Her Butler Pt. 02

Their cathartic spankings became a monthly ritual. Maintenance spankings, as she called them, provided all the intimacy he needed. Over her knee, the complexities of life dissolved into the rhythm of hairbrush and bottom; in ouch and corner time he felt peace. Standing in the corner of her room felt right, everything in order. He never did, however, get over how much her spankings hurt. It was always a struggle to stay on her lap, but he knew it was where he belonged.

He worked to fit into her life, taking care of her home. When his company downsized, he lost his warehouse manager position. She reduced his rent while he sought another job that fit her schedule. Rather than feeling sorry for himself, his focus became maintaining her condo and making life easier for her. Paradoxically, it seemed, he was emotionally stronger the more he served. He found his purpose in her home.

As she advanced in her career, he felt no little pride in her accomplishments. Not that she spoke in depth with him about her job, but he could tell when she excelled. It made him feel good to think he played some small part.

While out of work he took classes, learning to cook. He made dinner for her. He delighted when she complemented him on his use of seasoning and spices. Everything was going well, very well, until that day. The day that changed everything.

The day he still doesn't speak of was the day she discovered his secret. There is always a secret. Everyone has one. But his involved her, making the situation intolerable. When she found out his secret, it was devastating.

Every morning, after he made her bed, he would pick up anything out of place. Once in a while she left something, perhaps a jacket, on the back of her side chair, or a skirt folded on the seat. He hung these up in her closet. It was not difficult to understand where these should go.

A year ago, not long after they moved into the new condo, he found a knit top on foot of the bed. He wondered if it should be folded in a drawer or hung up. He opened the drawers in her room to see if that was where it should go. What he saw was her collection of lingerie and undergarments. He hung the knit top in the closet.

That evening he asked if that was the right place. She pointed to some shelves built into the back of the closet. He folded the top and put it next to sweaters there. It should have been obvious. She laughed. He laughed, "I must be blind."

But the damage had been done. He was not blind; he had seen her undergarments. He couldn't forget. Of course, he knew they were there. Of course, he knew she wore underwear, bras, stocking, lingerie. But now he had seen. The following Wednesday morning, after making the bed and cleaning her bath, he opened that top drawer. He could smell her presence. Things had been moved. He could tell what she had worn that week.

Wednesday mornings became very special to him. He would open all three drawers of her dresser, one at a time. Silently observing which items she tended to wear most often. He didn't touch anything. He memorized each item and its placement in her dresser drawers. Each Wednesday he carefully closed the drawers and returned to his room. He enjoyed "pleasuring himself" in the shower before going to work.

He made it a rule never to open any drawer until all his tasks for the morning were accomplished. He limited his enjoyment to just looking, memorizing and speculating on what she would wear that week. And, very importantly, only on Wednesday morning after he cleaned her room.

He made her bed and put away any clothes lying about. He cleaned the bath, wiped down the glass shower door and polished the chrome fixtures till they sparkled. He dusted, straighten and vacuumed her bedroom. He lovingly arranged her grandmother's hairbrush with the other items on her dresser. Only then, after being very careful to do the best job possible, would he allow himself a long, silent peek.

Slowly pulling open the first drawer, inhaling her scent, guessing which items she might wear, these were heady moments. He did not touch, but he did lean in to get his nose close. His was a silent ritual; opening and closing one drawer at a time. Nothing disturbed, nothing out of place, nothing touched, he rationalized his indulgence.

He looked forward to his Wednesday ritual, even more than his monthly spankings. Other days of the week were for cleaning the kitchen, or the living room. Wednesdays he cleaned her room. Only on Wednesdays would he open those three drawers, of stockings and underwear and bras, her lingerie and stockings.

On Wednesdays, in a long hot shower he relished thinking those stockings, that chemise, perhaps her lace brassiere on her. And he was happy, very, very happy.

Happy until one Wednesday morning she came home unexpectedly. She observed him in her room with his head in her underwear drawer. She watched his little ritual. Opening each drawer, savoring the contents and closing it. He turned to walk out and there she was.

He froze. Nothing good could come of this. His secret exposed. "Um, how long have you been home?"

"Long enough, it seems."

