As I gently placed the last of the clean, bone-white dinner plates into its place in the cluttered cabinet to the right of the sink I glanced at the kitchen clock. 5:30 pm; Mistress would be home in less than an hour. Ignoring the itch beneath my garter belt, I bent over and closed the dishwasher door. Despite a week of practice I still felt unsteady on my four inch heels and grasped the edge of the counter for support. Straightening up, I surveyed the now spotless kitchen as I smoothed down my short black skirt. Mistress, I hoped, would be pleased. Everything was now done. I smiled to myself, then walked across the now spotless kitchen floor and the freshly vacuumed dining room carpet to the dark wood, glass topped table. With a triumphant flourish, I used a red magic marker to cross through the last of the fifteen instructions she'd written out for me this morning on a sheet of blue note paper. Snapping the red plastic cover back on the oversized pen, I slumped down into the nearest chair. My feet were killing me. I looked down at my legs. My slender, shaved legs were encased in dark nylon; the red high heels dangling from my toes still seemed impossibly small for my feet. I was thankful once Mistress arrived I would spend most of the evening on my knees or bound to the bed. I glanced down at her Helen's list again, admiring her graceful, precise handwriting. These innocuous deep blue words, orders to clean both bathrooms, vacuum, scrub the kitchen floor, and similar chores, reminded me of the note she had left for me seven days earlier. Those words, also on pale blue paper, had changed my life in the most stunning way. Her note had given me a stark choice: submit to her, be utterly at her command, or leave. Half out of fear of losing her, half out of love, I had elected to stay. She had first stripped me naked, forced me to wear women's clothes, then taken my very identity. I was no longer Joe, her unemployed, bitter husband who drank too much. I was no longer the frightened man in his mid-thirties who was fast losing his dream of a meaningful career yet bitterly resented his wife's business success. Now, a week later, sitting here at the immaculate dining room table in a short, black maid's dress, in stockings, a garter belt, in pale blue panties and brassiere, in high heels, I was simply JoAnna. Helen's JoAnna. Helen's slave JoAnna. The first few days had been extremely difficult. Helen had been unyielding. The morning after my initiation I had discovered all of my male clothing gone from the closet and dressers, replaced by skirts and blouses, dresses and lingerie. When I had protested, Helen had slapped my face then ordered me to leave. I had fallen to her feet, begging forgiveness. "Will you be JoAnna forever and always?" she had asked. Numbly I had nodded. That evening she punished me for my rebellion. After I cleared away the dinner plates she had ordered me to the bedroom. After binding me securely face down on our bed with white, cotton rope she said, "you have been very bad today, JoAnna." Her voice was light as feathers. "Very bad. I want you to lie here and think about your naughtiness." She reached down and pulled my hair hard enough to bring pain. She released me, then her hand slid down my back. "When I return I will have to spank you for your little scene this morning." She pulled my short skirt up until it was bunched around my waist. "But first I will want you to tell me how bad you've been. I want you to tell me how much you deserve to be punished." She gently eased my pink panties down my legs. Lightly caressing my bare bottom she added, "Do you understand me, JoAnna?" "Yes, Mistress." Her hand was now sliding slowly down between my parted thighs. Her finger nails slid over my balls. I jerked and tried vainly to pull my legs together. Mistress laughed, her hand now cupping my testacles. She began to squeeze. "Are you mine, JoAnna?" "Yes, Mistress," I sighed, acutely aware of my vulnerability. I was completely, utterly, at her mercy. I knew she could do anything with me she desired. "Absolutely mine?" Her hand increased the pressure on my scrotum. "Yes, Mistress," I grunted. I tensed, waiting for the increase in pain I was sure was only an instant away. "Raise yourself for me, JoAnna." I struggled to lift my pelvis and stomach off the bed. Her hand moved forward, finding my penis. She laughed. "What a little slut you are!" I buried my reddening face in the bedspread, embarrassed by both my erection and her discovery of it. Her fingers toyed with me for an instant and then were gone. "If you're very good, JoAnna - if you take your spanking like a good little girl, maybe I'll let you come for me." Before I could respond to her she was gone. I spent the next hour hurtling from emotion to emotion. First came shame. What sort of perverted degernate had I become? How could I let this happen to me? What flaw did I have that explained this? What forgotten, sick event in my childhood had led to this moment? I was thirty- five years old. I had two college degrees. Once, before the word "downsizing" had entered my vocabulary, I had managed more than three hundred employees for a large bank. I had played football, basketball, in high school, even spent two years in college ROTC. Now, after all that, I was tied to this bed, in women's clothes, in panties, and letting my wife turn my into her slave. I imagined my parents, my sister, my old high school friends, my former business colleagues seeing my like this, seeing me humiliated, dressed like a woman, groveling at my wife's feet. I cringed at their sniggering, their snide jokes, their cruel, dismissive laughter. Next came fear. Perhaps Helen had gone mad. What might she do to me? What if she came back with a knife? I shuddered at the awful possibilities. I tested the strength of the rope holding me to the bed frame, wondering if I was strong enough to escape. What did she have in store for me? What might she do in the next days, the next weeks or months? Anger. She couldn't do this to me! How dare she! I wouldn't let her take away my manhood. When she returned to the bedroom I'd end this silly game. I'd find a job - a better job than hers! If