The Sentence
by Rob Willson
(© Rob Willson -- 2005)

I woke up and found myself in pitch-black darkness. I thought this was rather unusual, as there is usually some light in a bedroom. Unless the curtains are of heavy blackout material, some light generally filters through them, or round the edges.

But, no, it was completely dark. That told me one thing for certain. I was not in my own bedroom at home. Also, I could hear a faint humming, which suggested a window-less room, with air conditioning.

The air temperature was comfortably warm and I did not have any bedclothes over my bare body. This was also strange, but stranger still was the fact that, when I shifted my body and it touched a new part of what I was lying on, it suddenly felt quite cold. Something like a rubber sheet sprang immediately to mind. I had possibly shifted position in my sleep and this had woken me.

I lay there, trying to orientate myself. I could not remember anything leading up to a situation like this. I went back further in memory, and there was no problem. I knew I was a 25 year-old accountant with a medium sized firm and that my name was Charles Bishop.

I was an orphan and had no siblings. I could remember my childhood, my professional training and my job, AND choosing my annual holiday.

The advert had offered, "A unique, surprise, mystery, adventure, action-packed holiday".

I answered the ad and received a brochure, which frankly told me very little more than the ad, apart from the fact that the Company was called "Legree’s Luxury Holidays", but I was given the opportunity to attend for an interview to discuss it. The name, Legree, rang a faint bell and I assumed that I had read an article about them without taking much notice at the time, so I made an appointment to attend for an interview.

I turned up as arranged and found myself outside a door with the sign Legree’s Luxury Holidays. I went in and was shown to a fairly small interview room with a lady, in her late twenties, or early thirties, sitting behind a desk. She was wearing a business suit and positively oozed efficiency.

She introduced herself as Miss Cox and I asked for more details and got a funny sort of mixed answer. The words, abroad, mixed group, young singles, were added to the description, so I was left to ask specific questions.

It was an adventure holiday in the sense of ‘novel’ and not that of mountain climbing, parachute jumping, etc. It was activity in the sense of plenty to do and again, not as the above. I would certainly not need to take out special hazardous insurance, for example.

"Had they had many repeat bookings," I asked next.

Miss Cox, smiled warmly and said "No, because it obviously couldn’t be unique, a surprise, a mystery, or novel, a second time round."

Very logical and a little bit glib!

She did add two things. They had never had a single complaint of any kind and that she was not usually here in the office, but was one of the leaders, or ‘instructors’, for want of a better word, on the holiday itself. The latter meant that she would be available for any complaints, etc.

Well, eventually I decided to sign up for the holiday, especially as the cost was not as excessive as I had feared. ‘What have I got to lose?’ I asked myself. If only I had known!

I arrived on the departure date at the same address with my luggage. I was taken to a larger room with tables and easy chairs and a few staff with the LLH logo on their breast pockets. I was told I was the first of the party to arrive and then I was asked if I would like anything to drink whilst I waited for the others. I chose coffee and, shortly after I had finished it, I passed out cold. And then NOTHING until waking up now.

So, having come to the end of my memory, it was now a simple matter of waiting to find out more. I tried to relax and, just as I was about to doze off again, the light suddenly snapped on - quite abruptly -- no reverse dimmer!

I looked about me. As I had supposed, the room was windowless. The solid-looking door had a lock with a keyhole and there seemed to be an observation hatch in it, which was closed, and there was a clothes hook on the door with nothing on it. The ‘bed’ I was lying on was more of a low shelf against the wall with a mattress and I was right again, a rubber sheet covered it. The sheet was a bright cheery light blue, but the colour did nothing to cheer me up! I sat up and swung my feet on to the floor.

There was a wash basin in the corner, with several items on a shelf and a shower cubicle next to it. A sort of wardrobe was against another wall and a chest of drawers. Apart from a full-length mirror, that seemed to be about it.

I was just about to check that my clothes were in the wardrobe and drawers, when a female voice said over a hidden loudspeaker, "Get up. Make yourself ready and have a shower and then dress in the clothes in the wardrobe. You have half an hour to get ready and then you will be collected."

I couldn’t do any thing about that, except to get on with it, so I forgot about my clothes for the moment. My next thought was to shave, but could not see any shaving equipment. Then, when I ran my hand over my chin to assess that state of my early morning beard, I found that it was perfectly smooth and hairless. I couldn’t fathom this either, but, obviously, it explained the absence of a razor, or shaver, apart from there being no electrical point for the latter. Mystery question after number one, ‘Where was I?’ was ‘What had happened to me?’

I used the toilet facilities and then went on to the shower. I opened the door and could see no controls, however, when the door clicked shut, the rose in the ceiling began to flow with pleasantly warm water, and more jets came out of the walls. I then wondered about soap, but streams of soap replaced the water jets and I used my hands to wash thoroughly. Now, how to rinse it off?

Once again, the shower automatically changed back to water to sluice it off and then I got a shock. The jets suddenly increased in force, at the same time becoming freezing cold. I gasped with the shock of the cold water and frantically looked for an ‘off switch’. I couldn’t see one, so I tried to escape the stinging cold jets by opening the door. It was shut tight!

I stood there gasping away, unable to dodge the water coming from above and all sides, until the shower changed once more and this time it was jets of hot air playing over my head and body until I was quite dry. A small ‘click’ and the cubicle door swung open.

Next, I started to search for my underclothes, but all the drawers were completely empty, so I opened the door of the wardrobe. It had a rail with a number of hangers on it but none of my clothes. In fact, only two of the hangers were in use. On one was a green and white striped dress and on the other a white starched, uniform-style apron. Like a nurse’s apron. I almost slammed the door shut in my frustration.

I was both puzzled and angry and went to sit on my low bed to think. I flinched as I sat down, because the rubber was now cold to my bare arse. My first thought was that the last thing I wanted to do was to meet the person coming to ‘collect’ me dressed in a frock. And then it hit me and I corrected myself. The absolutely LAST THING was to meet her absolutely stark naked. Better to look slightly ridiculous in a frock, than completely ridiculous with nothing on at all.

So, very reluctantly, I reopened the wardrobe, took down the dress and put it on. It was a perfect fit. As I said, it was green and white stripes and had a white Peter Pan collar and short sleeves ending in little white cuffs. As I looked at myself in the mirror, it reminded me of the sort of summer uniform sometimes worn by very young schoolgirls and, with that thought in mind, I looked even more ridiculous to myself with my obviously male face above the collar. I shut the door firmly on the apron. It was obviously intended to go with the dress, but not in my book!

Now I waited and, eventually, I heard footsteps coming down the passageway outside. It’s funny how such sounds can convey ideas. The steps were of a person completely sure of himself, or herself, very positive, and they somehow projected ‘authority’. The steps stopped out side my door and the observation panel snapped open. I saw only a pair of eyes and then it snapped shut again.

A woman, who seemed vaguely familiar to me in some half-remembered way, came into the room. She was dressed in what seemed to be some sort of smart official uniform. She wore a white blouse and a knee-length black skirt. She had sheer black nylons and shoes with a medium heel. The heels, against my bare feet, made her a little bit taller than me. She also wore a wide black leather belt with several items resembling pagers clipped to it and an empty hook on the right-hand side. Her hand kept brushing this, as though it expected to find something hanging there. Like a cop, might keep reaching for a missing gun, or baton.

She looked at me very disdainfully and then Miss Cox asked, "Why aren’t you wearing the apron?"

I ignored HER question and launched a barrage of my own. "Where was I? What was going on? Where were my clothes?"

I demanded to see someone in authority, to explain things to me and to whom I could complain.

