Tag Archives: maid

So Humiliated

I have had bitch-boy in his little pink parody maid’s outfit a lot recently. The one that he had to shorten himself and the hem reaches only down to his hips. He is so shamed with his shaved genitals and his little clitty padlocked into its narrow tube on display. I had him clean the ground floor windows outside. How he begged not to have to do that, so attired. Of course, given his bottom is always on display in this uniform, I am generous with the cane because I love to see fresh red stripes as he gets on with his chores.

Volume 3 of my journals is now published

Volume 3 of my journals is now published on Lulu.com. In paperbackdownload and Ebook versions.

A colour picture of me on the front cover of the paperback and download versions.

Find out more about my journals and read excerpts by clicking on the MY DIARIES page above.

Enjoy your reading!

My 2nd journal published on Lulu.com

The second set of extracts from my diaries has been published on Lulu.com as a paperback or download (download option is on the right of the Lulu screen). Here are two excerpts.

EXCERPT 1

Having finished a second cup of tea, I rose and slipped on my dressing gown and bitch-boy knelt, and guided my feet into my slippers which are four inch heeled, black mules; each decorated with a little tuft of black ostrich feather. I proceeded to dress bitch-boy in his black and white maid’s uniform. I chose his black Mary Jane shoes which have one inch heels and his white ankle socks topped with a lacy frill. Over his uniform I fitted him into his cream, full length PVC apron. It has masses of large PVC frills over the shoulders and at the hem. I pulled his auburn bob-style wig onto his head and topped that off with a little black and white maid’s hat. I applied shiny, plum coloured lipstick to his sullenly pouting lips, a lime green eye shadow fully up to his eye brows and the coup de grace, a pair of one-inch-long false eyelashes, obtained from an on-line fancy-dress party site. As always he begged momentarily before the application of the lipstick, the eye shadow and the eye lashes. As always I ignored his begging completely. He whines to me, from time to time, that the false eye lashes are constantly in his field of vision. I love that thought! He is short and stout in build and he had one day’s growth of beard on his face. The result is that he cannot, in any way, try to hide in the guise of a real woman. He is clearly, exactly as I desire, a man dressed against his wishes as a maid. He is no transvestite and hates being dressed as a maid.

I led him to stand in front of the full length mirror in the bedroom and I sat on the bed, at his side.

            ‘Look at yourself in the mirror. What do you look like? You’re pathetic aren’t you; allowing your wife to dress you like this. How ridiculous do you look? But you got yourself into this position didn’t you. Wanting to play some bedroom games of domination and submission; and look where it’s ended up.’ I finished my diatribe with a question spat out with aggression.

            ‘You look utterly ridiculous don’t you?’

            ‘Yes Mistress.’ He answered quietly and emotionally, looking down at the floor. I continued with my hostile onslaught.

And I hope you know that I love this life. I love having you as my slave and toy. I am going to look after you carefully and I am never going to let you go. You know that don’t you?’

            ‘Yes Mistress.’

I instructed him to return to looking at his reflection and I continued my verbal assault for a few more minutes; pointing out and ridiculing various elements of his outfit and make-up. I had him watch himself curtsey, on my demand, several times. Satisfied that I had debased him sufficiently to ensure an obedient, docile state, I turned him to face me.

            ‘Now little Alice, here is your list of chores. You will dust the whole house, vacuum the whole house, polish the mirrors and tidy the kitchen.’ I ran my eyes over his chore timing list.

‘Those chores should take you one hour and twenty five minutes.’ I should explain, dear reader, that I have watched him while I timed him, carrying out every chore in every room and, so now, when I give him a chore to do, I know exactly how long it should take him. So there is no chance of him grabbing a sly break when I am not monitoring him.

‘Now, before you start I think a deterrent punishment would be a good idea. You have a hard day ahead of you and I want to ensure you know what will happen if you are slow to obey or you are indolent.’ He looked at me with a meek expression as he spoke timidly.

‘Oh Mistress; I do already know what will happen if I am slow to obey or indolent, and I promise I will not be.’ I responded calmly and quietly.

That’s as maybe, but a deterrent punishment can never be a bad thing can it? Particularly as it will give me pleasure; now get in position.’ After I had given him 20 with the wooden paddle and 20 medium strokes with the cane, I had him commence his chores while I first got dressed, and then relaxed reading the papers, having made a note of the time he began his chores. I wore very tight low cut jeans and a cropped T-shirt exposing my flat stomach and the tops of my hip bones. Four inch heeled, black, pointed-toed boots on my feet. My hair was in a pony tail and I wore full make-up. As always when not in my direct control, he wore his penis tube, locked in place through his penis frenum piercing. [His chastity device and regime are fully described in the 3 September 2005 entry in volume 1.]

