 2 inches taller than Rebecca. Wearing opaque, black tights and black leather boots that came up to her knees, her short dress flattered her ample breasts; she was clearly better endowed in that department than Rebecca. What was most remarkable about her, however, was her regal bearing (in this respect, ironically, she bore some resemblance to Rebecca).

"You must be the father. I've heard about you. I have to laugh because it's so incomprehensible to imagine my own father ever being in such a position as you." She had a mild accent, Indian, with a hint of British perhaps.

I served tea while Paulo introduced her to Ryan and Amanda. Rebecca was conspicuously absent.

"Where is my little Becky?", Shyla asked. "I texted her a little while ago."

Paulo explained, "Rebecca absolutely hates being called Becky."

Amanda said, "I remember."

Surprised, Shyla asked, "You know Becky?

After Amanda explained the history, Shyla said, "You mean to tell me that she came from your sorority at Dartmouth to create all of the trouble she did at my sorority at Brown? Incredible. Also exceedingly rude of her to have left Dartmouth the way she did. She will have to atone for that."

Paulo yelled up the stairs, "Rebecca, Shyla is here! You better get your little ass down here, pronto."

When Rebecca came reluctantly downstairs, I was startled to see that she was dressed as a sexy, parochial schoolgirl: short plaid skirt, white shirt and plaid tie, white knee socks, and black Mary Jane shoes. Her straight, light brown hair was tied into two pigtails.

Shyla said, "Good I'm glad to see you got my text, Becky. Come and remove my boots."

Rebecca ran to where Shyla was sitting on the couch and knelt down to grab the boot of Shyla's extended left leg. Struggling to pull it off, Rebecca stood up to get leverage. The boot suddenly came loose, causing Rebecca to fall on her bottom. Everyone laughed except for me.

"Be careful with those boots, Becky. They cost more than your father probably earns in a month."

"Yes, princess. Princess, I remembered to bring my school girl uniform but forgot my maid uniform."

"That was very negligent of you, Becky. I certainly hope it wasn't on purpose. You will be punished for that. Fortunately, I remembered to bring one of your spare maid uniforms in the trunk of my Maserati."

"Thank you, princess."

It readily became clear to me why Paulo and Shyla so enjoyed subjugating Rebecca. She was a jumble of conflicting emotions, evident in her ever-changing facial expressions. From one moment to the next she would go from disgusted to aroused, defiant to compliant, agony to ecstasy. She was a mess. But a singularly erotic one.

This was apparent from the start of her interactions with Shyla. After removing Shyla's first boot, Rebecca put her nose into the boot and inhaled deeply, as she had no doubt been instructed. With the first boot, she scrunched up her nose and grimaced as though the odor disgusted her. However, by the time she had removed the second boot, Rebecca seemed to savor the aroma; she took a second deep breath and lingered over it longer than was necessary.

"I have been in these boots for hours. My feet are sweaty. The odor must be nectar to you, Becky. I got them for Christmas and still need to break them in. My feet hurt. Massage them."

As Rebecca began to knead her soles, Shyla asked imperiously, "Aren't you forgetting something, peasant?"

"I'm sorry, Princess." Rebecca kissed the top of each stockinged foot reverently and then put her nose under each foot and inhaled deeply before resuming her massage.

"Do you see what's on my ankle, Becky?", pointing to an anklet on her right foot with a little key dangling from it.

"The key to my chastity, princess."

"I was planning on granting you a release today, because it's been a while, and I know how shamefully horny you get. But first I get a report from Princess Kyla that your last paper received a B and now I hear that you forgot your uniform."

Paolo explained to Amanda and Ryan, "Kyla is Shyla's 14-year-old sister, a high school freshman. Shyla has appointed Rebecca as Kyla's homework slave. Shyla has to address Kyla as princess too. They do Zoom calls each week for Kyla to give Rebecca any assignment she's having trouble with. If Kyla's work receives any grade lower than an A, it's bad news for Rebecca. Isn't it, babe?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry princess. I was just so busy cleaning the sorority house and trying to get my homework done, I didn't have time to do as good as job as usual."

"That's another thing, Becky. I heard from Julie that there were hairs in my shower. You must learn to manage your time better. Meanwhile, not only will you need to work extra hard to earn your cummies, but you will need you will be punished for your shortcomings."

Pressing still harder into Shyla's soles, Rebecca begged, "Please, princess, I accept that I have to be punished, but you have to unlock me. I can't take it anymore."