"All in good time. First some breakfast and then you will meet the Principal, Miss Jacobs, who will make everything clear to you, but neither will happen until you are wearing your apron."

I ignored the wording of ‘YOUR APRON’, instead of ‘an apron’, or ‘the apron’.

"Get stuffed! First my own clothes. Then the Principal, or whoever, and then we can worry about breakfast."

"Oh no! I’m a Supervisor here and we do things in MY order. First your apron, then breakfast and then the Principal. So, once more," she paused and opened the wardrobe door, pointed and ordered firmly, "PUT ON YOUR APRON. NOW! AT ONCE!"

"Get stuffed," I repeated and stood my ground, to see what she would do next. This turned out to be a bad decision. She gave a slight smile and pressed a button on one of her belt gadgets and we both waited.

There were more footsteps and a second ‘supervisor’ came in. She was similarly uniformed to Miss Cox, but was a very burly lady, standing about four inches taller. There were two other differences. Her belt was not empty, but had a thick leather strap hanging from the hook, and she was carrying a thin flexible rattan cane in her hand.

"Having trouble, Miss Cox?" She asked.

"Yes, Miss Doughty. As you can see he was not aproned when I came to collect him and has since refused point blank to put it on and, in fact, told me to ‘get stuffed’ twice.

"Oh really? Well listen you little apology for a man, this", and she swished the cane ominously through the air, "is unofficially called ‘an Attitude and Behaviour Corrector’, because it makes dealing with cases like yours as easy as ABC, if you will excuse the pun."

She handed the cane to Miss Cox, who took it with an expectant smile, and then she suddenly grabbed hold of me. Before I knew what was happening, I had my hands handcuffed behind my back and was upended over her knee, as she sat herself down on the bed. I was facing towards her right with my legs between her thighs. She lifted the dress up and used a small cloth loop behind the hem to fasten on to a button previously hidden beneath the dress collar. She then pushed my head down towards the floor, with my bare bum sticking up as a welcoming target and said conversationally to Miss Cox, "We are ready when you are".

Miss Cox made a couple of menacing ‘swishing’ sounds though the air and then said, "Now perhaps we can discuss this matter rationally?"

She walked behind me, out of sight. I heard another of those swishes and this was followed by a streak of fire across the globes of my bottom. I yelped with surprise, as much as with pain, and my body bucked.

Miss Doughty chuckled and said, "He didn’t seem to like that very much."

"Too bad" Miss Cox replied, "because that is just the beginning."

Another five cuts followed, which had me yelling out loud.

Miss Cox walked slowly to where I could see her and lifted my head by putting her fingers under my chin.

"Those were for not being correctly aproned when I came in and now there are another six to come, two strokes for telling me to ‘get stuffed’ the first time and four for the second time, and I promise these will hurt more. Aren’t you glad you didn’t say it a third time, as the punishment doubles up each time?"

Yes I was very glad, but did not voice the thought.

They did hurt more as she swung the cane harder. I hadn’t appreciated before that she had been using only a fraction of her strength. I had thought they had been ‘six of the BEST’, according to the time-honoured phrase, but they had been far from ‘her best’!’

She came back and lifted my head again. By now, tears were coursing non-stop down my cheeks.

"And now we come to the matter of you refusing to obey me when I ordered you to put your apron on. As you will now find out, refusing to obey a Supervisor’s order, or disobeying one, is regarded as a much more serious matter. Another dozen!"

She walked behind me again and I felt Miss Doughty clutch me even tighter, since she knew what was coming and my likely reaction to it.

The previous twelve strokes had all been aimed at the top half of my buttocks and Miss Cox now aimed the second batch of twelve at the underhang, with the final four specifically at the tender crease between my thighs and bottom. I also found out that the second batch of six had not been with her full force either, as I had thought, but these were more like it.

By now, I was howling my head off and pleading with her to stop and promising her anything she wanted.

Miss Doughty stood me on my feet, sobbing wildly. I tried to put my handcuffed hands down to rub my bottom, which seemed to be on fire, but quickly obeyed the order to "Stop that!"

Miss Doughty laughed again. " I think he might be disposed to obey you now." She poked me in the back. "Now you know it means another dozen if you refuse."

Miss Cox came to stand in front of me flexing the cane that had caused me such unbelievable pain.

"Now are you willing to put your apron on, boy?"

"Yes," I stuttered. I could not stand the thought of any more strokes of that awful cane.

"Yes what?"

I thought quickly for a moment and said, "Yes please," at which they both burst out laughing.

"I meant ‘Yes Miss’, but ‘Yes please, Miss’, is even better."

I wanted to get the tormenting over with so I said, "Yes please Miss."

"No boy, you have to ask to wear the apron."

"Please may I wear the apron Miss?"

"That’s not correct. You have to say ‘MY apron’".

"Please may I wear MY apron, Miss?"

Miss Doughty broke in with, "I think he should be made to beg to wear his apron."

"What a very good idea," Miss Cox said.

She poked me with the cane.

"Do as Miss Doughty said."

"Please Miss, I beg to wear my apron, please."

"I think you should beg to be allowed to wear your apron and do it fervently. If I don’t find you convincing, I shall have to warm your little botty again!"

Despairingly I tried.

"Please Miss, may I beg to be allowed to wear my apron?"

"I’m still not convinced by you. Again!"

I repeated it under their mocking gazes as she flexed the cane threatenly.

She made me do it another eight times and I was convinced it would end in another caning, before I was wearing the wretched thing.

"Well, OK. Now that you seem quite sure you want to wear it. After all, you did refuse before."

"Yes please Miss. I am quite sure I want to be allowed to wear my apron."

"You had better mean it then, or I will take the skin off your arse!"

She went to the wardrobe and took the item off its hanger. I expected that they would have to free my hands to put them through the shoulder straps. Instead, she unbuttoned the straps from the belt and passed the ends of the waistband round to Miss Doughty, who fastened the buttons, and then she put the shoulder straps over to cross behind my back for them to be re-buttoned on the waistband.

Like the dress, the apron was a perfect fit and I couldn’t help wondering about that.

"Now" whispered Miss Doughty’s voice in my ear, "if you had your hands free and had put it on yourself, your next action would be to smooth it down like this", and her hands came round my body to smooth the bib and apron skirt down.

By this time, I was thoroughly intimidated by them both.

I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. The nightmare was over and reality had taken its place. In Miss Cox’s words, I was now well and truly APRONED -- and I hated it!

I felt really humiliated at being dressed in it.

She then said, "I think we are about ready for the delayed breakfast now."

Miss Doughty took the cane from her and hung it on the empty hook behind the door.

"In case it is needed again," she said to me with a nasty grin.

She went through the door and said to someone waiting outside, "You can go in now".

She held the door as a girl about my own age came through, with a humble muttered "Thank you Miss." The girl wore a starched apron like mine, but her dress had blue and white stripes. She was pushing a small hostess-type trolley with several things on it.

She stopped and made a small bob, a servant’s version of a curtsey, to Miss Cox and then waited.

I was brusquely ordered to sit down on the bed. I could not lower myself down, because my hands were not free and so I sat down harder than I intended to.

I could not help it, but bounced up with a yelp, as my sore buttocks hit the bed.

"Stop making such a fuss and sit down, before I lose my temper."

I didn’t want that to happen, so I sat down again, this time prepared for the shock. I gasped, but managed to sit there.

"Well, get on with it Susie. You know what to do."

Susie took a large pink plastic bib from the trolley and approached me with it. I tried to shy away from it, but a growled, "Don’t you dare. Do you really want another dozen so soon?" stopped me in my tracks.