One hour and twenty three minutes later he presented himself in front of me indicating his chores were completed.

            ‘All done pansy?’

            ‘Yes Mistress.

            ‘Good. Well let’s check the vacuuming and dusting shall we?’ He looked miserable at the prospect of my checking. I cuffed his wrists behind him and attached a dog’s leash to the ring through his clitty piercing. As we walked from room to room, the scent of fresh polish filled the air, together with the sound of the heels of my boots clicking on the hard floor surfaces. I ran my finger over a good sample of the dusted surfaces. I found dust on the top of some candle holders and on a section of woodwork on the stairs. Both times, I presented the line of dust on my finger to his face to indicate the evidence and then wiped the finger across his tongue, to clean the dust from my finger. Every time I found a small speck of detritus on the floor; that was also deposited on his tongue. Each time his tongue was employed he pulled a revolted face which amused me greatly, as it always does. At the end of the inspection I totted up the demerits for the infractions and he was duly bent over to receive 25 with the cane. The peace and quiet of my cottage momentarily shattered by the sound of cane striking flesh and bitch-boy begging and pleading and gasping. If he thought his chores were over he was wrong.

            ‘Now bitch-boy, I want you to clean the bathroom, and the toilet needs to be clean enough to eat your food from, if you know what I mean.’ I smiled wickedly as his begging began. He knew exactly what I meant and was very unhappy.

            ‘Please no Mistress, please not that, please?’

            ‘There is no negotiation; you know I enjoy feeding you that way. Now go and get on with it. You have 17 minutes.’

16 minutes later he again presented himself in front of me, indicating his latest chore was completed. The inspection regime was again followed but this time I found no fault. I instructed him to prepare and serve my lunch. While I ate my lunch, he knelt at my side on a square of coir matting with his nose pressed to the wall and arms folded behind his back. He pleaded not to have to kneel on the coir matting which he advised me was very, very painful. I responded that that was the point of it. When I had finished my lunch and he had tidied things away, I instructed him to join me in the bathroom, after collecting a tea spoon and a tub of black cherry yoghurt from the kitchen. As he turned to do so, he let out a deathly sigh and his chin dropped to his chest.

EXCERPT 2

You’re right Nadine; it is far from neat. It’s almost as though the creature has deliberately dissented.’ Bitch-boy emitted a whispered and drawn out ‘please’, his expression now filled with anguish. I ignored him and continued speaking.

I would say it warrants 12 from you with the cane; would you agree?’ Nadine’s eyes sparkled as she looked down at the bound toy at her feet. We both knew that 12 strokes was quite an excessive amount of strokes for this largely fabricated infraction. Particularly as we also both knew, although he did not, that he had 50 strokes still to come. She looked down at him as she responded.

‘Oh yes, I agree; 12 strokes from me’. Her tone moved to callous.

‘Forehead to the floor bitch!’ With bitch-boy appropriately positioned she took her time delivering the 12 strokes and they were very hard strokes. I watched with a mixture of fascination and satisfaction; observing the unashamed cruelty and pleasure in Nadine’s eyes. I became very aroused. From the third to the last stroke bitch-boy repeatedly whispered begging entreaties for the punishment to cease, but of course he was ignored. In response to each of the last five strokes his legs wriggled pitifully which for some reason always turns me on. He was very close to tears by the end, occasionally emitting little sobbing noises. Following the last stroke, Nadine looked at me and her smile revealed excitement and pleasure. She returned to stand next to me with an arm around my waist as before. While we both looked down at the distressed bitch-boy, we whispered an exchange too quiet for bitch-boy to hear. She spoke first.

Aren’t I becoming naughty, and I’m really horny now.’

‘So am I, whatever you are turning into, I approve.’

‘Let’s get upstairs I want to cum.’

‘Just hold on for five minutes darling.’ I squeezed her and she reciprocated. I bent and grasped bitch-boy’s hair, pulling him into an upright kneeling position.

Shall we see if you get to have that lovely orgasm?’ Reaching down I removed the masking tape from the padlock on his restraint tube. The nail varnish marks were composed of a very dark plum coloured dot followed by a candy apple pink dot. He quickly scanned the keys laid out in front of him. After a few seconds I spoke with mock sympathy, as though talking to a young child.

