Chapter 2

When you arrived at the Dougherty's home, you found it much as you might have expected - semi-detached, three bedrooms, bog standard design... and neat. Everything was so very neat, almost fussily so. You could just imagine the unfortunate Mr Dougherty picking every weed out of the flower beds under the watchful eyes of your domineering mathematics teacher who would be observing him from behind the net curtains. Or maybe, you thought, it was he who had the tidiness bug. But it hardly mattered for you wanted nothing to do with Mr Dougherty for you never did have time for transvestites, transsexuals, cross-dresssers or others of that ilk. Except for lesbians, of course and the thought made you smile. Yes, lesbians were an exception; you pondered that you'd rather like to see two women going down on one another. Maybe if you could find a second slave, then she and Mrs Dougherty could fulfil that particular fantasy for you?

Arriving at the house, you rang the bell and the door opened with satisfying rapidity. Using the door to shelter behind as much as she could stood your slave, now dressed in a maids costume that was a size or so too large for her. This was something you would have to attend to. "Would you care to come in, Master?" she asked politely. But you knew what she was really after - she only wanted to get you inside and the door shut as quickly as possible so that the neighbours didn't see her dressed like this. But you weren't going to fall for a gambit like that.

"Stand before me slave and face the street. Good. Now, lift the hem of your skirt up so I may inspect you." Mrs Dougherty looked aghast and her eyes glanced up and down the road to see if anyone was watching. "I'm waiting," you hinted.

Slowly moving out from behind the door, she grasped the edge of her skirt and lifted it all of an inch or two. "Higher, slut!" you commanded sharply. Again the skirt was raised, not really as high as you wanted but it wasn't a bad effort and you didn't want to push too hard on your slave's first training session. Anyway, she had pulled it up enough for you to check what you wished and see had fulfilled your orders for, under the uniform, the middle-aged woman was wearing only a suspender belt and stockings. Her dark, curly pussy hair was open to your stares... and to those of anyone else passing down the road. The eyes of your slave kept up their scanning of the street and, after letting her stand like that for a few more seconds, you finally gave her permission to put her skirt down again and to stand aside. You then entered the house and allowed her to close the door behind you.

"Your husband? Where is he?"

"In the kitchen, Master."

"Very well. You will inform him that I do not want to see him... ever. He is only to work out of sight, in the background. Now, is dinner ready?"

"Yes, Master, it is." She paused for a moment, clearly gathering some courage. "May I ask you a question?"

"You may ask, slave. I do not guarantee an answer, however."

"How did you know where I lived? I didn't tell you my address..."

"For a teacher, you can be really dumb. I looked you up in the phone book..."

"Oh," she said, clearly feeling both stupid and embarrassed.

"Now, let's get on with dinner. The dining room... ?"

That meal just has to be one of the high points of your young life! Being waited on by on hand and foot by of your teachers! And the fact the she was dressed as a tart only made it better. That and the expression of distaste on her face for she was clearing hating every moment of her humiliation. As you finally pushed your coffee cup away and slipped your blazer off and onto the back of the chair, you beckoned your maid to your side. "My compliments to the chef... and tell him to piss off out of the house. You've a garden shed?" Having received an acknowledgement from your slave, you went on, "Tell him to take some blankets and he can sleep there tonight. Oh, and make sure that you lock him in - we don't want him wandering about in the night on his own, now do we?"

A brief flash of the old domineering Mrs Dougherty crossed her face as she blurted out, "Blankets? I was never so soft as to allow..." Her voice trailed away as you looked sharply at her.

"Keep your advice to yourself, slut! However, if that is what he's used to, scratch the blankets." Serves the old shirtlifter right, you thought, just a hint of admiration for the woman standing before you creeping into the back of your mind. At least she knew how to treat homosexuals. "Oh, and collect a cane from the garden on your way back," you added to her retreating back. "I think you may well need a lesson or two in discipline before the night is over." She paused, just for a second, as what you were saying registered with her and then she moved swiftly on with hardly a break in her stride and certainly without a backward glance

By the time that Mrs Dougherty returned from her errands, you'd dropped the leaves of the dining room table and had dragged it and the matching chairs clear of the centre of the room. In their place now stood a low coffee table that you'd carried from the lounge, a rearrangement that had Mrs Dougherty looking at you in puzzlement as she handed you the cane.