I allowed Susie to tie the bib strings tightly round my neck. She then picked up a large bowl and a spoon. The bowl seemed was filled to the brim with what looked to a mixture of semolina and tapioca. Once voted the two most disliked dishes of English school dinners.

I did not dare to try to refuse, so I obediently opened my mouth as Susie brought the spoon up to it. I gagged as she put the horrid mixture in. It was cold and congealed and was everything that had caused it to be voted against. Nothing had been added to it to make it taste worse, but nothing had been added to make it more palatable either.

When the bowl was empty, Susie scraped bits off my chin, and some where they had spilled down the bib, and fed them to me as well.

Miss Cox then told Susie to put the trolley outside in the corridor and come back into the room. She did so and, after another ‘bob’ stood against the wall with her hands folded across her lap.

I was then ordered to stand and my wrists were freed. Then between them, I was instructed in how to curtsey, maid-style, to a Supervisor or Instructor, and, finally, how to make a deeper formal curtsey to the Principal.

"I am going to see if the Principal is ready to interview you now and, while I am gone, you are to be quiet and stand still looking at your reflection in the mirror, with your hands folded across your apron like Susie is standing. AND NO TALKING."

She and Miss Doughty left the room.

So I stood looking at my reflection, hardly able to believe that it was my face above a dress and an apron. The additional fact that my legs and feet were bare made me look utterly ridiculous. I had never worn an apron in my life before and was vaguely aware that there were such beings as ‘male maids’ who liked to dress up in ‘French Maid’ uniforms, usually with very frilly fancy aprons.

As I looked further at MY apron, I realised, for the first time, what an essentially feminine garment this uniform style of starched apron was. Various groups of men had worn simple white aprons over the years. Servants, shopkeepers, carpenters and even surgeons long ago, for example, but they had never worn anything like this style with its wide cross-over shoulder straps, shaped bib, and another wide strap to emphasise the waist.

This style has always been mainly associated with two groups of young women. Domestic servants and nurses. Both groups occupying a rather subservient role in their respective spheres. In fact, servants were even submissive, rather than subservient.

Similar aprons had undoubtedly also been worn by inmates of certain institutions, such as reformatories and orphanages.

Even German housewives, in the days when they played second fiddle to their men-folk had worn this style at home, almost as a uniform of their position in society. They had gone shopping for a Schwesterschürze (a nurse’s apron), while they had concentrated their lives on the three Ks, Kinder, Kuche and Kirche (children, kitchen and church).

So, as I contemplated myself, I concluded that I was now wearing the standard basic uniform of a submissive female. The apron was quite definitely feminine, as much, if not more so, than those fancy frilly aprons preferred by sissy maids.

But what was this place? The dress, manner, and actions of the Supervisors, and my cell-like room, all screamed ‘prison’. Yet the head of a prison was usually called a Governor or a Warden and Miss Cox had referred to her boss as The Principal. This title was more often used for the head of a school.

I remembered how my dress had first reminded me of a girl’s school uniform. If that were so, was my apron really a ‘school pinafore’? Hardly likely, as that term was associated with the Victorian and Edwardian eras and their girls’ pinafores had been nothing like this.

So, it seemed as if I must wait for the answer from Miss Jacobs.

My eyes strayed to the rattan cane hanging behind the door. I could hardly believe that such an innocent looking slim, three-foot length of dried vine could cause so much pain. I made myself a solemn promise to obey any order in future, to avoid a repetition of my recent thrashing.

I turned my head slightly to get a better view of Susie. It seemed as if she thought I intended to speak to her, as she frowned, and gave a slight shake of her head. As I turned my head away, I saw her face muscles relax, but the rest of her body remained rigid in position, which I later found out to be the regulation ‘waiting for orders’ position.

It then suddenly occurred to me that Susie might suspect, or even know for certain, that we were being observed. If that were true, then the earlier scene of me begging to wear MY apron might have also been recorded!

(This had indeed happened and, quite often over the next few weeks, this scene was played back to me to my complete humiliation and shame. It had been carefully edited to make it sound worse than it actually was, but the mocking laughter of Miss Cox and Miss Doughty had been left in.)

I then turned back slightly to look at Susie and, this time, she did not react.

In addition to the dress and apron mentioned earlier, she also wore a white starched matching cap and thick black stockings and flat heeled ‘sensible’ shoes. The stockings suggested that she was also wearing something underneath her dress to hold them up, whereas I was stark naked under mine.

Although I have mentioned that our uniforms were similar, apart from the different coloured dresses, the aprons also appeared to be different, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why or how. It was a bit like having an elusive word on the tip of your tongue.

Then I heard footsteps returning. Miss Cox entered and, this time, she had a slim leather-riding crop filling the empty hook on her belt. She also carried a small bag.

Susie dropped a curtsey and, after a moment’s hesitation, I followed her lead.

She ignored me and walked over to Susie. Without any warning, she gave her a vicious slap across the face and then a back-hander on the other side.

"Open your mouth."

Susie obeyed instantly.

Miss Cox then took a metal dental gag from the bag and fitted it in Susie’s mouth. She operated the ratchet to the full. Then she got an aerosol can from the bag and sprayed the inside of her mouth, with foam, which made Susie gag violently.

"You can probably guess what you are being punished for, but you can think about it while we are away and I will deal with you properly, when I get back."

This confirmed that we were indeed being watched.

Susie curtsied again in answer.

Miss Cox then turned to me.

"I really should beat you for your hesitation in curtseying to me when I came in, but Miss Jacobs is waiting for you now. As your induction has not yet been completed, you are under no obligation to curtsey to The Principal, but doing so will create a good impression and not doing so will certainly create a bad one. But that is up to you!"

She then produced a starched cap like the one Susie had on and pinned it to my hair. This cap not only completed my maid’s uniform, but also completed my humiliation. When I saw my new reflection, my face went scarlet with embarrassment. This amused Miss Cox and she said, "I do love seeing a new male maid looking at himself the first time he wears a cap and apron. The reaction is always the same as yours. We call it "being ‘shame clad!’" From your blushes, I’d say it is a very appropriate expression."

She gave an evil smile as she ordered me to follow her, using the words, "Come along Charlie".

As we walked down the corridor, I suddenly realised that I was not restrained in any way and was technically free. But what was the point in trying to escape? Dressed only in a frock and cap and apron! And with bare feet! After all I didn’t have the slightest where in the world I was, or if I even if I could get out of the building, so I had absolutely no idea of where to escape to. I saw by Miss Cox’s expression that she probably had a very good idea of what was going through my mind.

Through the windows, I could tell by the light that it was still early morning. The view was of a large quadrangle with a sort of parade ground in the middle. This seemed to be divided into large squares, but for no obvious reason that I could make out and Miss Cox did not enlighten me.

We reached a door marked ‘Principal’. We stopped and, before knocking, Miss Cox told me to smooth my apron to make myself presentable. Automatically I obeyed. I was already becoming conditioned to obeying orders and even mere suggestions.

She then added, "As this is your first day here, you are allowed to ask questions, but, in future, it is a strict matter of only speaking when you are spoken to, so get anything off your chest today."

She knocked and we heard a curt "Come in!"

We entered and I sank into a formal curtsey, but when I started to rise after a short pause, Miss Cox put her hand on my head to stop me from doing so.


I stood up and saw a severe looking lady, in a grey suit, sitting behind her desk. She was the absolute epitome of every Victorian child’s nightmare of a very strict governess. I could not see much of her office, without turning my head, which I dared not do, but from what I could see, it looked much like any other office I had ever seen. That is with the exception of a long, thick, heavy cane lying on two brackets in full view.

The Principal stared at me disdainfully for several minutes, which made me very self-conscious about the way I was dressed and I blushed again.