Oh dear, little maggot, you obviously failed to find the correct key. A chance of a lovely 20 fingered, lubricated climax, relieving you of all that pent up sexual frustration. But you did not work hard enough did you?’ bitch-boy let out a series of sobbing, sighing noises. I ignored his noises and spoke again.

Now ironically, Nadine and I both feel the need for some wonderful sexual release. So we are going up to bed and you can make your way up the stairs after us, with your funny, silly crawling style, and you can kneel in front of the closed bedroom door and listen to the sounds of satisfying sex, just so you do not forget what that sounds like, because it will be at least a week before any such sounds are emitted by you won’t it. And oh yes, when we are fully satisfied, you have got 50 more cane strokes to look forward to haven’t you.’ He miserably looked up at the two smiling amused, cruel and contented faces above him, first Nadine and then me. There was a look of heartfelt pleading in his eyes, but I also caught the look of awe and wonderment that our ruthless decadent cruelty and lesbian sexual excess had created in his submissive, sexually frustrated soul as he looked up at the beauty of the women towering above him and the full injustice of the ramifications of my words sunk in. As Nadine and I turned to leave him to slowly and laboriously follow us on his knees, in his bondage, Nadine surprised me yet again by raising her foot to his ribs and pushing him awkwardly over with the sole of her shoe. He cried out as his shoulder hit the floor; more in shock than pain. I laughed as I spoke.

What are you turning into you little devil.’ She smiled broadly in response, raising her eyebrows impishly. As we reached the top of the stairs, I could hear bitch-boy, downstairs, begin his slow shuffle to our bedroom door.        

Three quarters of an hour later, Nadine and I opened the bedroom door having dressed ourselves after our noisy, naked, utterly satisfying lovemaking. On the occasions when we know the desperate, denied bitch-boy can hear us, each of us does seem to make even more noise than normal during orgasm. I think this is partly because it is fun to do so, thinking of how it makes it worse for poor bitch-boy, but there is also an element of increased spiteful arousal while experiencing an orgasm, (or three), in such circumstances. Bitch-boy looked up at us, now clearly very uncomfortable in the bondage he had been enduring for nearly two and a half hours. His expression was forlorn and beseeching. A thrill of power and yet more arousal coursed through me as I thought about how pitiless I was, given I now intended he should receive his 50 cane strokes for wasting our time.

            ‘Time for 50 strokes of the cane isn’t it bitch-boy?’ He began to whine.

            ‘Please, please Mistress. Please no more, please, please no more tonight, please Mistress, please.’ I ignored his whining. I knew it was episodes like this one tonight, when I continued his mistreatment past when he was already broken and exhausted, that in the weeks and months to come, he would look back on and then hold me in deepest awe. I spoke as though making a reasoned argument, one equal to another.

            ‘But bitch-boy, where would we all be if you were due a punishment and it was not delivered. We would have anarchy. We would have a breakdown of order and discipline. You know I can never, and will never, allow that.’ He responded timidly as he looked at the floor in front of my shoes.

            ‘Please Mistress, you could give me the strokes another time, please.’ I looked towards Nadine and she adopted a bemused expression and shook her head from side to side.

            ‘It has to be tonight bitch-boy because Nadine is off on a shoot tomorrow morning and she really does want to deliver half the strokes as it was her time as well as mine that you wasted earlier.’ Nadine made a sound of agreement and smiled. Bitch-boy began to breathe with short panting sounds, obviously distressed but resolved to his fate.

After some discussion we decided that bitch-boy should receive half the strokes, then spend some time in the corner and then receive the remaining strokes. Given Nadine and I both wanted to share equally in the task at hand over two sessions, a number of strokes divisible by four was needed, so the 50 was increased to 52, allowing each of us to deliver a set of 13 strokes before the corner time and then another set of 13 after it.

Bitch-boy now had the demeanour of a living mannequin, following orders and being pulled this way and that with no resistance at all. He was secured bent over the end of the dining table. Wrists bound behind his back. Nadine is left handed and so we stood either side of his taught arse and delivered alternate strokes with about a 30 second gap between each stroke. He was sobbing after the first stroke and actually crying properly after the seventh. I realised I was becoming aroused again and I could see Nadine was as well; her eyes sparkling with exhilaration. Each of the three of us was experiencing extremes of emotion. I knew the subjugating effect of this caning, following the earlier events of the evening, would be excellent for bitch-boy’s conditioning and would stay with him for weeks, or even months, to come. His arse took on a deep red hue and the skin hardened with the assault. At the end of the 26, after he tearfully thanked, first Nadine; and then me, for taking the time to make him a better slave, he was released and pulled by his ear to stand in the corner of the sitting room, his arms folded behind his back. Nadine and I sat on the sofa with refreshed drinks and chatted for twenty minutes about the DVD recently watched. Then it was time for the second set of 26 strokes.