she didn't like that then, yes, I'd leave. I'd show her. I could manage just fine without her! Pity. But I couldn't. Without her I was nothing. Without her I was dead. No, worse than dead. At least the dead feel no pain. I imagined myself in a homeless shelter, hugging a too-small, threadbare coat around my bony shoulders and coughing until I vomited blood. I couldn't leave. I wouldn't. I was nothing without her. Better to be her slave, to endure anything she put me through, be anything she wanted, than that awful nothingness. Exhausted, I closed my eyes and made an effort to clear my mind. As the tumult of tangled emotions ebbed my breathing slowed, my arms and legs relaxed. I began to wonder how much longer it would be before Helen returned. I thought about the spanking she had promised. Another emotion, one I had suppressed before, began to fill me. I remembered how I had felt last night, with Helen and her friend Denise. Almost against my will I recalled the sweet peace I had felt as they had held me over the couch and spanked me with one of my red high heels. My penis began to stir again. I tried to summon up my anger again to use as a shield against this growing feeling. It hit with overwhelming power. I wanted this. It was that simple. I wanted it. Helen had not forced me to be her slave. She had not compelled me to grovel at her feet, to display myself in lingerie to a total stranger, to submit myself to pain and humiliation at that stranger's hands. I wanted it. Once my veneer of masculinity was stripped away along with my suit and tie, I craved being abjectly submissive. I was JoAnna. Maybe I had always been JoAnna. Maybe it was Joe who was the imperfect, frightened deception. "Have you been bad, JoAnna?" Mistress was back beside me. Her voice was gentle, sweetly pure. "Yes, Mistress," I answered, relieved we were about to finally begin. "I have been very, very bad." "Are you ready for your punishment?" Her hand touched my naked, waiting flesh. "Yes, Mistress." I couldn't wait for it to begin, to feel the welcome, purifying pain. "Please spank me like I deserve, Mistress." She made me count the blows. Each one freed another little part of me. Each jolt of pain snapped another of the links chaining me to the past, to Joe. Each blow against my reddening flesh brought me closer to Helen, and closer to JoAnna. By the time I reached "twenty-five" in my counting I was crying. Hot tears filled my eyes, rolled down my cheeks and sank into the soft bedspread. Joe, what little was left of him, was now being erased. Now I was becoming JoAnna. I began to feel lighter, smaller. I could sense my body changing shape. At "fifty" I was JoAnna. JoAnna, with breasts heavy against the bed, with long, flowing hair resting on her slim, trembling back. JoAnna, her long, slender, beautiful legs parting, her vagina filling with wetness. At "sixty" I cried out. Joe's voice was gone. My voice was now girlish, breathy, pure. My laughter sounded like wonderful music. "JoAnna, I'm so proud of you." Mistress' face was beside mine. Her red hair covered my cheek. She kissed my ear, my chin, my mouth. I tried to kiss her back but I was too slow; she was gone. She untied me, then turned me over. As I watched she stripped off her dress and panties. She moved to the head of the bed, then crawled onto my chest, putting her folded legs on either side of my neck. Grasping the headboard, she pulled herself forward until the damp warmth of her crotch covered my face. Her smell, a heavy, earthy aroma, filled my nostrils. "Make me come, JoAnna," she ordered. "Make me come and I'll give you a nice surprise." I bent my head forward, obediently probing for her vagina with my tongue. "Yes," she cooed when my tongue made contact with her flesh, "that's nice! Yes!" Pleased, I pushed harder into her and quickened my pace. She shuddered, then leaned forward and pulled my head deeper into the warm, dark space between her thighs. "Good, JoAnna!" The sound of my name, my real name, sent tiny bursts of happiness through me. My arms were imprisoned beneath her but I was able to move them just enough to caress her smooth, bare ankles. My jaw began to ache. I ignored it. I wanted to please her, to make her come. That was all that mattered to me in the world. My lips and tongue raced across her vulva and clitoris. She dropped a hand into my hair, her finger nails digging painfully into my scalp. After another minute, Helen shuddered suddenly, her knees squeezed my cheeks. "Oh, yes, JoAnna! I'm coming! I'm coming!" Helen's other hand released the headboard. Pulling slightly away from my face, she arched away from me, then reached behind her. I shivered; she was touching me, stroking me. Finger nails grazed my flesh. I knew I was on the brink of orgasm. "Come for me, JoAnna." Mistress smiled down at me. "Come for me now." I cried out. My immediate, if involuntary, obedience made Helen laugh. "Good girl! Yes, fill my hand, JoAnna." As my last spasm died, Mistress slid down until her pelvis was over mine. She bent over me until our faces were only inches apart. "Here," she whispered, presenting her hand to my lips. "Lick my hand clean." When I hesitated for an instant she slapped me with the other hand. "Eat this, JoAnna. Eat this nasty, little mess you've made on my fingers." I opend my mouth. Mistress smeared my sperm across my lips and tongue. The taste was hot, bitter, salty. "That's a good girl. " She held her palm flat against my lips. "Get every last drop, darling." When at last I was done Helen snuggled against me. She gently stroked my sticky lips and cheeks. "Did you like tasting sperm, JoAnna?" Her voice was light, full of feathers. I wanted to make her happy. I realized I would do anything for her happiness. Anything at all. "Yes," I said, then blushed. "Good," she replied. Her hand slid down to my throat. "Will you do it again for me, darling?" "Yes," I smiled back at her. "Any time I want?" I snuggled against her, burying my head in my soft breast. "Yes, Mistress." "Do you promise, JoAnna?" I nodded, my face pressed against the warmth of her body. "Even if it isn't yours?" To Be Continued...

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