She then picked up an official-looking document and read formally, "Charles Bishop, you have been found guilty of entering this country illegally and have been sentenced to the statutory minimum punishment of five years as an indentured servant."

"That can’t be true. I don’t understand," I burst out.

"It’s really quite simple. You are standing before me; therefore you are indubitably in our country. When you were arrested, your papers were not in order, without an entry visa, so I don’t see how there can be any confusion?"

More confused than before, I said, "But I do not remember any trial where I could put my case."

"What was the point of having you at the trial when the facts are so clear cut and you have no case to put?"

"Well, can’t I appeal and put my side of it now?" I pleaded with her.

"If an appeal is judged to be frivolous, as this undoubtedly would be, the penalty is a doubling of the initial sentence. Do you want that to happen?"

As I came to a halt with my protestations, she continued to explain my current situation.

"Since we do not have a tradition of male servants in this country, you will be required to serve your sentence as a maidservant, which is why you are dressed as you are now -- as a female skivvy.

"Here, in this Training Centre, you will be trained in the duties, skills, and demeanour of a competent maid. This training usually takes approximately three months. If you do not show enough willingness, or effort, to learn, you will spend a period in our punishment squad to encourage you to do better. As I gather you have already found out, we have a ‘spare the rod and spoil the servant girl’ philosophy here.

"Any naughty behaviour will be corrected by a caning, so it will be up to you to behave yourself and learn your lessons quickly."

(I did not really understand her use of the word ‘naughty’ here. This was a word usually only applied to bad behaviour of very young children. I was soon to learn, however, that we were never punished for anything specific, only for ‘naughty behaviour’. This could range from something quite trivial such as accidentally breaking a saucer, or getting one’s apron slightly smudged. To breaking the saucer deliberately, or, at the top end of the scale, attacking one of the staff. Of course, the punishments got more severe for things like that, but it was still "for naughty behaviour" or simply "for being naughty".

This had the effect of reducing our status to that of the level of infant children.)

"Now sign this paper, to acknowledge that you have understood what I have said."

I had understood the words, but not the full implications. I signed the paper, ‘Charles Bishop’; not realising that it was for the last time!

Miss Jacobs was now speaking again. "Since we cannot possibly have a maid called ‘Charles’, we have re-named you ‘Shirley’, for the duration of your sentence, or until such time as your mistress chooses to call you something else.

"I now have to tell you also that your five-year sentence does not begin, until the end of your training period here, when you will be placed ‘in service’ in the household of your new mistress. She, too, has the right to thrash you if she thinks it necessary. If she is really dissatisfied with your conduct, she can send you back to our Punishment Squad for periods of one, two, or four weeks. Any time in the Squad does not count towards your training time here, or your sentence. If she sends you back three times within the five-year period, you will also have five years added to your sentence, so you had better watch your Ps and Qs.

"You have already had a taste of your cane, I understand. What was that for, Miss Cox?"

"I gave him the first six strokes for not being aproned, when I went to fetch him, another six for telling me ‘to get stuffed’ twice and then a dozen for refusing to put on his apron. Eventually, he begged very nicely to be allowed to wear it."

"Well, Shirley, I have to tell you that that cane is your personal one. It has never been used on anyone else and never will be. It was created by nature solely to punish your arse. It will be used for formal punishments and you will find that your instructors carry their own chosen implements for more on-the-spot corrections, like Miss Cox’s switch there.

"Now, if you merit a more severe correction for any misdemeanour, you will be sent to me to be punished with my penal cane, which you see there on the wall. I can assure you that it makes your own cane seem like a mere toy, so I advise you to avoid it, if you can.

"You will find that you are not the only boy maid here. The real girls wear blue and white dresses, or blue rubber dresses, with a white apron, or a blue apron when they are naked under it. The boys wear green, like you are now.

"Maids wearing brown are females in the Punishment Squad and the males wear pink. Do you understand?"

"Yes Ma’am, but something else has just occurred to me. Hasn’t my country got a Consul here, or somebody like that I could ask to intervene for me?"

This seemed to cause both ladies amusement.

Miss Jacobs explained, "As a matter of fact, you have a full blown Ambassador here, but I would advise you not to bother her."

"Why not Madam? It seems the obvious thing to do."

"Well, I happen to be very good friends with her and can tell you that she has ‘gone native’ as the phrase has it. This means that she likes it here so much that she has adopted our customs in full and has even declined promotion in order to be able to stay here. In fact, she herself has six indentured servants in her household, and two of them are her own country people. She also has one of the strictest household regimes in the country. You know what they say about people who are converted. They are always more zealous than the rest.

"For example, I went to her house for dinner about two weeks ago and she gave one of her maids six strokes of a penal cane for an offence that I would have given only two or three with an ordinary cane.

"Also, she usually dresses her maids in nothing but a corset and cap and apron and, considering the fuss you made earlier about wearing an apron, you would do very well to steer clear of her, in case she decides she needs another maid from her own country. That is unless you fancy serving your sentence almost naked!"

That seemed to wind up Miss Jacobs’s explanations and all the questions I could think of, so, after another curtsey, Miss Cox led me out, back to my ‘room’.

Miss Cox then added that the Ambassador also had a reputation for making her male maids grow a full beard. "I can tell you that a French Maid with such a beard, or a moustache, mincing about on high heels, is one of the funniest sights imaginable and I imagine you would not like that to be you."

Susie was still there standing rigidly to attention. I was told to face the mirror again and Miss Cox took a long, thick, split, strap from one of the drawers, which had been empty before.

"Right girl. Now for your punishment for trying to communicate with Shirley here, against orders. Hold out your right hand."

Susie promptly held out her left hand, at which I thought she was defying Miss Cox, until she placed her right hand palm up on top of the left.

Miss Cox put the tawse back over her shoulder and measured up for the blow and then brought the tawse down with a terrific crack on the hand and fingers. I saw Susie wince, but she did not move her hand, especially when Miss Cox measured her up for a second.

I was horrified at the way she had to present her hand as a target for the strap. This seemed far worse than the way I had been held down for my caning. To be made to co-operate in one’s own punishment!

After the strap had fallen four times, Miss Cox said, "Change over". Then came another four strokes on Susie’s left hand. I gave a sigh of relief at the end of Susie’s punishment, which seemed out of all proportion to the offence.

Then I heard the word, "Again!"

Another four on the right hand followed by four more on the left.


After twelve on each hand, Susie was whimpering and tears were streaming down her face.

Miss Cox now turned to me.

"Fetch me your cane in the proper manner."

I took it from its hook behind the door and presented it to her with a curtsey.

"Not that way, you stupid skivvy. I am not left-handed, as you should well know by now.

I reversed it.

"Bend over and grasp your ankles tightly."

I obeyed and she turned up my dress and buttoned it as before.

Now I found that I was the one meekly presenting a target to be punished. It reminded me of the way children had to do the same in school not so very long ago.

Taking her time, she now spelt out on my buttocks the words and letters, "Your name is now Shirley, S H I R L E Y, Shirley."

She muttered at the end, "Thirteen. Unlucky for some!"

When I had straightened up, with tears running down my cheeks too, Miss Cox told me to take off my apron and dress and to hang them in the cupboard. I obeyed and found the wardrobe now full of clothes. Aprons, dresses, and some other garments. A mixture of cotton, rubber and plastic. I hung up the clothes I had just taken off on the two remaining empty hangers and waited, buck naked, for further instruction.

"As a servant girl, the symbol of your position is the apron and the only time you are allowed to be without one is when you are changing, like now, or when you are showering. It is known as the symbol of servitude. Now put this on."

She had taken a tiny symbolic green rubber waist apron from another drawer and handed it to me. I tied it on and found it was so small that it did not cover my genitals.