"I don't HAVE to do anything."

After Rebecca finished massaging Shyla's feet to her satisfaction, I was ordered to prepare lunch.

Shyla said, "I think it's only appropriate as your guests that we help out. Go get your maid uniform from my car and assist Gregory here in making us lunch, Becky."

Rebecca looked at me with an expression of pure hatred as she ran out to the driveway.

When Rebecca returned, uniform in hand, Amanda said to me, "Father, you obviously know where things are in the kitchen, so you will show Rebecca around. But remember your place. She is a guest in our house and you will be the junior maid today."

So that was how I came to check off the box on my bucket list of indignities of being the junior maid in the house where not 10 months ago I reigned as master.

Amanda instructed me to put on my frivolous green maid's uniform. I felt this only added to my long list of disadvantages in comparison to Rebecca, which included my gender, age and weight, just to name a few. When I met her in the kitchen, she was wearing a sexy, but still practical black and white uniform, with a white hat and black and white lace choker around her neck. Her skirt was shorter than mine, which was already on the short side. Probably the biggest similarity in our attire was that we were both wearing black, seamed stockings and 3 inch heels. But that's about where the similarities ended. Whereas she presented as a highly attractive, sexy, young French maid, I was a ridiculous, sissified older man. She was an object of lust and fantasy; I was merely an object of ridicule and scorn. My confidence was not bolstered when she looked at me with undisguised contempt and rolled her eyes.

"Miss Rebecca, may I suggest that we prepare a ham and cheese quiche with a salad? I know that is acceptable to Miss Amanda and Master Ryan. Do you think that Master Paulo and Miss Shyla would also approve?"

"For Paulo, it's fine. I have no idea whether that pompous bitch Shyla likes quiche or not. You better ask her. I swear, if you tell her or anyone else that I called her a bitch, I will say that you tried to molest me."

That is quite unnecessary, Miss Rebecca. I would not betray your confidence."

"You better not. Remember, report to me."

"Yes, Miss Rebecca." I curtsied deeply to acknowledge my subservient position.

After ascertaining that quiche and salad was an acceptable repast, I prepared the meal, while Rebecca set the table. Per her instruction ("I'm tired of serving that cunt, you do it"), I stood during the meal closer to Paulo and Shyla, while Rebecca stood closer to Amanda and Ryan.

Over lunch, the two couples began comparing notes on how to manage and discipline their submissives in ways that had negative implications for both Rebecca and me.

"Becky, do you see how Gregory curtsies? He does it much better than you do. He does it more frequently and knows how to do a deep curtsy. Perhaps he can give you lessons," said Shyla.

"Father would be happy to do that. I, on the other hand, really like Becky's choker. I'm pretty sure Mom would like that look too, father. We're going to buy you some."

I was not thrilled to hear this. One of the things I hated most about my old business attire was the restrictive feeling around my neck of wearing a buttoned down shirt and tie. I guess that feeling was destined to be a regular part of my life again.

Shyla said, "Becky, stop slouching and fidgeting. See how Gregory stands so still with his legs together, back straight and head slightly bowed, always looking around to see if we need anything. That is a proper way for a maid to behave. I expect that from you going forward. Pay attention."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Rebecca regarding me with enmity.

Towards the end of the meal, we received a delivery of two cases of wine and champagne, courtesy of Shyla. As Rebecca and I poured the four of them a glass of Chardonnay, Shyla announced, "This is very pleasant. Oh, Paulo, I forgot to tell you! I heard from my parents this morning that they are planning on spending pretty much the entire summer in Delhi. You know what that means, don't you? It means that we will have the mansion to ourselves, with Kyla, of course."

"That's awesome, honey!", said Paulo. "I'll bring my surfboard."

Ryan said, "This is terrific news. We get to hang out all summer together!"

"You guys are getting married this summer, right?", asked Shyla.

"That's right. July 10th, two weeks after my mom and Jason get married. We're having a reception here in the garden. We would love for both of you to come, of course," said Amanda.

"We wouldn't miss it," said Paulo.

"Becky, our mansion is only about twice the size of the sorority house. You shouldn't have too much trouble keeping it clean. Of course, you will be permitted to go home to visit your parents every other weekend. But plan on being with Paulo and I during the week and every second weekend. We will plan our parties around the weekends that you will be available to serve. Shyla turned to Amanda and Ryan, adding, "We have our own private beach, you know. We're going to have some amazing parties!"