These were delivered as before and produced the same response in all three of us; tears for bitch-boy, arousal for Nadine and arousal and satisfaction for me. At the conclusion, in accordance with his training, bitch-boy, between sobs, thanked each of us in turn for taking the time to make him a better slave. This time though I had him kiss our shoes as he thanked each of us. He appeared to do so with the utmost veneration. I then announced that Nadine and I were retiring to bed for more orgasms and then sleep. I instructed him to tidy the sitting room and kitchen, stow away the bondage and discipline items that had been used and then he could go to bed, having set his alarm to wake his Mistresses with tea and toast at 7:30am the next morning. I had one more thing to mention as he knelt before us; utterly broken and compliant.

            ‘Oh and don’t think that you might find the key to your padlock while you tidy away the keys around the house. I have just realised that it is in my purse in my bedroom. It’s been there all the time. Never mind hey bitch-boy, no one ever said your life serving me would be fair did they?’ I smiled broadly and Nadine chuckled as we turned and headed to the bedroom, leaving bitch-boy kneeling on the floor, shoulders hunched low, his chin resting on his chest, breathing shallowly and looking like he might burst into tears again.

 

Two exerpts from my published journals

The first of my journals recounting my day to day life as a dominant wife has been published on Lulu.com as a download: LINK or paperback LINK

Here are a couple of excerpts.

EXCERPT 1      ……. Helen arrived, filling the house with the scent of Chanel Number Five. Alice served tea and warm scones with butter and jam while she and I made disparaging remarks about him and had a generally amusing time at his expense. I also gave him three on each palm with the tawse for getting some crumbs on the table cloth, after which he had to kneel down and kiss each of my shoes, thanking me for taking the trouble to punish him so that he might become a better maid. Helen wore a lavender coloured linen suit and plum coloured high heeled court shoes. Her long straight blond hair was parted at the centre and dangling ear rings occasionally peeped out. She had full feminine lips, painted with a ruby red. She also had very, very long square cut, French polished finger nails. I remarked on her beautiful nails and she responded that when one never has to lift a finger in house or garden or supermarket, it was easy to maintain long nails.  Helen had a full figure, unlike my slim athletic body, but it filled her fitted suit with very attractive feminine curves.
 
Once the tea was finished Helen and I retired to the sofa in the drawing room, each with a glass of chilled white wine. Alice was instructed to stand with her nose against the wall. The sun continued to shine in through the freshly cleaned windows and occasionally bird song filled a momentary pause in our conversation.  I grinned wickedly and asked Helen if she would like some live entertainment. Alice let out a quiet sigh of despair. Helen looked at him smiling cruelly and said that some entertainment sounded like a wonderful idea.

‘Well Alice, go upstairs and get changed. I want Belinda Jane standing in front of me in five minutes. And she had better have her dummy in her mouth and be holding her dolly, if she knows what’s good for her. Oh and I think a pair of your plain pink school girl knickers. ’ Alice hesitated with head bowed.

‘Don’t hesitate Alice, off you go, or would you like some more of the tawse to help you along your way?’ Alice looked imploringly at me and I returned a cruel resolute stare. He could see there was to be no mercy and so he curtseyed and reluctantly left the room.

After six minutes I headed off towards the stairs to find the overdue Belinda Jane. I found him in the hall. He was properly dressed and ready but he had not had the courage to actually enter the room looking as he did. I just laughed and began to lead him by his wrist towards the lounge. He asked if he could go to the toilet but, with malice aforethought, I said it would not be fair to delay Helen’s entertainment any longer.

Belinda Jane was actually trembling with humiliation as he stood in front of his smiling, laughing tormentors while Helen commented on how utterly ridiculous he looked. Despite imploring looks for mercy to me, I made him perform several nursery rhymes, with actions including Little Bo Peep and Little Miss Muffett while Helen and I both laughed loudly and cruelly. He then received three with the tawse to the back of each thigh for failing to lisp a few words and so he then had to repeat the rhymes again. He was utterly crushed by the end of his performance. All pride and resistance eradicated. I stood and advised Helen I would only be a minute and walked out of the room. As I was leaving I had to smile as I heard Helen harshly instructing Belinda Jane to get his chin up off his chest, look her in the eye, and describe to her in fine detail what he was wearing, without forgetting to lisp.