"Now you are properly dressed and don’t you ever forget this important rule".

"What about at night when I’m sleeping, Miss?" I asked, hoping she would realise that it was a serious question and that I was not being sarcastic.

"Look in your wardrobe. You will find an apron which matches your bed sheet".

Indeed there was. A bright blue latex apron.

"Do I wear this over my night-clothes? I asked, innocently.

I heard a suppressed snort of amusement from Susie.

Miss Cox grinned and said, "The apron is your ‘night-clothes’ stupid!"

Now she added a leather cuff with a metal ring attached to each wrist and ankle. She linked the wrist cuffs behind my back and then approached me with a chain, which split into two and each tail ended in a small toothed spring-loaded clamp.

She teased my nipples erect and clipped a clamp to each. I couldn’t help a squeal as the teeth bit into my flesh.

She then said to Susie, "YOU, go and get on with your work. I’ll send for you when I need you again."

She tugged on the chain and growled, "Follow me."

I trotted along behind her, trying to keep the strain off my nipples as she said conversationally, "If you are a very good girl and obey all my orders promptly, I won’t clip these to your nipples on the way back."

This time, we descended to the basement. It had an air of gloomy foreboding and I could hear what seemed to be whimpers of pain and distress. There were a number of alcoves branching off the main corridor and, in the first, was a young girl dressed as I was and also with a wide tight leather belt round her waist. This had another strap going down between her legs and apparently holding some thing, or things, inside her body. She was standing high on her tiptoes and was stretched up by chains attached to two rings in her pierced nipples.

As we got level with her, she could no longer maintain lifting her body up and allowed her feet to slacken off and tried to lower her heels to the floor to relieve the strain on her arches. This had the effect of stretching out her nipples painfully and she gave another whimper.

The next alcove had a variation of the first. This time the girl was standing on tiptoe, with her legs either side a rough wooden plank standing on its edge. As she lowered herself to relieve her foot arches and toes, it meant she transferred the weight of her body on to the top of the wooden plank with the edges cutting into her private parts. I couldn’t help wondering which version of the torture was worse. I hadn’t quite realised yet that I would get plenty of opportunity to find out and to decide for myself in the very near future.

Then there was a girl sitting on the apex of a triangular wooden block, with weights hanging from each ankle. This was another version of the last torture, but where the girl could not get any temporary relief at all.

The next held two girls kneeling on the rough uncomfortable floor with their mouths encasing oversized artificial penises, which jutted out from the walls. As we passed, Miss Cox flicked a switch on the wall, which caused the penises to pulsate and the girls had to start sucking frantically as they discharged into their mouths.

The next two alcoves had treadmills in them. Each wheel had two digital signs. Miss Cox explained that one was the number of revolutions left from the number of the task set and the other was the number of minutes left to finish. The first girl was laboriously trying to finish in time and had eight turns of the wheel to make and only two minutes to complete them. It didn’t look as though she was going to make it.

The second had zero turns left and still a minute in hand, but she was hanging by her wrists exhausted with her effort.

Miss Cox explained that the first girl would get three strokes of a whip for each uncompleted turn and would repeat the task tomorrow. The second girl would have another turn on the treadmill tomorrow, but with the number of turns increased or the time allowed decreased.

"Or perhaps both", she sniggered. "That will be a penalty for trying to curry favour!"

We had stopped by a door and Miss Cox explained what we had just passed.

"What you have just seen is a small selection of the punishments and training we have here. The first two could be either training to improve the strength of the girl’s calves, necessary for lots of standing about as a parlourmaid or ladies maid, or they might be a punishment.

"The next, the dreaded Japanese Wooden Horse, is definitely a punishment.

"The cock-sucking could be either. Every maid has to become proficient in that skill, to be able to please any males in the households they go to, but extra sessions are sometimes used for punishment, especially for girls who are known to hate it particularly.

"Similarly, the treadmill is a very good punishment to bring a girl into line, but is also very useful to get excess weight off. I expect you will have your due share of each in time."

"Further down this corridor are other examples, but, for the moment, I will let you just imagine what they might be, as they are waiting for you in here."

By now my heart was in my boots. It had been bad enough to hear that I had been condemned to become a maid servant for five years, but now to find out that this included such regular treatment was almost too much to bear. At least, it couldn’t get any worse. Very soon, I was to find out that it could. Very much worse!

At that moment, a long wailing scream, echoed from a girl in the corridor beyond our position. I must have physically reacted, because Miss Cox grinned and said, "It sounds like another maid is learning the error of her ways."

She then opened the door and tugged on my nipples, which made me feel doubly sorry for the two girls on tiptoe with their nipples under strain.

Inside the door waited an instructor dressed as Miss Cox was, except that her blouse was black, instead of white. She had a switch hanging from her belt. It was a pale ivory colour and was, in fact, made of whalebone.

She was introduced as Miss Windsor.

Four female maids lined the wall. They were almost completely naked except for wrist and ankle bands and wide leather belts with straps passing down between their legs, and the obligatory small blue rubber aprons.

In addition, they wore long clear plastic aprons and I could see through them that they had rings in their nipples.

Also, what was more frightening each of the four had a one and a half-inch metal ring through the septum of their noses.

"Good morning, Miss Windsor. This is the new maid, Shirley, for your attention. I’ll collect her in about half an hour’s time, if that is OK?"

Miss Cox went out leaving me there.

"Right girls. Get started on her."

Four aprons, rustled, as the girls came towards me. I didn’t try to resist them, so they had no reason to be extra rough with me. First they fitted a high stiff leather posture collar round my neck, which made my head immovable. Then I found myself on my back, spread-eagled on a large cold metal table, with my ankles fastened to the bottom corners and my arms pulled straight above my head.

The fact that her assistants were not staff members was emphasised by a slash from Miss Windsor’s switch, whenever her orders were not obeyed quickly enough to please her.

A piece of cloth was dropped over my face, so that I could not see anything that was going on and, particularly, what they were going to do to me next! I felt hands smoothing something under both my armpits and at the sides of my genitals. Then, at some signal that I couldn’t see, the four pieces of sticky tape were ripped off simultaneously, to the accompaniment of a tearing sound and a loud surprised painful squeal from me. The hands resumed smoothing new pieces of tape on me and these were ripped off individually without any warning. This didn’t hurt as much as the first time, but it was a shock each time it happened.

Finally, they then cleared up any missed hairs by using tweezers and pulled them out, one by one.

When they were finished, a grinning girl removed the cloth, but I still had a very restricted view around me, because I couldn’t move my head. Another one of the girls teased my right nipple erect and then I saw Miss Windsor coming close. She was now wearing a yellow knee-length rubber apron. I knew instinctively that this was not as a status symbol like our aprons, or for show, but was for the normal purpose of protecting her uniform.

In a leather-gloved hand, she was holding a red-hot needle and she very deliberately bored a hole in my nipple and then fitted a ring through it. Then the left nipple soon had a companion and I was sobbing with pain, shock, and humiliation.

Next I understood the purpose of the collar. She now held a small punch and brought it up towards my nose.

"Please don’t do that to me", I begged.

"Don’t be such a baby about a little nose ring. Pigs and bulls don’t make such a fuss when they are ringed."

There was more excruciating pain and a squeal from me as she punched the hole through my septum. But she wasn’t finished! She then ran a red-hot needle round the inside of the hole to cauterise it and finally fitted the nose ring. The bit that went through the hole was not as thick as the rest of the ring so that it swung freely, when I eventually stood up, and reached to the bottom of my chin.