"But, princess, I was planning on applying for a summer internship in Manhattan," Rebecca objected.

Paulo said, "You probably need to rethink that, babe. We're going to need you at the mansion. It's gonna be a blast! Besides, given your grades this semester, I sort of doubt anyone is going to want to hire you anyway. It's pretty competitive out there."

"Yes, and Kyla has lots of girlfriends and boyfriends that hang out around our pool and at the beach during the summer. She is going to need someone to serve at her parties and gatherings as well. Becky, you're going to be a very busy girl, this summer," said Shyla.

Amanda said , "It's going to be so much fun! I can't wait for summer! It will be one long party. I'm sure that Becky and father will make a fabulous tag team."

Our guests stayed for two nights, giving Rebecca and me a preview of what might lie in store for us over the summer.

After lunch, the two couples went into town to do some shopping. Before leaving, Amanda said to Rebecca and me, "While we're gone, father, it would be a good time for you to give Becky lessons in how to properly curtsy. Since Becky is our guest, you are subordinate to her, but you are the one giving her lessons. I realize this may be a bit awkward, but I'm sure the two of you will figure it out."

Shyla added, "When we get back, Becky, you can give us a demonstration of what you have learned."

I explained to Rebecca that I am required to curtsy every time I enter or leave the presence of one of my betters or anytime one of them enters the room. I also curtsy whenever one of them tells to do something. Normally, I hold the curtsy position for about 1 to 2 seconds. I reserve a deep curtsy for those occasions when I am trying to show greater respect, deference, or, if I've done something wrong, greater humility. In these cases, I bow down lower, usually about 7 or 8 inches, and hold the position longer, about three seconds. It is important to maintain the right posture, with my spine straight (I pretend I am balancing a book on my head). I always hold the bottom of my skirt out with both hands and look downward, whether executing a simple curtsy or a deep one.

It was fascinating to watch Rebecca as she practiced; performing one of the most humble acts imaginable, she looked at me with an arrogant sneer.

"I can't believe I'm having to learn this from an old guy dressed as a maid. What are you 55 years old?"

"I am 61, Miss Rebecca."

"How pathetic. I blame you for this. If Shyla didn't think you were so good at this, I wouldn't have to be learning it."

"Please understand, Miss Rebecca, my wife --soon to be ex-wife--Lauren, and my master, Jason, required that I received strict training in proper servant deportment. Any lapses are punished, and quite harshly."

"How could you allow yourself to be put into this position? You deserve everything you get."

"With all due respect, Miss Rebecca, couldn't the same question be asked of you?"

"How dare you?! I do this because I want to...or need to or...something. But you have to do it. You are nothing more than a slave. Come here, slave. Get down on your knees before me."

I did as she commanded, recalling her recent threat of falsely accusing me of molestation. Standing before me, she lifted up my skirt with the shoe of her right foot. Ryan had not put my chastity cage back on after my workout session yesterday, so, naturally, I was hard. Rebecca removed her shoe and pressed her stocking-clad toes against my cock, through my panties. She lightly kicked my cock a few times, before drawing her foot back and striking my balls. She kicked with only moderate force, but it was sufficient to cause me to double over in pain.

"Now kiss the foot that kicked you."

After taking a moment to recover, I did as she directed.

"So, not too long ago, you were this high-powered attorney. Now you're a maid, kneeling before another maid who is a third of your age. How does that feel?"

"Truthfully, Miss Rebecca, it feels intensely humiliating, and surreal."

"I'll bet. So now there's no mistake about who's the boss between us. Now show me how to do that deep curtsy again. They're going to be home soon."

That afternoon, before dinner, Rebecca was required to do deep curtsies before Shyla, Paolo, Amanda, and Ryan. Her technique was found to be wanting.

"After dinner, I want you to change into your school girl uniform. I'm going to give you some encouragement to do a better job in your curtsy practice tomorrow," said Shyla.

Amanda added, "I don't think all of the blame should fall with the student. The teacher's efforts were also inadequate. Father, you will join Becky in the living room after dinner. Be wearing your fuchsia punishment tights."

"Yes, Miss Amanda," I replied, curtsying.