I returned with two jugs full of liquid, a baby’s feeding cup and a folded towel. Belinda Jane gasped and whispered,

‘Pleath no Mithtreth, pleath, pleath.’

‘Silence Belinda, you will speak when you are spoken to.’ Helen looked confused realising the items signalled something dreadful for Belinda Jane but not knowing what that was.

I explained to Helen that the large jug contained cold water and the smaller my fresh urine. I then went on to explain that Belinda Jane would be performing another little act for us that afternoon. I placed the folded towel on the slate floor in front of the sofa and instructed a, now close to tears, Belinda to stand on it. I then filled the feeding cup with two thirds water, one third urine and passed it to Belinda who, knowing the ritual that he must follow, reluctantly began to consume its contents. The feeding cup is actually for use by dementia suffers and purchased by me on the internet. Using dishwasher proof glass paint, I had bitch-boy paint on some pretty hearts and sweet teddy bears to my exacting specification.  The feeding bottle was refilled again and again

Helen arrived, filling the house with the scent of Chanel Number Five. Alice served tea and warm scones with butter and jam while she and I made disparaging remarks about him and had a generally amusing time at his expense. I also gave him three on each palm with the tawse for getting some crumbs on the table cloth, after which he had to kneel down and kiss each of my shoes, thanking me for taking the trouble to punish him so that he might become a better maid. Helen wore a lavender coloured linen suit and plum coloured high heeled court shoes. Her long straight blond hair was parted at the centre and dangling ear rings occasionally peeped out. She had full feminine lips, painted with a ruby red. She also had very, very long square cut, French polished finger nails. I remarked on her beautiful nails and she responded that when one never has to lift a finger in house or garden or supermarket, it was easy to maintain long nails.  Helen had a full figure, unlike my slim athletic body, but it filled her fitted suit with very attractive feminine curves.

Once the tea was finished Helen and I retired to the sofa in the drawing room, each with a glass of chilled white wine. Alice was instructed to stand with her nose against the wall. The sun continued to shine in through the freshly cleaned windows and occasionally bird song filled a momentary pause in our conversation.  I grinned wickedly and asked Helen if she would like some live entertainment. Alice let out a quiet sigh of despair. Helen looked at him smiling cruelly and said that some entertainment sounded like a wonderful idea.

‘Well Alice, go upstairs and get changed. I want Belinda Jane standing in front of me in five minutes. And she had better have her dummy in her mouth and be holding her dolly, if she knows what’s good for her. Oh and I think a pair of your plain pink school girl knickers. ’ Alice hesitated with head bowed.

‘Don’t hesitate Alice, off you go, or would you like some more of the tawse to help you along your way?’ Alice looked imploringly at me and I returned a cruel resolute stare. He could see there was to be no mercy and so he curtseyed and reluctantly left the room.

After six minutes I headed off towards the stairs to find the overdue Belinda Jane. I found him in the hall. He was properly dressed and ready but he had not had the courage to actually enter the room looking as he did. I just laughed and began to lead him by his wrist towards the lounge. He asked if he could go to the toilet but, with malice aforethought, I said it would not be fair to delay Helen’s entertainment any longer.

Belinda Jane was actually trembling with humiliation as he stood in front of his smiling, laughing tormentors while Helen commented on how utterly ridiculous he looked. Despite imploring looks for mercy to me, I made him perform several nursery rhymes, with actions including Little Bo Peep and Little Miss Muffett while Helen and I both laughed loudly and cruelly. He then received three with the tawse to the back of each thigh for failing to lisp a few words and so he then had to repeat the rhymes again. He was utterly crushed by the end of his performance. All pride and resistance eradicated. I stood and advised Helen I would only be a minute and walked out of the room. As I was leaving I had to smile as I heard Helen harshly instructing Belinda Jane to get his chin up off his chest, look her in the eye, and describe to her in fine detail what he was wearing, without forgetting to lisp. 

I returned with two jugs full of liquid, a baby’s feeding cup and a folded towel. Belinda Jane gasped and whispered,

‘Pleath no Mithtreth, pleath, pleath.’

‘Silence Belinda, you will speak when you are spoken to.’ Helen looked confused realising the items signalled something dreadful for Belinda Jane but not knowing what that was.