"I didn't expect to see you there. You startled me."

"Just what were you doing in my dresser?"

"Um, I cleaned your room."

"And you cleaned my underwear?"

"No, no, no. I didn't touch what's in those drawers."

"I see. You just looked and didn't touch."

"Yes. I never touch your things except to clean or put away. I would never touch what is in those drawers."

"I think you better go to your room now, and don't come back in here."

He trudged off to his room. She did not move as he approached her in the hall. He feared those eyes. He could not look at her. He could tell she was upset. There was no smile. He had to turn sideways to get by her. He went to his room, then left for work by the back door.

Thursday morning, he apologized as he handed her the coffee mug. His secret ritual, once discovered, broke something. No apology was enough. He hung my head and waited for the inevitable. He knew even a Sunday spanking was not going to fix it.

"We will discuss this Sunday morning. I will think about consequences. You have betrayed my trust and violated my sense of security in my home. Changes will be made. Until then, I do not want to see you. You will remain in your room when I am here and use only the back door."

He read between the lines. He might not have a place to live Sunday evening. Two of the happiest years of his life destroyed by one act of selfish indulgence. He trudged off to his room. After she left for work, he cleaned up the kitchen. He did not go into her room. He didn't know whether her bed was made or not.

He felt lost and it was his own fault. If he hadn't opened those drawers that day, he would still be able to greet her in the morning. On Friday morning, he made the coffee, set out the breakfast and hid in his room until he heard her leave for the office.

Saturday was the same. She was gone most of the day. She returned only to go out for the evening. He tried to avoid being in her presence as she asked. The condo was impeccably clean, he saw to it. He did not go into her room.

Sunday morning arrived. At 8:00 there was that dreaded knock on his door. He had been awake for hours. He was terrified. This talk could mean having to move out. He followed her, not to her room as usual, but to the dining room table. He was surprised to find another woman there.

She was short, stocky, and older, maybe 60? Her grey hair was pulled back in a bun. She greeted him with a handshake. "My name is JoEllen Lake. You may call me Miss Lake. You must be James. I am glad to meet you."

He had no idea what she was doing here. Her greeting was disarming. He hesitated, "I'm happy to meet you too, Miss Lake."

"Please, let's be seated," she said gesturing. Jennifer sat at the head of the table, Miss Lake across from Jim. Her blouse gapped open slightly. Jim looked down.

Jennifer explained, "James, Miss Lake is a consultant, a counselor of sorts. I have invited her to help us sort out our issues and my unexpected feelings of insecurity in my home."

"Yes, James, my job is to help people resolve violations of trust with just and lasting results. I understand Miss Kendall observed you doing something inappropriate. Would you describe for me what you did so I can understand the scope of things?"

Jim started at her. His mouth was open but no words came out. She straightened in her chair. Her blouse closed. Her voice suddenly sharp and demanding, "James, what did you do?"

"I have trouble talking about it."

"That is quite alright young man. It can be difficult to admit an injustice that harms another." She paused. Her voice returned to its calm assurance. "Just tell me what you can."

"Miss Jennifer caught me looking in her dresser."

"You like looking, don't you James? Just like you like looking at my blouse?"

"No, I wasn't. I'm not looking." He quickly looked down at the table.

"You weren't just looking in Miss Kendall's dresser, were you James."

"Yes, I was just looking, and smelling. I didn't touch anything. I never do."

"Ah, this isn't the only time, is it James?"

"No, but I never touch anything."

"This was only the time she caught you, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"And you never touch anything of hers."

"Nothing in those drawers. I make her bed and hang up her clothes. But nothing in those drawers."

"You don't touch her intimate things, but you do touch yours, don't you James."

"What do you mean?"

"After looking, you masturbate, don't you James?"

He just looked down at the table again. He felt the flush on this neck. "It's OK, James. Masturbating is not a crime. Everyone does it. Do you masturbate after looking a Miss Kendall's underwear?"

"Yes."

"Can you understand how that might make her feel uncomfortable?"

"I never meant any harm. I only looked."

"And you masturbated."

He continued to examine one small area of the wooden table. He dare not look up. "And you masturbate after examining her underwear?" Her voice sharp and demanding again.