That evening, the sharing of best practices in the management of submissives continued. Because Shyla was used to disciplining Rebecca with a sorority paddle (which she had forgotten to bring with her), she asked if she could borrow one of the canes Jason uses to discipline me. Since Shyla was unfamiliar with the use of the cane, Ryan was kind enough to demonstrate on my backside. I bent over, resting my arms on the floor and thrusting my bottom out to receive six of the best. Rebecca, stood next to me, waiting her turn, having removed all of her school girl uniform with the exception of her knee socks and Mary Jane shoes. Her chastity device had a thin strap that went up the crack of her ass, but both cheeks presented ample targets for Shyla. Unaccustomed to the sting of the cane, Rebecca found it impossible to maintain her punishment position, and danced around quite a bit before it was over. I have to admit that I enjoyed seeing the welts appear on her lovely bottom, not just for aesthetic reasons, but because of the way she had treated me earlier.

After administering the six strokes, Shyla said, "Becky, that is your first of many punishments to come for your multiple shortcomings. Perhaps now you can try to convince me to remove your chastity."

Becky wiped the tears from her eyes and excitedly scurried over to where Shyla had taken a seat on the couch next to Paulo. Kneeling at her feet, Rebecca said, "Thank you for punishing me, princess. May I massage your feet?"

During the massage, Shyla exacted all kinds of promises from Rebecca: to be more diligent when cleaning Shyla's bedroom and bathroom at the sorority house; to stop protesting when asked to give foot massages to the freshman sorority sisters; to come down to Sagaponack for a weekend in March to serve as maid at Princess Kyla's birthday party at their family mansion, etc.. Finally. after she kissed each of Shyla's toes and kissed the key dangling from her bare ankle, Shyla unlocked her cage.

Paolo removed Rebecca's chastity belt after Shyla unlocked it.

"Thank you, princess." Rebecca turned to Paulo. "Pretty please, baby, take me to the bedroom and fuck me. I need it so bad."

Rebecca was so desperate that she didn't care who heard her beg. From my penance position, I could see Amanda and Ryan look on, amused, sharing a joint Paolo had given them.

Paulo said, "Whoa there, babe, I think you're getting out of your skies a bit."

"Aren't you quite the presumptuous little peasant, Becky," said Shyla. "Just because I've unlocked you doesn't mean I've given you permission to come. You still need to earn your cummies. And you certainly aren't going to get them by sleeping with MY man."

`But please, princess, I promised you so much, " said Rebecca, on the precipice of panic.

"Nothing that I couldn't have compelled you to do anyhow. You still have not properly made it up to our host, dear Amanda, for the inexcusable way you left her sorority. Amanda, she has gotten quite good at foot massages. Would you like to try her out?"

Amanda smiled. "That doesn't sound like a bad idea."

Eager to please, Rebecca ran over to the loveseat where Amanda was sitting with Ryan and knelt before her former sorority sister. Wearing shorts, Amanda extended her right bare foot to Rebecca with a satisfied smile on her face. Unable to meet her eyes, Rebecca began pressing her fingers firmly into Amandas sole and heel. Clearly a bit high, Amanda playfully pushed her foot up to Rebeccas lips. Rebecca gave a quick, embarrassed little kiss to the bottom of Amanda's foot, causing her to giggle, before resuming her massage.

After Rebecca finished with Amanda`s feet, Shyla directed her to give Ryan a foot massage as well. Not wanting to be left out, Paulo also demanded one.

When Rebecca was finished, Shyla said, "Very well, I will take mercy on this horny slut. Becky, lay down on the floor."

Still dressed only in her white knee socks, Rebecca lay down flat on the floor, wincing as her bottom touched it, near Shayla's and Palo's feet. Shyla, who was bare legged in a short, black dress, stood imperiously above Rebecca, and then placed her bare foot on Rebecca's sex.

She then inserted her big toe into Rebecca's vagina and said, "Becky, I am not going to exert myself for you. If you want to come, you will need to hump my foot."

Beyond desperate, Rebecca thrust her pelvis up and down against Shyla's toe, and began panting and moaning in what I can only describe as a mixture of ecstasy and shame, an agonized expression on face. It did not take long before she feverishly climaxed, thrashing around on the floor like a fish.

When she was finished, Shyla sat back down back down and said, "Now lick your filth from my toe".

Rebecca got up, knelt before Shyla and said, "Yes, your highness, of course. Thank you," and began fervently sucking Shyla's moist big toe.