I explained to Helen that the large jug contained cold water and the smaller my fresh urine. I then went on to explain that Belinda Jane would be performing another little act for us that afternoon. I placed the folded towel on the slate floor in front of the sofa and instructed a, now close to tears, Belinda to stand on it. I then filled the feeding cup with two thirds water, one third urine and passed it to Belinda who, knowing the ritual that he must follow, reluctantly began to consume its contents. The feeding cup is actually for use by dementia suffers and purchased by me on the internet. Using dishwasher proof glass paint, I had bitch-boy paint on some pretty hearts and sweet teddy bears to my exacting specification.  The feeding bottle was refilled again and again ………..

EXCERPT 2     ……. When there are physical chores to be done, one of the roles I like to employ for bitch-boy is that of sub human slave. This is akin to a theme of slaves in Roman times. After breakfast and a shower I announced to bitch-boy that I required use of the sub-human slave. He looked frightened and so he should. I like my sub-human slave to experience the most degrading and menial drudgery and harsh punishment for infractions. It gives me a very pleasurable feeling of extreme superiority to generate and sustain such a marked difference in our status.

I had him strip naked except for the penis restraint which is padlocked through his frenum piercing. I fitted on him a heavy leather collar and wrist cuffs and padlocked each in place. Finally I made him put on a pair of dark brown gladiator sandals. I was wearing olive coloured, very tight, jodhpurs, tucked into brown high heeled boots. I also wore an expensive cream silk blouse, tucked into the jodhpurs. I wore a belt of wide chain loops and I stored several small padlocks, with their keys, in some of the belt loops. My hair was pulled back into a ponytail and I dripped with jewellery.

I always start a sub-human slave period with a deterrent whipping. Secured over my dining table, I swished my long, thin crop through the air a few times, watching for the faintest twitch from him in response. I allowed the crop to hang from my wrist by its handle loop of soft leather.
 ‘You are a slave with no name until I tell you otherwise. Your slave number is 721.’ I lifted his head by the hair and, with a marker pen, I wrote the numbers onto his forehead. I also wrote the numbers onto his right forearm.
 ‘So, slave 721, I need to ensure obedience from your servitude and I am going to do so by whipping you now, a deterrent whipping, so that you will know what to expect should you be foolish enough as to transgress.’  He uttered the first syllable of a begging word and in a shout I cut him dead.
 ‘Silence! You never, ever speak unless directly ordered to do so! For that impertinence, you will receive a punishment whipping directly after your deterrent whipping.’ After about ten minutes of whipping he was whimpering. I paused.
 ‘That was your deterrent punishment. Now it is time for your punishment for speaking without instruction to do so.’ I resumed with the whip. I wanted him in absolutely no doubt as to the consequences of any misconduct or disobedience. I achieved my goal and momentarily studied his bound and sobbing form. The sadistic pleasure from administering the whipping, combined with the image of his misery and with thoughts of the day ahead, filled me with an overwhelming desire for an orgasm. Leaving him where he was, I lowered my jodhpurs and sat in a comfortable chair out of his sight, but within earshot and I brought myself quickly, to a wonderful orgasm. I lazed in the afterglow for a while studying the red marks on his rump. Having fully recovered, I released him from his bonds and while doing so reminded him that I was an unashamed sadist and he would do well to remember that when conducting himself in his drudgery.

I set him to work with a bowl of water with a little detergent and a small toothbrush cleaning the slate floor of the kitchen. I knew from experience that this would take him at least two hours to do properly. From time to time, during the several, lengthy enjoyable phone calls I made in that time, I wandered around the room in which he worked, my heels clicking ominously with each step. I ignored him completely. I was pleased to observe that his fear of me ensured that he simply continued his tedious task without a pause. At the end of the morning I urinated in a jug and instructed him to crawl after me as I led him to the patio, just outside the back door. A low bright sun occasionally peeped between the fast moving clouds. I told him to kneel facing me, hands behind his back. He noticed the jug and looked most disconcerted. I knew he knew what it contained. Without further ado, I very slowly poured the contents of the jug over his head. The momentary scent of ammonia drifted away in the breeze as a squall of dry brown leaves rustled as they circled in the corner of the patio before settling on the flagstones when the breeze faded away.
 ‘You can kneel there until you dry.’ I left him outside in the stiff October wind for five minutes and then had him crawl back to the kitchen to resume his floor cleaning; now smelling slightly of my precious nectar, which had dried on him apart from his still wet hair which was yet to dry. The repetitive, back and forth, brushing sound of the toothbrush being worked over the slate floor slabs filled me with cruel satisfaction and amusement as I relaxed on the sofa flicking through a magazine……….. END OF EXCERPTS