"Yes."

"Thank you, James, for helping us understand. You do enjoy looking at women's underthings. We have observed you enjoying the occasional glimpse of a bra when you think women are unaware. And now, with proximity to her clothing, you have been enjoying unfettered peeks at Miss Kendall's underwear while she is not here." There was a pause. "Now, how long have you lived here?" Her gentle voice returned.

"Here almost a year. In her smaller condo a bit more than a year."

"So, two years?"

"Yes." He brightened and looked up.

"And just how long have you been masturbating after looking at Miss Kendall's underwear?

His head went down again. "How long, James?

"Less than a year."

"I see: for months now, you have enjoyed yourself at Miss Kendall's expense, and without her knowledge or permission."

"Yes." When she put it that way it didn't sound so innocuous. He knew it was bad. He didn't know how bad.

"I see." Jennifer remained quiet this whole time, but now she spoke. "For months now?"

"You see, Miss Kendall, James believed his masturbation was not hurting you. His trigger, your underwear, was untouched, so he thought it OK. He rationalized his actions, not considering his violation of your person. I am curious, James, did you imagine what it would be like to wear Miss Kendall's underwear? Did you imagine putting on Miss Kendall's underwear while masturbating?"

"Oh No! No, I only imagined it on her, never on me."

"Ah, then you pictured Miss Kendall in her underwear as you masturbated."

After a long pause, he said, "Yes."

"Thank you for giving us a picture of your deviance, Mr. O'Neall." She paused and reflected for a moment. James just looked at the table.

"You enjoy looking at models in lingerie ads, don't you James? You always have, haven't you?"

He looked up. "Yes, but isn't that what they are for, to look at?"

"I expect you borrowed your mother's magazines and enjoyed pictures of models in the ads for intimate apparel? Let me guess. You are right-handed, but you use your left hand to masturbate, don't you Mr. O'Neall?"

"I . . . What?"

"After you look in Miss Kendall's underwear drawers, you masturbate using your left hand. It feels odd to use your right."

Jim looked down at his hands. "How did you know that?"

Ignoring his question, she went on. "Can you understand how Miss Kendall might be concerned about your behavior and your continued unsupervised presence in her apartment?"

Jim continued to stare at this woman who seemed to know more about him than anyone. But they just met. He had prepared his answer to this question beforehand. "Well, yes. I have thought about it. If she wants me to leave, it will take an hour for me to pack."

"James, I don't want you to leave. Your service has been very helpful. It would be difficult to replace you. I have researched options the past few days and I found Miss Lake. I think she will be able to assist in allowing me to feel safe and in adjudicating our situation. If you would like to stay, please hear her out."

There was a long pause. Jim looked at each woman, sighed, and said, "I would like to stay. It won't happen again."

"Very good, James. But I think we need to examine the whole situation. First, there is Miss Kendall's justifiable concern about leaving you unsupervised in her apartment. The basis of that concern is masturbation while fantasizing about her underwear. Your fantasy goes way back to when you held those magazine ads in your right hand while masturbating with your left.

You have fetishized women's underwear because women's bodies are inaccessible to you."

She continued turning to Jennifer. "Fetishes like this are difficult to stop with willpower alone. James may want to stop, but he will need help."

She turned back to Jim. "I believe a twofold solution is in order. First, if you regularly wash her underwear and lingerie by hand, it will lose its exotic appeal. Are you willing to wash her underwear weekly and return it folded to its appropriate place as needed?"

Jim started at her a long while before venturing an affirmation. This plan was totally unexpected. He would stay up all hours, if needed, to wash what he had never dared touch.

"Then there is the matter of masturbation. After you wash, dry and fold her underwear, will you promise not to masturbate in response? Remember, it will be hanging in your bathroom to dry before you fold it."

"I promise not to masturbate." Jim could not believe his ears. Jennifer's bras hanging in his bath. He could not get the image out of his mind. He felt an erection growing. He shifted in his seat.

"Ah, I see this has made you uncomfortable. It is easy to say you won't masturbate, but we both know you will have difficulty keeping your promise. I have something to help with that."