I thought they had to be finished, but next a rubber tube was pushed into my rectum and I was given a prolonged colonic irrigation, with ice-cold water, until Miss Windsor was satisfied that every last bit of shit had been washed out of my body.

Next, yes there was a ‘next!’ A maid teased my penis into an erection and Miss Windsor roughly inserted a metal rod into it, like a solid catheter tube. After moving it around a lot, which caused me quite a bit of discomfort and pain, quite apart from being very humiliating in front of the young maids, she pulled it out, suddenly and roughly, and then replaced it with another rod, this time a much thicker one. More pain and discomfort and THEN a thick tube replaced it, which eventually entered my bladder and slowly drained every drop of urine from it.

When she had finished, my hands were left fastened together and I was led into the next room, which was tiled, with a run-off in the corner. My hands were pulled above my head again and two of the maids came in and began to spread cream all over my body and to rub it in.

When they were satisfied, Miss Windsor came back onto the scene. She had replaced her apron with a plastic raincoat. She picked up the nozzle of a hose and began to play needle jets of very cold water all over me, turning up the force, when she aimed it at those sore areas between my legs and under my arms. As she sluiced the cream off, all my remaining body hair came to, leaving me with just the hair on my head and my eyebrows; my body being more totally naked than ever before. I could now understand the apparent need for them to wear waterproof aprons and the plastic raincoat.

"I expect you are wondering why we didn’t remove your other hair with the cream, aren’t you?"

In answer, I nodded, gasping for breath.

"Well, you have to admit that it is more fun our way with those plasters and tweezers."

‘Fun’ for her maybe, but it was not my description.

Two of the maids came back with very rough towels and scrubbed me dry and then they fitted me with the standard tight-fitting belt and the crotch strap. This had a small rubber cup, filled with tiny needles, which cramped my balls and penis, and a long thick butt plug was put inside my rectum. I was handed my green apron to tie on myself and then my hands were fastened behind me again. Finally, a sort of cup was strapped onto each of my heels. I couldn’t understand this until I tried to stand up and found that each had three small needles inside, which forced me to go on to tip-toe.

Miss Cox hadn’t yet returned, so the instructor took me to the wall and made me kneel on a tray of small pieces of gravel. An artificial penis jutted out of the wall at the height of my mouth and I was forced to take it completely inside. My mouth was open very wide and the thing touched the back of my throat. A strap held my head so that I couldn’t back away and I realised it was a very uncomfortable way of holding a prisoner still.

I knelt there trying not to dwell on what had just happened to me. Then one of Miss Windsor’s assistants walked behind me and the rustling of her apron brought back all the recent memories in exquisite detail.

(I was later to find out that just the sight, or sound, of a yellow rubber apron would have that reflex effect for a very long time. In the future, the instructors would sometimes wear red or black rubber aprons instead and it soon got to the stage when any of these would have the same effect on me.

Also in the future were additional associations. These aprons were worn when I would be fed vile-tasting concoctions to eat or drink. In addition, an ingredient might be added which would make me violently throw up or make me think the world was falling out of my bottom. Sometimes a hypodermic needle would be inserted into my penis, or up my arse, and an itching or painful cream left there to cause me almost to lose my mind.

And so, I found that they could eventually torture me simply by wearing a rubber apron for the sight and sound to bring back these memories and doing nothing else. But, at the moment, I had yet to find this out -- that was still in the future.

Mistresses, who disciplined their own maids, also usually had similar rubber aprons in their wardrobes, because they were well aware of the effect the sight and sound of these aprons induced!

In school, young girls had lessons on the subject, including practical demonstrations, included under ‘Household Management’.)

After ten very long minutes, Miss Cox came for me. When I was released and stood up, she approached with the leading chain with the clips on the ends.

Greatly daring, I risked saying, "Please Miss. You promised that if I obeyed you without any fuss, you wouldn’t use those clips on my nipples on the return journey.

"And I always keep my promises, as you will find out," she said, clipping the ends of the chains to my new nipple rings instead. At least, she did take off the cups from my heels.

She made me curtsey my thanks to Miss Windsor and then led me out. When we got to the ground floor, she opened a door and led me onto the ‘parade ground’.

Most of the marked off areas now were filled with uniformed maids busily scrubbing away as though their lives depended upon it. Their lives did not, but the state of their behinds did. As we got closer, I saw that they were all wearing plain coloured dresses made of rubber -- mostly blue ones, but several green. I was clearly not the only male maid in training at the moment. These dresses were turned up at the back and fastened with Velcro strips. They all had white rubber ‘housemaid’ aprons on and rubber mob caps.

A number of black clad instructors were strolling amongst them and encouraging their efforts with switches and straps.

Miss Cox took me towards a solitary figure, who was wearing a brown rubber dress. Her scrubbing brush was much larger and thicker than those the other maids had and it seemed that far more of an effort was needed to use it.

Miss Cox ordered her to stand up, which she did stiffly and with difficulty and then waited. I was then ordered to pick up the brush. My God! It was so heavy. Apart from the bristles, it was made entirely of lead.

"What is your name?" asked Miss Cox.

"Mary, Miss"

"Now Mary, you are to take your brush and hold it above your head."

Mary obeyed. It was obviously an effort.

"Why are you on the Punishment Squad, Mary?"

"My mistress sent me here for a month, plus an extra two weeks. She says I was becoming impertinent and lazy as my sentence got close to its end."

"So lazy and impertinent Mary, you now have had five years added to your sentence?"

"Yes Miss."

"Well you lazy little slut, I want you to run on the spot in double time for 200 steps and to continue to hold your brush in position. Then you can get back to your scrubbing."

Mary began to run. Her arms and shoulders would be in intense agony long before she finished.

We then went towards the far corner, where a squad of eight girls was being drilled. They were basically dressed like me, with some additions. They wore heavy looking boots and had bells attached to their nipple rings, which tinkled as they drilled. Each girl had a very heavy leather pack on her back and a strap from the bottom of it passed round her chest under her breasts and the weight made the strap cut into the underside of her breasts. They were all breathing heavily and sweating profusely.

There were six brown aprons and two pink ones. ‘Pink aprons?’ Surely males wore pink aprons, but these members of the squad had breasts like the brown-aproned ones?

Miss Cox saw that I had noticed this and said she would explain when we got back to my room.

She added flippantly, "The bells wouldn’t tinkle properly if they didn’t have tits to hang from."

We headed back past Mary, who was now violently trying to catch up with her work. In vain! As we got close, her instructor reached her and exclaimed, "Is that all the progress you have made you lazy cow? No wonder your mistress sent you here for being lazy. This means another two weeks on the Squad for you, apart from what you are going to get now. Kneel and bend over."

She began to thrash Mary’s already badly wealed buttocks, as Mary wept piteously.

"Please Miss," I pleaded with Miss Cox, "Can’t you save her from that extra punishment by explaining that we disturbed her work?" (WE! That was a ‘cop out’ if ever I heard one!)

"You still haven’t got the hang of things yet have you, Shirley? What is she on?"

"The Punishment Squad, Miss."

"Why is she here on the Squad?"

"Because her mistress sent her to be punished."

"And that is exactly what I and my fellow instructor are doing, so what is your problem?

As we walked off the ‘parade ground’ I could see three months ahead of me full of tired aching muscles with a daily, newly thrashed arse. Plus the other ‘diversions’ I had been shown. My hope, at the end of the three months, was that I passed all my proficiency tests as a maid and was sent to a mistress more interested in a neat and tidy house than in tormenting her maidservants.

I hadn’t had time to consider yet that any mistress happy to choose, or accept, a male maid would also almost certainly have a kinky and sadistic disposition!

Just before we reached my room, she touched a button on her belt and so Susie was waiting when we got there. Susie dropped a very respectful curtsey.