Following Rebecca's humiliating display, I was ordered to serve more cocktails while Paulo passed around another joint. Paulo called Ryan over to where he was sitting on the couch with Shayla. I saw them speaking quietly and the next thing I know, Rebecca and I were ordered to stand in the middle of the room facing one another, she wearing nothing but her knee socks and I nothing but my fuchsia tights. Ryan walked over and twisted my nipples until they were erect. Still in the afterglow of her climax, Rebecca's nipples were already like little bullets. Ryan pulled out two pairs of nipple clamps, and attached one clamp to my right breast while Paulo attached the opposite end onto Rebecca`s left breast, doing the inverse with the other pair. We were forced to stand facing each other for the next 45 minutes. Staring down at Rebecca's nubile body, I knew it was futile to even try to suppress my erection. The tip of my cock was no more than three inches from her shaved crotch. She looked down at my erection with an expression of disgust. As my legs grew weary, I would sometimes shift my stance; on the occasions when my shift in position caused my cock to get closer to her, I would jerk backwards, pulling painfully on both of our nipples (eliciting an even harsher glare from Rebecca and titters from the two couples making out on the couches).

Paulo began smacking Rebecca's still smarting buttocks with a wooden spoon, Ryan doing the same to mine. Naturally, in an attempt to escape the blows, Rebecca and I moved closer to each other, the tip of my cock touching her abdomen at one point. Sadly, this was the closest I had come to sexual intercourse with a woman since Jason had come onto the scene, and I had to concentrate hard not to ejaculate.

The two couples continued to smoke weed and make out with each other on the couch. At one point Ryan came over to Paul and said, "Dude, as you can probably understand, Amanda`s not comfortable with her father coming into our bedroom, but we would be interested in borrowing Becky for a while, if that's okay. You're welcome to take tights boy here, but I recognize it's not a fair trade."

"No problem. Becky go with Ryan and Amanda. I'm sure Shyla and I could have some fun with the old cuck. Does he have anything sexier to wear though?"

Amanda said to me, "Father, put on your corset, thigh high stockings and panties. Don't look at me that way. Mom tells me what happens in the bedroom with her, Jason and you. She and I don't have any secrets."

When I returned, after Amanda tightly laced my corset, the new threesomes split up into the two bedrooms. I discovered that Paulo and Shyla were fond of oral servitude. After spanking me over his knees, Paulo had me fluff him (he was even bigger than Jason, amazingly). I was required to suck Shyla's toes as Paolo took her from behind. Afterwards I was directed to clean both of them thoroughly with my tongue. Later, as they watched a movie, Rebecca laid curled up at the feed of Amanda and Ryan, whereas I laid with Paulo's and Shyla's feet resting on my face, gently lapping at their toes.

The following day was more of the same, the two dominant couples finding diverting new ways to humiliate Rebecca and me. After I spent a couple of more hours demonstrating to Rebecca the correct way to curtsy, we were forced to give each other pedicures. This was an area where Rebecca had considerably more experience than I did, and Amanda felt I could benefit from her tutelage. Because we were unsupervised, Rebecca refused to massage my feet during my pedicure but, of course, insisted that I massage hers. She also again forced me to kiss her feet-- more than anything else, I believe, to drive home the point that she was superior to me, that I was the servant to a servant. Despite all of her submissive tendencies, Rebecca was probably a true switch (I recalled Ryan telling Amanda about Owen, the 30-year old "simp" who doted on her). I'm sure that having a once powerful, much older man under her temporary control was a turn on for her.

Shyla had put Rebecca back in chastity in the morning, and not content with her one climax the prior day, Rebecca begged to be released again that evening. Following more concessions and groveling, Shyla finally unlocked her. Rebecca was reduced to yet another act of abasement in an attempt to orgasm. She knelt before Shyla, who put her bare foot between her legs, under her vagina. Rebecca then had to gyrate her pelvis downwards against Shyla's stationary foot. As limber as she was, Rebecca failed to generate sufficient pressure on her clitoris from this position and whimpered in frustration. Paolo eventually took pity on her and permitted her to hump his leg. He was wearing jeans, so I can't imagine it was very comfortable for her, but she ultimately succeeded in her mission (or so it seemed from the loud sounds she emitted).

The second night of our guests' stay resulted in me again joining Paolo and Shyla in their room while Ryan and Amanda made use of Rebecca. I overheard Ryan tell Paulo that, although she never really had had any lesbian experiences before, Amanda quite enjoyed having Rebecca go down on her the previous night. Apparently, Amanda also playfully spanked Rebecca over her lap and teased her by brushing her hand against Rebecca`s sex in between smacks to her bottom. It was odd hearing these intimate details of my daughter's sexual escapades.