She reached down into her bag and brought it two boxes. One said "CB 6000," the other "CB 6000s." At the bottom of the box, both said, "Male Chastity Device."

"These are chastity devices. They work by locking up your penis and preventing contact. Either of these will help you keep your promise. You won't be able to masturbate. Wearing one of these will relieve Miss Kendall of her concern about your behavior during unsupervised time in her apartment. What do you think?"

"Um, I don't know."

"They don't hurt in any way, but can take some time getting used to wearing. The CB6000 is the normal size. The CB6000s is the small size. Either is effective if worn continually. After a few days you will forget you have it on. Care must be taken to keep it clean. It also may chafe. A silicon-based lubricant eases this issue."

"Um, is there another option?"

"I don't know of one, other than to move out, which neither of you desire. Why don't you go try one on? Just take them to your room and follow the instructions. Here is an extra tube of lubricant."

"Well, OK." He went to his room and opened the normal sized one. There were a lot of parts. He read the instructions and saw how the parts went together. There were several sizes of rings and spacers. There was a knock at his door.

"Would you like some help with it? I am quite good at fitting one of those." The door slowly opened. Miss Lake had on medical gloves. "Let's get you ready."

She laid out the five rings, spacers and posts. "OK, let's see what we've got to work with. Please pull your pants down." She sat down on the bed. He stood before her. "Oh yes, I believe the smaller size is right for you."

After testing the two smaller rings, she decided on the middle size. She lubricated it and put it on around his cock and balls. With practiced ease, she assembled the rest of the device using the smallest spacer. The lock went on and he was wearing the chastity device.

"There now. That looks good and it doesn't hurt at all, does it?"

"Umm, no. But what happens when I need to pee?"

"You just line up the end of your penis with the hole in the tube made for that purpose. The smaller size tube makes it easier to keep the ureter lined up. Most men find it best to sit down to urinate. Less messy that way."

"Always sit down?"

She laughed, "The benefit is that you won't leave the toilet seat up anymore." She paused, then continued, "There are a lot of YouTube videos and discussions about how to keep one of these clean. It is much more common than you might think."

"May I have the keys?"

"No. That would defeat the whole purpose. One key will remain with Miss Kendall in case she sees a need to unlock you. I will have the other. Here is my card in case of emergency."

"I don't have the key?"

"No, I repeat. The whole point is prevention and safety. Miss Kendall can be confident you are not masturbating while washing out her underwear as long as she has the key and you don't. Please dress and come back to the table when you are ready."

She left, pulling off her gloves. Jim remained behind, examining his new cage. He could see his member through the clear plastic, but he could not touch it. His balls were trapped between the tube and the ring. He tried twisting and pulling. It was clear this thing was not going to come off easily. He dressed and went back to the dining room. Jennifer was wearing the key to the lock on a gold chain as a necklace.

"Miss Kendall and I have been conferring. She was completely unaware of the length of time you have been in her drawers, so to speak." She chuckled at her little joke. "We feel there will need to be some reckoning for your deviant behavior. What do you think?"

"Jennifer sometimes punishes me for mistakes."

"Oh, the little spankings she gives you? Those are simply warnings. No, a day of reckoning for months of voyeurism and masturbation at her expense involves more than a little over the knee spanking. Miss Kendall is ready to contract with the organization I represent to provide more serious discipline. Are you ready to pay the price for your indiscretions?"

"What organization?"

"Midway Correction and Domination Services. Our office is located near Midway Airport. This division of our organization is entirely female managed and staffed."

"Oh."

"Some use the initials of our company to call us Micky D'S." She laughed again. "We offer custom disciplinary punishment and correction. We are very good at it. Our clients are uniformly pleased with our services. Delinquents, such as yourself, find our methods effective. Miss Kendall is the client, you the delinquent."

"Jennifer would contract with you to punish me for. . ."

Suddenly serious, Miss Lake continued, "Miss Kendall, the client, contracts with Mickey D'S to provide discipline for you to an extent agreed by all three of us. At the appointed time, you come to our office and one of our expert staff provides the appropriate correction. Justice is served. You go home. If there is a necessary follow up, you can make an appointment before you leave. It is all quite simple."