Miss Cox now said, "I told you I would explain about the boy maids with tits.

"You remember that you didn’t have the usual facial hair when you woke up this morning (I nodded agreement), well that is because of a drug you were given. A daily dose of it also has the effect of your developing natural breasts over a period of several weeks. You will also find your voice getting higher pitched. You won’t exactly become a soprano, but it will sound more feminine, to suit your new status. Any questions so far?"

"Yes Miss. When the daily dose ceases, after I finish my sentence, will my body return to ‘normal’?"

"Theoretically yes, but we don’t know for sure, because it has never been tested.

I then said in a horrified voice, "But what happens when I do finish my sentence? Other boys must have finished theirs by now. What happened to them?"

"You haven’t been paying much attention to what has been happening today, have you Shirley? If you are as inattentive as this during your training, your are going to have a much rougher time than usual!"

"I have been paying attention Miss, I promise, but I still don’t understand."

"Well, first of all, Miss Jacobs told you quite clearly that being sent to the punishment squad would add extra time to your sentence, didn’t she?" Again I nodded.

"Now think about that girl Mary we spoke to outside. What did she say she had been sent here for?"

"She said she had been lazy and impertinent to her mistress, Miss".

"That is where you are wrong. She said her mistress had said she had been impertinent and lazy. There is a big difference."

She turned to Susie and snapped, "When we came in just now, you forgot to curtsey to me, you slut."

I knew this was untrue and so did Susie, but she didn’t protest her innocence.

"Hold out your hand!"

Susie held out her left hand and Miss Cox slashed her crop across the palm three times.

"Change over!"

Susie held out her right hand and got another three.

"Now do you understand? Susie has been officially punished for disobedience, although we all know that she didn’t forget to curtsey. It’s not what servants do, but what we say they do that counts officially.

"So Mary’s mistress said she had earned a visit to the punishment squad which has also added another five years to her sentence and it is the bad report which matters, whether it is strictly true or not!"

I burst out, "But why? That’s not fair!"

"We don’t care about it being fair, or not, but try looking at it from our point of view. Little Susie here has been out of her training for only a month and look at what a good little maid she already is. Now look at yourself. You are meekly standing there in a tiny green apron, which you tied on yourself without any protest, but only this morning I had to flog you to make you put the other pinnie on. If that is what we can achieve in such a short time, just think what superb maids you will both be after five years of training. You must also consider that, after living as obedient, subservient maids for five years, would you be much use in your previous lives and jobs?"

(It was at this point that I realised that the whole thing was a sham. I (we) had not been sentenced to five years indentured servitude, but tricked into lifelong slavery. Legree Luxury Holidays had never been a holiday firm, but were modern day slave traders. I had walked so trustingly through their doors and had, in fact, paid them a fee to enslave me! Now, too late, I remembered where I had heard the name Legree before. Simon Legree was the name of the cruel, sadistic slave owner in Harriet Beecher Stowe’s novel, Uncle Tom’s Cabin. The warning had been staring me in the face all the time!)

"Now I have some news for both of you. In about three month’s time, Miss Jacobs is moving away on promotion and I will be taking over her job as Principal. And, as Principal, I will be entitled to two personal maids of my own and I think I am going to choose you, Shirley, as my second. You and Susie are much of a height, one blonde and one brunette, and I think you will make a well-matched pair, once your tits have completed their development.

"I can already see you both serving at one of my staff tea parties in fish-net stockings and high heels, brief mini skirts and tiny frilly caps and aprons. I think you will both be very cute dressed like that, don’t you agree Susie? You have already had the experience."

Susie gave a little grimace behind Miss Cox’s back and I gathered that it had not been a very happy experience for her. Of course, I was eventually to find out why. Apart from serving her guests, we also provided the ‘cabaret’ for the parties, in that we would both be flogged, or punished in some other way, for their amusement.

"Come to think of it, I might even let Shirley grow a beard to go with the frilly uniform!"

This comment caused a shiver to run down my spine. ‘God please spare me that additional embarrassment’!

So, my hopes of getting an easy-going mistress at the end of my training were already shot to pieces!

"Now to get you dressed in your training uniform."

First was a brassiere with the cups padded out to what was expected my ‘new’ breasts would end up looking like. "When you get breasts, these cups will have pins in them"

They replaced the belt and uncomfortable crotch strap with an agonisingly tight corset, with a similar crotch strap. As Susie pulled the corset strings tight, Miss Cox told me that, if there were any sight of skin between the two edges of the corset, both Susie and I would be caned. Her for lack of effort and me for disobedience and ‘non co-operation’. Smaller and smaller corsets would slowly replace the present one that already seemed impossibly tight.

Next came a pair of tiny, very tightly stretched rubber knickers, reminiscent of baby pants

Then they put me into a green rubber dress. It was at least one size too small and I had to be ‘shoe-horned’ into it. It fastened with a zip up the back and this pulled in the dress above my waist skin-tight. The high collar of the dress was made of several thicknesses of rubber, which made it like a posture collar. The skirt was quite loose and flouncy.

Next was a white apron made from cotton-backed rubber, which gave the appearance of a starched housemaid’s apron. All the straps, the waist strap and those over my shoulders, were pulled as tight as possible, and there was no stretch in these, which made the apron very uncomfortable, before I even started to work in it!

Then a rubber cap, similar to the housemaid’s style one I had worn earlier, was put on my head. However, this one was not pinned to my hair, but had a sort of drawstring incorporated in it. This string had two knobbly lumps in it, which rested on the sensitive spots on each of my temples. Miss Cox pulled the string as tight as possible.

I now had so many areas of discomfort that, as I tried to ignore each one, another took my attention.

This waterproof apron was very suitable as a training apron. It looked and rustled very similar to a well-starched housemaid’s cotton apron. Later, when I was trained and had been put out ‘into service’, I discovered that many mistresses chose to uniform their maids with rubberised aprons, rather than starched cotton, because they spent so much time scrubbing floors, cleaning windows, and being at the wash tub or the kitchen sink.

No mistress ever wasted money on a washing machine, or dishwasher, when they had a rubber--aproned maid on hand with, or without, a pair of rubber gloves.

(Incidentally, I also found that a mistress sometimes caned her maid over her rubber knickers, to save time if she was in a hurry. She had no idea if the pants gave some protection from the cane, or not, but usually added two, three, or four strokes to the punishment just to ‘be on the safe side and to make sure’. However, they never caned over the rubber gloves!)

I saw my new reflection in the mirror, with the apron bib now pushed out and neatly rounded over my ‘breasts’, plus the fact that it was also nipped in at the waist. I realised that this ‘more feminine’ look was what had been missing when I had compared myself with Susie earlier.

Once more, a wave of humiliation and embarrassment overwhelmed me, as I blushed beetroot red!

I stood there in considerable mental and physical discomfort waiting for what was to happen next.

Miss Cox explained, once more, that the apron was our symbol of servitude and that one was to be worn at all times. The penalty for being caught apron-less was a very severe flogging indeed. I asked about instructors wearing aprons, if they too were symbols of servitude.

"Of course not stupid. That is quite different. That is a matter of keeping their uniforms clean or dry. You will soon get to know the difference."

"Now fetch me your cane."

I brought it to her, remembering to offer it properly to her right hand.

"I’m now going to let you experience your first hand caning like Susie just had. Three ‘handers’, by the way, means three on each hand, and not three in total, and that’s what you are going to get now."

Between them, Miss Cox and Susie demonstrated to me the proper way to hold my hands out for them to be caned. The hand had to be parallel to the floor and the palm perfectly straight and not cupped. If the hand was moved, resulting in an imperfect stroke, the stroke was repeated. If you moved your hand away, so that the cane missed it, the stroke was repeated and another one added.