My second night with Paulo and Shyla was similar to the first except that on the second night Paolo ordered me lay under them to lick his scrotum as he penetrated Shyla. Jason had recently started commanding me suck his balls in front of Lauren as a prelude to them having sex, so I was not a complete novice in this area.

Before our three guests departed, there was much discussion about next summer and all the fun parties that would take place. The two couples thought the contrast of their two maids would be highly amusing for their guests, and were confident that Rebecca and I could provide entertainment as well as maid service to their broad-minded circle of friends.

After they left, Ryan took me down to the gym to practice my hoop jumping. Subsequently, I requested permission to watch some Harold Pinter movies on Jason's Amazon Prime account so I could begin working on my essay.

Following Lauren's and Jason's return, Ryan could hardly wait to show everyone the new tricks he had taught me as part of my exercise regimen. Jason, Lauren, and Amanda sat comfortably in the family room as Ryan put me through my paces in my collar and teal tights. He then brought out the hoop, dog whip, and dog bowl, spurring me with the whip to jump through the hoop multiple times. Despite all of the humiliations that I had suffered over the prior 11 months, having my wife, her lover and my daughter watch me be treated like a dog by my future son-in-law registered with me as possibly a new low. When the session finally came to an end, lying on the floor panting and dripping with sweat, I watched Ryan walk over to the couch.

"So, what do you think?", he asked.

"You're terrible," said Amanda, smiling, and looking at him as if he were anything but. She then kissed him passionately.

Jason said, "Well done, Ryan. I had actually thought about having Jenkins jump through hoops, but never got around to it."

Lauren said, "Bravo, Ryan, very clever. The treats were a nice touch. You're going to fit SO well into this family. Does the doggie lick toes too, I wonder?"

Jason looked down at me and said, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

I rolled over onto my hands and knees, still trying to catch my breath, and crawled over to Lauren. I removed her sock with my mouth and began licking her toes as she giggled.

"I hope he doesn't hump," said Lauren.

"Only his master's boots," replied Jason. Everyone laughed.

The presentation of my essay two nights later did not go much better for me. While Jason thought my analysis of the film's themes and characters was adequate, he thought my comparison of Pinter screenplays was quite weak. I honestly thought his assignment was somewhat flawed because I could only find one other Piinter screenplay on the subject of cuckoldry (Betrayal), which did not involve social downgrade or homoeroticism, and , therefore, was difficult to compare to The Servant. No matter, my C- grade earned me a strapping with Jason's belt in front of the others and 30 minutes against the wall, charcoal grey punishment tights pulled down, balancing a book on my head. After dropping the book around the 20 minute mark, I was forced to start over.

The weeks passed by. Although no one, fortunately, thought of dressing me up as Cupid for Valentine's Day, Lauren did in fact buy me a leprechaun outfit to wear at a St. Patrick's Day party she and Jason hosted. They invited Forrest and Jane, as well as Penny and her new boyfriend. St. Patrick's Day fell on a Saturday this year, so Amanda and Ryan also decided to come down from Dartmouth. The ridiculous outfit Lauren purchased for me consisted of oversized, green hat, a green jacket with green breeches that came down to the knee, white tights, and black shoes with a buckle. Amanda suggested that it would be more amusing -- not to mention more emasculating -- for me to wear everything but the breeches, so my tights (and, unsaid, my erection too, of course) would be visible to all. It was so attired that I served Irish soda bread, corned beef and cabbage, and Guinness stout to our guests that day.

Accompanying Penny was a nerdy looking young man, George, probably about 10 years her senior. He was a software engineer. I watched their interaction with interest. He certainly watched me with interest as I scampered around In my tights waiting on everyone. I wondered what Penny had told him about about me.

Penny said, "George brought me this beautiful Cartier watch for Christmas. George, sweetie, Jenkins is busy. Go get me another Guinness. And more of that delicious soda bread."

George quickly went off to the kitchen to fulfill Penny's request. A few minutes later, Penny dropped a piece of her bread on the floor and looked at George. He quickly knelt down and wiped up the crumbs with his napkin.

Knowing Penny as I did, I felt rather sorry for this young man.

Soon, it would be springtime.