Eventually I stood with my right hand out in the approved manner, waiting anxiously for the first stroke. One major difference between this and having your arse caned is that you can watch the cane being lined up, which heightens the tension, as you can gauge the possible strength of the stroke.

I could see at once that Miss Cox intended the first stroke to be a memorable one.

It was!

She put her whole body into it and the cane whistled down AND IT HURT ALMOST BEYOND BELIEF. I had to snatch my hand away, but fortunately for me it was after the stroke so it counted. But it took a great effort of will to put my hand up again for the next stroke and leave it still without flinching away. I somehow managed it and also for the third stroke.

The cane had produced three agonised cries from me and the tears were streaming down my face. Now I had to suffer three more on my left hand.

Finally I was sobbing my heart out and, pretending to complain about the noise I was making, Miss Cox produced an adult-sized replica of a baby’s dummy, which she forced into my mouth. It was held in place by a strap and was giant-sized both in respect of the large teat inside my mouth and the piece outside my mouth, which covered most of my chin. It was also very uncomfortable to wear, but it did shut off my noise.

Although this was the first hand caning I had ever received, I had instinctively taken up the standard position used by schoolchildren over the centuries, who had had their hands caned. I tucked my hands under my armpits, in order to try to get some relief.

"Put your hands down and stand to attention", snapped Miss Cox.

I obeyed immediately, not wanting any more handers, and pressed the aching palms to the soft smooth rubber of my apron in an attempt to soothe them. It didn’t help much!

Miss Cox hung the cane back on its hook behind the door and went out. As she shut the door, the cane rattled on it and I guessed that was why the hook was placed here. Every time the door opened, or shut, you were reminded of the cane’s existence.

Once again, I stood regarding my reflection in the mirror, this time in full housemaid’s uniform. With my ‘new’ shape, albeit artificial for the moment, it now looked properly feminine.

As before, my glance moved over to ‘my cane’ and, once more, I could hardly believe the pain it had produced on my hands. I remembered my earlier resolve to obey all orders in order to avoid punishment, but both Susie and myself had just been punished for nothing and I now realised that the resolve was totally irrelevant. We could be caned or strapped for fun -- their fun that is!

I had now stopped crying, but was dribbling down my apron bib instead, because of the dummy.

I waited and waited.

Then there were footsteps outside and Miss Cox and Miss Windsor entered.

I was very relieved to see that the latter was not wearing her yellow apron, but saw that she had the whalebone switch back on her belt.

Miss Cox spoke.

"You have already met Miss Windsor and she is going to be your instructor here."

Miss Windsor gave me a scornful glance and then went over to Susie, who curtsied apprehensively.

"Hello little Susie. I hope you haven’t forgotten me."

She reached under Susie’s apron bib and gave both nipples a viscous tweak.

Susie squeaked, but stood perfectly still.

"Good girl!" Miss Windsor said, and then slapped Susie on both cheeks.

Susie didn’t move again.

Miss Windsor then turned to me.

"As you might have guessed, I was Susie’s trainer as well and now you know something of what to expect and the sort of standard I will expect from you. Have you ever scrubbed a floor before?"

"No, Miss" I stuttered.

"Well, don’t let that worry you. Susie hadn’t when I started with her and yet she was up to Olympic standard at the end of her training. I have every expectation that you will be the same.

"You know Shirley, some girls are natural material for maid servants, like Susie here, and, believe it or not, Charlie, some boys are too. And I think you are one of them.

(That was the last time I was ever to be called by my real name.)

Well, now let’s get started. Curtsey a temporary goodbye to Miss Cox."

I obeyed.

She removed my dummy and a pair of bright pink rubber gloves was added to my uniform.

Then she came towards me with an ordinary dog’s lead. I was very glad that my nipples were inaccessible, but she clipped it to my new nose ring, which was just as bad. It was plain from the contemptuous look on her face, that she classed me on a level of a dog - and not a favourite pet dog at that!

She tugged on the chain, gave my bare calves two slashes from her switch and said, "Follow me Shirley".

The cuts from her cane and the words were quite unnecessary, as I had no option but to follow the painful tugs on my still tender nose.

We left my cell and, as we walked along the corridor, I was made to stand aside with my back against the wall as a small party of schoolgirls, about eight or ten years old, came the other way. The girls, obviously from a select private school by their expensive uniforms, were on an educational visit to my school. A future generation of maid-owning mistresses was obviously being cultivated.

When they got close, they suddenly realised what my gender was and they stopped, giggling, for a closer inspection.

Miss Windsor snapped at me, "Curtsey to the young ladies and show them some respect."

I obediently sank into a low curtsey and when they looked across at the comic figure I presented in my housemaid’s uniform, with my scarlet-cheeks under my maid’s cap, the giggling changed to hoots of mocking laughter.

I expect most of them came from homes that had a staff of feminine maids and that I was possibly the first male maid they had ever seen. The sight of a man dressed in a cap and apron making a humble curtsey to them sent them into hysterics. At this point, I completely understood the term ‘shame clad’ and was mortified with humiliation.

Their teacher and Miss Windsor both had broad grins on their faces at my intense embarrassment and I saw the teacher give a knowing wink. This meeting had obviously not been an accident!

She said to her class, "Right girls, you have had your fun. Now let’s get on with our educational tour."

They finally carried on their way, with probably one or two resolving to follow in the career footsteps of Miss Windsor.

I wondered if any of them had considered the possibility that, sometime in the future, they might, just might, fall foul of ‘authority’ and find themselves back in this training centre, being called ‘Skivvy’, wearing the ‘wrong uniform’ and being on the wrong end of a cane?

Miss Windsor finally allowed me to rise from my deep curtsey and I sighed with relief, as it had been very uncomfortable with the long thick butt plug inside me, and the bristle-filled cup round my balls, adding to my discomfort.

"Come along Shirley. You have already wasted enough of the day. It is time to get you your bucket and scrubbing brush and start you on your training. I want to make all your muscles ache!"

Following the tugs from the lead attached to my nose ring and wary of getting more cuts from the viscously painful whalebone switch hanging from Miss Windsor’s belt, I docilely followed her towards the Scrubbing Grounds, in my rustling uncomfortable rubber training uniform. I was about to begin my degrading sentence of servitude and drudgery in the frumpish, humiliating cap and apron of a house maid.’

That night, aching in every muscle, I lay on my hard, rubber-covered bench, wearing my matching colour co-ordinated rubber ‘sleep apron’. It was now 11.00 p.m. and it had been a 5.30 start to the day. A very long day, with another 5.30 start scheduled for tomorrow.

My neck and wrists were locked into a wooden pillory attached to the head of the bench and my ankles in a matching pair of stocks at the foot. (These had been added during the day, whilst I had been away scrubbing.) Legree’s Luxury Holidays indeed!

Before locking my wrists, I had been ordered to smooth my apron neatly over my body before sleeping. A large-sized baby’s dummy had been strapped into my mouth, "to help me sleep!" It hadn’t so far. It was just another source of discomfort!

But the main reason I was still awake were the thoughts churning around in my brain.

Yesterday, I had been a moderately successful young accountant in a respectable company, looking forward to my annual holiday. Today, I was a limp bundle of cringing misery as a browbeaten uniformed female skivvy, beaten into submission by a bunch of sadistic, cane-happy feminine trainers.

And, looking forward, all I could see was ten or twenty years, or even more, of the same, stretching into the far distance.

Despite what people said or thought about the abolition of slavery, there was not the slightest doubt that slavery is alive and flourishing in this corner of the world.